Bad Science Read online

  Fortunately, Philolaus’ theories did not survive for very long after him, but for a time there were some who followed his lead and created still more bodies we can’t see. For some odd reason, there is a pattern throughout astronomy, as well as other sciences, that before an erroneous concept can be expelled it has to be expanded upon ad nauseam, employing the ever popular technique of counter-intelligence.

  The More The Merrier

  Most people can recall a time at school when they did something to aggravate a teacher. If that teacher happened to be Plato, the incident would be exceptionally memorable.

  Eudoxos of Cnidus studied at Plato’s famous Academy and on one occasion irritated the great teacher by conducting an experiment on mechanics. Plato was annoyed because experiments “corrupted” the purity of philosophy. Why soil a beautiful scientific concept with dirty experimental data? With this mindset drilled into every pupil, the scientific community of the 4th century BC too often took one step forward and two steps back.

  Eudoxos eventually went on to form his own school and became famous for his knowledge of many subjects. One of his theories in particular, however, really helped put Cnidus on the map, and it involved astronomy. The prevailing belief in educated circles was that the heavenly bodies were attached to solid, crystalline spheres, which, being made of clear crystal, conveniently rendered them invisible to our eyes. (Where have we heard that before?)

  However, from what was known of planetary motion, the planet/sphere concept clearly failed to explain actual observed motion (what little they bothered to do). This troubled Eudoxos, but rather than gather more data to form an alternate theory to the spheres, he added more spheres.

  A lot more.

  The “Spheres of Eudoxos” was a revolutionary (and incredibly complex and completely ridiculous) theory consisting of 27 nesting, rotating spheres. The planets each had 4 spheres, but the Moon required only 3. For example, the system of spheres for the Moon worked as follows:

  The innermost sphere rotated in a west to east direction, taking 1 month to complete a rotation.

  The middle sphere rotated on a different axis and in the opposite direction, moving from east to west with a period of 18 years.

  The outermost sphere also rotated from east to west and did so once a day.

  This theory was hailed as being ingenious and elegant—so elegant, in fact, that no one seemed to mind that it completely failed to explain eclipses, the orbit of Mars, and many other observable phenomena, had they felt it important enough to observe.

  As centuries passed and the inaccuracy of the 27 spheres became increasingly apparent, it was clear that a new theory was required. The great Ptolemy in the 2nd century A.D. turned his talents to the problem and came up with a remarkable remedy—he added more spheres!

  A lot more.

  By the time Ptolemy was finished, he had “fine-tuned” the system up to 80 spheres. The thinking must have been that if 27 was elegant, 80 was nothing less than divine. While there were to be several more variations on the theme, the basic Eudoxos/Ptolemy—type system persisted for another 1500 years, until the novel concept of creating theories based upon observational data finally shattered the crystalline spheres.

  I much prefer the sharpest criticism of a single intelligent man to the thoughtless approval of the masses.

  Johannes Kepler

  Job Security

  For over two thousand years, Western civilizations viewed the movements of the universe in terms of solid, crystalline spheres. There were many different theories regarding the number of spheres involved, and equally as many explanations for the primum mobile, or force which kept the spheres moving.

  Some of the ancient Greeks believed that the planets were moved by the various gods associated with the celestial bodies. Aristotle assigned the task to spirits. By the Middle Ages, most astronomers agreed that it had to be angels responsible for the awesome feat of keeping the heavens in motion for all eternity.

  While some thought that an angel was necessary for each sphere or planet, a unique concept evolved which unfortunately eliminated a lot of angels’ jobs. In an early Renaissance world enamored with gears and gadgets, it was envisioned that only one angel was necessary to move the spheres—an angel whose sole task it was to turn a crank that moved the gears that spun the heavens.

  However, once Newton explained the laws of gravitation, even that one angel wasn’t needed any longer.

  It appears that no one’s job is ever safe.

  A fanciful depiction of the

  mechanisms of the universe.

  Too Much of a Bad Thing

  Few books have enjoyed the reputation and longevity of Ptolemy’s Almagest, the text on astronomy that was used for over a thousand years. Even the name sings its praises. Originally titled The Mathematical Composition, the Arabs dubbed it “The Greatest” or “al megiste” from which it received its present name. The Almagest was one of the most sought after books in Europe as the continent emerged from its intellectual coma of the Dark Ages. To be sure, it contains a great wealth of knowledge. Unfortunately, it also contains many errors—errors that literally would take the blood, sweat, and tears of generations to correct.

  When picking up the Almagest for the first time, it is easy to become overwhelmed by the many pages of equations, tables, and diagrams contained in its thirteen books. The sheer length of the work is also impressive, even though in the preface, Ptolemy states that “in order not to make the treatise too long we shall only report what was rigorously proved by the ancients,” yet continues by adding he will also attempt “perfecting as far as we can what was not fully proved or not proved as well as possible.” With all the bases covered, Ptolemy launches into a series of statements regarding the nature of the universe, followed by his “proof” of their validity.

  Even in Ptolemy’s day (100—178 A.D.), there were those people who believed “the movement of the stars to be in a straight line to infinity.” This idea Ptolemy promptly discounts and goes on to explain why the movement of the heavens must be spherical. Part of the explanation involves the belief in the ether—that most perfect of elements in which the lofty stars abide. Ptolemy argues that such a pure substance would naturally take on the perfect form of the sphere, hence the universe is a sphere and moves around in a circle.

  With the concept of a solid, crystalline sphere of fixed stars encircling the etheric heavens firmly established in Ptolemy’s mind, he continues by offering “proof” that the Earth is in the center of the universe. To him, this assumption is basically self-evident, for “all observed order of the increases and decreases of day and night would be thrown into utter confusion if the earth were not in the middle.”

  To round out the Ptolemaic view of the universe, it is essential that the Earth remains stationary and everything else in the heavens moves around us. To those who believed that our planet rotated on its axis or even moved through the heavens, Ptolemy counters that if this was the case, then “animals and other weights would be left hanging in the air, and the earth would very quickly fall out of the heavens.” Obviously, he concludes, “Merely to conceive such things makes them appear ridiculous.” (Yes, Ptolemy, something here is ridiculous, but not what you think.)

  Some may argue that the errors of the Ptolemaic universe are excusable given the times and the lack of technology. However, such arguments don’t hold up when considering people like Aristarchus, who proposed a heliocentric theory 500 years before the time of Ptolemy. It is also clear throughout the Almagest that not everyone agreed with his theories, and they actually held opposing beliefs that were often correct.

  A 1660 depiction of an Earth-centered

  universe based upon the Ptolemaic System.

  Yet history (which is usually just as blind as justice) favored Ptolemy and the Almagest with all its errors, and the work became the definitive text on astronomy until the time of Copernicus, when even then the transition to truth was long, difficult, and full of suffering for p
roponents of a heliocentric universe.

  The story of that transition from Ptolemaic to Copernican systems really embodies the essence of Bad Astronomy. It brought out the best and worst of science, as well as religion, politics, and human nature. In removing the Earth from the center of the universe, mankind needed to redefine itself in terms in which it could thrive intellectually, creatively, and spiritually.

  Perhaps the transition is even now not yet complete.

  To know that we know what we know, and to know that we do not know what we do not know, that is true knowledge.

  Copernicus

  Music To His Spheres

  In 1517, when Martin Luther nailed his ninety-five theses on the church door in Wittenberg, he was knocking on the door to a new age. While the Reformation needed the effort of many people to push open those hinges rusted with the ignorance of millennia, arguably the greatest single push came from an astronomer, Nicholas Copernicus. Presenting his heliocentric theories in De revolutionibus orbium coelestium, Copernicus lit the fuse to scientific dynamite.

  However, while removing the Earth from the center of the universe made sound, scientific sense, many astronomers still clung to the old belief of the crystalline spheres and tried to reconcile them with Copernican theory. Ironically, the man who probably tried the hardest to do this would be the man who ultimately eliminated the spheres, Johannes Kepler. He flattened the theory, literally, into ellipses[1] and started a revolution of his own—but not without first flirting with Bad Astronomy.

  Perhaps Kepler’s deepest desire was to find a celestial harmony, regardless of who revolved around what. He supported Copernican theory, in part because it seemed to support such a harmony. According to what was known about the size of the planets’ orbits, i.e., the size of the alleged spheres, Kepler believed that he had discovered that the five classic geometric shapes (tetrahedron, cube, octahedron, dodecahedron, and icosahedron) fit in between the five spheres. Instead of the ancient practice of adding more spheres to spheres, Kepler at least added a modern touch by inserting squares and triangles, and he published his findings in Mysterium Cosmographicum in 1596.

  While this endeavor seems completely pointless to us today, the work was applauded by Galileo and Tycho, and it brought Kepler a fair amount of fame.

  A strange paranoia seemed to pervade this age of astronomical discoveries—the amount of new scientific knowledge appeared to be directly proportional to the almost desperate attempts to find a divine blueprint, to assure mankind that the universe was not the result of a chaotic, random happening. And if perfect spheres and other geometric shapes provided some level of comfort and a sense of serenity, then great minds would focus on this important task.

  An illustration from

  Mysterium Cosmographicum

  of Kepler’s attempt to insert

  geometric shapes into the

  solar system.

  The harmonic bubble burst, however, when Kepler began studying the observational data collected by Tycho. To his credit, Kepler eventually abandoned his beloved celestial geometry because the facts dictated that he should. In his first two laws of planetary motion, he described the elliptical orbits of the planets and their changes in velocity, and provided the mathematical foundation for Copernican theory. Despite this great achievement, however, he still wanted to find that elusive harmony. Once again, he thought he found it.

  Kepler’s third law of planetary motion reads: The squares of the periods of revolution are proportional to the cubes of their mean distances from the sun. To us this sounds like dry mathematics, to Kepler it sounded like divine music. After discovering this relationship, he transposed orbital velocities to a musical scale and he believed he had finally found God’s blueprint. This was the actual “music of the spheres” Pythagoras had mentioned 2000 years earlier, and Kepler thought he had the equations to prove it. This apparent celestial harmony was what Kepler considered would be his greatest legacy to mankind.

  Of course, history seldom runs according to plan, and few today have even heard of Kepler’s great harmony, let alone believe it. Fortunately, Johannes Kepler will always be remembered for being the first man to accurately describe planetary motion. And for those who care to dig a little deeper, they will realize that what is Bad Astronomy to us, was music to Kepler’s spheres.

  Author’s Note

  The idea of celestial harmony or music of the spheres may sound like new age nonsense, but in fact, this search for harmony is probably as old as civilization, perhaps even as old as mankind itself. When it comes to trying to quantify this harmony in mathematical terms as Kepler did, I have to confess to being sympathetic to his cause.

  Personally, I find mathematics very seductive. This is not to say that I turn the lights down low, slip into something more comfortable, and stare longingly at a series of equations. The attraction is primarily intellectual, but there is something (call it what you will) deeper.

  It’s difficult to describe in words, but if you’ve ever listened to a piece of music by Bach or Mozart you may have had some sense of their work being a beautiful melding of art and mathematics—a kind of auditory mathematics. Similarly, there is a visual mathematics to gazing at a Michelangelo sculpture or a painting by Raphael. I honestly believe that poetry, architecture, or any work of fine art is also a work of fine mathematics, and we are drawn to the unique harmony they represent. It isn’t necessary to be consciously aware of the exact formulas and numbers involved—I think our brains can recognize structures intuitively.

  So when a sensitive and brilliant mathematician like Kepler was studying a work of art as magnificent as the universe, how could he not feel that there was some all-pervading harmony throughout its structure?

  It Takes an Upstart…

  One might think that if the Church of Rome opposed the Copernican system in the 16th century, then Protestants would have accepted it. It is unfortunate, however, that this was one area where the two were in rare agreement. Theologians on both sides adhered to the literal meaning of passages in the Bible that referred to the Earth as being stationary.

  Even Martin Luther, a man so eager to make changes with everything else, wanted to keep the Earth at rest in the center of the universe. In his own inimitable style, he referred to Copernicus as an “upstart astrologer.” He further stated that, “The fool wishes to upset the whole science of astronomy, but the Holy Scripture shows, it was the sun and not the earth which Joshua ordered to stand still.”

  It just goes to show that it takes an upstart to know one.

  Hitting Bottom

  Kosmas Indicopleustes was born in Alexandria in the 6th century A.D., and after a career as a merchant, entered the service of the church. He had earned his last name (the meaning of which is “Indian navigator”) as a result of his extensive travels. Having seen so much of this round Earth, Kosmas should have realized that it was not flat. Nonetheless, he steadfastly maintained that view, as well as maintaining a host of other unusual theories that also contradicted what he had seen with his own eyes.

  Detailing his astronomical beliefs in the twelve-volume work Christian Topography (written between approximately 535-547 A.D.), Kosmas explained that the structure of the Earth and heavens could be found in the Biblical description of Moses’ tabernacle. For instance, the table within the tabernacle was rectangular and placed lengthwise from east to west. From this, Kosmas surmised that the Earth was a flat rectangle, oriented in the same direction. He also went on to describe the two-story framework which formed the regions of heaven, whose walls and curved ceiling he compared to that of a bathroom!

  His primary goal throughout the twelve books seems to have been to disprove all Greek (i.e., pagan) theories, and on occasion after a thorough refutation, Kosmas appears to have been at somewhat of a loss for a better explanation. In the case of the crystalline spheres and the vehicles used to propel them, Kosmas blasts the Greek theories and warns that it is blasphemy for a Christian to entertain such absurd ideas. H
is scientific solution? Angels. Angels who until the end of time must carry the celestial bodies along their courses.

  As for the movement of the sun and the explanation for the varying amounts of daylight throughout the year, Kosmas really outdid himself. His theories were based upon the well-known “fact” that everything was higher in the north than the south; the flat Earth was actually slanted. “Proof” of this “fact” was that ships took longer going north because they were essentially sailing uphill, and conversely, had a relatively easy and swift passage on the downhill or southerly course. (How many things are wrong with just that sentence!?)

  Joseph Gyscek

  With this slanted view of the world, Kosmas took the ancient beliefs that the sun and Moon were returned to their positions in the east everyday by being carried along the north (the higher region, which blocked their light) and added his own twist. To account for the different lengths of summer and winter days, he theorized that a huge, pointed mountain high up in the north would allow more or less light depending upon at what point the sun was carried behind it. In essence, if the sun crossed near the narrower summit, the hours of daylight would be longer. Winter occurred when the sun was carried behind the broader base, thereby shortening the day.