Hollow Earth: The Long and Curious History of Imagining Strange Lands, Fantastical Creatures, Advanced Civilizatio (3 page)

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Authors: David Standish

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BOOK: Hollow Earth: The Long and Curious History of Imagining Strange Lands, Fantastical Creatures, Advanced Civilizatio
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Here was a problem as significant as that of establishing accurate longitude.
Halley had more than a passing interest in magnetic variation. He had investigated the puzzle for years before presenting his 1691 papers and spent several years afterward at sea, primarily mapping magnetic variation in the South Atlantic. Understanding its causes promised potential long-term rewards, but detailed chapter-and-verse charts of current observed deviation were of immediate pragmatic value. His 1701 magnetic charts of the Atlantic and the Pacific were the first such published, as well as the first to connect points on the oceans with the same variance, using lines now called isogonic lines—also the first published.
He had made his first observations on magnetism as a sixteen-year-old schoolboy and continued them four years later during his long excursion to St. Helena. Magnetism was one of the great unknowns. It had been recognized as a force since ancient times, but nobody had a clue what it was. Sailors, for example, believed the powerful fumes given off by garlic somehow interfered with the proper working of the compass, and they wouldn’t allow the stuff onboard.
The earliest scientific ideas about magnetism came from William Gilbert, eventual physician to Queen Elizabeth, who in 1600 published
De Magnete
after eighteen years of study and experimentation. In it he suggested that the earth is a vast magnet, explaining for the first time why compasses point north. Descartes had a go at a theory of magnetism in his 1644
Principia philosophiae,
involving his famous fluids and vortices, but it was as wrong as it was ingenious.
The major work on the subject was Athanasius Kircher’s 1641
Magnes,
both exhaustive and a little cuckoo, a perfect emblem of the man himself. Kircher, a German Jesuit born in 1601, combined polymath erudition and intellectual eccentricity in ways far beyond those of mortal men. He is often mentioned as a candidate for “the last man to know everything,” from obscure archaic languages and literatures to the latest in science to the most fantastical absurdities then in currency, all in heaps in the measureless attic of his remarkable mind. He was, as we used to say in the 1960s, a trip. He wrote forty-four books on subjects ranging from Egyptian hieroglyphics to possible causes of the bubonic plague, constructed strange objects (including an automatic organ), and assembled in Rome what was arguably the first natural history museum.
Kircher’s
Magnes,
as one account describes it, “contains all that was known in his day on the subject of electricity and magnetism … filled with curiosities, both profound and frivolous. The work does not deal solely with what modern physicists call magnetism. Kircher discusses, for example, the magnetism of the earth and heavenly bodies; the tides; the attraction and repulsion in animals and plants; and the magnetic attraction of music and love. He also explains the practical applications of magnetism in medicine, hydraulics, and even in the construction of scientific instruments and toys. In the epilogue Kircher moves from the practical to the metaphysical (and Aristotelian) when he discusses the nature and position of God: the central magnet of the universe.”
2
Here is the weltanschauung of a man standing astride two continents of thought, one of them sinking fast. Despite his scientific instincts, Kircher resolutely wrapped his investigations, and especially his conclusions, in the theological fabric that had dominated intellectual pursuits for hundreds of years, one sun setting and another rising in a single mind. The end-of-an-era quality of his work is probably why he is little known now—that and the fact that he contributed virtually no original thought to the new science. But at the time his books were widely read and discussed, and Halley was certainly aware of
Magnes.
(Four of Kircher’s books were listed in the inventory of Halley’s library at his death.)
Another of his books had a certain relevance to Halley’s hollow earth theory, the encyclopedic two-volume
Mundus subterraneus,
published in 1665 and something of a best seller in scientific circles—a work that Halley and the other Royal Society fellows would have known intimately. As
Magnes
compiled everything under the sun that Kircher could find or dream up about magnetism,
Mundus subterraneus
was a massive miscellany of knowledge and speculation about the earth’s interior that included many knockout etchings by Kircher himself illustrating his theories.
Kircher’s interest in things below stemmed from a long visit to Sicily, where in March 1638 he had close-up views as the famous volcanoes Aetna and Stromboli erupted. On returning to Naples, the enterprising priest arranged to have himself lowered into the crater of Vesuvius, active at the time, to see what he could see. One thing led to another. Nearly thirty years later,
Mundus subterraneus
gathered in eight hundred pages everything that was known about geography and geology, along with discourses on, for example, underworld giants, dragons, and demons; the spontaneous generation of insects from dung; mining and metallurgy; sections on poisons, astrology, alchemy, fossils, herbs, weather, gravity, the sun and the moon, eclipses, and fireworks. In addition to his writing, Kircher claimed to have performed palingenesis by restoring a plant from ashes to its original form.
 
Illustration by Athanasius Kircher showing pockets of interior fire scattered in a network beneath the earth’s surface. (Reprinted with permission of the Mineralogical Institute, University of Würzburg, Germany)
Amid this swirl of observed data and charming crackpottery was at least one speculation closer to truth than not: his notion about pockets of fire down below and the idea that the earth has a fiery center. If he wanted to put underworld giants down there too, he was simply carrying on a tradition that went back to Dante and beyond. His drawings of the earth’s interior were probably the first visual cross-sections attempting to suggest in a scientific way what it might be like inside.
Kircher’s thoughts regarding the world’s hydraulics take a cue from a thirteenth-century encyclopedist known as Bartholomew of England, who believed a huge whirlpool opening existed at the North Pole. Kircher envisioned the earth as a sort of vast hot water tank. Icy water from the ocean poured in at the North Pole in a great vortex, percolated southward through the earth’s interior, heated by a central fire (provided by alchemical cosmic rays), and emerged on the surface, comfy as bathwater, at the South Pole—a system of heating and circulation he believed kept the oceans from either freezing or turning putrid. As Jocelyn Godwin points out in
Arktos,
Kircher offers two reasons for thinking this. “The first is scholastic,” she writes, “for he states that everything in the universe has to be in motion, or else it will stagnate and die.” The second is “through analogy … with human anatomy”: it functions as a sort of digestive system. “The elements in the sea-water are extracted by this process, to be used for generation of metals. The undigested remains are then expelled at the nether end, the South Pole. As a further analogy with animal anatomy, Kircher likens the circulation of waters to the recently-discovered circulation of the blood. Thus he implies that the earth is constructed and behaves like a living creature.” His drawings illustrating this system (including subterranean lakes and rivers) are probably the earliest attempt to show global patterns of ocean circulation. Although it didn’t figure in Halley’s theory, the motif of polar openings leading inside appears again and again in the history of the hollow earth.
 
Illustration by Athanasius Kircher showing global patterns of ocean circulation. (Reprinted with permission of the Mineralogical Institute, University of Würzburg, Germany)
Another book about the earth’s interior that enjoyed wide readership in Halley’s time was
The Sacred Theory of the Earth
by Thomas Burnet. The original Latin edition appeared in 1681, with an English translation following in 1684. Stephen Jay Gould called it “the most popular geologic work of the seventeenth century.” As the new science jolted the existing Christian worldview—the biblical account of the universe—attempts to reconcile science and theology began to appear. Burnet’s
Sacred Theory
proved one of the most notable, a pioneering effort in creationist thinking. Burnet (1635–1715) was an English divine who served on the faculty at Christ’s College before becoming royal chaplain to King William III. As Gould wrote of him, “Burnet was a rationalist, upholding the primacy of Newton’s world in an age of faith. For Burnet’s primary concern was to render earth history not by miracles or divine caprice, but by natural, physical processes.”
3
Today his ideas read like fanciful daydreams. One main purpose of his
Sacred Theory
was to explain Noah’s flood in a “scientific” way. No carny show miracles on God’s part after the creation, but natural (and explicable) processes at work. Burnet dismissed the idea that the flood was a local phenomenon exaggerated over time to worldwide dimensions. His reading of Scripture made him believe that the entire globe was inundated. When he calculated that the volume of water in the world’s oceans was insufficient to do the trick, he came up with a theory. Prior to the flood, the earth was unblemished as an egg:
The face of the Earth before the Deluge was smooth, regular, and uniform, without Mountains, and without a Sea… . In this smooth Earth were the first scenes of the world, and the first generation of Mankind; it had the Beauty of Youth and blooming Nature, fresh and fruitful, and not a Wrinkle, Scar or Fracture in all its body; no Rocks nor Mountains, no hollow Caves, nor gaping Channels, but even and uniform all over.
 
A perfect expanse. Nor did it lean slightly lopsided on its axis as it does now, but stood up nice and straight. This meant there were no seasons. At certain latitudes perpetual spring prevailed. Thanks to this eternal spring, both humans and animals had a far better time of it, as well as longer lifespans. The prelapsarian paradise!
According to Burnet, the flood threw the earth so off kilter that along with other dire results, its axis tilted, and it was goodbye, eternal spring. This idea had a certain currency in the seventeenth century. Milton expresses it in book ten of
Paradise Lost
(1667), though he attributes the change to a deliberate act of God, who sent angels with celestial crowbars as a wrecking crew to undo Eden by wrenching the earth’s axis askew:
Some say he bid his Angels turne ascance
The Poles of the Earth twice ten degrees and more
From the Suns Axle; they with labour push’d
Oblique the Centric Globe …
… to bring in change
Of Seasons to each Clime; else had the Spring
Perpetual smil’d on Earth with vernant Flours.
 
After the flood the world became as it is today—what Burnet calls a “hideous ruin” and our “dirty little planet.” In his view, how did this happen?
According to his theory, similar to one proposed by Robert Hooke in 1668, from the original liquid chaos things settled out according to their densities, the heaviest forming the core, with the “liquors” of the earth rising toward the top, rather like a global parfait. The greater part of these liquors were “volatiles,” chiefly air, but with a considerable amount of minuscule crud mixed in: “The great regions of the Air would certainly have their sediment too; for the Air was as yet thick, gross, and dark; there being an abundance of little Terrestrial particles swimming in it still.” Gradually these settled, precipitated out of the foul air, until “they compos’d a certain slime, or fat, soft, and light Earth, spread upon the face of the Waters. This thin and tender Orb of Earth increas’d still more and more, as the little Earthy parts that were detain’d in the Air could make their way to it.” Over time an even crust formed over a planet largely consisting of water, like scum congealing on a cold pot of stew. He cites Psalms in support of this idea: “God hath founded the Earth upon the Seas, and to him that extended or stretched out the Earth above the Waters.”

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