Again you smile incredulously. Now this is one of those questions that a hundred wise men together could not answer. You have heard, so far, only five of these wise men. You will certainly want to be spared the opinions of the other ninety-five. To the first you will reply that we should look just as pretty if we were born with only one eye, like the Cyclops; to the second we should be much better off, according to his principle, if we had four or eight eyes, and that in this respect we are vastly inferior to spiders; to the third, that you are not just in the mood to weep; to the fourth, that the unqualified interdiction of the question excites rather than satisfies your curiosity; while of me you will dispose by saying that my pleasure is not as intense as I think, and certainly not great enough to justify the existence of a double eye in man since the fall of Adam.
But since you are not satisfied with my brief and obvious answer, you have only yourselves to blame for the consequences. You must now listen to a longer and more learned explanation, such as it is in my power to give.
As the church of science, however, debars the question "Why?" let us put the matter in a purely orthodox way: Man has two eyes, what more can he see with two than with one?
I will invite you to take a walk with me? We see before us a wood. What is it that makes this real wood contrast so favorably with a painted wood, no matter how perfect the painting may be? What makes the one so much more lovely than the other? Is it the vividness of the coloring, the distribution of the lights and the shadows? I think not. On the contrary, it seems to me that in this respect painting can accomplish very much.
The cunning hand of the painter can conjure up with a few strokes of his brush forms of wonderful plasticity. By the help of other means even more can be attained. Photographs of reliefs are so plastic that we often imagine we can actually lay hold of the elevations and depressions.
But one thing the painter never can give with the vividness that nature does—the difference of near and far. In the real woods you see plainly that you can lay hold of some trees, but that others are inaccessibly far. The picture of the painter is rigid. The picture of the real woods changes on the slightest movement. Now this branch is hidden behind that; now that behind this. The trees are alternately visible and invisible.
Let us look at this matter a little more closely. For convenience sake we shall remain upon the highway, I, II. (Fig. 20.) To the right and the left lies the forest. Standing at I, we see, let us say, three trees (1, 2, 3) in a line, so that the two remote ones are covered by the nearest. Moving further along, this changes. At II we shall not have to look round so far to see the remotest tree 3 as to see the nearer tree 2, nor so far to see this as to see 1. Hence, as we move onward, objects that are near to us seem to lag behind as compared with objects that are remote from us, the lagging increasing with the proximity of the objects. Very remote objects, towards which we must always look in the same direction as we proceed, appear to travel along with us.
If we should see, therefore, jutting above the brow of yonder hill the tops of two trees whose distance from us we were in doubt about, we should have in our hands a very easy means of deciding the question. We should take a few steps forward, say to the right, and the tree-top which receded most to the left would be the one nearer to us. In truth, from the amount of the recession a geometer could actually determine the distance of the trees from us without ever going near them. It is simply the scientific development of this perception that enables us to measure the distances of the stars.
Hence, from change of view in forward motion the distances of objects in our field of vision can be measured.
Rigorously, however, even forward motion is not necessary. For every observer is composed really of two observers. Man has two eyes. The right eye is a short step ahead of the left eye in the right-hand direction. Hence, the two eyes receive different pictures of the same woods. The right eye will see the near trees displaced to the left, and the left eye will see them displaced to the right, the displacement being greater, the greater the proximity. This difference is sufficient for forming ideas of distance.
We may now readily convince ourselves of the following facts:
1. With one eye, the other being shut, you have a very uncertain judgment of distances. You will find it, for example, no easy task, with one eye shut, to thrust a stick through a ring hung up before you; you will miss the ring in almost every instance.
2. You see the same object differently with the right eye from what you do with the left.
Place a lamp-shade on the table in front of you with its broad opening turned downwards, and look at it from above. (Fig. 21.) You will see with your right eye the image 2, with your left eye the image 1. Again, place the shade with its wide opening turned upwards; you will receive with your right eye the image 4, with your left eye the image 3. Euclid mentions phenomena of this character.
3. Finally, you know that it is easy to judge of distances with both eyes. Accordingly your judgment must spring in some way from a co-operation of the two eyes. In the preceding example the openings in the different images received by the two eyes seem displaced with respect to one another, and this displacement is sufficient for the inference that the one opening is nearer than the other.
I have no doubt that you, ladies, have frequently received delicate compliments upon your eyes, but I feel sure that no one has ever told you, and I know not whether it will flatter you, that you have in your eyes, be they blue or black, little geometricians. You say you know nothing of them? Well, for that matter, neither do I. But the facts are as I tell you.
You understand little of geometry? I shall accept that confession. Yet with the help of your two eyes you judge of distances? Surely that is a geometrical problem. And what is more, you know the solution of this problem: for you estimate distances correctly. If, then, you do not solve the problem, the little geometricians in your eyes must do it clandestinely and whisper the solution to you. I doubt not they are fleet little fellows.
What amazes me most here is, that you know nothing about these little geometricians. But perhaps they also know nothing about you. Perhaps they are models of punctuality, routine clerks who bother about nothing but their fixed work. In that case we may be able to deceive the gentlemen.
If we present to our right eye an image which looks exactly like the lamp-shade for the right eye, and to our left eye an image which looks exactly like a lamp-shade for the left eye, we shall imagine that we see the whole lamp-shade bodily before us.
You know the experiment. If you are practised in squinting, you can perform it directly with the figure, looking with your right eye at the right image, and with your left eye at the left image. In this way the experiment was first performed by Elliott. Improved and perfected, its form is Wheatstone's stereoscope, made so popular and useful by Brewster.
By taking two photographs of the same object from two different points, corresponding to the two eyes, a very clear three-dimensional picture of distant places or buildings can be produced by the stereoscope.
But the stereoscope accomplishes still more than this. It can visualise things for us which we never see with equal clearness in real objects. You know that if you move much while your photograph is being taken, your picture will come out like that of a Hindu deity, with several heads or several arms, which, at the spaces where they overlap, show forth with equal distinctness, so that we seem to see the one picture through the other. If a person moves quickly away from the camera before the impression is completed, the objects behind him will also be imprinted upon the photograph; the person will look transparent. Photographic ghosts are made in this way.
Some