A Hundred Years Hence: The Expectations of an Optimist

by T. Baron Russell

About this period, or perhaps immediately after, progress will have been accelerated to an enormous degree by the invention of some new method of decomposing water. The economical analysis of water into its two component gases, whose chemical affinity and antipodal electrical attractions are already utilised to some extent in such appliances as the oxy-hydrogen blowpipe and electrical storage batteries, is a secret capable of extraordinary beneficences to the new age. By burning hydrogen in oxygen we can already produce the greatest heat practically needed in the arts; the electric furnace only superseding this process because it happens to be more manageable. But when we want oxygen and hydrogen, we do not, in practice, now obtain them from water: we only combine them as water in the act of utilisation. The rational line of progress is obviously to seek means of directly decomposing water. When we can do this compendiously and economically we shall have an inexhaustible supply of energy—for water thus used is not destroyed as water, as coal is destroyed, quâ coal, when we utilise its stored energy. The very act of utilising the gases recombines them: and we can use them thus for the production of almost every kind of energy that man at present needs. We can use them for heat by burning them together. We can use them for light by burning them in the presence of any substance capable of being made incandescent. We shall be able to use them to generate electricity by some sort of contrivance akin to the accumulator of the present day (a highly rudimentary invention); and it would be even now a very simple matter to utilise their explosive recombination for the direct production of power as motion. Utilised apart, the constituent gases of water have many other uses and possible uses. Hydrogen, under suitable treatment, yields the greatest obtainable cold, as oxygen and hydrogen together yield the greatest heat. If our flying-machines need a sort of ballast to reinforce their mechanical lifting apparatus, hydrogen is the best possible assistant. And the probable uses of oxygen are yet more numerous. So long as we still burn anything at all except a mixture of oxygen and hydrogen—and ultimately we shall have nothing else left to burn—oxygen is capable of multiplying the efficiency of all combustion. One of the greatest problems of our own day is the disposal of waste products of all sorts—the sources of inconvenience, disease and dirt. Oxygen, if readily and copiously obtainable, is capable of destroying them all. Indeed, it seems likely that medicine, the least progressive of the sciences to-day, will find in oxygen the great propulsive force of its forward movement. In considerably less than a hundred years hence such makeshifts as drugging, and the fighting of one disease by the instalment in the organism of another, will certainly have gone by the board. Antisepsis and Asepsis (the latter almost infinitely the greatest invention in the history of therapeutics) will have pushed their way from surgery into medicine. There are numerous diseases which can be not merely cured, but ultimately abolished when we have once discovered how to use oxygen adequately. The readjustment of the conditions of life determined by the removal from the civilised world of the greater number of diseases, and perhaps of all diseases except those arising out of wilful misconduct (as improper diet) and even by the elimination of most of the evils of hurry and overwork (for what are medically and chemically known as fatigue products can almost certainly be eliminated from the system by the proper use, yet to be discovered, of oxygen) must inevitably have an enormous influence not merely upon the physical life of man, but also, and even more, upon his mental constitution. The rate of progress will thus in yet another way be vastly accelerated.

Most likely the universal source of power, then, before the middle of the century, will be the recomposition of water—in other words, we shall get all the power we want by splitting up water into oxygen and hydrogen, and then allowing those gases to recombine, thereby returning to us the energy we have employed in the analysis. How we shall employ this power is largely for the future to decide, and certainly in the earlier future we shall employ it in the generation of etheric waves of various kinds. The world of science is visibly on the threshold of new and revolutionary discoveries on the nature and composition of matter, and whither these discoveries will lead us it is not usefully possible to conjecture. But certainly, after the usual incubation period of a scientific discovery—when it is merely a sort of wonderful toy, as argon and radium are at present—there will come the practical men, suckled at the large and noble breasts of disinterested, unremunerative truth, and ready to turn that nutriment into world-moving material usefulness: so, again, the rate of progress will receive a vast and valuable acceleration. Electricity, whose gift to the world has been so great, will probably not, until after several decades, approach the limits of its realm, and so long as electricity remains a considerable element in the utilisation of those stores of dissipating energy by which the planet lives, it is possible to foresee something of what will become of man during the next age.

We have here the limits of such an inquiry as the present. Placing the end of the age of electricity at provisionally about a hundred years hence (but it is quite conceivable that the rate of progress may overtake it earlier and shut the door on conjecture) it is possible to forecast, not indeed with certainty, but with a measure of imaginative probability, what will happen as the resources of electricity are developed and the other material amenities of the world are worked along the line of natural progress. So far as the light of analogy can point the way the reader is invited on a sort of conjectural journey. Of the developments of the moral ideas of man likely to be determined, not so much by the coming change in his material environment, as by the evolution of inner forces already at work, I propose to say something at the end of the book. In the meantime, the probable material changes in the next hundred years (or less, according to the rate of our progress) in various departments of life will be the subject of some intermediate conjectures.

CHAPTER II

HOUSING, TRAVEL AND POPULATION QUESTIONS

When every allowance has been made for the material changes which the progress of this century threatens, it is easy to see that certain present-day problems will continue to trouble our successors. Some things which perplex ourselves will, I think, work out their own remedy. Others will remain the subject of solutions not difficult to be imagined in advance.

One chief difficulty which will infallibly confront the immediate future, and even the future that is more remote, arises out of the simple fact that the race of man tends to increase numerically at a speed greater than our devices for its accommodation can quite conveniently cope with. The population of the world not only increases, but increases at compound interest. Nor is this all. Improved sanitation, better habits of life, and the progress of medicine, prolong lives that in the conditions of last century would have been shortened, and the rate of increase is thus further accelerated, as individuals who in different conditions would have died, live on, perhaps reproducing their species, and thus intensifying the population problem. Against these influences may be set the effect of the restrictions imposed by some civilised peoples on the birth rate, which Mr Roosevelt calls “race suicide.” These practices, just now increasingly prevalent, retard the rate of increase, but do not at present stop our increase: they alleviate, but do not cure the difficulty of over-population. Artificial physiological checks on population, if I am right in certain other conjectures to be presently developed, will not form part of the permanent morality of the new age, partly because, with more enlightenment, they will be voluntarily abandoned or superseded, and partly because the necessity for them will have disappeared, having worked out its own cure.

But with all this it would be folly to anticipate that the population of the civilised world will not have greatly increased before the end of the period contemplated by the present inquiry: and this brings us face to face with two very important questions—those of housing and transport. Where shall we live, and how shall we move from place to place—above all, how shall we proceed from home to the scene of work and thence home again every day, in the future? Shall we indeed thus move back and forth at all?

The answer to the last question bifurcates somewhat. In the earlier future of (say) twenty or thirty years hence, probably the greatest tendencies will be towards concentration on the one hand and exceedingly rapid transport on the other. What the ultimate practice will be, it should not be difficult to guess when we see how these tendencies are likely to work themselves out.