Faraday as a Discoverer, John Tyndall [children's books read aloud .txt] 📗

long. He found occasional relief in a theatre. He frequently quitted London and went to Brighton and elsewhere, always choosing a situation which commanded a view of the sea, or of some other pleasant horizon, where he could sit and gaze and feel the gradual revival of the faith that ‘Nature never did betray

The heart that loved her.’

 

But very often for some days after his removal to the country, he would be unable to do more than sit at a window and look out upon the sea and sky.

 

In 1841, his state became more serious than it had ever been before.

A published letter to Mr. Richard Taylor, dated March 11, 1843, contains an allusion to his previous condition. ‘You are aware,’

he says, ‘that considerations regarding health have prevented me from working or reading on science for the last two years.’ This, at one period or another of their lives, seems to be the fate of most great investigators. They do not know the limits of their constitutional strength until they have transgressed them. It is, perhaps, right that they should transgress them, in order to ascertain where they lie. Faraday, however, though he went far towards it, did not push his transgression beyond his power of restitution. In 1841 Mrs. Faraday and he went to Switzerland, under the affectionate charge of her brother, Mr. George Barnard, the artist.

This time of suffering throws fresh light upon his character.

I have said that sweetness and gentleness were not its only constituents; that he was also fiery and strong. At the time now referred to, his fire was low and his strength distilled away; but the residue of his life was neither irritability nor discontent.

He was unfit to mingle in society, for conversation was a pain to him; but let us observe the great Man-child when alone. He is at the village of Interlaken, enjoying Jungfrau sunsets, and at times watching the Swiss nailers making their nails. He keeps a little journal, in which he describes the process of nailmaking, and incidentally throws a luminous beam upon himself.

 

‘August 2, 1841.—Clout nailmaking goes on here rather considerably, and is a very neat and pretty operation to observe. I love a smith’s shop and anything relating to smithery. My father was a smith.’

 

From Interlaken he went to the Falls of the Giessbach, on the pleasant lake of Brientz. And here we have him watching the shoot of the cataract down its series of precipices. It is shattered into foam at the base of each, and tossed by its own recoil as water-dust through the air. The sun is at his back, shining on the drifting spray, and he thus describes and muses on what he sees:—

 

‘August 12, 1841.—To-day every fall was foaming from the abundance of water, and the current of wind brought down by it was in some places too strong to stand against. The sun shone brightly, and the rainbows seen from various points were very beautiful. One at the bottom of a fine but furious fall was very pleasant,—there it remained motionless, whilst the gusts and clouds of spray swept furiously across its place and were dashed against the rock.

It looked like a spirit strong in faith and steadfast in the midst of the storm of passions sweeping across it, and though it might fade and revive, still it held on to the rock as in hope and giving hope. And the very drops, which in the whirlwind of their fury seemed as if they would carry all away, were made to revive it and give it greater beauty.’

 

Footnote to Chapter 9

 

[1] See note, p. 77.

 

Chapter 10.

 

Magnetization of light.

 

But we must quit the man and go on to the discoverer: we shall return for a brief space to his company by-and-by. Carry your thoughts back to his last experiments, and see him endeavouring to prove that induction is due to the action of contiguous particles.

He knew that polarized light was a most subtle and delicate investigator of molecular condition. He used it in 1834 in exploring his electrolytes, and he tried it in 1838 upon his dielectrics. At that time he coated two opposite faces of a glass cube with tinfoil, connected one coating with his powerful electric machine and the other with the earth, and examined by polarized light the condition of the glass when thus subjected to strong electric influence. He failed to obtain any effect; still he was persuaded an action existed, and required only suitable means to call it forth.

 

After his return from Switzerland he was beset by these thoughts; they were more inspired than logical: but he resorted to magnets and proved his inspiration true. His dislike of ‘doubtful knowledge’

and his efforts to liberate his mind from the thraldom of hypotheses have been already referred to. Still this rebel against theory was incessantly theorising himself. His principal researches are all connected by an undercurrent of speculation. Theoretic ideas were the very sap of his intellect—the source from which all his strength as an experimenter was derived. While once sauntering with him through the Crystal Palace, at Sydenham, I asked him what directed his attention to the magnetization of light. It was his theoretic notions. He had certain views regarding the unity and convertibility of natural forces; certain ideas regarding the vibrations of light and their relations to the lines of magnetic force; these views and ideas drove him to investigation. And so it must always be: the great experimentalist must ever be the habitual theorist, whether or not he gives to his theories formal enunciation.

 

Faraday, you have been informed, endeavoured to improve the manufacture of glass for optical purposes. But though he produced a heavy glass of great refractive power, its value to optics did not repay him for the pains and labour bestowed on it. Now, however, we reach a result established by means of this same heavy glass, which made ample amends for all.

 

In November, 1845, he announced his discovery of the ‘Magnetization of Light and the Illumination of the Lines of Magnetic Force.’

This title provoked comment at the time, and caused misapprehension.

He therefore added an explanatory note; but the note left his meaning as entangled as before. In fact Faraday had notions regarding the magnetization of light which were peculiar to himself, and untranslatable into the scientific language of the time. Probably no other philosopher of his day would have employed the phrases just quoted as appropriate to the discovery announced in 1845.

But Faraday was more than a philosopher; he was a prophet, and often wrought by an inspiration to be understood by sympathy alone.

The prophetic element in his character occasionally coloured, and even injured, the utterance of the man of science; but subtracting that element, though you might have conferred on him intellectual symmetry, you would have destroyed his motive force.

 

But let us pass from the label of this casket to the jewel it contains.

‘I have long,’ he says, ‘held an opinion, almost amounting to conviction, in common, I believe, with many other lovers of natural knowledge, that the various forms under which the forces of matter are made manifest have one common origin; in other words, are so directly related and mutually dependent, that they are convertible, as it were, into one another, and possess equivalents of power in their action…. This strong persuasion,’ he adds, ‘extended to the powers of light.’ And then he examines the action of magnets upon light. From conversation with him and Anderson, I should infer that the labour preceding this discovery was very great. The world knows little of the toil of the discoverer. It sees the climber jubilant on the mountain top, but does not know the labour expended in reaching it. Probably hundreds of experiments had been made on transparent crystals before he thought of testing his heavy glass.

Here is his own clear and simple description of the result of his first experiment with this substance:—‘A piece of this glass, about two inches square, and 0.5 of an inch thick, having flat and polished edges, was placed as a diamagnetic[1] between the poles (not as yet magnetized by the electric current), so that the polarized ray should pass through its length; the glass acted as air, water, or any other transparent substance would do; and if the eye-piece were previously turned into such a position that the polarized ray was extinguished, or rather the image produced by it rendered invisible, then the introduction of the glass made no alteration in this respect. In this state of circumstances, the force of the electro-magnet was developed by sending an electric current through its coils, and immediately the image of the lamp-flame became visible and continued so as long as the arrangement continued magnetic. On stopping the electric current, and so causing the magnetic force to cease, the light instantly disappeared. These phenomena could be renewed at pleasure, at any instant of time, and upon any occasion, showing a perfect dependence of cause and effect.’

 

In a beam of ordinary light the particles of the luminiferous ether vibrate in all directions perpendicular to the line of progression; by the act of polarization, performed here by Faraday, all oscillations but those parallel to a certain plane are eliminated.

When the plane of vibration of the polarizer coincides with that of the analyzer, a portion of the beam passes through both; but when these two planes are at right angles to each other, the beam is extinguished. If by any means, while the polarizer and analyzer remain thus crossed, the plane of vibration of the polarized beam between them could be changed, then the light would be, in part at least, transmitted. In Faraday’s experiment this was accomplished.

His magnet turned the plane of polarization of the beam through a certain angle, and thus enabled it to get through the analyzer; so that ‘the magnetization of light and the illumination of the magnetic lines of force’ becomes, when expressed in the language of modern theory, the rotation of the plane of polarization.

 

To him, as to all true philosophers, the main value of a fact was its position and suggestiveness in the general sequence of scientific truth. Hence, having established the existence of a phenomenon, his habit was to look at it from all possible points of view, and to develop its relationship to other phenomena. He proved that the direction of the rotation depends upon the polarity of his magnet; being reversed when the magnetic poles are reversed.

He showed that when a polarized ray passed through his heavy glass in a direction parallel to the magnetic lines of force, the rotation is a maximum, and that when the direction of the ray is at right angles to the lines of force, there is no rotation at all. He also proved that the amount of the rotation is proportional to the length of the diamagnetic through which the ray passes. He operated with liquids and solutions. Of aqueous solutions he tried 150 and more, and found the power in all of them. He then examined gases; but here all his efforts to produce any sensible action upon the polarized beam were ineffectual. He then passed from magnets to currents, enclosing bars of heavy glass, and tubes containing liquids and aqueous solutions within an electro-magnetic helix.

A current sent through the helix caused the plane of polarization to rotate, and always in the direction of the current. The rotation was reversed when the current was reversed. In the case of magnets, he observed a gradual, though quick, ascent of the transmitted beam from a state of darkness to its maximum brilliancy, when the magnet was excited. In the case of currents, the beam attained at