When
it was published in the 1960's, Robert Burnham, Jr.'s
Celestial Handbook became
the observing Bible of this teenage newcomer to astronomy. I
vividly remember unwrapping the package from Sky Publishing and
reading this lengthy passage from the Introduction called
“Amateur Astronomy – A Personal View” to my
mother, so much did it impress me (and mystify
her):
If astronomy is the oldest of the sciences, then
surely amateur astronomy may rightfully claim to be the oldest of
the scientific hobbies. No one can date that remote epoch when
astronomy “began” – we can say only that the
fascination of the heavens is as old as man’s ability to
think; as ancient as his capacity to wonder and to dream. And in
company with most of the special enchantments of human life, the
unique appeal of astronomy is incommunicable, easily understood
through direct experience, but not to be precisely defined or
explained. Nor should any explanation be thought necessary. The
appeal of astronomy is both intellectual and aesthetic; it combines
the thrill of exploration and discovery, the fun of sight-seeing,
and the sheer pleasure of firsthand acquaintance with incredibly
wonderful and beautiful things. But it also offers the privilege,
not to be taken lightly, of adding something to the knowledge and
understanding of man.
There is one other factor which I think deserves comment. An
amateur, in the true and original meaning of the word, is one who
pursues a study or interest for sheer love of the subject; and in
this respect the division between professionals and amateurs is
indeed indefinite. We are all impelled by the same wonder and
curiosity, we are all exploring the same Universe, and we all have
the enviable opportunity of contributing something to the store of
human knowledge.
Now I should like to phrase one of these considerations in a
somewhat less conventional manner, at the risk of being accused of
undue whimsicality by the sternly serous minded. Considered as a
collector of rare and precious things, the amateur astronomer has a
great advantage over amateurs in all other fields, who must usually
content themselves with second and third-rate specimens. For
example, only a few of the world’s mineralogists could hope
to own such a specimen as the Hope diamond, and I have yet to meet
the amateur fossil collector who displays a complete tyrannosaurus
skeleton in his cabinet. In contrast, the amateur astronomer has
access at all times to the original objects of his study; the
masterworks of the heavens belong to him as much as to the great
observatories of the world. And there is no privilege like that of
being allowed to stand in the presence of the original.
Yet it sometimes happens, perhaps because of the very real
aesthetic appeal of astronomy and the almost incomprehensible
vastness of the Universe, that the more solidly practical and
duller mentalities tend to see the study as an “escape from
reality” – surely one of the most thoroughly lop-sided
views ever propounded. The knowledge obtained from astronomy has
always been, and will continue to be, of the greatest practical
value. But, this apart, only the most myopic minds could identify
“reality” solely with the doings of man on this planet.
Contemporary civilization, whatever its advantages and
achievements, is characterized by many features which are, to put
it very mildly, disquieting; to turn from this increasingly
artificial and strangely alien world is to escape from
unreality; to return to the timeless world of the mountains,
the sea, the forest and the stars is to return to sanity and
truth.