Mercury,
July/August 1997 Table of Contents
Andre
Bormanis
The
drought of comets broke last year, and how.
The
inner solar system has been treated to two unexpected celestial
visitors in the past two years. First comet Hyakutake, like a shy
suitor, had a close but brief encounter with Earth in March 1996.
Almost exactly a year later, Hale-Bopp courted stargazers like a
celestial peacock, lingering at naked-eye visibility for over three
months. Both comets turned the heads of the world. But while public
interest in Hyakutake could be characterized as mild, interest in
Hale-Bopp bordered on the wild.
I
had the opportunity to observe Hyakutake with several dozen other
dedicated amateur astronomers from Mount Pinos, an 8,800-foot (2,700-meter)
peak 70 miles north of Los Angeles. On March 23, 1996, shortly after
8 p.m., Hyakutake rose above the northeastern tree line. Indistinct
and diffuse at first glance, the comet soon revealed rich detail
and structure to the naked eye. Binoculars captured delicate streamers
of plasma trailing behind the bright, star-like inner coma; the
extended coma was distinctly aquamarine. The bite of the cold night
air (7 degrees Fahrenheit) was reduced to a nibble by the excitement
of viewing this interplanetary marvel.
As
wonderful as this initial view certainly was, it was a latent image
of that to come. By 10:30 p.m. the Moon had set and the comet was
30 degrees above the horizon. The sky was pitch black. The assembled
comet-watchers gaped and gasped. The coma of Hyakutake was twice
the diameter of the full Moon and the tail cut across a quarter
of the sky. Hyakutake displayed itself in its full glory [see Guest
Observer, May/June 1996, p. 11]. It utterly dominated the familiar
constellations. Orion was now setting in the west, as if even this
intrepid warrior had been intimidated by the comet's sword-like
tail.
I
scanned the comet several times with binoculars and studied its
coma in a small telescope. A narrow, sharp jet extended from the
nucleus, forming the core of the plasma tail. It was one of the
most exciting and inspiring astronomical sights I'd ever seen. But
my excitement was tinged with sadness when I realized how few people
would enjoy the view of Hyakutake I was privileged to see. How many
more would only see the comet from a city or suburb, a fuzzy smudge
in the dim glaze of twilight, and wonder what all the fuss was about?
A
Moment's Ornament
But
few people, if any, were bewildered by the fever created by this
year's cometary caller. Hale-Bopp lived up to the highest hopes
of astronomers. The Great Comet of 1997 was nearly 700 million miles
from the Sun when it was first spotted on July 22, 1995, by Alan
Hale in New Mexico and Thomas Bopp in Arizona. Astronomers knew
the comet must be large to be visible in amateur telescopes at such
a great distance, boding well for a memorable apparition in spring
1997, when the comet would make its closest approach to Earth.
Having
had the luxury of observing and photographing Hale-Bopp nearly since
its discovery, I can't honestly say what has been my best view.
Sharing my telescope with some 70 guests at the Mount Wilson observatory--many
of whom had never before looked through a telescope--was one of
many joys made possible by this celestial object. Hale-Bopp has
become an old friend during its visit to the inner solar system,
cherished but perhaps a little taken for granted, and I miss it
now that it has faded from northern skies.
Over
the past six months, the Los Angeles Times has printed over 70 news
articles about the comet. Local and national radio and television
news programs have also publicized it and provided viewers with
guides to finding it in the sky. Most of the reportage has focused
on how and when to see Hale-Bopp, rather than the physical nature
of comets or their scientific significance. The stress on eye-catching
visuals which dominates the news media, especially television, probably
accounts for this emphasis.
Astronomy
clubs and planetariums across the globe arranged public information
and viewing programs. Numerous web sites devoted to Hale-Bopp sprouted
across the Internet. NASA's Near-Live Comet Viewing site has been
posting comet pictures--to date, 4,000 of them--taken by amateur
and professional photographers from dozens of countries around the
world.
Griffith
Park observatory, one of the largest public observatories in the
world, hosted public Hale-Bopp viewing evenings every clear night
(except Mondays) from March 19 through May 18. In addition to the
observatory's 12-inch Zeiss refractor, the public had views of the
comet through binoculars and telescopes set up on the observatory
grounds by members of the Los Angeles Astronomical Society and Sidewalk
Astronomers.
The
response was overwhelming. Ed Krupp, director of the observatory,
estimates that over 60,000 people visited Griffith to view Hale-Bopp,
the greatest number of people ever to visit the observatory to view
an astronomical object. Krupp says that the comet watchers were
ethnically diverse, well-mannered, respectful, and appreciative
of the equipment that the many amateur astronomers provided for
their use. It may be that people who are interested in the stars
are generally polite and considerate. Or perhaps the wonder of a
spectacle such as Hale-Bopp lifts us all up, inspiring us to be
more thoughtful, civil human beings.
Sightless
Couriers of the Air
Great
comets have always spurred a wide range of reactions. In a wonderful
book written in the 1920s, The Romance of Comets, Mary Proctor relates
the dread and woe that greeted most comets throughout the centuries.
In medieval Europe, comets were portents of disease and pestilence,
wars and the deaths of kings. In ancient China, comets were not
necessarily bad omens, but were considered harbingers of future
events. In the Chinese mythos, each constellation was a province
in a great empire. The planets were the empire's administrators
and the stars were its diplomats. In this celestial kingdom, it
was decided what would happen to the terrestrial empire of the Chinese,
for better or worse. Comets played the role of imperial messengers,
shuttling like cosmic couriers among the constellations.
Sadly,
Hale-Bopp seems to have rekindled some of the superstitions common
in ages past. In mid-November 1996, a photograph taken by a Houston
amateur astronomer appeared on the Internet seeming to show a "Saturn-like
object" in the wake of the comet. The object proved to be nothing
more than a misidentified star distorted by optical aberrations
in the photographer's telescope. But rumors quickly began to circulate
that an alien spaceship was flying in tandem with the comet.
The
nature and purpose of the alleged spaceship was widely discussed
on the Internet and various talk-radio programs, particularly Art
Bell's Coast to Coast, which runs weekly on 330 stations nationwide.
In late March, in an exclusive suburb of San Diego, 39 members of
a quasi-religious group, Heaven's Gate, took their own lives in
the belief that their souls (and perhaps even their physical bodies)
would rise into space and fly into eternity aboard the alien ship.
Since
the Renaissance, scientists have fought against prevailing superstitions
to communicate objective findings about the natural world. They
have approached nature in a manner not unlike an informed jury considering
evidence in a criminal trial--aware of their own personal prejudices
and potential for bias, but committed to determining, as best as
humanly possible, the facts of the case. Interrogating nature in
this fashion sometimes seems callous to outside observers, and heated
debates among scientists, necessary though they are, do not make
it any easier for the lay public to sort scientific speculation
from established fact. New discoveries and theories invariably face
some resistance, both from the general public and from political
and religious institutions who fear their authority might be threatened.
The
Heaven's Gate experience is a clear reminder of the risks of indulging
a belief system based purely on personal desire and subjective experience.
In an increasingly complicated world, the need to foster critical
thinking and rational discussion is greater than ever. This is not,
of course, solely the responsibility of scientists. An educational
system that rewards children who ask questions, along with enlightened
religious and cultural institutions that aren't threatened by honest
inquiry, are essential foundations of healthy societies.
Some
argue that science robs the universe of its mystery. But in my view
the opposite is true. It allows us to revere the world, yet frees
us from the superstitions that pit man against man. When science
pulls back the curtain, it does not eliminate mystery, but heightens
it. Whatever degree of scientific understanding we achieve only
increases our appreciation for the complex and inscrutable beauty
of the universe. A sense of wonder for the natural world, the skies
included, guides us to a greater respect for nature, its delicate
balances and sublime wisdom.
Even
though modern science dismisses the notion that comets or other
celestial objects dictate the course of human affairs, it has discovered
an even more intimate and profound connection between humans and
the heavens: Comets brought ices and complex organic molecules to
the surface of the Earth in the chaotic years of our planet's youth,
coating our world with precious water and, perhaps, spreading the
chemical seeds of the life that flourishes here today [see "Promethean
Ice," November/December 1996, p. 15]. Great comets like Hyakutake
and Hale-Bopp serve to remind us of this deep and astonishing bond.
ANDRE
BORMANIS
is the scientific consultant for the Star Trek: Voyager and Deep
Space Nine television series. He is also a consultant to the San
Juan Institute, a nonprofit planetary-science research institute
in San Juan Capistrano, Calif. His email address is bormanis@sji.org.
|
|