Cosmic Winter Ch. 8 Extended Summary

Summary by Lee Vaughn - Myth Of Ends

Felony Compounded

For over thirteen hundred years, almost no progress was made in astronomy. After Ptolemy, new ideas vanished. The Academy at Athens was closed, and Alexandria—once a center of learning—was slowly drained of life by religious control. Its Great Library, filled with irreplaceable knowledge, was eventually burned—either by Christian fanatics or Arab conquerors. Whatever the cause, the grand vision of uniting physics and astronomy became a distant dream. In the centuries that followed, curiosity was discouraged. “Let us have faith and ask nothing more,” became the message. But eventually, that silence began to lift.

Greek science didn’t disappear entirely. It was preserved by Islamic scholars and eventually made its way back into Europe through the Arab-controlled regions of Spain and Sicily. Slowly, parts of the old astronomical knowledge were reconstructed. The medieval Church, ironically, helped revive intellectual study by building new institutions. By the mid-1200s, thinkers like Thomas Aquinas were merging Aristotle’s worldview with Christian doctrine. This created a new orthodoxy—one that made it difficult to challenge Aristotle without challenging the Church itself.

Still, doubts crept in. Some scholars began to question Aristotle’s view of a universe with Earth at its center. In the 15th century, Cardinal Nicholas of Cusa challenged the idea that space had a boundary. If there was no outer edge, then how could there be a center? Why not place the Sun at the center instead of Earth?

These questions remained unresolved until Nicolaus Copernicus (1473–1543) proposed that the Sun, not Earth, belonged in the center. But the Church wasn’t ready to hear it. A man named Osiander added an unsigned preface to Copernicus’s book, claiming the new model was just a mathematical trick, not the actual truth. This let the Church sidestep the issue for a while. When the idea resurfaced, Giordano Bruno was burned at the stake in 1600, and Galileo was placed under house arrest in 1633. Still, the simplicity of Copernicus’s model slowly began to outshine the old complexity.

The real shift came in the sky. In 1572, a bright new star—now known as a supernova—appeared. This broke Aristotle’s claim that the heavens were perfect and unchanging. Then in 1577, a large comet appeared. Tycho Brahe tracked it closely and proved that it passed beyond the Moon, destroying the notion that comets were atmospheric events. Some still saw it as a divine sign, but others began to take a more rational approach. Kepler believed comets moved in straight lines across space. Galileo, less convincingly, called them optical illusions.

Later, Isaac Newton (1642–1726) took up the question. He supported Kepler’s view—not because he was clinging to old ideas, but because it helped protect his system. Newton saw the Solar System as a precise machine, built by God to function in perfect order. The idea that comets might crash into planets posed a threat to that vision.

In 1680, another bright comet appeared. John Flamsteed, the Astronomer Royal at Greenwich, tracked its orbit carefully. He found it followed a curved path—a parabola—that entered the planetary system. Newton at first refused to believe it. Only later did he accept that cometary motion could also follow the law of gravity. Still, Newton reinterpreted their purpose. Instead of seeing comets as threats, he said they were providential—delivering fresh material to planets and helping to sustain life. It was a subtle but powerful shift in how people thought about cosmic danger.

By this time, many scholars were openly debating whether comets could trigger disasters on Earth. Some believed that a close comet could have shifted Earth’s axis in the past. They wondered whether stories like the myth of Phaethon or the floods of Ogyges and Deucalion were caused by cosmic events. Roman historians even claimed that the plagues of Egypt were tied to a comet’s arrival. Scholars asked whether the floods described in the Bible and in Greek myths were actually one and the same event.

This sparked a new interest in catastrophe-based history. People started wondering if comet appearances could be used like a celestial calendar—marking historical turning points such as the times of Abraham, Moses, or Christ.

Then came another turning point. In 1682, a comet appeared that caught the attention of Edmund Halley. He realized it had also been seen in 1531 and 1607. This meant it was returning on a cycle. A celestial clock had been found. Though it wouldn’t officially be named after Halley until its return in 1758, the discovery was groundbreaking. He also tried to estimate the period of the 1680 comet. He guessed 575 years—incorrect, but influential.

William Whiston, Newton’s successor at Cambridge, used Halley’s estimate to trace earlier sightings. He claimed the comet returned at Caesar’s death in 44 BC and again during Noah’s flood in 2342 BC. Whiston published a book dedicated to Newton, claiming comets and Biblical catastrophes were linked. For the first time, science and scripture seemed to be telling the same story. The idea that comets triggered historical disasters gained traction—and so did the notion that Judgment Day might be near.

But Whiston didn’t stop there. He began reading the Bible more literally and challenged Christ’s divinity. To him, Jesus was a prophet, not a god. This angered many of his peers, who accused him of reviving the old Arian heresy. The Church moved quickly to distance itself. Newton, uncomfortable with the direction things were heading, tried to calm the narrative. He said comets had positive roles—delivering needed materials to planets, helping life thrive.

Whiston was branded a fearmonger and eventually dismissed from his post. The message was clear: Earth was not to be seen as fragile or threatened.

Despite the growing evidence that comets could play a destructive role, the official story returned to one of stability and divine order. Newton’s system—where the universe ran like a clock and comets were helpful visitors—became dominant. But the threat in the sky had not disappeared. It had only been rebranded.

Even though Newton never publicly emphasized it, there’s strong evidence he understood that comets could be catastrophic. They didn’t fit neatly into his vision of a balanced, clockwork universe, so he avoided the subject in public. Whether that was an intentional cover-up is unclear. But many scientists after Newton, especially in England, began to promote the idea that comets were harmless. Now that comets were shown to follow mechanical laws, they could no longer be seen as divine warnings or threats from heaven.

When Halley’s Comet returned as predicted, it confirmed Newton’s gravitational theory. A few years later, another comet—Lexell’s—passed close to Earth without affecting its orbit. This gave more confidence that comets were small and posed no real danger. By the end of the 1700s, Newton’s public view had become widely accepted. William Herschel, the king’s astronomer, went further. He believed comets were interstellar travelers moving through space on purpose, stopping by the Sun to refuel and perhaps even to replenish life on planets. Newton’s theory had evolved into a grand, stable view of the universe—one of order, balance, and safety.

But not everything supported this comforting picture. At the start of the 1800s, scientists began discovering meteorites and asteroids. These raised the possibility that space wasn’t as peaceful as once thought. Then came Comet Biela, which broke apart. In its wake, two dramatic meteor showers occurred—in 1832 and again in 1833. The 1833 event was seen across North America and caused widespread fear. Many thought Judgment Day had come. At the same time, catastrophist ideas returned—especially among members of the French Academy, who took these signs seriously.

Still, the revival didn’t last. The meteorites that fell were small. And the asteroids appeared confined to a belt between Mars and Jupiter. That made them seem less threatening. Scientists also realized that comets in short orbits quickly broke down into dust due to the Sun’s heat. These dust trails, entering Earth’s atmosphere, created shooting stars. Nature, it seemed, had a way of neutralizing comets. They no longer looked dangerous. By the mid-1800s, the thinking shifted again: comets probably weren’t visitors from other star systems, as Herschel once thought. They had likely always been part of our own Solar System.

This made the universe feel cozy again. The Sun stood strong at the center, the Earth orbited safely, and from time to time the sky put on a beautiful light show. By the middle of the 19th century, Newton’s theory seemed fully confirmed. Comets were no longer omens or threats—they were harmless. The old fear of celestial destruction had vanished. The Newtonian view of a stable, benevolent universe had triumphed.

In less than a hundred years after the Enlightenment began, scientists felt they had solved the puzzle of nature. Simple mathematical laws—especially motion and gravity—seemed to explain everything. For the first time in history, people believed they understood how the universe worked. There were some technical issues, like the mystery of how light and gravity traveled through space (the “mechanical aether”), but most assumed these were small problems that time and patience would eventually solve.

Looking back today, we know this confidence was premature. Modern physics would later show that nature had many more surprises in store. But in the 1800s, confidence was high. The same calm extended to astronomy. Because comets had been redefined as predictable and harmless, the cosmos no longer felt dangerous. Gravity, once a mysterious force, now seemed like a gentle presence connecting everything. Comets no longer carried threats. Earth, it seemed, lived untouched in a universe that watched but never interfered.

This idea had a much deeper impact than most people today realize. For the first time, people felt genuinely secure in relation to the heavens. The new cosmos—ruled by Newton’s laws—felt like a victory for a peaceful Christian worldview. It replaced earlier, more violent traditions that imagined God hurling fire from the sky or punishing civilizations through floods and plagues.

There’s something revealing in the parallel between this worldview and the rise of the British Empire. Like ancient Greece at its peak, Victorian England saw itself as the center of a calm, ordered world. There was inequality, political unrest, and social struggle—but the larger view was one of control. The universe itself seemed to mirror that idea. Earth spun peacefully, untouched by chaos. The heavens were not a battlefield—they were a backdrop.

This sense of control encouraged scientists and historians to focus only on human factors. Just as the cosmos was seen as non-interventionist, history was now viewed as something shaped solely by people. This idea had existed before—Thucydides, the ancient historian, had focused on human causes too—but now it became standard. Scholars split into two camps: those who studied the physical world and those who studied human affairs. The separation seemed natural. After all, hadn’t Newton shown that the universe didn’t interfere?

But this division between “two cultures” created problems. It weakened education. It shaped economic thinking. And worst of all, it caused people to stop thinking about real threats from space. Once the heavens were seen as irrelevant to life on Earth, the idea of cosmic hazards was quietly erased from public awareness.

Of course, this is a simplification. But the general point still stands: losing a cosmic perspective left us vulnerable. Our view of history grew narrow and arrogant. Western civilization began to believe it was above nature—beyond the reach of the sky. We became confident, maybe too confident, that we controlled our destiny.

This overconfidence still affects us. Newton’s thinking has left deep roots in every branch of learning. Today, many scientists—and religious thinkers—wrongly believe that debates about catastrophes in Earth’s past were settled in the 1800s by geologists and Darwinian theorists. In truth, the foundation for this uniform, gradual view of history came from astronomy. Once astronomers accepted the idea that comets were harmless, it became easier for Earth scientists to argue that slow, steady processes could explain everything—from fossils to mountain formation.

For over a thousand years after Ptolemy, astronomy saw little progress. The Academy in Athens had closed, and the once-great center at Alexandria was overwhelmed by ideology. Its famed library was destroyed—whether by Christian zealots or Arab invaders remains debated. Any effort to unify physics with astronomy had faded. During this long period, Christian doctrine discouraged curiosity and research. People were taught to have faith alone and not question the heavens.

Eventually, though, remnants of Greek knowledge made their way to Europe, mostly through the Arab scholars of Spain and Sicily. These ideas helped spark a slow revival of learning, often under the protection of the medieval Church. By the 1200s, thinkers like Thomas Aquinas began merging Aristotle’s philosophy with Christian theology. This made it even harder for anyone to break from Aristotelian and Ptolemaic systems in future centuries.

Still, not everyone accepted the old ideas without question. One troubling point in Aristotle’s model was the Earth's place at the center of the universe. In the 1400s, the German cardinal Nicolas of Cusa challenged the idea that space had a boundary or center at all. If there was no clear center, why assume Earth stood still?

These questions set the stage for Copernicus (1473–1543), who suggested that the Sun, not the Earth, belonged at the center of the universe. However, Church authorities resisted this idea. One publisher even added an unsigned disclaimer to Copernicus’ work, claiming it was just a mathematical tool—not the truth. The Roman and Protestant churches suppressed the idea. Bruno was burned at the stake, and Galileo was put under house arrest. Yet within a century, the simplicity of Copernicus' model began to win people over.

Danish astronomer Tycho Brahe helped turn the tide. In 1572, a supernova appeared in the sky, challenging Aristotle’s belief in a perfect, unchanging heaven. Then, in 1577, a bright comet arrived. Brahe’s precise observations showed the comet passed beyond the Moon, proving it was not a mere atmospheric event. While some still viewed it as a divine warning, others began seeing comets in more scientific terms. Kepler believed they moved in straight paths, while Galileo wrongly dismissed them as optical illusions.

Isaac Newton later accepted Kepler’s model. He believed the universe was a divine machine, running like clockwork. Comets, to Newton, posed a threat to that system. In 1680, a new comet’s curved path was tracked by John Flamsteed at Greenwich. At first, Newton rejected the data, but he eventually accepted that comets followed gravitational laws. He even came to see them as beneficial—perhaps delivering needed materials to the planets. Newton reframed comets not as disasters, but as divine instruments for sustaining creation.

By this point, many in Europe began to believe that comet impacts had shaped history. Some speculated that a comet had tilted Earth’s axis in the past, or that biblical events like the plagues of Egypt or Noah’s flood were linked to celestial bodies. Roman historians connected a comet called Typhon with the flood of Ogyges. Some even thought comet cycles could act as a “clock” marking important ages—such as those of Abraham, Moses, or Christ.

In 1682, another comet appeared. Edmond Halley realized it had the same path as comets seen in 1531 and 1607. He predicted its return in 1758—correctly—and the comet was later named after him. Halley also studied the 1680 comet and calculated a return period of 575 years, though this turned out to be incorrect. William Whiston, Newton’s successor at Cambridge, used this estimate to link the comet to Caesar’s death in 44 BC and Noah’s flood in 2342 BC. His book was widely celebrated. For a moment, science and scripture seemed to align, and some even thought Judgment Day might be near.

Whiston, however, went further. He reinterpreted the Bible and downplayed Christ’s divinity. His views were seen as a return to Arian heresy, and the Church quickly distanced itself. Newton, meanwhile, emphasized that comets were meant to bring renewal, not destruction. Whiston was soon dismissed. The message was clear: Earth was to be seen as safe and untouched.

Newton likely understood the risks posed by comets, but they didn’t fit into his model of a stable universe. He never discussed them publicly. After Newton, most astronomers also treated comets as harmless. When Halley’s comet returned on schedule, and when Lexell’s comet passed Earth without incident, people felt reassured. Comets, it seemed, were too small to be dangerous. William Herschel even suggested they served a purpose: weaving between stars to refuel the Sun and planets. By the early 1800s, Newton’s cosmic model seemed complete.

Still, there were warning signs. Meteorites and asteroids began to be discovered. Comet Biela broke apart, and huge meteor showers occurred in 1832 and 1833. The one in 1833 frightened North Americans, many of whom thought Judgment Day had arrived. Catastrophist theories briefly returned, especially in France.

But the fear faded. Meteorites were small, and asteroids seemed to stay in a belt between Mars and Jupiter. By the mid-1800s, scientists believed comets simply broke down into dust and became shooting stars. The sky seemed friendly again. Earth, guided by Newton’s laws, felt like a protected world orbiting the Sun in peace.

This calm view matched the optimism of the Victorian era. Gravity seemed to explain all forces. Some scientists struggled with how light and gravity traveled, but most believed they would soon solve it. Confidence in science was at an all-time high. Astronomers thought the universe was safe, and biologists and historians felt free to study Earth without worrying about cosmic threats.

This led to a division of knowledge. Physical scientists studied nature, while historians and sociologists focused only on human affairs. Both believed Earth was isolated from space. This belief has shaped education and culture ever since. Unfortunately, it also hid the truth: space is not as quiet as we thought.

Catastrophism lost status in science after Darwin and Lyell. While early thinkers like Buckland and Cuvier had explored it, their ideas were replaced by gradualist theories of evolution and geology. Later, in 1823, German linguist Radlof proposed that a planet between Mars and Jupiter exploded, sending fragments like Venus and Phaethon crashing into Earth. He tied this to myths of Typhon and celestial battles.

In 1883, Ignatius Donnelly published Ragnarok, arguing that a comet struck Earth, leaving behind massive gravel fields. Velikovsky’s 1950 book Worlds in Collision repeated some of these ideas—claiming Venus once passed near Earth and disrupted its axis. But scientists rejected him harshly. They ignored his historical sources and mocked his astronomy.

Over time, the belief in comet impacts was buried. Ancient civilizations once feared the sky. Myths told of gods, destruction, and floods. But as those gods faded and science advanced, comets lost their power—first as omens, then even as real threats.

Now, in the space age, we’ve started to see the truth again. Craters on planets and moons show a violent past. Many asteroids are actually dead comets. And some do cross Earth’s path. These swarms may cause sudden cooling events—so-called “cosmic winters.” There may have been two in the past 5,000 years. Another may come. But because we have not yet detected the object, we’re not looking. And like lemmings, we wait.

Continue to Chapter 9 Short Summary or Ch. 9 Extended Summary?