THE CONFINES OF SCIENCE: by Investigator
IT is still debated whether the earth in its orbital motion drags the adjacent part of the ether along with it, or whether the earth travels through the ether without stirring the latter. On the one hand it is argued that if the earth (and presumably other planets also) dragged the ether along, complex currents would thereby be set up in the ether; and this circumstance would upset the calculations with regard to the aberration of light, whereas the observations of aberration do not indicate the existence of any such currents in the ether. On the other hand are cited certain delicate experiments of Michelsen and Morley, connected with the measurement of vibration-rates of light, which go to show that there is little or no relative motion between the earth and the ether, or, in other words, that the circumjacent ether moves with the earth. Hence we are required to make the ether stationary for some purposes, but moveable and full of currents for other purposes; not the first time that the ether has been required to perform inconsistent, or apparently inconsistent, rôles.
This quandary has led some petulantly to throw the ether overboard, alleging that "there ain't no such a thing"; while others have sought refuge in abstruse mathematico-metaphysical speculations as to the nature of our conceptions of space and time and the meaning of such conceptual words as mass and velocity.
It must be remembered that the ether so far is not an observed object but a hypothetical something. The necessities of our reasoning have demanded that we should, on various occasions and for various purposes, postulate a fixed standard of reference. Thus the undulatory theory of light has required the supposition of a medium to convey the undulations; the kinetic theory of matter has required that we postulate a substantial basis wherein the supposed vortices or centers of energy can inhere. But the ether is, and ex hypothesi must be, beyond the reach of sense perception. Could we but weigh it or measure it in any way—at once we should stand in need of another ether yet more subtle. In a word, however far we go, there is always something beyond.
Physical science, being admittedly a limited sphere, must of course become indeterminate near its borders. Rules which are found to apply with sufficient exactitude within certain limits will be found to apply no longer when we transcend those limits. So long as we study physical phenomena in their relation to each other, we may find those mutual relations sufficiently exact and constant; but when we begin to study physical phenomena in relation to what lies beyond, then the uncertainty supervenes. We find it necessary to inquire into the nature of our own perceptions and conceptions.
A phenomenon has its subjective factor as well as its objective factor; but our physics has so far been based on the tacit assumption that the subjective factor is fixed and constant. And it may indeed be so regarded within certain limits. But now we propose to explore the limits of the illimitable and the confines of eternity, regions, whither our senses and our instruments cannot penetrate. What wonder that we find those conceptions of time, space, and motion, which we have derived from our sensory experience in this world, inadequate as a means of formulating what lies beyond!
A slight acquaintance with certain ancient sciences suffices to show that they took into account the subjective component of our perceptions and conceptions, studying the mind and its organs along with nature and its qualities. Regarding phenomena as the result of interactions or coalescences between faculties within and qualities without, they studied both concurrently. Neglecting to do this, we have landed ourselves in not a few difficulties. Needing a fixed standard of reference in our study of motion, we have postulated space as objective, while at the same time our very hypothesis has divested that space of every property which could entitle it to be regarded as an object at all. In vain do we try to overtake our shadow, to put things on a shelf out of our reach, to explore the land of nowhere, or to measure the cubic contents of zero. The notion of "space" as possessing size and three-dimensional extension, but nothing else, is an assumption that may well be regarded by Nature as groundless; yet it is to this standard that we refer our calculations as to motion, etc.
Practical science strides ahead in defiance of such speculations, for it is founded on an investigation of what actually exists in Nature. And even where the theories serve to guide our path to new discoveries, it is as likely as not that our discoveries will outstrip the limits of the theories. There is bound to come a time, if it has not begun to dawn already, when we shall be uncertain whether it is external nature or our own internal faculties that we are studying; as was brought out in connexion with those very singular "Blondlot rays," which were visible (apparently) to Latin races but not to Teutonic!
Having thus suggested the possibility of a study of states of consciousness, such as might result in placing the observer in an entirely new relation to external nature and thereby rendering nugatory all his previous conceptions of time, space, and the like—it remains to add a few words on that topic. There are many people engaged in a heedless and unguided dabbling in such fields, and both old-time wisdom and contemporary experience indicate that the practice is fraught with dangers to health and mental balance. Such explorations demand that we shall step out from the safe shelter of our familiar five-sense consciousness and brave the perils of an unknown land. We are in precisely the position of a man who forsakes the dry land, his native element, where he is lord of the beasts and can plant his feet and his dwelling firmly, and plunges into a sea without bottom or stability and teeming with sharks, and where his life depends on his constant energy and watchfulness. Hence the study of science in its deeper aspects becomes primarily a question of discipline—a fact always recognized in the ancient Mysteries. In proof that this statement is true, we need only point to the state of affairs in the world of psychic investigation today; a condition which breathes more of menace than of promise to the future welfare of society, a world where fatuity and folly seem to dog the steps of the heedless explorer.
We give out all our secrets to the mob because there is no one who can successfully assert his claim to be above the mob; our only rule of fair-play is indiscriminate distribution. One cannot presume to set up a sacred college, and the mob rightly and justly fears the possible domination of a clique of biological or theological theorists. Yet knowledge is inseparably connected with duty and obligation; and if this connexion is ignored, that which should be a blessing will prove a curse. What has already occurred in connexion with dynamite and drugs can occur in far worse form in connexion with hypnotism and mental influence. This is sufficient to explain the Theosophical program of work and the reason why Theosophical workers do not find such public researches a profitable field for their efforts while there is so much preliminary work yet to be done both in their own characters and in the world.
When we begin to explore the ether of our own inner nature, we find that investigation comes second to management; we must control our nature—or it will control us. Knowledge is relative to Duty.
THE TOWER OF LONDON AND THE HOUSES OF
PARLIAMENT: by Carolus
THE Tower of London and the Houses of Parliament, Westminster, are the most striking and important buildings that stand on the banks of the Thames in London. Both are on the north side of the river, but are at a considerable distance from each other.
The Tower is one of the few early Norman castles which have come down to us in a fairly perfect condition. Tradition says a fortress was built by Julius Caesar on the site, but the nucleus of the present building was begun in 1078 by William the Conqueror. This was the White Tower, the highest building with the four turrets shown in our illustration. It was completed by William Rufus, who also built the famous "Traitor's Gate," through which the unfortunate victims of Royal displeasure were rowed in from the river. Many additions were afterwards made, and the building and courts now cover thirteen acres surrounded by a moat. The Tower was closely identified with many of the most tragic events in English history for at least five hundred years after its erection, and if its walls could speak the tale of horror could hardly be surpassed by the record of any other medieval building. In the Chapel of St. Peter-in-Chains, lie the bodies of Queen Anne Boleyn and her brother, Queen Catherine Howard, the Earl of Essex, the Duke of Monmouth, Bishop Fisher, More, and many other great personages who suffered death in the Tower. It was a short road from the Traitor's Gate, through the Bloody Tower, to this chapel. Many State prisoners have spent weary years of incarceration in the Tower; Sir Walter Raleigh, one of the greatest and noblest, was confined here for thirteen years.
The Tower of London was occasionally the residence of the earlier sovereigns of England, but its main purpose was the defense of the city. In these days of powerful weapons it would be useless as a fortress, but it is still a military post and headquarters, and contains a large collection of armor. The Jewel Room, in which the Royal Regalia are kept, and the rooms where distinguished prisoners were confined, attract many visitors.
Lomaland Photo. and Engraving Dept.
THE TOWER OF LONDON
Lomaland Photo. and Engraving Dept.
HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT, LONDON
VIEW FROM THE RIVER
Lomaland Photo. and Engraving Dept.
TRAFALGAR SQUARE, LONDON
TAKEN FROM THE NATIONAL GALLERY
The Houses of Parliament at Westminster are—with the exception of Westminster Hall, built by William Rufus—quite modern, and have no gloomy associations such as those of the Tower. The building covers about eight acres and the façade overlooking the Thames is nine hundred feet long. The tall tower on the left in the illustration is the Victoria Tower; it is supported upon four pointed arches sixty feet in height, and the highest point is three hundred and forty feet above the ground. The central tower is three hundred feet high, and the picturesque Clock Tower, on the right, is three hundred and twenty feet high. During the evening sittings of the Houses a lamp is kept burning near the top of the Clock Tower, which is extinguished when the debates are over. The building consists mainly of the House of Peers and the House of Commons, with the connected apartments and offices, the whole forming one structure. Just above the river, along the front of the palace runs the Terrace, a broad paved walk where the members of Parliament can stroll in the fresh air and yet be within sound of the division bell.
The towers of Westminster Abbey are visible to the left of the Victoria Tower, and a small portion of Westminster Bridge is seen at the extreme right.
Not far from the Houses of Parliament is Trafalgar Square, which is probably more familiar to the general public than any spot in London, for it is the meeting-place of so many important thoroughfares. Our illustration is taken from the steps of the National Gallery of Pictures. The fluted Corinthian Column erected to Admiral Nelson dominates the scene. The colossal bronze statue of the hero is elevated one hundred and seventy-six feet in the air and, needless to say, the artistic workmanship is above criticism, for no one can distinguish any detail at that height! The bronze lions at the base are by Sir Edwin Landseer, and possess considerable dignity. At the far end of the street to the left of the Nelson Monument (Parliament Street) the faint outline of the Clock Tower of the Houses of Parliament can just be distinguished. At the top of this street, not far from the Nelson Monument, stands the fine antique equestrian statue of Charles I, one of the few outdoor monuments that are creditable to the British metropolis. A few steps to the left of Trafalgar Square as shown in the plate is the new Charing Cross; the original one was destroyed by the Puritan Parliament.