Chapter VII: The Universal Medicine and the Elixir of Life (1)

Love of life is a characteristic of all animals, man included, and notwithstanding the fact that an occasional individual becomes so dissatisfied with his environment that he commits suicide, and also in the face of the poet's assertion that

"protracted life is but protracted woe"

most men and women are of the same way of thinking as Charmian, the attendant on Cleopatra, and "love long life better than figs." And the force of this general feeling is appealed to in the only one of the Mosaic commandments to which a promise is attached, the inducement for honoring father and mother being "that thy days may be long in the land that the Lord thy God giveth thee."

No wonder then that the old alchemists dreamed of a universal medicine that would not only prevent or cure sickness but that would renew the youth of the aged and the feeble, for in this, as in most other attempts at discovery, the wish was father to the thought. That the renewal of youth in the aged was supposed to be within the ability of the magicians and gods of old, we gather from the stories of Medea and Aeson and the ivory shoulder of Pelops, as referred to in Shakespeare, and explained in the "Shakespeare Cyclopedia."

Of the form of this supposed elixir we know very little for the language of the alchemists was so vague and mystical that it is often very difficult to ascertain their meaning with any approach to certainty. The following, which is a fair sample of their metaphorical modes of expressing themselves, is found in the works of Geber. In one of his writings, he exclaims: "Bring me the six lepers that I may cleanse them." Modern commentators explain this as being his mode of telling his readers that he would convert into gold the six inferior or, as they were called by the alchemists, the six imperfect metals. No wonder that Dr. Johnson adopted the idea that the word _gibberish_ (anciently written _geberish_) owed its origin to an epithet applied to the language of Geber and his tribe.

Some have claimed that the elixir and the philosopher's stone were one and the same thing, and some of the writings of the old alchemists would seem to confirm this view. Thus, at the close of a formula for preparing the philosopher's stone, Carolus Musitanus gives the following admonition:

"Thus friend, you have a description of the universal medicine, not
only for curing diseases and prolonging life, but also for
transmuting all metals into gold. Give therefore thanks to Almighty
God, who, taking pity on human calamities, has at last revealed this
inestimable treasure, and made it known for the benefit of all."

And Brande tells us that "nearly all the alchemists attributed the power of prolonging life either to the philosopher's stone or to certain preparations of gold, imagining possibly that the permanence of that metal might be transferred to the human system. The celebrated Descartes is said to have supported such opinions; he told Sir Kenelm Digby that although he would not venture to promise immortality, he was certain that life might be lengthened to the period of that of the Patriarchs. His plan, however, seems to have been the very rational one of limiting all excess of diet and enjoining punctual and frugal meals."

It is an old saying that history repeats itself. About forty years ago certain medical practitioners strongly urged the use of salts of gold in the treatment of disease, and great hopes were entertained in regard to their efficacy. And the Keeley gold cure for drunkards is strongly in evidence, even at the present day.

On the other hand, some have held that the elixir was quite distinct from the stone by which metals might be transmuted into gold. In the second part of "King Henry IV," Falstaff (Act III, Scene 2, line 355), says of Shallow: "it shall go hard but I will make him a philosopher's two stones to me," and this saying of his has given considerable trouble to the commentators.

Warburton's explanation of this expression is, that "there was two stones, one of which was a universal medicine and the other a transmuter of base metals into gold." And in Churchyard's "Discourse and Commendation of those that can make Gold," we read of Remundus, who

Wrate sundry workes, as well doth yet appeare
Of stone for gold, and shewed plaine and cleare
A stone for health.

Johnson and some others have objected to this explanation, but it seems to be evident that Falstaff meant that he would get health and wealth from Shallow. He got the wealth to the extent of a thousand pounds.

The intense desire which exists in the human bosom for an elixir that will cure all diseases, and prolong life has made itself evident, even in recent times, and has called forth serious efforts on the part of men occupying prominent positions in the scientific world. Both in Europe and in this country suggestions have been made of fluids which, when injected into the veins of the old and the feeble, would renew youth and impart fresh strength. But alas! the results thus far attained have been anything but gratifying, and the probabilities against success in this direction are very strong.

The latest gleam of light comes from discoveries in connection with the radioactive elements, as the reader will find, on referring to Sir William Ramsay's utterance, which is given at the close of the article on the "Transmutation of the Metals," on a preceding page.

ADDITIONAL "FOLLIES"

In addition to the seven "Follies," of which an account has been given in the preceding pages, there are a few which deserve to be classed with them, although they do not find a place in the usual lists. These are known as

PERPETUAL LAMPS.
THE ALKAHEST OR UNIVERSAL SOLVENT.
PALINGENESY.
THE POWDER OF SYMPATHY.

PERPETUAL OR EVER-BURNING LAMPS

Part of the sepulchral rites of the ancients consisted in placing lighted lamps in the tombs or vaults in which the dead were laid, and, in many cases, these lamps were carefully tended and kept continually burning. Some authors have claimed, however, that these men of old were able to construct lamps which burned perpetually and required no attention. In number 379 of the "Spectator" there is an anecdote of some one having opened the sepulcher of the famous Rosicrucius. There he discovered a lamp burning which a statue of clock-work struck into pieces. Hence, says the writer, the disciples of this visionary claimed that he had made use of this method to show that he had re-invented the ever-burning lamps of the ancients. And Fortunio Liceti wrote a book in which he collected a large number of stories about lamps, said to have been found burning in tombs or vaults. Ozanam fills eight closely printed pages with a discussion of the subject.

Attempts have been made to explain many of the facts upon which is based the claim that the ancients were able to construct perpetual lamps by the suggestion that the light sometimes seen on the opening of ancient tombs may have been due to the phosphorescence which is well known to arise during the decomposition of animal and vegetable matter. Decaying wood and dead fish are familiar objects which give out a light that is sufficient to render dimly visible the outlines of surrounding objects, and such a light, seen in the vicinity of an old lamp, might give rise to the impression that the lamp had been actually burning and that it had been blown out by sudden exposure to a draft of air.

Another supposition was that the flame, which was supposed to have been seen, may have been caused by the ignition of gases arising from the decomposition of dead bodies, and set on fire by the flambeaux or candles of the investigators, and it is quite possible that the occurrence of each of these phenomena may have given a certain degree of confirmation to preconceived ideas.

After the discovery of phosphorus in 1669, by Brandt and Kunckel, it was employed in the construction of luminous phials which could be carried in the pocket, and which gave out sufficient light to enable the user to see the hands of a watch on a dark night. Directions for making these luminous phials are very simple, and may be found in most of the books of experiments published prior to the introduction of the modern lucifer match. They were also used for obtaining a light by means of the old matches, which were tipped merely with a little sulphur, and which could not be ignited by friction. Such a match, after being dipped into one of these phosphorus bottles, would readily take fire by slight friction, and some persons preferred this contrivance to the old flint and steel, partly, no doubt, because it was a novelty. But these bottles were not in any sense perpetual, the light being due to the slow oxidation of the phosphorus so that, in a comparatively short time, the luminosity of the materials ceased. Nevertheless, it has been suggested that some form of these old luminous phials may have been the original perpetual lamp.

After the discovery of the phosphorescent qualities of barium sulphate or Bolognian phosphorus, as it was called, it was thought that this might be a re-discovery of the long-lost art of making perpetual lamps. But it is well known that this substance loses its phosphorescent power after being kept in the dark for some time, and that occasional exposure to bright sun-light is one of the conditions absolutely essential to its giving out any light at all. This condition does not exist in a dark tomb.

A few years ago phosphorescent salts of barium and calcium were employed in the manufacture of what was known as luminous paint. These materials shine in the dark with brilliancy sufficient to enable the observer to read words and numbers traced with them, but regular exposure to the rays of the sun or some other bright light is absolutely necessary to enable them to maintain their efficiency.

More recently it has been suggested that the ancients may have been acquainted with some form of radioactive matter like radium, and that this was the secret of the lamps in question. It is far more likely, however, that the reports of their perpetual lamps were based upon mere errors of observation.

The perpetual lamp is, in chemistry, the counterpart of perpetual motion in mechanics--both violate the fundamental principle of the conservation of energy. And just as suggestions of impossible movements have been numerous in the case of perpetual motion, so impossible devices and constructions have been suggested in regard to perpetual lamps. Prior to the development, or even the suggestion of the law of the conservation of energy, it was believed that it might be possible to find a liquid which would burn without being consumed, and a wick which would feed the liquid to the flame without being itself destroyed. Dr. Plott suggested naphtha for the fluid and asbestos for the wick, but since kerosene oil, naphtha, gasolene, and other liquids of the kind have become common, every housewife knows that as her lamp burns, the oil, of whatever kind it may be, disappears.

Under present conditions the construction of a perpetual lamp is not a severely felt want; for constancy and brilliancy our present means of illumination are sufficient for almost all our requirements. Whether or not it would be possible to gather up those natural currents of electricity, which are suspected to flow through and over the earth, and utilize them for purposes of illumination, however feeble, it might be difficult to decide. But such means of perpetual electric lighting would be similar to a perpetual motion derived from a mountain stream. Such natural means of illumination already exist, and have existed for ages in the fire-giving wells of naphtha which are found on the shores of the Caspian sea, and in other parts of the east, and which have long been objects of adoration to the fire-worshippers.

As for the outcome of present researches into the properties of radium, polonium, and similar substances, and their possible applications, it is too early to form even a surmise.

THE ALKAHEST OR UNIVERSAL SOLVENT

The production of a universal solvent or alkahest was one of the special problems of the alchemists in their general search for the philosopher's stone and the means of transmuting the so-called inferior metals into gold and silver. Their idea of the way in which it would aid them to attain these ends does not seem to be very clearly stated in any work that I have consulted; probably they thought that a universal solvent would wash away all impurities from common materials and leave in absolute purity the higher substance, which constituted the gold of the adepts. But whatever their particular object may have been, it is well known that much time and labor were expended in the fruitless search.

The futility of such attempts was very well exposed by the cynical sceptic, who asked them what kind of vessel could they provide for holding such a liquid? If its solvent powers are such that it dissolves everything, it is very evident that it would dissolve the very material of the vessel in which it must be placed.

When hydrofluoric acid became a subject of investigation it was thought that its characteristics approached, more nearly than those of any other substance known, to those of the universal solvent, and the very difficulty above suggested, presented itself strongly to the chemists who experimented with it. Not only common metals but glass and porcelain were acted upon by this wonderfully energetic liquid and when attempts were made to isolate the fluorine, even the platinum electrodes were corroded and destroyed. Vessels of pure silver and of lead served tolerably well, but Davy suggested that the most scientific method of constructing a containing vessel would be to use a compound in which fluorine was already present to the point of saturation. As there is a limit to the amount of fluorine with which any base can combine, such a vessel would be proof against its solvent action. I am not aware, however, that the suggestion was ever carried into actual practice with success.

PALINGENESY

This singular delusion may have been partly due to errors of observation, the instruments and methods of former times having been notably crude and unreliable. This fact, taken in connection with the wild theories upon which the natural sciences of the middle ages were based, is a sufficient explanation of some of the extraordinary statements made by Kircher, Schott, Digby, and others.

By palingenesy these writers meant a certain chemical process by means of which a plant or an animal might be revived from its ashes. In other words a sort of material resurrection. Most of the accounts given by the old authors go no further than to assert that by proper methods the ashes of plants, when treated with water, produce small forests of ferns and pines. Thus, an English chemist, named Coxe, asserts that having extracted and dissolved the essential salts of fern, and then filtered the liquor, he observed, after leaving it at rest for five or six weeks, a vegetation of small ferns adhering to the bottom of the vessel. The same chemist, having mixed northern potash with an equal quantity of sal ammoniac, saw, some time after, a small forest of pines and other trees, with which he was not acquainted, rising from the bottom of the vessel.

And Kircher tells us in his "Ars Magnetica" that he had a long-necked phial, hermetically sealed, containing the ashes of a plant which he could revive at pleasure by means of heat; and that he showed this wonderful phenomenon to Christina, Queen of Sweden, who was highly delighted with it. Unfortunately he left this valuable curiosity one cold day in his window and it was entirely destroyed by the frost. Father Schott also asserts that he saw this chemical wonder which, according to his account, was a rose revived from its ashes. And he adds that a certain prince having requested Kircher to make him one of the same kind, he chose rather to give up his own than to repeat the operation.

Even the celebrated Boyle, though not very favorable to palingenesy, relates that having dissolved in water some verdigris, which, as is well known, is produced by combining copper with the acid of vinegar, and having caused this water to congeal, by means of artificial cold, he observed, at the surface of the ice, small figures which had an exact resemblance to vines.

In this connection it is well to bear in mind that in Boyle's time almost all vinegar was really what its name implies--_sour wine_ (_vin aigre_)--and verdigris or copper acetate was generally prepared by exposing copper plates to the action of refuse grapes which had been allowed to ferment and become sour. Therefore to him it might not have seemed so very improbable that the green crystals which appeared on the surface of the ice were, in reality, minute resuscitated grape-vines.

The explanation of these facts given by Father Kircher is worthy of the science of the times. He tells us that the seminal virtue of each mixture is contained in its salts and these salts, unalterable by their nature, when put in motion by heat, rise in the vessel through the liquor in which they are diffused. Being then at liberty to arrange themselves at pleasure, they place themselves in that order in which they would be placed by the effect of vegetation, or the same as they occupied before the body to which they belonged had been decomposed by the fire; in short, they form a plant, or the phantom of a plant, which has a perfect resemblance to the one destroyed.

That the operators have here mistaken for true vegetable growth the fern-like crystals of the salts which exist in the ashes of all plants is very obvious. Their knowledge of plant structure was exceedingly limited and their microscopes were so imperfect that imagination had free scope. As seen under our modern microscopes, there are few prettier sights than the crystallization of such salts as sal ammoniac, potassic nitrate, barium chloride, etc. The crystals are actually seen to grow and it would not require a very great stretch of the imagination to convince one that the growth is due to a living organism. Indeed, this view has actually been taken in an article which recently appeared in a prominent magazine. The writer of that article sees no difference between the mere aggregation of inorganic particles brought together by voltaic action and the building up of vital structures under the influence of organic forces. This is simply materialism run mad.

Perhaps the finest illustration of such crystallization is to be found in the deposition of silver from a solution of the nitrate as seen under the microscope. A drop of the solution is placed on a glass slide and while the observer watches it through a low power, a piece of copper wire or, preferably, a minute quantity of the amalgam of tin and mercury, such as is used for "silvering" cheap looking glasses, is brought into contact with it. Chemical decomposition at once sets in and then the silver thus deposited forms one element of a very minute voltaic couple and fresh crystals of silver are deposited upon the silver already thrown down. When the illumination of this object under the microscope is properly managed, the appearance, which resembles that shown in Fig. 18, is exceedingly brilliant, and beautiful beyond description.

That imagination played strange pranks in the observations of the older microscopists is shown by some of the engravings found in their books. I have now before me a thick, dumpy quarto in which the so-called seminal animalcules are depicted as little men and women, and I have no doubt that, to the eye of this early observer, they had that appearance. But the microscopists of to-day know better.

Sir Kenelm Digby, whose name is associated with the Sympathetic Powder, tells us that he took the ashes of burnt crabs, dissolved them in water and, after subjecting the whole to a tedious process, small crabs were produced in the liquor. These were nourished with blood from the ox, and, after a time, left to themselves in some stream where they throve and grew large.

Now, although Evelyn, in his diary, declares that "Sir Kenelm was an errant mountebank," it is quite possible that he was honest in his account of his experiments and that he was merely led astray by the imperfection of his instruments of observation. It is more than likely that the creatures which Digby saw were entomostraca introduced in the form of ova which, unless a good microscope be used, are quite invisible. These would develop rapidly and might easily be mistaken for some species of crab, though, when examined with proper instruments, all resemblance vanishes. When let loose in a running stream it would evidently be impossible to trace their identity and follow their growth.

But while some of these stories may have originated in errors of observation this will hardly explain some of the statements made by those who have advocated this strange doctrine. Father Schott, in his "Physica Curiosa," gives an account of the resurrection of a sparrow and actually gives an engraving in which the bird is shown in a bottle revived!

Although the subject, of itself, is not worthy of a moment's consideration, it deserves attention as an illustration of the extraordinary vagaries into which the human mind is liable to fall.

THE POWDER OF SYMPATHY

This curious occult method of curing wounds is indissolubly associated with the name of Sir Kenelm Digby (born 1603, died 1665), though it was undoubtedly in use long before his time. He himself tells us that he learned to make and apply the drug from a Carmelite, who had traveled in the east, and whom he met in Florence, in 1622. The descendants of Digby are still prominent in England, and O. W. Holmes, in his "One Hundred Days in Europe," tells us that he had met a Sir Kenelm Digby, a descendant of the famous Sir Kenelm of the seventeenth century, and that he could hardly refrain from asking him if he had any of his ancestor's famous powder in his pocket.

Digby was a student of chemistry, or at least of the chemistry of those days, and wrote books of Recipes and the making of "Methington [metheglin or mead?] Syder, etc." He was, as we have seen in the previous article, a believer in palingenesy and made experiments with a view to substantiate that strange doctrine. Evelyn calls him an "errant quack," and he may have been given to quackery, but then the loose scientific ideas of those days allowed a wide range in drawing conclusions which, though they seem absurd to us, may have appeared to be quite reasonable to the men of that time.

From his book on the subject,[3] we learn that the wound was never to be brought into contact with the powder. A bandage was to be taken from the wound, immersed in the powder, and kept there until the wound healed.

This beats the absent treatment of Christian Science!

The powder was simply pulverized vitriol, that is, ferric sulphate, or sulphate of iron.

There was another and probably an older method of using sympathetic powders and salves; this was to apply the supposed curative to the weapon which caused the wound, instead of the wound itself. In the "Lay of the Last Minstrel," Scott gives an account of the way in which the Lady of Buccleuch applied this occult surgery to the wound of William of Deloraine:

"She drew the splinter from the wound,
And with a charm she stanched the blood.
She bade the gash be cleansed and bound:
No longer by his couch she stood;
But she has ta'en the broken lance.
And washed it from the clotted gore,
And salved the splinter o'er and o'er.
William of Deloraine, in trance,
Whene'er she turned it round and round
Twisted as if she galled his wound.
Then to her maidens she did say,
That he should be whole man and sound,
Within the course of a night and day.
Full long she toiled, for she did rue
Mishap to friend so stout and true."[4]

That no direct benefit could have been derived from such a mode of treatment must be obvious, but De Morgan very plausibly claims that in the then state of surgical and medical knowledge, it was really the very best that could have been adopted. His argument is as follows: "The sympathetic powder was that which cured by anointing the weapon with its salve instead of the wound. I have been long convinced that it was efficacious. The directions were to keep the wound clean and cool, and to take care of diet, rubbing the salve on the knife or sword. If we remember the dreadful notions upon drugs which prevailed, both as to quantity and quality, we shall readily see that any way of _not_ dressing the wound, would have been useful. If the physicians had taken the hint, had been careful of diet, etc., and had poured the little barrels of medicine down the throat of a practicable doll, _they_ would have had their magical cures as well as the surgeons. Matters are much improved now; the quantity of medicine given, even by orthodox physicians, would have been called infinitesimal by their professional ancestors. Accordingly, the College of Physicians has a right to abandon its motto, which is, _Ars longa, vita brevis_, meaning, _Practice is long, so life is short_."

As set forth by Digby and others, the use of the Powder of Sympathy is free from all taint of witchcraft or magic, but, in another form, it was wholly dependent upon incantations and other magical performances. This idea of sympathetic action was even carried so far as to lead to attempts to destroy or injure those whom the operator disliked. In some cases this was done by moulding an image in wax which, when formed under proper occult influences, was supposed to have the power of transferring to the victim any injuries inflicted on the image. Into such images pins and knives were thrust in the hope that the living original would suffer the same pains and mutilations that would be inflicted if the knives or pins were thrust into him, and sometimes the waxen form was held before the fire and allowed to melt away slowly in the hope that the prototype would also waste away, and ultimately die. Shakespeare alludes to this in the play of King John. In Act v., Scene 4, line 24, Melun says:

"A quantity of life
Which bleeds away, even as a form of wax,
Resolveth from his figure 'gainst the fire?"

And Hollinshed tells us that "it was alleged against Dame Eleanor Cobham and her confederates that they had devised an image of wax, representing the king, which, by their sorcerie, by little and little consumed, intending thereby, in conclusion, to waste and destroy the king's person."

In these cases, however, the operator always depended upon certain occult or demoniacal influences, or, in other words, upon the art of magic, and therefore examples of this kind do not come within the scope of the present volume. In the case of the Powder of Sympathy the results were supposed to be due entirely to natural causes.

FOOTNOTES:

[3] Touching the Cure of Wounds by the Powder of Sympathy. With Instructions how to make the said Powder. Rendered faithfully out of French into English by R. White, Gent. London, 1658.

[4] Canto III. Stanza 23.

A SMALL BUDGET OF PARADOXES, ILLUSIONS, AND MARVELS

THE FOURTH DIMENSION AND THE POSSIBILITY OF A NEW SENSE AND NEW SENSE-ORGAN

This subject has now found its way not only into semi-scientific works but into our general literature and magazines. Even our novel-writers have used suggestions from this hypothesis as part of the machinery of their plots so that it properly finds a place amongst the subjects discussed in this volume.

Various attempts have been made to explain what is meant by "the fourth dimension," but it would seem that thus far the explanations which have been offered are, to most minds, vague and incomprehensible, this latter condition arising from the fact that the ordinary mind is utterly unable to conceive of any such thing as a dimension which cannot be defined in terms of the three with which we are already familiar. And I confess at the start that I labor under the superlative difficulty of not being able to form any conception of a fourth dimension, and for this incapacity my only consolation is, that in this respect I am not alone. I have conversed upon the subject with many able mathematicians and physicists, and in every case I found that they were in the same predicament as myself, and where I have met men who professed to think it easy to form a conception of a fourth dimension, I have found their ideas, not only in regard to the new hypothesis, but to its correlations with generally accepted physical facts, to be nebulous and inaccurate.

It does not follow, however, that because myself and some others cannot form such a clear conception of a fourth dimension as we can of the third, that, therefore, the theory is erroneous and the alleged conditions non-existent. Some minds of great power and acuteness have been incapable of mastering certain branches of science. Thus Diderot, who was associated with d'Alembert, the famous mathematician, in the production of "L'Encyclopedie," and who was not only a man of acknowledged ability, but who, at one time, taught mathematics and wrote upon several mathematical subjects, seems to have been unable to master the elements of algebra. The following anecdote regarding his deficiency in this respect is given by Thiebault and indorsed by Professor De Morgan: At the invitation of the Empress, Catherine II, Diderot paid a visit to the Russian court. He was a brilliant conversationalist and being quite free with his opinions, he gave the younger members of the court circle a good deal of lively atheism. The Empress herself was very much amused, but some of her councillors suggested that it might be desirable to check these expositions of strange doctrines. As Catherine did not like to put a direct muzzle on her guest's tongue, the following plot was contrived. Diderot was informed that a learned mathematician was in possession of an algebraical demonstration of the existence of God and would give it to him before all the court if he desired to hear it. Diderot gladly consented, and although the name of the mathematician is not given, it is well known to have been Euler. He advanced toward Diderot, and said in French, gravely, and in a tone of perfect conviction: "_Monsieur, (a + b^n) / n = x, therefore, God exists; reply!_" Diderot, to whom algebra was Hebrew, was embarrassed and disconcerted, while peals of laughter rose on all sides. He asked permission to return to France at once, which was granted.

Even such a mind as that of Buckle, who was generally acknowledged to be a keen-sighted thinker, could not form any idea of a geometrical line--that is, of a line without breadth or thickness, a conception which has been grasped clearly and accurately by thousands of school-boys. He therefore asserts, positively, that there are no lines without breadth, and comes to the following extraordinary conclusions:

"Since, however, the breadth of the faintest line is so slight as to
be incapable of measurement, except by an instrument under the
microscope, it follows that the assumption that there can be lines
without breadth is so nearly true that our senses, when unassisted
by art, can not detect the error. Formerly, and until the invention
of the micrometer, in the seventeenth century, it was impossible to
detect it at all. Hence, the conclusions of the geometrician
approximate so closely to truth that we are justified in accepting
them as true. The flaw is too minute to be perceived. But that there
is a flaw appears to me certain. It appears certain that, whenever
something is kept back in the premises, something must be wanting in
the conclusion. In all such cases, the field of inquiry has not been
entirely covered; and part of the preliminary facts being
suppressed, it must, I think, be admitted that complete truth be
unattainable, and that no problem in geometry has been exhaustively
solved."[5]

The fallacy which underlies Mr. Buckle's contention is thus clearly exposed by the author of "The Natural History of Hell."

"If it be conceded that lines have breadth, then all we have to do
is to assign some definite breadth to each line--say the
one-thousandth of an inch--and allow for it. But the lines of the
geometer have no breadth. All the micrometers of which Mr. Buckle
speaks depend, either directly or indirectly, upon lines for their
graduations, and the positions of these lines are indicated by
rulings or scratches. Now, in even the finest of these rulings, as,
for example, those of Nobert or Fasoldt, where the ruling or
scratching, together with its accompanying space, amounts to no more
than the one hundred and fifty thousandth part of an inch, the
scratch has a perceptible breadth. But this broad scratch is not the
line recognized by the microscopist, to say nothing of the geometer.
The true line is a line which lies in the very center of this
scratch and it is certain that this central line has absolutely no
breadth at all."[6]

It must be very evident that if Mr. Buckle's contention that geometrical lines have breadth were true, then some of the fundamental axioms of geometry must be false. It could no longer hold true that "the whole is equal to all its parts taken together," for if we divide a square or a circle into two parts by means of a line which has breadth, the two parts cannot be equal to the whole as it formerly was. As a matter of fact, Mr. Buckle's lines are saw-cuts, not geometrical lines. Geometrical points, lines, and surfaces, have no material existence and can have none. An ideal conception and a material existence are two very different things.

A very interesting book[7] has been written on the movements and feelings of the inhabitants of a world of two dimensions. Nevertheless, if we know anything at all, we know that such a world could not have any actual existence and when we attempt to form any mental conception of it and its inhabitants, we are compelled to adopt, to a certain extent, the idea of the third dimension.

But at the same time we must remember that since the ordinary mechanic and the school-boy who has studied geometry, find no difficulty in conceiving of points without magnitude, lines without breadth, and surfaces without thickness--conceptions which seem to have been impossible to Buckle, a man of acknowledged ability--it may be possible that minds constituted slightly differently from that of myself and some others, might, perhaps, be able to form a conception of a fourth dimension.

Leaving out of consideration the speculations of those who have woven this idea into romances and day-dreams we find that the hypothesis of a fourth dimension has been presented by two very different classes of thinkers, and the discussion has been carried on from two very different standpoints.

The first suggestion of this hypothesis seems to have come from Kant and Gauss and to have had a purely metaphysical origin, for, although attempts have been made to trace the idea back to the famous phantoms of Plato, it is evident that the ideas then advanced had nothing in common with the modern theory of the existence of a fourth dimension. The first hint seems to have been a purely mathematical one and did not attract any very general attention. It was, however, seized upon by a certain branch of the transcendentalists, closely allied to the spiritualists, and was exploited by them as a possible explanation of some curious and mysterious phenomena and feats exhibited by certain Indian and European devotees. This may have been done merely for the purpose of mystifying and confounding their adversaries by bringing forward a striking illustration of Hamlet's famous dictum--

"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy."

A very fair statement of this view is thus given by Edward Carpenter:[8]

"There is another idea which modern science has been familiarizing
us with, and which is bringing us towards the same conception--that,
namely, of the fourth dimension. The supposition that the actual
world has four space-dimensions instead of three makes many things
conceivable which otherwise would be incredible. It makes it
conceivable that apparently separate objects, e. g., distinct
people, are really physically united; that things apparently
sundered by enormous distances of space are really quite together;
that a person or other object might pass in and out of a closed room
without disturbance of walls, doors or windows, etc., and if this
fourth dimension were to become a factor of our consciousness it is
obvious that we should have means of knowledge which, to the
ordinary sense, would appear simply miraculous. There is much,
apparently, to suggest that the consciousness attained to by the
Indian gnanis in their degree, and by hypnotic subjects in theirs,
is of this fourth dimensional order.

"As a solid is related to its own surface, so, it would appear, is
the cosmic consciousness related to the ordinary consciousness. The
phases of the personal consciousness are but different facets of the
other consciousness; and experiences which seem remote from each
other in the individual are perhaps all equally near in the
universal. Space itself, as we know it, may be practically
annihilated in the consciousness of a larger space, of which it is
but the superficies; and a person living in London may not unlikely
find that he has a back door opening quite simply and
unceremoniously out in Bombay."

On the other hand, the mathematicians, looking at it as a purely speculative idea, have endeavored to arrive at definite conclusions in regard to what would be the condition of things if the universe really exists in a fourth, or even in some higher dimension. Professor W. W. R. Ball tells us that

"the conception of a world of more than three dimensions is
facilitated by the fact that there is no difficulty in imagining a
world confined to only two dimensions--which we may take for
simplicity to be plane--though equally well it might be a spherical
or other surface. We may picture the inhabitants of flatland as
moving either on the surface of a plane or between two parallel and
adjacent planes. They could move in any direction along the plane,
but they could not move perpendicularly to it, and would have no
consciousness that such a motion was possible. We may suppose them
to have no thickness, in which case they would be mere geometrical
abstractions; or we may think of them as having a small but uniform
thickness, in which case they would be realities."

. . . . .

"If an inhabitant of flatland was able to move in three dimensions,
he would be credited with supernatural powers by those who were
unable so to move; for he could appear or disappear at will; could
(so far as they could tell) create matter or destroy it, and would
be free from so many constraints to which the other inhabitants were
subject that his actions would be inexplicable to them."

. . . . .

"Our conscious life is in three dimensions, and naturally the idea
occurs whether there may not be a fourth dimension. No inhabitant of
flatland could realize what life in three dimensions would mean,
though, if he evolved an analytical geometry applicable to the world
in which he lived, he might be able to extend it so as to obtain
results true of that world in three dimensions which would be to him
unknown and inconceivable. Similarly we cannot realize what life in
four dimensions is like, though we can use analytical geometry to
obtain results true of that world, or even of worlds of higher
dimensions. Moreover, the analogy of our position to the inhabitants
of flatland enables us to form some idea of how inhabitants of
space of four dimensions would regard us."

. . . . .

"If a finite solid was passed slowly through flatland, the
inhabitants would be conscious only of that part of it which was in
their plane. Thus they would see the shape of the object gradually
change and ultimately vanish. In the same way, if a body of four
dimensions was passed through our space, we should be conscious of
it only as a solid body (namely, the section of the body by our
space) whose form and appearance gradually changed and perhaps
ultimately vanished. It has been suggested that the birth, growth,
life, and death of animals, may be explained thus as the passage of
finite four-dimensional bodies through our three-dimensional space."

Attempts have been made to construct drawings and models showing a four-dimensional body. The success of such attempts has not been very encouraging.

Investigators of this class look upon the actuality of a fourth dimension as an unsolved question, but they hold that, provided we could see our way clear to adopt it, it would open up wondrous possibilities in the way of explaining abstruse and hitherto inexplicable physical conditions and phenomena.

There is obviously no limit to such speculations, provided we assume the existence of such conditions as are needed for our purpose. Too often, however, those who indulge in such day-dreams begin by assuming the impossible, and end by imagining the absurd.

We have so little positive knowledge in regard to the ultimate constitution of matter and even in regard to the actual character of the objects around us, which are revealed to us through our senses, that the field in which our imagination may revel is boundless. Perhaps some day the humanity of the present will merge itself into a new race, endowed with new senses, whose revelations are to us, for the present, at least, utterly inconceivable.

The possibility of such a development may be rendered more clear if we imagine the existence of a race devoid of the sense of hearing, and without the organs necessary to that sense. They certainly could form no idea of sound, far less could they enjoy music or oratory, such as afford us so much delight. And, if one or more of our race should visit these people, how very strange to them would appear those curious appendages, called ears, which project from the sides of our heads, and how inexplicable to them would be the movements and expressions of intelligence which we show when we talk or sing? It is certain that no development of the physical or mathematical sciences could give them any idea whatever of the sensations which sound, in its various modifications, imparts to us, and neither can any progress in that direction enable us to acquire any idea of the revelations which a new sense might open up to us. Nevertheless, it seems to me that the development of new senses and new sense organs is not only more likely to be possible, but that it is actually more probable, than any revelation in regard to a fourth dimension.

FOOTNOTES:

[5] "History of Civilization in England." American edition, Vol. II, page 342.

[6] "The Natural History of Hell," by John Phillipson, page 37.

[7] "Flatland," by E. A. Abbott. London, 1884.

[8] "From Adam's Peak to Elephanta--" page 160.

HOW A SPACE MAY BE APPARENTLY ENLARGED BY CHANGING ITS SHAPE

The following is a curious illustration of the errors to which careless observers may be subject:

Draw a square, like Fig. 19, and divide the sides into 8 parts each. Join the points of division in opposite sides so as to divide the whole square into 64 small squares. Then draw the lines shown in black and cut up the drawing into four pieces. The lines indicating the cuts have been made quite heavy so as to show up clearly, but on the actual card they may be made quite light. Now, put the four pieces together, so as to form the rectangle shown in Fig. 20. Unless the scale, to which the drawing is made is quite large and the work very accurate, it will seem that the rectangle contains 5 squares one way and 13 the other which, when multiplied together, give 65 for the number of small squares, being an apparent gain of one square by the simple process of cutting.

This paradox is very apt to puzzle those who are not familiar with accurate drawings. Of course, every person of common sense knows that the card or drawing is not made any larger by cutting it, but where does the 65th small square come from?

On careful examination it will be seen that the line AB, Fig. 20, is not quite straight and the three parts into which it is divided are thus enabled to gain enough to make one of the small squares. On a small scale this deviation from the straight line is not very obvious, but make a larger drawing, and make it carefully, and it will readily be seen how the trick is done.

CAN A MAN LIFT HIMSELF BY THE STRAPS OF HIS BOOTS?

I think it was the elder Stephenson, the famous engineer, who told a man who claimed the honor of having invented a perpetual motion, that when he could lift himself over a fence by taking hold of his waist-band, he might hope to accomplish his object. And the query which serves as a title for this article has long been propounded as one of the physical impossibilities. And yet, perhaps, it might be possible to invent a waist-band or a boot-strap by which this apparently impossible feat might be accomplished!

Travelers in Mexico frequently bring home beans which jump about when laid on a table. They are well-known as "jumping beans" and have often been a puzzle to those who were not familiar with the facts in the case. Each bean contains the larva of a species of beetle and this affords a clue to the secret. But the question at once comes up: "How is the insect able to move, not only itself, but its house as well, without some purchase or direct contact with the table?"

The explanation is simple. The hollow bean is elastic and the insect has strength enough to bend it slightly; when the insect suddenly relaxes its effort and allows the bean to spring back to its former shape, the reaction on the table moves the bean. A man placed in a perfectly rigid box could never move himself by pressing on the sides, but if the box were elastic and could be bent by the strength of the man inside, it might be made to move.

A somewhat analogous result, but depending on different principles, is attained in certain curious boat races which are held at some English regattas and which is explained by Prof. W. W. Rouse Ball, in his "Mathematical Recreations and Problems." He says that it

"affords a somewhat curious illustration of the fact that commonly a
boat is built so as to make the resistance to motion straight
forward less than that to motion in the opposite direction.

"The only thing supplied to the crew is a coil of rope, and they
have (without leaving the boat) to propel it from one point to
another as rapidly as possible. The motion is given by tying one end
of the rope to the afterthwart, and giving the other end a series of
violent jerks in a direction parallel to the keel.

"The effect of each jerk is to compress the boat. Left to itself the
boat tends to resume its original shape, but the resistance to the
motion through the water of the stern is much greater than that of
the bow, hence, on the whole, the motion is forwards. I am told that
in still water a pace of two or three miles an hour can be thus
attained."

HOW A SPIDER LIFTED A SNAKE

One of the most interesting books in natural history is a work on "Insect Architecture," by Rennie. But if the architecture of insect homes is wonderful, the engineering displayed by these creatures is equally marvellous. Long before man had thought of the saw, the saw-fly had used the same tool, made after the same fashion, and used in the same way for the purpose of making slits in the branches of trees so that she might have a secure place in which to deposit her eggs. The carpenter bee, with only the tools which nature has given her, cuts a round hole, the full diameter of her body, through thick boards, and so makes a tunnel by which she can have a safe retreat, in which to rear her young. The tumble-bug, without derrick or machinery, rolls over large masses of dirt many times her own weight, and the sexton beetle will, in a few hours, bury beneath the ground the carcass of a comparatively large animal. All these feats require a degree of instinct which in a reasoning creature would be called engineering skill, but none of them are as wonderful as the feats performed by the spider. This extraordinary little animal has the faculty of propelling her threads directly against the wind, and by means of her slender cords she can haul up and suspend bodies which are many times her own weight.

Some years ago a paragraph went the rounds of the papers in which it was said that a spider had suspended an unfortunate mouse, raising it up from the ground, and leaving it to perish miserably between heaven and earth. Would-be philosophers made great fun of this statement, and ridiculed it unmercifully. I know not how true it _was_, but I know that it _might have been_ true.

Some years ago, in the village of Havana, in the State of New York, a spider entangled a milk-snake in her threads, and actually raised it some distance from the ground, and this, too, in spite of the struggles of the reptile, which was alive.

By what process of engineering did the comparatively small and feeble insect succeed in overcoming and lifting up by mechanical means, the mouse or the snake? The solution is easy enough if we only give the question a little thought.

The spider is furnished with one of the most efficient mechanical implements known to engineers, viz., a strong elastic thread. That the thread is strong is well known. Indeed, there are few substances that will support a greater strain than the silk of the silkworm, or the spider; careful experiment having shown that for equal sizes the strength of these fibers exceeds that of common iron. But notwithstanding its strength, the spider's thread alone would be useless as a mechanical power if it were not for its elasticity. The spider has no blocks or pulleys, and, therefore, it cannot cause the thread to divide up and run in different directions, but the elasticity of the thread more than makes up for this, and renders possible the lifting of an animal much heavier than a mouse or a snake. This may require a little explanation.

Let us suppose that a child can lift a six-pound weight one foot high and do this twenty times a minute. Furnish him with 350 rubber bands, each capable of pulling six pounds through one foot when stretched. Let these bands be attached to a wooden platform on which stand a pair of horses weighing 2,100 lbs., or rather more than a ton. If now the child will go to work and stretch these rubber bands, singly, hooking each one up, as it is stretched, in less than twenty minutes he will have raised the pair of horses one foot!

We thus see that the elasticity of the rubber bands enables the child to divide the weight of the horses into 350 pieces of six pounds each, and at the rate of a little less than one every three seconds, he lifts all these separate pieces one foot, so that the child easily lifts this enormous weight.

Each spider's thread acts like one of the elastic rubber bands. Let us suppose that the mouse or the snake weighed half an ounce and that each thread is capable of supporting a grain and a half. The spider would have to connect the mouse with the point from which it was to be suspended with 150 threads, and if the little quadruped was once swung off his feet, he would be powerless. By pulling successively on each thread and shortening it a little, the mouse or snake might be raised to any height within the capacity of the building or structure in which the work was done. So that to those who have ridiculed the story we may justly say: "There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamed of in _your_ philosophy."