Shortly after the voyage of Columbus it was thought that the longitude of a place could be found from its magnetic declination. Gilbert, however, did not think so, and accordingly scores those who championed that view. "Porta," he says, "is deluded by a vain hope and a baseless theory"; Livius Sanutus "sorely tortures himself and his readers with like vanities"; and even the researches of Stevin, the great Flemish mathematician, on the cause of variation in the southern regions of the earth are "utterly vain and absurd."
With regard to dip, Gilbert erroneously held that for any given latitude it had a constant value. He was so charmed with this constancy that he proposed it as a means of determining latitude. There is no diffidence in his mind about the matter; he is sure that with his "inclinatorium" or dip-circle, together with accompanying tables, calculated for him by Briggs, of logarithmic fame, an observer can find his latitude "in any part of the world without the aid of the sun, planets or fixed stars in foggy weather as well as in darkness."
After such a statement, it is no wonder that he waxes warm over the capabilities of his instrument and allows himself to exclaim: "We can see how far from idle is magnetic philosophy; on the contrary, how delightful it is, how beneficial, how divine! Seamen tossed by the waves and vexed with incessant storms while they cannot learn even from the heavenly luminaries aught as to where on earth they are, may with the greatest ease gain comfort from an insignificant instrument and ascertain the latitude of the place where they happen to be."
Gilbert dwells at length on the inductive action of the earth. He hammers heated bars of iron on his anvil and then allows them to cool while lying in the magnetic meridian. He notes that they become magnetized, and does not fail to point out the polarity of each end. He likewise attributes to the influence of the earth the magnetic condition acquired by iron bars that have for a long time lain fixed in the north-and-south position and ingenuously adds: "for great is the effect of long-continued direction of a body towards the poles." To the same cause, he attributes the magnetization of iron crosses attached to steeples, towers, etc., and does not hesitate to say that the foot of the cross always acquires north-seeking polarity.
In a similar manner, every vertical piece of iron, like railings, lamp-posts, and fire-irons, becomes a magnet under the inductive action of the earth. In the case of our modern ships, the magnetization of every plate and vertical post, intensified by the hammering during construction, converts the whole vessel into a magnetic magazine, the resulting complex "field" rendering the adjustment of the compasses somewhat difficult and unreliable. The unreliable character of the adjustment arises mainly from the changing magnetism of the ship with change of place in the earth's magnetic field, the effect increasing slightly from the magnetic equator to the poles.
With luminous insight into the phenomena of terrestrial magnetism, Gilbert observes that in the neighborhood of the poles, a compass-needle, tending as it does to dip greatly, must in consequence experience only a feeble directive power. To which he adds that "at the poles there is no direction," meaning, no doubt, that a compass-needle would remain in any horizontal position in which it might be placed when in the vicinity of the magnetic pole.
This is precisely the experience of all Arctic explorers, who find that their compasses become less and less active as they sail northward, the reason being that the horizontal component of the earth's magnetic force, which alone controls the movements of the compass-needle, decreases as the ship advances and vanishes altogether at the magnetic pole. When once a high latitude is reached, captains do not depend upon their compasses for their bearings, but have recourse to astronomical observations. In his account of magnetic work carried on in the neighborhood of the magnetic pole, Amundsen says: "At Prescott Island the compass, which for some time had been somewhat sluggish, refused entirely to act, and we could as well have used a stick to steer by."
As a physician, Gilbert valued iron for its medicinal properties, but denounced quacks and wandering mountebanks who practised "the vilest imposture for lucre's sake," using powdered lodestone for the cure of wounds and disorders. "Headaches," he said, "are no more cured by application of a lodestone than by putting on an iron helmet or a steel hat"; and again: "To give it in a draught to dropsical persons is either an error of the ancients or an impudent tale of their copyists." Elsewhere he condemns prescriptions of lodestone as "an evil and deadly advice" and as "an abominable imposture."
In the sixth and last book of De Magnete, Gilbert sets forth his views on such astronomical subjects as the figure of the earth, its suspension in space, rotation on its axis and revolution around the sun.
As to the figure of our planet, the primitive view widely credited in early times was that the earth is a flat, uneven mass floating in a boundless ocean. The Hindoos, however, did not accept the flatland doctrine, but taught that the earth was a convex mass which rested on the back of a triad of elephants having for their support the carapace of a gigantic tortoise. Of course, they did not say how the complaisant chelonian contrived to maintain his wonderful state of equilibrium under the superincumbent mass.
Aristotle (384–322, BC) taught that the earth, fixed in the center of the universe, is not flat as a disk, but round as an orange, giving as proofs (1) the gradual disappearance of a ship standing out to sea and (2) the form of the shadow cast by the earth in lunar eclipses, to which others added (3) the change in the altitude of circumpolar stars readily noticeable in traveling north or south. Aristarchus of Samos (310–250), one of the great astronomers of antiquity, went further, not fearing to teach that the earth is spherical in form, that it turns on its axis daily and revolves annually around the sun. Such orthodox teaching did not, however, commend itself to people generally, as they did not exactly like the idea of being whisked round with their houses and cities at a dangerous speed, preferring to explain celestial phenomena by the rotation of the vast celestial sphere, with all the starry host, round a flat, immovable earth. For them such a system of cosmography recommended itself by its simplicity and reasonableness as well as by the sense of stability, rest and comfort which it brought along with it.
Ptolemy, who flourished at Alexandria about 150 AD and whose name is associated with a system of the world, also held that the earth is spherical in form, giving at the same time some very ingenious proofs of his belief. St. Augustine, in the fourth century, was not opposed to the doctrine of a round earth, though he felt the religious difficulty arising from the existence of the antipodes, which difficulty reached its acute stage four hundred years later.
It is well to remember that the Church did not condemn the existence of an antipodean world; what it did condemn was the teaching of Virgilius, Bishop of Salzburg, to the effect that this world, lying under the equator, was inhabited by a race of men not descended from Adam. Virgilius also taught that the antipodes had a sun and moon different from ours, an astronomical opinion for which he was never molested by ecclesiastical authority.
Boethius, the worthy representative of the natural and the higher philosophy of the sixth century, wrote of the earth as globe-like in form, but small in comparison with the heavens. Isidore of Seville, in the seventh century, "the most learned man of his age," and the encyclopedic Bede, in the eighth, rejected the theory of a flat, discoidal earth and returned to the spherical form of the early Greek astronomers. But again, centuries had to elapse before people could be brought to tolerate views of the world that seemed so directly opposed to the daily testimony of their senses.
The strong, conclusive arguments which alone establish this theory on a firm basis were, however, not known to Copernicus and could not have been known in an age that preceded the invention of the telescope and in which the astronomer had to be the constructor of his own crude wooden instruments. The wonder is that Copernicus did such excellent observational work on the banks of the Vistula with the rough appliances at his disposal. The arguments which he put forward and urged with consummate skill for the acceptance of his revolutionary theory were its general simplicity and probability. Of proofs clear and decisive, he gave none; yet, while he was working on his epoch-making treatise, begun in 1507 and published in 1543 with dedication to Pope Paul III., a direct proof of the earth's spherical form was given by the return (1528) from the Philippines along an eastern route of