FOOTNOTES:
[50] Cf. Jeans, Astrophysical Journal, vol. xxii., p. 93.
[51] A term signifying 'first matter,' constructed from corresponding Greek words by Roger Bacon, and revived by Sir William Crookes.
[CHAPTER IX]
PROTYLE: WHAT IS IT?
The notion of a primordial form of matter meets us at every stage of cosmogonical speculation. It is the outcome of an instinctive persuasion that, if we could only 'lift the painted veil' of phenomena, the real business of the universe would be found to be proceeding in the background, 'without haste or rest,' on a settled plan everywhere the same; that uniformity is fundamental, diversity only incidental; and that the transformations of the one simplified substance might be represented by a single formula, the discovery of which would place in our hands the master-key to the locked secrets of the universe. Among untutored thinkers some familiar kind of matter, idealized and generalized, commonly stood for the typical world-stuff. Water was the first favourite. Thales, the 'wise man' of Miletus, procured his cosmos by precipitation from an aqueous solution, and many savage tribes have devised analogous expedients. Anaximenes regarded air as the universal solvent; Heracleitus replaced it with fire, and set on foot a scheme of what is now often designated 'elemental evolution.' From the perpetual 'flux of things' he conceived that the four substances selected by Empedocles as the bases of nature were not exempt, and a fragment of his scheme survived in Francis Bacon's admission of the mutual convertibility of air and water. In the main, however, the author of the 'Novum Organum' adhered to the Paracelsian doctrine of an elemental triad,[52] although he regarded the association of salt as a fundamental 'principle' with sulphur and mercury as inept and unnecessary.[53]
These twilight fancies faded in the growing light of chemical science; yet the mental need that they had temporarily appeased survived, and had somehow to be satisfied. An 'Ur-Stoff' was still in demand, but the nineteenth century characteristically attempted to supply it by weight and measure. Dalton's combining equivalents afforded the warrant for Prout's hydrogen hypothesis. The problem to be faced was to find a unit-atom by the varied combinations of which all the rest of the chemical atoms might be formed. The condition indispensable to be fulfilled was that their weights should be exact multiples of that of the unit, and it came near to fulfilment by the hydrogen-atom or semi-atom. It was, nevertheless, a case in which approximate agreement was of no avail; the adverse decision of the balance finally became unmistakable; and Prout discreetly fell back, in 1831,[54] upon the expedient of deriving hydrogen itself from some body lower in the scale. His hypothesis, in short, dissolved into a conjecture. It had only emphasized the stipulation that the 'protyle' of the ancients must be such as would serve not only for the physical unification of the sum of things, but likewise as the substratum of all the chemical species.
Meanwhile, the theoretical search for it had been carried on in widely different fields of inquiry. Laplace's speculations, no less than Herschel's observations, had led to the conception of some kind of 'fire-mist' as the genuine star-plasm. But its nature and properties remained indefinite, or were assigned at the arbitrary choice of adventurous cosmogonists. So the 'shining fluid' of space was 'everything by turns and nothing long,' until Sir William Huggins, in 1864, gave it spectroscopic individuality. The 'recognition-mark' of nebulium is a vivid green ray, by the emission of which it is known to have a concrete existence. Yet the little that has besides been learned about it discountenances its identification with the materia informis of antique philosophy. This we should expect to be the subtlest of all substances. Professor Campbell, however, has gathered indications that nebulium is denser than hydrogen. Its luminosity, at least, which is invariably associated with that of hydrogen, spreads less widely in the same formations; it is confined to a lower level. The nebulium-atom is not, then, the chemical or the cosmical unit.
This evasive entity, or something that curiously simulates it, has proved to be of less recondite origin. Sir William Crookes is amply justified in claiming the venerable designation of protyle for the 'radiant matter' first produced in his vacuum-tubes nearly thirty years ago. The discovery was astonishing and unsought, and its significance has not yet been measured. Matter assumes the 'fourth state,' in which it is neither solid, liquid, nor gaseous,[55] under the compulsion of an electric discharge in high vacua. At an exhaustion of about one-millionth of an atmosphere the manner of its transit abruptly alters. Conduction gives way to convection. Luminous effects are abolished. The tubes cease to glow with brilliant, parti-coloured striæ; the poles are no longer marked by shimmering halos or brushes; only a green phosphorescence is seen where the glass walls of the receptacle are struck by the stream of projected particles. They come, with half the velocity of light, exclusively from the negative pole, the positive pole remaining inert. Hence the name 'cathode-rays,' bestowed by Goldstein on the carriers of electricity in highly-exhausted bulbs.
These mysterious, sub-sensible agents possess certain very definite properties. Their paths are deflected in a magnetic field; they can traverse metallic films; and their investigation in the open, thereby rendered feasible, has shown them to possess photographic efficacy, and the faculty of breaking down electrical insulation; moreover, they transport a negative charge of fixed amount, and have a determinate momentum. They are, then, assuredly no mere pulsations of the ether; unless our senses 'both fail and deceive us,' their quality is material. Material, yet not quite with the ordinary connotation of the term. The most essential circumstance about the cathode-rays is that they remain unmodified by the chemical diversities of the originating gases.[56] A hydrogen tube yields identically the same radiant matter as an oxygen or a nitrogen tube. Here, then, at last we have within our grasp undifferentiated substance—matter not yet specialized, neither molecular nor atomic, matter destitute of affinities, exempt from the laws of combination—matter in its inchoate, and perhaps ultimate form; in a word, the far-sought protyle.
Already, in 1879, Sir William Crookes conjectured the infinitesimal missiles propelled from the cathode to be the 'foundation-stones of which atoms are composed.'[57] And in 1886 he pronounced them more decisively to be the raw material of atoms, which, to Sir John Herschel's apprehension, bore the unmistakable stamp of a 'manufactured article.' Nor did his recent commentator refrain from attempting distantly to divine the method of their construction, or from laying his finger on the by-products and residues associated with it,[58] although he felt compelled to relegate the cosmic factory to the edge of the world, where inconceivable things may happen. All this, indeed, seemed, in the late Victorian era, like mounting the horse of Astolfo for a trip to the moon; and sane common-sense pronounced it fantastic enough to 'make Democritus weep and Heracleitus laugh.'[59] But we have since learned from Nature herself some tolerance of audacities.
Step by step the new order of ideas has irresistibly come to the front. It owed its origin to Sir William Crookes's skill in producing high vacua, and the consequent development in his tubes of radiant effects. Then, in 1879, universal importance was claimed for them, and matter in the 'fourth state,' by a revival of the dreams of the ancients, expanded into a kind of visionary protyle. Philipp Lenard made the next advance towards its actualization by slipping it, in 1894, through an aluminium window, and watching its behaviour towards ordinary matter. Two years later Röntgen rays made their entry on the scene; and before the end of 1896 Becquerel, hurrying along the track of novelties, came upon the momentous discovery of radio-activity.
A revision of ideas has ensued. Some time-honoured assumptions have had to be discarded; so-called laws have been found to need qualification; the old system of physics is consequently out of gear, and much time and patient labour must be expended upon the adjustment of the new and improved system destined to replace it. The leading and indisputable fact of the actual situation is that a number of hitherto unsuspected modes of energy have been disclosed as widely operative in nature. All are of a 'radiant' character. They travel in straight lines with enormous speed; they start from a material base, and produce their several effects on reaching a material goal. Now, these effects are closely alike, notwithstanding that the rays themselves are radically dissimilar. Those of the cathodic kind are corpuscular. They consist of streaming particles, each, according to Professor J. J. Thomson, of about one-thousandth the mass of the hydrogen atom. Others, the noted 'alpha rays,' are atomic; they are supposed to aggregate into helium. Finally, the Röntgen variety are ethereal; they are composed of light-vibrations reduced in scale, and augmented correspondingly in frequency.
What is most remarkable is that these various forms of activity give rise, by different means, to very much the same results. They are, in fact, distinguishable only by careful observation. They possess in common, though not to the same degree, the faculties of penetrating opaque matter, of impressing sensitive plates, of evoking fluorescence; while under the impact of cathode and Röntgen rays, as well as of ultra-violet light, insulated electric charges leak away and evanesce. There is, however, one clear note of separation between cathodic and X rays in the sensibility of the former, and the indifference of the latter, to magnetic influence. Thus alone, it would appear, is electrified matter set apart from what we call ether. A magnet acts only upon bodies carrying an electric charge; so that, if flying corpuscles could be obtained in a neutral condition, the only tangible distinction between the various kinds of rays would vanish. But this is evidently impracticable. Indeed, advanced physicists abolish the material substratum of the corpuscle, and assign its attributes to the associated atom of electricity. It is, at any rate, undeniable that the electrical relations of matter become more intimate as our analysis of its constitution goes deeper. Ether, electricity, matter, all seem to merge together in the limit; their differences ultimately evade definition. So animal and vegetable life appear to coalesce in their incipient stages, and strike apart with advance towards a higher perfection.
The various branches of inorganic nature, too, possibly spring from a common stock. Our powers of discrimination fail to separate them as we trace them downward; but that may be because of the inadequacy of the guiding principles at our command. A larger synthesis is demanded for the harmonizing of multitudinous facts, at present grouped incongruously, or left in baffling isolation; and it is rendered increasingly difficult of attainment by the continual growth of specialization. Year by year details accumulate, and the strain of keeping them under mental command becomes heavier; yet what can be known must, in its essentials, be known as a preliminary to extending the reign of recognised law in Nature.
Sooner or later, nevertheless, the wealth of novel experience recently acquired will doubtless be turned to the fullest account. Just now, we can grasp only tentatively its far-reaching import. That it bears profoundly on the hoary problem of the genesis of visible things is sufficiently obvious. The questions of what matter is, and of how it came to be, have been cleared of some of the metaphysical cobwebs involving them ab antiquo, and insistently crave definite treatment by exact methods. We should, indeed, vainly aspire to reach—or to comprehend, even if we could reach—an absolute beginning. To quote Clerk Maxwell's words: 'Science,'[60] he wrote, 'is incompetent to reason upon the creation of matter itself out of nothing. We have reached the utmost limit of our thinking faculties when we have admitted that, because matter cannot be eternal and self-existent, it must have been created.' The discovery that atoms disintegrate into corpuscles does not, then, bring us any nearer to the heart of the mystery; but it is eminently suggestive as regards secondary processes.
Acquaintance with ultra-atomic matter, begun within the narrow precincts of 'Crookes's tubes,' has advanced rapidly since 'radiology' took its place among the sciences. For, from the time when Becquerel first saw a plate darkened by the photogenic projectiles of uranium, and Madame Curie sifted radium from the refuse of the mines of Joachimsthal, the lines of proof steadily converged towards the conclusion that chemical atoms are not only divisible, but that their decay progresses spontaneously, irresistibly, in fire, air, earth, and water, as part of the regular economy of Nature.
To explain further. Radio-active bodies are composed—according to Rutherford's plausible hypothesis—of atoms in unstable equilibrium. The gradual changes incidental to their own internal activities suffice to bring about their disruption. And their explosive character is obviously connected with unwieldy size, since uranium, thorium, and radium, the three substances pre-eminent for radio-activity, possess the highest atomic weights known to chemistry. The precarious balance, then, of each of these complex, though infinitesimally small systems is successively overthrown, regardless of external conditions or environment, their constituent parts being hurled abroad with the evolution of an almost incredible amount of energy. Their products include cathode-rays; matter in the 'fourth state,' matter a thousand times finer than hydrogen, is ejected in torrents from the self-pulverized atoms of radium. Moreover, the issuing rays are equivalent to currents of negative electricity. Each corpuscle bears with it an electron, or is itself an electron, for the choice between the alternatives is open. In either case, we are confronted with matter apparently in its ultimate form; and to that form ordinary, substantial bodies tend to become reduced. Electrons may fairly be called ubiquitous. They occur in flames, near all very hot masses, wherever ultra-violet light impinges on a metallic surface;[61] they are freely generated by Röntgen and cathode-rays; they are the agents of electrical transmission in conductors.
Everywhere throughout the universe, atoms are thus in course of degradation into corpuscles. But no information is at hand as to the scene or mode of their reconstitution. The waste and decay are patent; the processes of compensation remain buried in obscurity. Indeed, Sir William Crookes anticipates the complete submergence, at some indefinitely remote epoch, of material substance in protyle, the 'formless mist' of chaos. He assumes an identity between the past state and the future, leaving, however, the present unexplained. The break-up of matter, in fact, does not render its construction the more intelligible. Running-down is an operation of a different order from winding-up. It is an expenditure of a reserve of force. It needs no effort; it accomplishes itself. But to create the reserve for expenditure demands foresight and deliberate exertion; it implies a designed application of power.
Now each atom is a storehouse of energy, representing the force primitively applied to reduce some thousands of free electrons to the bondage of a harmoniously working system. Its disruption is accompanied by the dissipation of the energy previously accumulated in it; and that atomic systems are not calculated for indefinite endurance is one of the most surprising of modern discoveries. The secret of their original construction is, none the less, impenetrable. That they are composed of protyle—that their clustering members are corpuscles moving under strong mechanical control—is more than probable. And the law of order adumbrated by what are called the 'periodic' relations of the chemical elements shows that their concourse was very far from being fortuitous. But beyond this point there is no holding-ground for distinct thought. We are ignorant, too, whether the process of building matter out of protyle is at present going on, or was completed once for all in the abysmal fore-time, decay being now definitive. Nor is it likely that we shall ever succeed in capturing with recognition a brand-new atom freshly minted for cosmical circulation.