Bad Science Page 15

  What can be concluded from the Flat Earthers and their adamant beliefs? You can lead a person to knowledge, but you can’t make him think.

  “I think there is a world market for maybe five computers.”

  Thomas Watson, chairman of IBM, 1943

  “Computers in the future may weigh no more than 1.5 tons.”

  Popular Mechanics, 1949

  Six and Six Equal Nothing

  Christiaan Huygens’ name would have been remembered for any one of his many accomplishments—the wave theory of light, the pendulum clock, and improvements in telescopes and eyepieces. He was also the first to explain the true nature of Saturn’s puzzling structure, the magnificent rings (1656), and discovered the first satellite of Saturn, Titan (1655). Huygens no doubt would have made even more discoveries, had it not been for an odd misconception.

  Upon his discovery of Titan, he noted that, together with our Moon and the four moons of Jupiter, it brought the total number of satellites in the solar system to six. Six also happened to be the number of known planets.

  Coincidence? Huygens didn't think so. In fact, he was convinced that there was some great significance in this apparent equal number of planets and moons. Firmly believing that there was no possibility of discovering any more moons (because their number obviously couldn't exceed the number of planets), he essentially stopped looking for them.

  Fortunately, Huygens’ contemporary, J.D. Cassini, was not harboring such unfathomable, preconceived notions, and went on to discover four more satellites of Saturn—Iapetus 1671, Rhea 1672, and Tethys and Dione 1684. Huygens, the great mathematician, must have been stunned to discover that six and six actually equal nothing.

  Rising Above The Occasion

  The German military machine that plunged the planet into two world wars got itself rolling during its victories in the Franco-Prussian war of 1870-71. War machines tend to indiscriminately roll over everything in their path, but occasionally a clever individual can rise above the turbulence.

  One such individual was Jules Janssen, founder of the Meudon Observatory in Paris and a leader in the field of solar research. Prior to 1868, astronomers were limited to viewing prominences and the chromosphere only during a solar eclipse, but while on a trip to India (to observe a total eclipse), Janssen discovered a method for observing the outer regions of the sun without the aid of the Moon (Sir Joseph Lockyer made a simultaneous discovery in England).

  Janssen was obviously not one to let distance get in the way of his research, and old age and weather proved to be no obstacles, either. During the winter of 1894, the seventy-year-old Janssen was carried up Mont Blanc in the Alps, hoping that the thin atmosphere would enable him to determine if there was any oxygen in the sun. Even war could not daunt the tenacious astronomer.

  During the Franco-Prussian War, the enemies of France were rude enough to put Paris under siege, not only disregarding the inhabitants’ life and liberty, but their pursuit of scientific knowledge, as well. The problem for Janssen was that he was stuck

  inside the city and the path of totality for an upcoming solar eclipse fell outside the line of the siege. Apparently, the enemy ranks were not filled with astronomy enthusiasts and the determined Janssen decided that if he couldn't go through them, he would go over them.

  In a brilliant and courageous triumph of Good Astronomer over Bad Astronomy Besiegers, Janssen made good his escape from Paris in 1870 in a hot air balloon. Unfortunately, it is mainly for this exploit and not his discoveries that he is best known, but who could object to being remembered for jeopardizing one’s personal safety in the name of science? We should all be so lucky.

  Send in the Clowns

  Our “knowledge of the construction of the Moon leads us insensibly to several consequences...such as the great possibility, not to say the almost absolute certainty, of her being inhabited.” (The key word here, being “insensibly.”)

  These were not the ravings of a crackpot, they were the words of astronomer Sir William Herschel, and were spoken to his colleagues in 1780. What was not said out loud were some of the reasons why Herschel so firmly believed in life on the Moon.

  In his private journals, Herschel recorded seeing many strange phenomena, much like the TLP (transient lunar phenomenon) still observed today. It is understandable that such sudden appearances of glowing lights could be interpreted as the result of some action by intelligent life forms. What is incomprehensible, however, is what else Herschel reported seeing.

  Herschel, one of the greatest observers in the history of astronomy, thought he saw lunar towns, forests, and highways. He also recorded in his journal the word “Circus.” However, he was referring to the Roman term for something circular, not the clown variety—although given everything else he believed he might as well have meant a lunar circus!

  For example, Herschel wrote:

  “As upon the Earth several Alterations have been, and are daily, made of a size sufficient to be seen by the inhabitants of the Moon, such as building Towns, cutting canals for Navigation, making turnpike roads &c: may we not expect something of a similar Nature on the Moon? – There is a reason to be assigned for circular-Buildings on the Moon, which is that, as the Atmosphere there is much rarer than ours and of consequence not so capable of refracting and (by means of clouds shining therein) reflecting the light of the sun, it is natural enough to suppose that a Circus will remedy this deficiency, For in that shape of Building one half will have the directed light and the other half the reflected light of the Sun. Perhaps, then on the Moon every town is one very large Circus?…Should this be true ought we not to watch the erection of any new small Circus as the Lunarians may the Building of a new Town on the Earth….By reflecting a little on the subject I am almost convinced that those numberless small Circuses we see on the Moon are the works of the Lunarians and may be called their Towns….Now if we could discover any new erection it is evident an exact list of those Towns that are already built will be necessary. But this is no easy undertaking to make out, and will require the observation of many a careful Astronomer and the most capital Instruments that can be had. However this is what I will begin.”

  Fortunately for Herschel and his family, these private records remained private until relatively recently.

  Ironically, it was Sir William’s son, Sir John, whose name would be used for the great Moonman hoax of 1835 (see below). Right story, wrong Herschel.

  Locke, Stock, and Barrel

  In 1938, thousands of sane and rational individuals huddled in fear around their radios as Orson Welles told of Martians invading New Jersey. While the presentation of “War of the Worlds” plunged the East Coast into a panic, the fame and notoriety from it propelled Orson Welles to the West Coast—Hollywood to be exact, where the rest is cinematic history. Although he was obviously pleased with the results of his little radio drama, he was quite surprised by the uproar it provoked. Authorities were flooded with calls, men grabbed their guns, and women and children anxiously searched the skies for some sign of the terrible invaders.

  There is probably some kind of psychological theory which suggests that people will only believe something so outrageous if they have some deep-seated need to believe it. In the case of extraterrestrials, mankind has longed for proof of their existence for centuries, and therefore, many people are ready and willing to suspend their disbelief in the brief instant it takes a strange light to flash across the night sky.

  There’s absolutely nothing wrong with the desire to find some neighbors in this vast universe. However, before the public swallows another story like the Martians in New Jersey, it should make sure the bait isn’t rotten.

  One of the biggest alien fish stories ever swallowed actually occurred over one hundred years before Orson Welles’ ominous voice terrified his listeners. In 1835, a failing newspaper, the New York Sun, had an explosive boost in circulation thanks to some creative journalism—i.e., a hoax. An enterprising reporter for the Sun, Robert Locke, apparently took it upo
n himself to single-handedly save the paper. Taking the liberty of using astronomer Sir John Herschel’s good name and family reputation, Locke fabricated a story too unbelievable not to be believed.

  Claiming to have exclusive access to a paper Herschel had supposedly published in a Scottish journal (which had actually been defunct for two years), Locke reported that Herschel had discovered an incredible civilization of yellowish, bat-like humanoids on the Moon. In addition to this intelligent race of winged beings, the story claimed that 130 species of lunar plants and animals had meticulously been catalogued. This was all allegedly made possible by the incredible telescope Herschel was using, whose 42,000-power optics could capture such amazing detail.

  The winged Lunarians, from

  the New York Sun, 1835.

  Impossible? Ridiculous? Of course, but the public ate it up like candy. Tens of thousands of newspapers and pamphlets sold in a matter of days and practically everyone was caught up in Lunarian Fever. Some cooler heads did prevail, however, as a few scientists from Yale tracked down Locke and pressured him into admitting to the hoax, but not before many respected people made some wild plans for the flying Moonmen. One of the most bizarre plans was to Christianize our happy, but heathen, neighbors, although the little matter of how these preachers and their Bibles would get to the Moon wasn’t completely explained.

  While such hoaxes in this age of rapid communication are harder to perpetrate (Herschel was not informed of the hoax for months), our increasing angst about finding other life in the universe may make us vulnerable to the schemes of some knowledgeable and clever huckster. One need only look at the tabloid newspapers at every grocery checkout to see the high degree of nonsense some people are willing to swallow—Locke, stock and barrel.

  Castles in the Sky

  One of the first astronomers to correctly suggest that the craters on the Moon were formed by impacts was Franz von Paula Gruithuisen in 1824. He had arrived at this theory after extensive observations—observations that occasionally took on a rather creative dimension.

  In 1822, Gruithuisen reported on another alleged aspect of Earth’s satellite—nothing less than a city on the Moon. He believed he had observed “great artificial works on the moon erected by the lunarians.” This city was supposedly protected by a series of ramparts and fortifications constructed by “selenic engineers.”

  However, the “dark gigantic” structures Gruithuisen claimed were the design of lunar architects were, in fact, nothing more than a series of small, irregular natural ridges that had been reconstructed by his imagination. Despite the reports of these castles in the sky, Gruithuisen was made a Professor of Astronomy in Munich in 1826 and spent many years making serious contributions to science.

  (Perhaps the least known of his contributions is the “Gruithuisen Effect,” which is still observed quite often. This phenomenon involves making outrageous mistakes and then getting promoted—an indispensable process in both the corporate and academic worlds today.)

  As The Planets Turn

  The history of an astronomical discovery often reads like a great mystery novel. Occasionally, it more closely resembles a soap opera. The search for Neptune had mystery, soap, and more:

  1. Where’s Uranus?— Sir William Herschel discovers Uranus in March of 1781. Other astronomers had observed the planet before him, but failed to notice that this faint “star” moved. Herschel’s career skyrockets; the other astronomers enter the dark realm of footnotes.

  2. Now Where’s Uranus?— For several decades no one is able to calculate Uranus’ orbit. Because the planet is never where it’s supposed to be, some theorize that an eighth planet is perturbing Uranus’ orbit.

  3. On With The Hunt— The young, brilliant Englishman, John Couch Adams, begins his calculations in the search for the new planet in 1843. He succeeds, on paper, in September of 1845.

  4. What’s The Rush?— Adams delivers his calculations to George Airy, the Astronomer Royal, and James Challis, the Professor of Astronomy at Cambridge. The two astronomers and their great observatories (Greenwich and Cambridge) apparently have no interest in discovering a new planet and do nothing.

  5. Enter The Frenchman—While the English twiddle their thumbs, Urbain Leverrier (unaware of Adam’s work) publishes his own calculations on June 1, 1846. However, the French telescopes don’t start searching either, most likely because over the years Leverrier has irritated just about everyone in France.

  6. Duh?— Airy reads Leverrier’s work and finds that the results of the Frenchman’s calculations match Adams’. Maybe someone should actually start looking?

  7. I’ll Get Around To It—Airy asks the sluggish Challis to begin the search. After devising the slowest search strategy possible, Challis begins. He actually records the unknown planet on August 4 and then again on August 12, 1846, but doesn’t bother to check if the position of this particular “star” had actually changed. Challis also doesn’t bother to increase magnification, a simple task which would have revealed that this “star” was indeed a planet.

  On September 29, Challis spots something that appears to be a planet, but again doesn’t bother to increase the magnification. It can wait.

  The next night, Challis spends so much time at dinner that it’s cloudy by the time he finally gets his butt moving.

  8. German Efficiency—Leverrier gives up on the French and writes to the observatory in Berlin. (Apparently, he hasn’t had the opportunity of aggravating them, yet.) They receive his calculations on September 23. Johann Galle and Heinrich d’Arrest begin looking that same night and find the mystery planet. They confirm it by its movement the following evening. Game, set, match to the Germans.

  9. Kick Him Again—Everyone congratulates Leverrier for the discovery, including Airy, who knew damn well that Adams had predicted the new planet’s position a year earlier.

  10. Son of Herschel To The Rescue—Realizing the ill treatment of Adams, Sir John Herschel flexes some academic muscle and Adams’ calculations become known.

  11. Now We Like Him—Finally realizing this is their chance to trump both England and Germany, the very same French astronomers who wouldn’t search for the planet suddenly decide it should be named “Leverrier.”

  Leverrier thinks it’s a good idea, too.

  12. Classicism Wins Out—After much Sturm und Drang, the Germans’ desire for the planet to be named Neptune is fulfilled.

  Epilogue—John Couch Adams went on to become the director of the Cambridge Observatory. The humble and dedicated astronomer actually turned down an offer of knighthood out of concern that the attention would detract from his work.

  Leverrier went on to annoy more people in his search for Vulcan, the planet he claimed was between the sun and Mercury. He based his claims on the observations of an inept amateur, Edmond Lescarbault, who took notes on pieces of wood and once mistook Saturn for a new star.

  Can't Argue With Success

  Joseph Gyscek

  In most instances, individuals or small groups are responsible for acts of Bad Astronomy. In a few remarkable cases, however, the error is so widespread that the sheer volume of people involved almost overshadows the ridiculous practices or beliefs.

  Almost.

  One such case involves eclipses—events met with fear around the world for thousands of years. From the dimmest recesses of our past to the beginning of the 20th century, cultures in Asia, Africa, Europe, and the Americas viewed eclipses as the work of some terrible monster attempting to devour the Moon. Regardless of whether the culprit was believed to be a dragon, serpent, demon, dog, or giant, the general consuming scenario remained the same.

  Absurdities aside, it is remarkable that so many cultures isolated from one another arrived at such similar beliefs. What is even more startling is how everyone from royalty to peasants, and from the tiny islands in the Pacific to bustling Western cities, arrived at the same remedy for getting the monsters to cough up their celestial meal—noise.

  Noise on a deafening
scale.

  Entire communities would turn out at the first sign of an eclipse and join together to shout, beat drums, and, the popular favorite among old and young alike, banging pots and pans. It was assumed that if the people made enough of a clamor, it would frighten the ravenous beast and cause it to spit out its food and run away. Why a creature large and powerful enough to swallow the Moon would be scared off by a bunch of rowdies armed with skillets remains a mystery.

  This bizarre practice stretched across millennia and the length of the globe for a simple reason—it always seemed to work! Every time there was an eclipse, the people raised a ruckus and the Moon would miraculously reappear unharmed. A one hundred percent success rate is a tough thing to argue against, and it is probable that many a rational objection to this practice was literally silenced beneath the din of popular opinion.

  These countless generations of pot-bangers may also be forgiven some of their folly by considering what a tremendous boost to the personal ego and community spirit the defeat of the monster must have brought. In a human history plagued with myriad disasters beyond anyone’s control, here was one brief and shining moment where friend and foe alike would band together to drive off a common enemy.

  In retrospect, perhaps this is a practice that should be revived.