The Long Space Age
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Table 1.1. Expenditures on U.S. Observatories, 1820–1940
*Base year used for calculations; see endnote 3 to chapter 1.
Sources: See text of chapters 1 and 2 for observatory cost references. PWC-ratio equivalent value and GDP-ratio equivalent value calculations done using measuringworth.com.
A number of the nineteenth-century observatories, such as the Lick Observatory and the Palomar Observatory, were equivalent to major NASA missions, such as the New Horizons mission to Pluto ($670 million), the MESSENGER probe to Mercury ($420 million) or the Mars Exploration Rovers ($850 million).6 The modern equivalent values calculated here should be taken only to indicate the relative order of magnitude of expenditure, given that other appropriate equivalent resource share values can be calculated. For example, rather than scaling the expenditure as a share of the total resources of the U.S. economy, the expenditure can be scaled as a share of the resources of the individuals who undertook the projects. James Lick was the richest man in California, and the Lick Observatory expenditure represented 17.5 percent of his entire estate. The equivalent share of the wealth of the richest man in California in 2015, Larry Ellison, was roughly $9.5 billion, approximately six times higher than the GDP-ratio equivalent share. The order of magnitude calculations are clear: there were well over a dozen astronomical observatories built in America in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries that were of comparable relative economic significance to modern robotic spacecraft. The continuum of this major funding flow in the history of American space exploration has been significantly underappreciated.
Fig. 1.1. Expenditure on U.S. observatories, 1820–1940: GDP-ratio adjusted equivalent value in 2015 U.S. dollars. (Source: Compiled by author from data referenced in text and notes.)
Fig. 1.2. Expenditure on U.S. observatories, 1820–1940: constant prices in 2015 U.S. dollars—PWC-ratio adjusted equivalent value. (Source: Compiled by author from data referenced in text and notes.)
Fig. 1.3. Decadal expenditure on U.S. observatories, 1820s–1920s: GDP-ratio adjusted equivalent value in 2015 U.S. dollars. (Source: Compiled by author from data referenced in text and notes.)
Fig. 1.4. Decadal expenditure on U.S. observatories, 1820s–1920s: constant prices in 2015 U.S. dollars—PWC-ratio adjusted equivalent value. (Source: Compiled by author from data referenced in text and notes.)
Table 1.2. Expenditures on U.S. Observatories, 1820–1940, Summary Statistics
* * *
Total number of observatories and endowments in data set
40
Total PWC-ratio adjusted value of expenditures in 2015 U.S. dollars
$1,568,764,000
Total GDP-ratio adjusted value of expenditures in 2015 U.S. dollars
$9,737,400,000
Percentage of total GDP-ratio equivalent expenditures supplied by government funds
3.4%
Percentage of total GDP-ratio equivalent expenditures supplied by private-sector funds
96.6%
* * *
Source: Table figures compiled by author.
Although the GDP-ratio adjusted values are the most striking, the PWC-ratio adjusted constant values also show that the projects were approaching the technical complexity of modern space missions (see figure 1.2). Over twenty of the observatories were equivalent in these terms to small spacecraft projects ($10 million–$100 million) while three—the Lick, Mount Wilson, and Palomar Observatories—were equivalent to full-scale NASA planetary science missions, like the $224 million NEAR Shoemaker mission to the asteroid 433 Eros.7 Although this comparison relates the most technically complex of the observatories in the study with midclass robotic space exploration missions, there is also almost three-quarters of a century of economic growth and technology development between them. As we would expect in any exploratory process where it becomes increasingly difficult and costly to conduct new exploration as the lower-hanging fruit is progressively picked off, the top flagship projects for the exploration of the heavens become more technically complex over time. This trend continues well into the Space Age: the Apollo program cost some $25 billion in 1969 dollars, equivalent to roughly $205 billion in PWC terms. That the technical complexity of modern space exploration projects is significantly greater than most of the early American observatories is not at all surprising. What is surprising is that a handful of the early observatories are comparable to the technical complexity of modern spacecraft and, perhaps even more importantly, that these complex and expensive projects were almost entirely privately funded.
The dominance and economic significance of the private funding of American projects for the exploration of the heavens in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, as shown in table 1.2, is a significant finding. Although the fact that private funding was an important factor in the development of American astronomy has been shown by Howard Miller, and has been shown more generally for nineteenth-century science and technology projects by Terence Kealey, the full extent of this private funding for American astronomical observatories has been seldom appreciated in the context of space history.8 To put the extent of the private support for astronomy within context, of the thirty-eight observatories listed, only two—the U.S. Naval Observatory and the Observatory of the U.S. Military Academy at West Point—were not privately owned observatories with large optical telescopes. In pursuing personal passions and public monuments, American citizens, through collective subscription campaigns and singular philanthropy, privately funded the increasingly expensive technology required for the continued exploration of the heavens for over a century before NASA or the invention of the liquid-fuel rocket.
In the earliest period of American history, astronomy and the exploration of the heavens were considered a hallmark of intellectual development and a noble endeavor for the colonial elite. John Winthrop Jr., eldest son of the first governor of the Massachusetts Bay Colony, and later governor himself, had an intense personal interest in astronomy, which led him to become the first American member of the Royal Society, to correspond with Sir Isaac Newton, and to import the first telescope to the New World in 1660.9 Colonial interest in astronomy was more pronounced than in any nonagricultural science, due in no small part to the inclination of the Puritan clergy in New England to regard the subject as manifesting the work of God. This would be a recurring theme and play a significant role in motivating the establishment and financing of early American observatories. A collective religious fervor supported a community interest in studying “the heavens,” although scientific astronomical observations were made by individuals in isolation, as a networked scientific community was largely precluded by the difficulties of communication across the American wilderness; in fact, colonists often relied upon English correspondents for news of other colonists.
By the early eighteenth century, a handful of individuals had begun to accumulate significant astronomical resources, and astronomy had become a relatively common theme in American intellectual society. The science was driven forward largely by the passion of a few notable virtuosos, such as James Logan and David Rittenhouse, whose efforts and enthusiasm contributed to the development of Philadelphia as the scientific capital of colonial America. Logan assembled the finest scientific library in the colonies, with books by Copernicus, Galileo, Brahe, Kepler, Huygens, Halley, Flamsteed, Hevelius, and Ptolemy, and three editions of Newton’s Principia at a time when Harvard had none.10 By midcentury a number of major universities had at least a part-time astronomer. Astronomy was a sufficiently prestigious pursuit that it was a common study of college presidents. Yale’s Ezra Stiles and Harvard’s Joseph Willard—who corresponded with Nevil Maskelyne, the Astronomer Royal—were both practicing observers.11 Although the contribution of the colonies to the astronomical literature was limited, a general knowledge of astronomy was a sign of refinement in society and an interest of a number of the early colonial leaders. The June 8, 1774, diary entry of young Philip Vickers Fithian, tutor to the children of Virginia plante
r, government official, and gentleman Colonel Robert Carter (from one of the most famous of the Virginia families), is an excellent example of the fluid, informal way in which an interest in astronomy and the solar system was mixed into the intellectual ferment of the colonial era elite: “The morning pleasant—Mr. Carter rode to the Ucomiko Warehouses to examine in the Shipping some of his Tobacco—We have no Company. The day is very warm—A flaming sultry Sun, a dusty scorched Ground, Mr. Carter returned, the day being smoky introduced, at Coffee, a conversation on Philosophy, on Eclipses; the manner of viewing them; Thence to Telescopes, & the information which they afforded us of the Solar System; Whether the planets be actually inhabited &c.”12
With the observations of the transits of Venus—rare crossings of the planet Venus passing in front of the face of the Sun from Earth’s perspective—the study of the heavens in British North America also began to assume a political context. Their careful observation can enable the derivation of the solar parallax and thereby the distance from the Earth to the Sun and the size of the solar system. Throughout the eighteenth and most of the nineteenth centuries, this measurement was considered to be a “holy grail” of science, holding out the prospect of great prestige for any nation or individual associated with its accurate attainment. The transits thus became major events in international politics as well as in science. For the 1761 transit, for instance, the czarina of Russia, the kings of France and England, and the directors of the East India Company all sent expeditions to observe the transit. Eager to show willingness and ability to participate in the same grand endeavors as the Old World, the Province of Massachusetts Bay outfitted a sizable expedition to St. John’s, Newfoundland, where Harvard Professor John Winthrop and his assistants set up a small observation camp.13 Winthrop’s observations were the only American input incorporated into the 1761 transit calculations and generated little international or even American colonial interest. The American observation of the 1769 transit would be another matter, however, as it would provide extensive sighting opportunities from within the borders of the American colonies.
For the 1769 transit, the American Philosophical Society, with a telescope from the Penn family and financial support of around £200 from the Pennsylvania Provincial Assembly, organized observers in Philadelphia and Norriton, Pennsylvania, as well as in Cape Henlopen, Delaware.14 Separate observations were arranged in the colonies of Rhode Island, Massachusetts Bay, and New Jersey and in Canada.15 The results of the observations were widely regarded as the highlight of the first issue of the Transactions of the American Philosophical Society. The quantity and quality of the American observations impressed many in Europe, and they were interpreted as a signal of a “new stage of maturity in the development of America.”16 On the whole, the effort was deemed a significant symbol of national accomplishment and pride and when the Declaration of Independence was first read publicly on July 8, 1776, to the mass of people assembled in State House Square of Philadelphia, it was from the platform of the temporary observatory built for the transit.
In the wake of the American Revolution, the desire to signal a robust and independent national presence was intensified in all areas, including astronomy. In 1781, the same year that the British Army surrendered at Yorktown, the Pennsylvania legislature provided a grant to establish the first American observatory of any permanence, that of David Rittenhouse in Philadelphia, which remained in some form of operation until 1810.17 Rittenhouse was the most accomplished colonial astronomer, contributing significantly to the 1769 transit of Venus observations and constructing a highly accomplished orrery—a mechanical model of the solar system. Rittenhouse’s orrery was the most exact and precise of his day, and it made him a cultural hero to the educated men of the Revolution. In 1771, the Pennsylvania Assembly granted him £300 for the achievement, and the presidents of the College of New Jersey and the College of Philadelphia paid £300 pounds each for copies of the device.18 For comparison, Harvard College had paid £92 10s 6d for an orrery from the famed London instrument maker Benjamin Martin in 1767.19 The Pennsylvania Assembly offered Rittenhouse an additional £400 for a copy intended for public use. In response to critics of the newly independent America, Thomas Jefferson put forth the self-taught Rittenhouse (along with George Washington and Benjamin Franklin) as one of the three great intellects who signaled the young nation’s coming of age: “We have supposed Mr. Rittenhouse second to no astronomer living; that in genius he must be the first, because he is self taught. As an artist he has exhibited as great a proof of mechanical genius as the world has ever produced. He has not indeed made a world; but he has by imitation approached nearer its Maker than any man who has lived from the creation to this day.”20 Rittenhouse was even nominated for a newly envisioned position, the “Astronomer to the State of Pennsylvania,” with a salary of £500, more than twice the salary received by William Herschel, the discoverer of the planet Uranus, from King George III.21 Although the position was never actually established by the assembly, it shows the regard that some felt was owed to Rittenhouse for the work he had rendered in the service of science and, thereby, in the service of the new nation’s standing in the world. The assembly did eventually grant Rittenhouse £250 in 1781 for the construction of an observatory of his own in Philadelphia.22 As with the transit of Venus observations, the achievements of David Rittenhouse are early and important examples of the importance placed by men of influence in colonial America on projects of astronomy as signals of national accomplishment.
Consistent with this sentiment, there were repeated attempts to establish a more permanent American observatory in the early nineteenth century. In Washington, Ferdinand Rudolph Hassler, director of the U.S. Coastal Survey, proposed an observatory to assist with the tasks associated with a surveying project launched in 1807. William Lambert, congressional clerk and scribe of the Bill of Rights, presented a memorial to Congress in 1809 advocating for an observatory to establish an independent Washington meridian for the development of a national standard of longitude—a proposal that received the support of a congressional committee and Secretary of State James Monroe but for which no funds were ultimately appropriated.23 Similarly unsuccessful was the American Philosophical Society’s appeal to the Pennsylvania General Assembly for funds to convert an abandoned pumping station into an observatory in 1817.24 In 1820, Thomas Jefferson planned to create a large observatory at the University of Virginia, which he estimated would cost $10,000–$12,000 ($6.9 million–$8.3 million in PWC-ratio terms; $254 million–$305 million in GDP-ratio terms), roughly 6–7.5 percent of the estimated cost of the entire university, as well as a planetarium for the university’s rotunda dome.25 He only managed, however, to construct a rudimentary building for observations, one that was never used and later fell into ruin. Harvard attempted to organize an observatory initiative no less than five times, in 1805, 1816, 1822, 1823, and 1825, but the public subscription efforts failed to raise a sufficient sum.26 Harvard’s attempts, however, drew support and a pledge of $1,000 of personal funds from the man who would become the first great advocate for U.S. astronomy and, I would argue, for the American exploration of space: the sixth American president, John Quincy Adams.
John Quincy Adams was an intellectual and worldly president. His early years had been spent largely in Europe, where his father John Adams, the second U.S. president and leading orator of American independence, had served as American envoy to France, the Netherlands, and Great Britain. John Quincy Adams’s astronomical interest may well have been kindled during his studies at Leiden University, a renowned institute of science with a venerable university observatory dating back to 1633. He arrived in the presidency conscious of European astronomical achievements and with a determination to ensure that the new American nation would be able to match them. As secretary of state he had been a strong advocate of “continentalism,” the belief that the United States had a destiny to occupy the North American continent. He had supported expansionist advances and was also the author o
f the 1823 Monroe Doctrine, which put a shot across the bows of any additional European colonial ambitions in the Americas. He carried this spirit of competitive American patriotism into his advocacy for astronomical endeavor. In his first annual message as president in 1825, he urged the establishment of an American astronomical observatory in connection with a proposed national university and, in doing so, evoked themes of national boosterism and technological competition, which were echoed in the space race nearly 150 years later:
Connected with the establishment of a university, or separate from it, might be undertaken the erection of an astronomical observatory, with provision for the support of an astronomer, to be in constant attendance of observation upon the phenomena of the heavens; and for the periodical publication of his observations. It is with no feeling of pride, as an American, that the remark may be made that, on the comparatively small territorial surface of Europe, there are existing upward of one hundred and thirty of these light-houses of the skies; while throughout the whole American hemisphere there is not one. If we reflect a moment upon the discoveries which, in the last four centuries, have been made in the physical constitution of the universe by the means of these buildings, and of observers stationed in them, shall we doubt of their usefulness to every nation? And while scarcely a year passes over our heads without bringing some new astronomical discovery to light, which we must fain receive at second-hand from Europe, are we not cutting ourselves off from the means of returning light for light, while we have neither observatory nor observer upon our half of the globe, and the earth revolves in perpetual darkness to our unsearching eyes?27