It is of course to be expected that the advance of scientific knowledge
will destroy, here and there, a cherished illusion. It was so when
Darwin showed us that we are not made of mud, but have “just growed.”
At least that is what Darwin is by many held to have done, and deep
is their resentment. In a general way it may be said that the path of
scientific progress is strewn with the mouldering bones of our dearest
creations.
To this melancholy company must now be added the precious Atom. It
has had a fairly long reign, has the atom; the youths who first
worshiped at its shrine are in the lean and slippered pantaloon stage
of existence. It will be all the harder for them to see their idol
depedestaled.
That the atom was the ultimate unit of matter, the absolute smallest
thing in the universe, a fraction incapable of further division—that is
what we had been commanded to believe by those in authority over the
many things of science. And with such powers of conviction as we are
gifted withal we had believed.
Now, what do we hear—what do we hear? Why, that an atom is an
aggregation of electrons! These are so much smaller than atoms that the
latter can be easily conceived as cut in halves—nay, chopped into hash.
Before the inven—that is to say, the discovery—of the electron such a
thing as that was unthinkable. So, at each enlargement of the field of
knowledge the human mind receives new powers. The time may come when we
shall be able (with an effort) to conceive the division of an electron.
The difference in magnitude, or rather minitude, between our old friend
the atom and this new though doubtless excellent thing, the other
thing, is characteristically expounded thus:
“If an electron is represented by a sphere an inch in diameter, an atom
on the same scale is a mile and a half. Or, if an atom is represented
by the size of a theater, an electron is represented on the same scale
by a printer’s full stop.”
The electron, it seems, is not only unthinkably little; it is
impalpable, invisible, inaudible and probably insipid and inodorous.
In brief, it is immaterial. It is not matter, though matter is composed
of it. That is easy to understand if one has a scientific mind.
Not only are electrons immaterial, or at least inconceivably
attenuated; they are immense distances apart—immense in comparison with
their bulk. Likewise, they are inconceivably rapid in motion about a
common center. The electrons forming a single atom are analogous to our
solar system, but whether there is a big electron in the center science
does not as yet tell us.
When a steam hammer descends upon a piece of steel it merely strikes
the outside of an infinite aggregation of moving, impalpable things
widely separated in space. But they stop the hammer.
Scientists know these facts, and we know that they know them—this is
our delightful part in the matter. But we do not know how they know
them—that is not granted to our humble degree of merit. As we grow
in grace, we may perhaps hope to be told, preferably in words of one
syllable, how they learned it all; how they count the electrons; how
they measure them; with what kind of instrument they determine their
actual and comparative magnitudes, and so forth. No doubt the columns
of the newspapers are open to them for explanation and exposition even
now.
In the meantime let us be pleasant about it. It is more amiable to
believe without comprehending than to comprehend without believing.