Scanning the skies — past and future

Scanning the skies — past and future

Galileo demonstrating his telescope

Originally published 1 December 1986

As the sun goes down on the last day of the 20th cen­tu­ry, Mars will be shin­ing in the south­west­ern sky. In the south, Jupiter and Sat­urn will be bril­liant neigh­bors in the con­stel­la­tions Pisces and Aries. The next morn­ing, as the sun ris­es on a new mil­len­ni­um, Venus and a cres­cent moon will pre­cede the sun into the sky.

How do I know what the sky will look like that far in the future? I recent­ly acquired an astron­o­my pro­gram for my per­son­al com­put­er. The pro­gram works with a data­base that con­tains orbital infor­ma­tion for the moon and plan­ets, and coor­di­nates for more that 1700 stars, star clus­ters, and galax­ies. With a few com­mands, the pro­gram will dis­play a pic­ture of any part of the sky, from any place on Earth, at any time of the day or night, for any date past or future.

It occurred to me that the pro­gram could be a won­der­ful time trav­el machine, one that could take me back to par­tic­i­pate in spe­cial moments of history.

Step back in time

For my first adven­ture, I set the coor­di­nates of Bologna, Italy, March 9, 1497, at the height of the Ital­ian Renais­sance. A young Pole has trav­eled south to study church law, astron­o­my, and Greek. What­ev­er else is on the young man’s mind in this excit­ing new envi­ron­ment, he is cer­tain­ly think­ing about stars and plan­ets. He has tak­en a room in the home of the famous astronomer Domeni­co Novara, who is also his teacher. On this par­tic­u­lar evening, they watch togeth­er the west­ern sky as the sun sets. With the help of my com­put­er, I watch, too.

As the sky dark­ens above the Etr­uscan Hills south­west of the city, Venus blazes in the twi­light as an Evening Star. High­er and to the east of Venus, a wax­ing cres­cent moon moves through the stars of the con­stel­la­tion Tau­rus. Stu­dent and teacher wait and watch as the disk of the moon approach­es, and then obscures, the star Alde­baran, the fiery red “Eye of the Bull.”

The eclipse of a star by anoth­er celes­tial body is called an occul­ta­tion. The occul­ta­tion of Alde­baran by the moon on March 9, 1497, was the first record­ed celes­tial obser­va­tion made by Nicholas Coper­ni­cus. The obser­va­tion spurred the young Pole to begin the stud­ies that would lead to a rev­o­lu­tion­ary new the­o­ry of the world, which moved the Earth from the cen­ter of the uni­verse and put it into motion around the sun.

Next, I set the coor­di­nates of my time machine for Leipzig, Ger­many, August 24, 1563. A 17-year-old Dan­ish stu­dent with a secret pas­sion for astron­o­my ris­es before sun­rise to observe the sky. Venus is the Morn­ing Star. Rud­dy Mars is in Tau­rus, high in the south. There is no moon. The young man’s atten­tion is focused upon Jupiter and Sat­urn, which rose togeth­er sev­er­al hours before the sun.

As he watch­es, the two plan­ets seem to blend togeth­er into a sin­gle spot of light. On the screen of my com­put­er, the sym­bols for Jupiter and Sat­urn fall exact­ly one atop the other.

Astronomers of the 16th cen­tu­ry had not accu­rate­ly pre­dict­ed the time of the con­junc­tion of the two plan­ets. A pre­dic­tion based on the Earth-cen­tered astron­o­my of Claudius Ptole­my was a full month in error. A cal­cu­la­tion based on the sun-cen­tered astron­o­my of Coper­ni­cus was off by a few days. The 17-year-old stu­dent real­ized, as he watched the plan­et-filled morn­ing sky, that before the true sys­tem of the world could be known, bet­ter obser­va­tions were required. He became the great­est obser­va­tion­al astronomer of his time. His data led direct­ly to the the­o­ries of Kepler and New­ton. His name was Tycho Brahe.

Galileo’s telescope

For my last trip into past skies, I go to the uni­ver­si­ty town of Pad­ua near Venice, Italy, in the win­ter of 1610. Some months before, Galileo Galilei had heard of an instru­ment that mag­ni­fied the view of dis­tant objects. He quick­ly learned how to make such an instru­ment on his own. Although Galileo did not invent the tele­scope, he was the first to use it to observe the heav­ens. With his instru­ment, he made aston­ish­ing dis­cov­er­ies — spots on the sun, craters on the moon, stars more numer­ous than any­one had dreamed.

Onto the screen of my com­put­er comes an image of the sky on the evening of Jan. 7, 1610. The view is dom­i­nat­ed by the daz­zling con­stel­la­tions of win­ter — Ori­on, Tau­rus, Gem­i­ni, Can­is Major, and Can­is Minor. A moon approach­ing full floods the sky with light. Galileo turns his tele­scope to the plan­et Jupiter, between the horns of Tau­rus the Bull. He sketch­es the posi­tion of the plan­et with respect to three tiny “stars” all in a row. A few days lat­er, Galileo real­ized that the three tiny stars near Jupiter were in fact moons of that plan­et. They were the first new mem­bers of the solar sys­tem revealed with the telescope.

The dis­cov­ery that the Earth­’s moon is not unique con­firmed for Galileo the truth of the Coper­ni­can sys­tem of the world. He resolved to con­vince his con­tem­po­raries that the Earth “must not be exclud­ed from the danc­ing whirl of stars.” With my com­put­er, I am there at that turn­ing point in history.

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