Читать книгу The Seven Follies of Science [2nd ed.] - John Phin - Страница 4

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he difficult, the dangerous, and the impossible have always had a strange fascination for the human mind. We see this every day in the acts of boys who risk life and limb in the performance of useless but dangerous feats, and amongst children of larger growth we find loop-the-loopers, bridge-jumpers, and all sorts of venture-seekers to whom much of the attraction of these performances is undoubtedly the mere risk that is involved, although, perhaps, to some extent, notoriety and money-making may contribute their share. Many of our readers will doubtless remember the words of James Fitz-James, in "The Lady of the Lake":

Or, if a path be dangerous known

The danger's self is lure alone.

And in commenting on the old-time game laws of England, Froude, the historian, says: "Although the old forest laws were terrible, they served only to enhance the excitement by danger."

That which is true of physical dangers holds equally true in regard to intellectual difficulties. Professor De Morgan tells us, in his "Budget of Paradoxes," that he once gave a lecture on "Squaring the Circle" and that a gentleman who was introduced to it by what he said, remarked loud enough to be heard by all around: "Only prove to me that it is impossible and I will set about it this very evening."

Therefore it is not to be wondered at that certain very difficult, or perhaps impossible problems have in all ages had a powerful fascination for certain minds. In that curious olla podrida of fact and fiction, "The Curiosities of Literature," D'Israeli gives a list of six of these problems, which he calls "The Six Follies of Science." I do not know whether the phrase "Follies of Science" originated with him or not, but he enumerates the Quadrature of the Circle; the Duplication, or, as he calls it, the Multiplication of the Cube; the Perpetual Motion; the Philosophical Stone; Magic, and Judicial Astrology, as those known to him. This list, however, has no classical standing such as pertains to the "Seven Wonders of the World," the "Seven Wise Men of Greece," the "Seven Champions of Christendom," and others. There are some well-known follies that are omitted, while some authorities would peremptorily reject Magic and Judicial Astrology as being attempts at fraud rather than earnest efforts to discover and utilize the secrets of nature. The generally accepted list is as follows:

1 The Quadrature of the Circle or, as it is called in the vernacular, "Squaring the Circle."

2 The Duplication of the Cube.

3 The Trisection of an Angle.

4 Perpetual Motion.

5 The Transmutation of the Metals.

6 The Fixation of Mercury.

7 The Elixir of Life.

The Transmutation of the Metals, the Fixation of Mercury, and the Elixir of Life might perhaps be properly classed as one, under the head of the Philosopher's Stone, and then Astrology and Magic might come in to make up the mystic number Seven.

The expression "Follies of Science" does not seem a very appropriate one. Real science has no follies. Neither can these vain attempts be called scientific follies because their very essence is that they are unscientific. Each one is really a veritable "Will-o'-the-Wisp" for unscientific thinkers, and there are many more of them than those that we have here named. But the expression has been adopted in literature and it is just as well to accept it. Those on the list that we have given are the ones that have become famous in history and they still engage the attention of a certain class of minds. It is only a few months since a man who claims to be a professional architect and technical writer put forth an alleged method of "squaring the circle," which he claims to be "exact"; and the results of an attempt to make liquid air a pathway to perpetual motion are still in evidence, as a minus quantity, in the pockets of many who believed that all things are possible to modern science. And indeed it is this false idea of the possibility of the impossible that leads astray the followers of these false lights. Inventive science has accomplished so much—many of her achievements being so astounding that they would certainly have seemed miracles to the most intelligent men of a few generations ago—that the ordinary mind cannot see the difference between unknown possibilities and those things which well-established science pronounces to be impossible, because they contradict fundamental laws which are thoroughly established and well understood.

Thus any one who would claim that he could make a plane triangle in which the three angles would measure more than two right angles, would show by this very claim that he was entirely ignorant of the first principles of geometry. The same would be true of the man who would claim that he could give, in exact figures, the diagonal of a square of which the side is exactly one foot or one yard, and it is also true of the man who claims that he can give the exact area of a circle of which either the circumference or the diameter is known with precision. That they cannot both be known exactly is very well understood by all who have studied the subject, but that the area, the circumference, and the diameter of a circle may all be known with an exactitude which is far in excess of anything of which the human mind can form the least conception, is quite true, as we shall show when we come to consider the subject in its proper place.

These problems are not only interesting historically but they are valuable as illustrating the vagaries of the human mind and the difficulties with which the early investigators had to contend. They also show us the barriers over which we cannot pass, and they enforce the immutable character of the natural laws which govern the world around us. We hear much of the progress of science and of the changes which this progress has brought about, but these changes never affect the fundamental facts and principles upon which all true science is based. Theories and explanations and even practical applications change or pass away, so that we know them no more, but nature remains the same throughout the ages. No new theory of electricity can ever take away from the voltaic battery its power, or change it in any respect, and no new discovery in regard to the constitution of matter can ever lessen the eagerness with which carbon and oxygen combine together. Every little while we hear of some discovery that is going to upset all our preconceived notions and entirely change those laws which long experience has proved to be invariable, but in every case these alleged discoveries have turned out to be fallacies. For example, the wonderful properties of radium have led some enthusiasts to adopt the idea that many of our old notions about the conservation of energy must be abandoned, but when all the facts are carefully examined it is found that there is no rational basis for such views. Upon this point Sir Oliver Lodge says:

"There is absolutely no ground for the popular and gratuitous surmise that radium emits energy without loss or waste of any kind, and that it is competent to go on forever. The idea, at one time irresponsibly mooted, that it contradicted the principle of the conservation of energy, and was troubling physicists with the idea that they must overhaul their theories—a thing which they ought always to be delighted to do on good evidence—this idea was a gratuitous absurdity, and never had the slightest foundation. It is reasonable to suppose, however, that radium and the other like substances are drawing upon their own stores of internal atomic energy, and thereby gradually disintegrating and falling into other and ultimately more stable forms of matter."

One would naturally suppose that the extensive diffusion of sound scientific knowledge which has taken place during the century just past, would have placed these problems amongst the lumber of past ages; but it seems that some of them, particularly the squaring of the circle and perpetual motion, still occupy considerable space in the attention of the world, and even the futile chase after the "Elixir of Life" has not been entirely abandoned. Indeed certain professors who occupy prominent official positions, assert that they have made great progress towards its attainment. In view of such facts one is almost driven to accept the humorous explanation which De Morgan has offered and which he bases on an old legend relating to the famous wizard, Michael Scott. The generally accepted tradition, as related by Sir Walter Scott in his notes to the "Lay of the Last Minstrel," is as follows:

"Michael Scott was, once upon a time, much embarrassed by a spirit for whom he was under the necessity of finding constant employment. He commanded him to build a 'cauld,' or dam head across the Tweed at Kelso; it was accomplished in one night, and still does honor to the infernal architect. Michael next ordered that Eildon Hill, which was then a uniform cone, should be divided into three. Another night was sufficient to part its summit into the three picturesque peaks which it now bears. At length the enchanter conquered this indefatigable demon, by employing him in the hopeless task of making ropes out of sea-sand."

Whereupon De Morgan offers the following exceedingly interesting continuation of the legend:

"The recorded story is that Michael Scott, being bound by contract to procure perpetual employment for a number of young demons, was worried out of his life in inventing jobs for them, until at last he set them to make ropes out of sea-sand, which they never could do. We have obtained a very curious correspondence between the wizard Michael and his demon slaves; but we do not feel at liberty to say how it came into our hands. We much regret that we did not receive it in time for the British Association. It appears that the story, true as far as it goes, was never finished. The demons easily conquered the rope difficulty, by the simple process of making the sand into glass, and spinning the glass into thread which they twisted. Michael, thoroughly disconcerted, hit upon the plan of setting some to square the circle, others to find the perpetual motion, etc. He commanded each of them to transmigrate from one human body into another, until their tasks were done. This explains the whole succession of cyclometers and all the heroes of the Budget. Some of this correspondence is very recent; it is much blotted, and we are not quite sure of its meaning. It is full of figurative allusions to driving something illegible down a steep into the sea. It looks like a humble petition to be allowed some diversion in the intervals of transmigration; and the answer is:

"'Rumpat et serpens iter institutum'

"a line of Horace, which the demons interpret as a direction to come athwart the proceedings of the Institute by a sly trick."

And really those who have followed carefully the history of the men who have claimed that they had solved these famous problems, will be almost inclined to accept De Morgan's ingenious explanation as something more than a mere "skit." The whole history of the philosopher's stone, of machines and contrivances for obtaining perpetual motion, and of circle-squaring, is permeated with accounts of the most gross and obvious frauds. That ignorance played an important part in the conduct of many who have put forth schemes based upon these pretended solutions is no doubt true, but that a deliberate attempt at absolute fraud was the mainspring in many cases cannot be denied. Like Dousterswivel in "The Antiquary," many of the men who advocated these delusions may have had a sneaking suspicion that there might be some truth in the doctrines which they promulgated; but most of them knew that their particular claims were groundless, and that they were put forward for the purpose of deceiving some confiding patron from whom they expected either money or the credit and glory of having done that which had been hitherto considered impossible.

Some of the questions here discussed have been called "scientific impossibilities"—an epithet which many have considered entirely inapplicable to any problem, on the ground that all things are possible to science. And in view of the wonderful things that have been accomplished in the past, some of my readers may well ask: "Who shall decide when doctors disagree?"

Perhaps the best answer to this question is that given by Ozanam, the old historian of these and many other scientific puzzles. He claimed that "it was the business of the Doctors of the Sorbonne to discuss, of the Pope to decide, and of a mathematician to go straight to heaven in a perpendicular line!"

In this connection the words of De Morgan have a deep significance. Alluding to the difficulty of preventing men of no authority from setting up false pretensions and the impossibility of destroying the assertions of fancy speculation, he says: "Many an error of thought and learning has fallen before a gradual growth of thoughtful and learned opposition. But such things as the quadrature of the circle, etc., are never put down. And why? Because thought can influence thought, but thought cannot influence self-conceit; learning can annihilate learning; but learning cannot annihilate ignorance. A sword may cut through an iron bar, and the severed ends will not reunite; let it go through the air, and the yielding substance is whole again in a moment."