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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/76989-0.txt b/76989-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b758c31 --- /dev/null +++ b/76989-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4078 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76989 *** + + + + + + ASPECTS OF SCIENCE + + + + + ASPECTS OF SCIENCE + + + _By_ J. W. N. SULLIVAN + + + + + LONDON + RICHARD COBDEN-SANDERSON + 17 THAVIES INN + + + + + Copyright 1923 + + + + + PREFACE + + +The papers which make up this volume have been selected because, +although they deal with different aspects of various scientific ideas, +yet they do illustrate, more or less, one point of view. That point +of view may be described, perhaps as æsthetic, but rather better as +humanistic. Scientific ideas have a history; they arose to satisfy +certain human needs; to see them in their context is to see them as +part of the general intellectual and emotional life of man. What they +exist to do they do better than does anything else, and the needs they +satisfy are not peculiar to scientific specialists. These papers try +to show one or two of the many reasons why, for people who are not +specialists as well as for those who are, science may be interesting. + +J. W. N. SULLIVAN. + + + + + CONTENTS + + + PAGE + + THE INTEREST OF SCIENCE 9 + + A PHYSICIST ON PHYSICS 23 + + SCIENCE AND CULTURE 36 + + JAMES CLERK MAXWELL 41 + + ASSUMPTIONS 49 + + ON LEARNING SCIENCE 72 + + THE ENTENTE CORDIALE 77 + + POPULAR SCIENCE 82 + + PATIENT PLODDERS 89 + + THE AMATEUR ASTRONOMER 95 + + SCIENTIFIC CITIZENS 100 + + THE SCEPTIC AND THE SPIRITS 105 + + THE SCIENTIFIC MIND 112 + + THE SCIENTIFIC CONTRIBUTION 116 + + THEORIES AND PERSONALITIES 122 + + THE IDEAL SCIENTIFIC MAN 128 + + PARALLEL STRAIGHT LINES 133 + + THE NEW SCIENTIFIC HORIZON 139 + + THE HOPE OF SCIENCE 145 + + THE RETURN OF MYSTERY 151 + + MATHEMATICS AND MUSIC 159 + + HUMAN TESTIMONY 177 + + + + + + THE INTEREST OF SCIENCE + + I + + +The conception of science as a body of thought embracing the whole +of our rational convictions about reality has hardly yet been +generally reached. Man is still so far from being a rational animal +that the application of rational methods of inquiry to all branches +of his experience is still instinctively resisted--as if reason +were an alien and hostile intruder. Beliefs which are held with +passion, being the expression of instinctive preferences, are felt +not to belong to the “sphere” of science. On all questions where +his passions are strongly engaged, man prizes certitude and fears +knowledge. Dispassionate inquiry is welcomed only when the result is +indifferent. Nearly every great scientific generalisation has incurred +the _odium theologicum_--which is not the exclusive possession +of theologians--from the Copernican hypothesis to the theory of herd +instinct. That science, although continually wounding men, should +nevertheless have progressed, is evidence that it serves impulses +deeply rooted in man’s nature. The great scientific innovator, like +the great altruist, is treated with ignominy by the society whose +deepest instincts he lives to serve. + +Science, the child of irrational impulse, has inherited something +of the parental character. Its history reveals it as purblind and +fumbling, with no clear vision of its aim, no premonition of its +imperial state. Unlike philosophy, it did not aspire to universal +dominion. It was content to investigate the particular instance, +and did not reject a certain incoherence in explanation rather than +accept a generalisation which did not spring from its own ground. It +refused foreign assistance, but kept its independence. That scientific +men did not always understand that science must, from its nature, be +autonomous, is evident from the history of every particular science. +Even as late as Descartes it was considered quite natural to deduce +phenomena from metaphysical principles; and an admixture of mythical +elements is not entirely absent from some branches of science, even at +the present day. Science has not yet reached full consciousness of its +proper ground and aims. + +The values served by science, in terms of which its claim to +consideration is to be judged, have become more numerous as science has +developed. The earliest scientific researches were concerned wholly +with the particular event, with, at most, the vaguest inkling of large +perspectives. The savage who discovers that the branch lying partly +in the stream is not really bent, is prompted by the same localised +and detached curiosity which led to most of the early scientific +discoveries. Interest in the oddity of an event is undoubtedly the +root of scientific observations. The more closely the events concern +us, the more pregnant they may be with possible pleasure or pain, +the greater the degree of abstraction necessary to see them in their +relations. Human beings remain miracles to us long after we have +learned to predict the motion of a planet. Psychology is the latest +of the sciences, not so much because of the intrinsic difficulty of +its subject-matter as because our interest in the subject-matter is so +vehement that it is almost impossible to be indifferent to the results. +An intelligent fish would probably have found most of the painfully won +results of human psychology fairly obvious. + +From the accumulation of facts and the attempt to see them in +relation springs the scientific theory. With the construction of +theories science enters on a new phase in its development, and +serves a different set of human values. Its facts, the products +of local curiosities, now take on an order, and serve the desire +for comprehension. The apparently dissimilar becomes related; law +supervenes on chaos. The desire for knowledge becomes transformed into +the desire for _significant_ knowledge--significant primarily +for contemplation, and secondarily for practice. It is the scientific +theory alone that gives to science its true being and makes it worthy +of a deep concern. The desire for comprehension is deeply rooted in +human nature. Religious myths and philosophical systems arose in +obedience to this impulse. Science also exists to satisfy this craving, +and the terms on which it does so are altogether to its advantage. The +fact that it is an extension of common knowledge, and infers nothing +that cannot be verified, differentiates it from myth, and is the secret +of the grave and serious satisfaction it affords. Those accustomed +to this homely, invigorating atmosphere find the rarer air of much +traditional philosophy quite insupportable. A certain indifference to +other methods of describing reality becomes more evident as the years +advance and the domain of science becomes more and more extended. +Peaceful penetration takes the place of open warfare, and in face of +rival systems men of science feel less inclined to disprove what they +feel more at liberty to ignore. + +Science still falls far short of affording complete comprehension or +of providing so finished a picture of reality that we feel no need +of other speculations. The different sciences do not yet conspire to +form one single coherent body of truth. The interstices between them +are still sufficiently large to admit foreign interpretations. But the +impulse to comprehension, which created science, will be justified by +it: we may have so much faith. Even that moiety of mankind who care for +little beyond pure immediacy will find that science alone can give +them much of what they desire. Scientific theories possess a value +even to those who are strangers to the pleasures of contemplation, for +science has powerful reactions in the world of practice. To those who +have lost their birthright it can offer a mess of pottage. + +Besides serving curiosity, comprehension and practice, science offers +richly satisfying objects to the æsthetic impulse. The language of +æsthetics is not far to seek in the writings of men of science, and +were it not that the word arouses such a proprietary fury, we should +agree, reviewing their motives and the kind of their satisfactions, +to call them artists. The matter of the highest art, like that of +true science, is reality, and the measure in which science falls +short as art is the measure in which it is incomplete as science. All +good philosophy, art or science partakes of the nature of the other +two. When these three are regarded as one, each will have reached its +apotheosis. + + + II + +It is unfortunately true that as a science advances it grows more +complex. Not only does its language depart more and more from ordinary +speech by the accumulation of technical terms, but the terms in current +use at any time are defined in terms of others which are defined in +terms of others--something after the manner of the description of +the house that Jack built. The most obvious case of this Chinese box +kind of language is, of course, that of mathematics. A mathematical +theorem occupying one line of type might very well occupy a volume if +written out in ordinary prose in which no terms were used which were +not common property. For this reason modern mathematical discoveries, +except in very special instances, cannot be made intelligible except +to mathematicians. To learn the language of a highly developed science +like mathematics takes about as long as to learn Chinese, but the +task of translation into English is very much harder. For this reason +mathematicians cannot hope for intelligent popular recognition; they +must be content to be regarded either as vaguely impressive figures +or else as mild lunatics busied with incomprehensible and probably +trifling abstractions. Compared with writers, musicians or painters, +they are, for social purposes, mental outlaws. It is apparent, however, +that mathematics was not always so remote. It was possible for Voltaire +to take an interest which was, at any rate, enthusiastic, in the work +of Newton. This was doubtless due, in some degree, to the obviously +dramatic quality of Newton’s discoveries, but it was also due to the +fact that his discoveries could be expressed in comparatively simple +language. Again, physics and chemistry at that time, and for some years +later, were not only intelligible to men without special training, but +such men could actually make valuable discoveries in these sciences. +As these sciences progressed their language became more and more +forbidding and their fundamental notions more and more abstract. Men +without special training, but with scientific curiosity, turned their +attention to the biological sciences. They collected birds’ eggs and +butterflies; they bought microscopes and wrote little papers on the +sea-shells they discovered in a morning’s walk. But biology has now +developed a technical language, and the days of the untrained observer +are almost over. The one science which is still, to some extent, +accessible to these amiable people is psychology. It is growing more +technical, it is true, but the majority of the books dealing with +psychology may still be read almost as easily as a treatise on the +history of the Balkans. And the “psychological” novelist can still +regard himself as being, from one point of view, a scientific man. +Psycho-analysis is, as yet, a favourite subject of discussion in +advanced drawing-rooms where discussions of the principle of relativity +are comparatively rare. + +The divorce between science and the general intellectual world is +unfortunate, but inevitable. It is unfortunate both for the scientific +man and for the general _intelligentsia_. The scientific man, +mentally companionless except for the little circle of his immediate +co-workers, becomes less complete as a human being; he fails as a +humanist. He too often accepts his outlawed position and turns his +special interests into his exclusive interests, as if, through some +inverted generosity, he refused to take where he could not give. He +may grow to ignore the other intellectual activities of his time, +as Darwin, to his distress, found he had grown to ignore poetry, +or he may actually become intolerant of such activities and so add +contempt to the ignorance with which his preoccupations are regarded +by the outside world. For the outside world, also, this divorce is +unfortunate. For science, in its own way, satisfies just the same +impulses as do other intellectual interests, and some of them it +satisfies more completely and in a richer way. A great waste of mental +energy and much inconclusive discussion would be avoided were certain +scientific results more generally known, and, more particularly, were +the advantages of the scientific method more widely recognised and the +method itself more extensively practised. An air of superiority is +often noticed in the references of scientific men to certain current +discussions. It is a fault of manner, but one difficult to avoid. +“Inside” information usually has this effect on the possessor, and +when it is information that cannot be shared the attitude is apt to +become chronic. Both sides, then, are the poorer for their lack of +intercourse. But this state of affairs seems to be inevitable. The +claims of the Latin and Greek literatures to attention, whether they +are justified or not, have led to the study of these languages being +imposed on perhaps the majority of the people in this country who are +predominantly interested in intellectual affairs. It is a training +which consumes several years: is a training in the sciences to be +added? This is manifestly impossible. Even if our whole educational +system were radically altered, only those sciences, such as biology and +psychology, which may be understood with comparatively little training, +could ever become objects of common knowledge. But sciences where, in +addition to a severe and prolonged discipline, special aptitude is +necessary, must always be the property of the few. As, every year, +all the sciences grow more complex, so the difficulty of obtaining an +adequate knowledge of them increases. A dead language may be learnt +once for all, but the language of a science must be learnt afresh every +few years. The popular article of Huxley’s day, the link between the +man of science and the general public, is now the link between the more +and less advanced students of the same science. A so-called “popular” +account of Relativity Theory, for instance, is like an annotated +edition of Pindar; a very fair knowledge of the language is assumed +beforehand. It might be thought that the process of reduction, as it +were, could be continued, until finally an account was prepared where +no technical terms were used. But such an account would be, at best, +like a translation of Greek poetry; the essential quality would be +gone. Such translations have, of course, their uses, but the attraction +of science for the scientific man, like the attraction of a poem for +the poet, is not to be communicated in this way. In art the separation +of matter and form is not really possible, and the same is true of the +sciences. + + + III + +In their apologias, which have now become so common, men of science +never weary of pointing out that it is the method of science which +is really worthy of adoption by philosophers and that the results of +science are merely provisional. The philosopher who bases his system +upon the results reached at any given time by any given science has +ensured the ultimate downfall of his system. He is sometimes told that +the adoption of scientific methods, on the other hand, will enable him +to make sure progress. At first sight there seems to be a contradiction +here, for if the scientific method is infallible why are the results +reached by it provisional? To judge from the history of science, the +scientific method is excellent as a means of obtaining plausible +conclusions which are always wrong, but hardly as a means of reaching +the truth. The contradiction is only apparent, however, for it will +be found that there is a part of every discarded hypothesis which is +incorporated in the new theory. The discarded hypothesis proves to +have been too general; the scientific man made a mistake of the same +kind as the philosopher who uses the hypothesis as the basis of a +general system. It is now known, for instance, that Newton’s theory of +gravitation is very probably not exactly true; in most cases, however, +it remains very nearly true, and there are large regions of dynamical +astronomy which are unaffected by the alteration. The Newtonian laws +of motion, again, are not sufficient to describe the motion of bodies +moving with very large velocities, but they are very nearly true +for all ordinary velocities. That the theories which have taken the +place of those abandoned are exactly true is very improbable; they +are, however, nearer the truth. We may say, therefore, that while the +scientific method may, quite possibly, never enable us to reach the +exact truth, successive applications of it enable us to approximate +nearer and nearer to the exact truth. In this lies its chief difference +from the methods usually adopted in philosophy, which aim at obtaining, +at one blow, theories which shall never need revision. It is for this +reason that philosophy does not progress. + +In what, then, does the scientific method consist? It would be +difficult to give a precise definition; it has, however, two main +characteristics, the choice of facts and the treatment of facts. It +does not seem to be generally recognised that scientific men do choose +their facts; there are many people who suppose that all facts are of +equal interest to scientific men, and that information respecting the +number of nightingales heard in Hertfordshire during a certain month, +for instance, is a contribution to scientific knowledge. It should +be obvious, however, that a mere random collection of facts is very +unlikely to aid either practice or theory. The aim of science is not to +form catalogues, but to form theories describing phenomena, and to this +end some facts are pertinent and a very great number are not. All men, +faced with a problem of any kind, choose such facts for examination +as they consider relevant. Sherlock Holmes often bewildered Watson by +pondering over facts that Watson considered irrelevant, but Watson’s +surprise was a proof that even he had a standard of relevance. The +history of any science shows that the facts first chosen were those +most likely to be repeated. Such facts obviously lead to statements +which have a greater or less degree of generality. That an unsupported +stone falls to the ground is a fact of this kind. The facts chosen +by the man of science are those that permit generalisation. For this +reason they usually differ entirely from the facts of interest to +historians. After selecting, in accordance with this principle, the +facts which are to be examined, the next step consists in establishing +relations between sets of these facts. The precise expression of these +relations is called a law of nature, to use a somewhat old-fashioned +terminology. If now all the relations between certain sets of facts +can be expressed in one general statement, that general statement is +called a scientific theory. The ultimate aim of the scientific method +is to create scientific theories. The scientific theory, however, +usually introduces an element which has not been or cannot be directly +observed, and also, as we have seen, usually proves to have been too +hasty a generalisation. Its function is to co-ordinate known phenomena +and to predict hitherto unobserved phenomena. The extent to which it +does this is the measure of its success as a scientific theory, and, +since the primary object of the scientific theory is to express the +harmonies which are found to exist in nature, we see at once that these +theories must have an æsthetic value. The measure of the success of a +scientific theory is, in fact, a measure of its æsthetic value, since +it is a measure of the extent to which it has introduced harmony in +what was before chaos. + +It is in its æsthetic value that the justification of the scientific +theory is to be found, and with it the justification of the scientific +method. Since facts without laws would be of no interest, and laws +without theories would have, at most, a practical utility, we see that +the motives which guide the scientific man are, from the beginning, +manifestations of the æsthetic impulse. The reason why certain facts +and not others interest the scientific man, the reason why he makes a +choice, is because truth without beauty is as uninteresting to him as +to any other artist. In the words of Poincaré: “Le savant n’étudie pas +la nature parce que cela est utile; il l’étudie parce qu’il y prend +plaisir, et il y prend plaisir parce qu’elle est belle. Si la nature +n’était pas belle, elle ne vaudrait pas la peine d’être connue, la vie +ne vaudrait pas la peine d’être vécue.” + + + + + A PHYSICIST ON PHYSICS + + + I + +The well-meant and industrious efforts of professional metaphysicians +to explain to men of science in what sense science is true, in what +sense it has meaning and in what its value really consists, practically +all suffer from the defect that men of science do not recognise the +subject of investigation as being science at all. It is almost true to +say that the professional philosopher is only convincing when he is +talking about the Absolute, for that is a subject with which nobody +else is concerned; but when he devotes his attention to subjects with +which other people are familiar, it often becomes possible to put +the book down before finishing it. Thus treatises on æsthetics are +usually convincing to everybody but poets, painters and musicians, +and philosophical writings on science are probably in great demand +amongst classical scholars. Nevertheless, since philosophising on these +subjects is an agreeable mental exercise, we find that some artists +are now engaged in developing an æsthetic for themselves, and some +men of science are engaged in trying to find out what science is. +In each case the work consists chiefly in making explicit processes +which are instinctive. This fact is of the greatest importance, for, +if the instinctive equipment be lacking, the results will inevitably +be unsatisfactory. There are treatises on æsthetics, for instance, +whose chief effect on the poet is to make him doubt whether the author +could tell a good poem from a bad one; this is an absolutely fatal +objection. If poets cannot recognise what they call poetry as being +the subject of the discussion, then, as a discussion of poetry, that +discussion is worthless. Practitioners, whether artists or men of +science, seldom have the inclination to uncover and dissect what is +to them an instinctive and delightful process; but it is quite easy +for them to see (or, rather, to feel) that a suggested explanation +is unsatisfactory, although they may find it wholly impossible to +give reasons for their dissatisfaction. Nevertheless, when this +dissatisfaction is due to an inability to recognise the subject-matter, +the explanation must be condemned. It is perfectly possible, for +instance, that psycho-analysis, by introducing a mother-complex, an +inferiority-complex, and two or three more, might “explain” the Ode to +a Nightingale. But if this explanation left out everything which made +poets regard that composition as a poem, it would not be a satisfactory +explanation. + +We have treated this point at some length because Dr. Campbell, in +a recent valuable book on the Elements of Physics, insists that the +physics he is talking about is that of physicists. He has endeavoured +to supply a criticism of the terms used in Physics, to find what is +meant by a Law, by a Theory, what a physicist means when he says a +proposition is “true,” or that something “exists,” or that a theory has +“meaning.” Mr. Campbell is perfectly aware that all these subjects have +already been treated by the professional metaphysician, but he claims, +and we have no doubt that his claim is just, that he is speaking not +only for himself but for the great majority of scientific men when +he says that in these discussions he not only does not recognise +the subject-matter, but he does not recognise any subject-matter. +Such words as “reality” and “existence,” as they are employed by +metaphysicians, he finds productive of nothing but great discomfort and +intense mental confusion. As he unhesitatingly rejects the hypothesis +that metaphysicians are imbeciles, he thinks this confusion can be due +only to the fact that these words are used by metaphysicians in senses +quite different from those they bear to men of science. He has not +been able to explain precisely in what the difference consists, since +he has not been able to discover what meanings metaphysicians attach +to these words. Accordingly he has confined himself to explaining the +meanings these words have in science. The result is a subtle, fairly +clear, and frequently entertaining piece of analysis. He acknowledges +that his two masters have been Poincaré and Bertrand Russell, and he +shows complete familiarity with other writers of the kind. But part +of his reason for publishing the book, he tells us, is that even the +mathematical philosophers occasionally misrepresent science as the +experimental physicist knows it. That they are mathematicians and +not physicists is a little too evident in some of their conclusions. +Thus Mach’s idea that the object of science is to economise thought +is only plausible, he thinks, to a mathematician; and a fundamental +proposition that Russell and Whitehead find quite necessary to thought +Mr. Campbell does not find necessary at all. He thinks it quite likely, +also, that scientific thinking is illogical, but not therefore invalid. +The point of view, in fact, is that there are different kinds of minds +with different needs and different satisfactions, and Mr. Campbell +claims that physicists, for example, belong to a certain species and +that the science of physics is something which exists in the minds of +physicists. Therefore this book, as he insists, is not only written +by a physicist, but it is written for physicists. He is confident +that what he has to say will be found an explicit statement of their +instinctive processes, and he thinks the highest compliment that could +be paid to his book would be for physicists to say they knew it all +before. + +Now it is true that nobody but a physicist could have written this +book and that nobody ignorant of physics could understand it. It may +also be true that none but a practising physicist could understand it +with the intimacy that Mr. Campbell desires. But any reader who is +not, in Mr. Campbell’s sense, half-educated (the other half consists +of science--preferably physics) will find the book not only valuable, +but delightful. The slight touch of _brusquerie_ that the +metaphysician or the equally unfortunate “half-educated” person might +attribute to Mr. Campbell from the above exposition is not in the +least that of the horny-handed son of toil, but is the half-humorous +impatience of a subtle and vigorous thinker who is by no means naïve. +There is no reason why the audience that reads Poincaré’s popular four +volumes should not also read this book, and there are many reasons why +it should. Many of the questions raised there are here developed more +fully; most of the questions, in fact, raised by the speculations of +such men as Poincaré, Russell, Mach, etc., in so far as they affect +science, are here given systematic treatment. We hope to devote a +future article to the exposition of some of Mr. Campbell’s more +interesting results; we are concerned here to indicate the nature and +scope of the book. + +The present volume is in two pretty distinct parts, the first part +being concerned with the propositions of science, and the second part +with measurement. These are to be followed by Part III. on Space and +Time, Part IV. on Force, and Part V. on Energy, although, regarding +these parts, Mr. Campbell says: “I have not the remotest idea when, +if ever, they will be published.” Without anticipating a future +discussion of the more technical parts of Mr. Campbell’s work, we may +refer here, because of the general interest taken in the subject, to +the explanation he gives of the fact that while the outside world +resolutely marks off Science from Art, yet this distinction is not at +all clear to scientific men. It is difficult, for example, in studying +the life of a great man of science, to resist the conclusion that his +incentives and satisfactions are indistinguishable from those of a +great artist. Yet it seems to be undoubtedly true that a work of Art +is something personal, whereas Science is obviously impersonal. Mr. +Campbell asks us to distinguish between truth and meaning. The truth +of science is something impersonal, but its meaning is personal. The +achievement of Newton and Maxwell is as personal as that of Giotto, +Shakespeare and Bach. Their dreams were not less personal, nor less +delightful, and it is nothing to their discredit that their dreams also +came true. And the fact that the meaning of a scientific theory is +something that exists, perhaps, only for men of science, has an obvious +parallel in Art. The following passage from Mr. Campbell’s book is one +to which every man of science would give instant assent: + + Nobody who has any portion of the scientific spirit can fail to + remember times when he has thrilled to a new discovery as if it were + his own. He has greeted a new theory with the passionate exclamation, + “It must be true!” He has felt that its eternal value is beyond + all reasoning, that it is to be defended, if need be, not by the + cold-blooded methods of the laboratory or the soulless processes of + formal logic, but, like the honour of a friend, by simple affirmation + and eloquent appeal. The mood will and should pass; the impersonal + enquiry must be made before the new ideas can be admitted to our + complete confidence. But in that one moment we have known the real + meaning of science, we have experienced its highest value; unless such + knowledge and such experience were possible, science would be without + meaning and therefore without truth. + + + II + +What kind of Physics would be developed by a man alone on an island? +We are assuming, of course, that this favourite figure of speculative +writers enjoys the properties usually attributed to him; he is +remarkably intelligent, and can create by a word any scientific +apparatus he requires. The point is that he has no need to take into +account the judgments of other people. Let us choose an experiment +designed to make clear the consequences of his isolated state. +Suppose our islander, after looking at a red patch, glances at a +white ceiling. He sees a green patch. Now suppose that he heats a +copper wire in the flame of a Bunsen burner. The flame turns green. +Will our islander proceed to construct a physics which shall embrace +both these observations? Before we can answer this question we must +consider why our own physics distinguishes so sharply between them. +In the first place, it may be said that all observers, except the man +who contemplated a patch of red, agree that the colour of the ceiling +is unchanged, whereas, in the case of the copper wire, all observers +agree that the flame has turned green. In the first case, therefore, +we say that there has occurred a change in the observer, and in the +second case a change in the flame. We invoke the criterion of universal +assent. But it can readily be shown that we have not, in fact, invoked +this criterion, for in saying that the flame has turned green, we have +left out the testimony of colour-blind persons. Not everybody would +agree that the flame has turned green, and on what principle are we to +decide between the conflicting opinions of different observers? Mr. +Campbell’s examination of this question appears to take us to the root +of the matter. Universal assent is involved, but also something more, +and it is the something more which will probably enable our islander +to form a physics like our own. Let us first consider the way in which +universal assent is involved in science. + +We must obviously leave out judgments of colour; similarly, science +does not now measure electrical quantities in the manner of Cavendish, +by comparing the intensities of electric shocks experienced by the +observer. Science makes a choice of the judgments it shall consider; +it does not even embrace all judgments for which universal assent may +be obtained. The judgments on which science is based, and for which +universal agreement may be obtained, are divided by Mr. Campbell into +three groups: (1) Judgments of simultaneity, consecutiveness and +“betweenness” in time;[1] (2) Judgments of coincidence and betweenness +in space; (3) Judgments of number, such as, The number of the group +A is equal to, greater than or less than, the number of the group +B. Now it is judgments of this kind that are involved in physical +observations: the deflection of a spot of light on a scale, the reading +of a stop-watch, and so on. These judgments are fundamental to science +and are such that universal assent may be obtained for them. Let us +now consider the case of the copper wire in the Bunsen flame. We have +said that not all people will agree that the flame has turned green. +But the light from the Bunsen has other properties than its colour; +it has a measurable refrangibility and a measurable wave-length. The +important point for physics is that all observers, both “normal” +and colour-blind, would agree on these measurements, since they are +connected with the fundamental judgments mentioned above. The fact that +different observers associate these same measurements with different +colours is a fact of no importance for physics; “colour” is not a +notion essential to physics at all; when phrases containing such words +as “red” or “yellow” occur in physics they may always be replaced by +words depending for their meaning solely on fundamental time, space and +number judgments. It is for this reason, then, that science builds on +perfectly sure foundations; its foundations can only be denied by an +imposter, that is, by one whose actions show that he actually believes +what he says he denies. Now, how does this apply to our islander? +We may assume that he can measure refrangibility and wave-length. +He finds that, in these particulars, the light from the ceiling is +unaltered, while the light from the Bunsen flame is altered. But these +observations have no greater support than his colour judgments. On both +occasions the only testimony is his own. But he would notice a great +difference directly he began to establish the laws connecting these +phenomena. The laws derived from the second set of observations would +be much more satisfactory than those derived from the first set. He +would undoubtedly prefer them and would unhesitatingly adopt them. When +it is put in this way, there certainly seems something arbitrary about +the process by which science selects its fundamental judgments. They +are selected because they fall neatly and satisfactorily into laws. Mr. +Campbell further suggests that the laws used in science are selected +from amongst other possible laws because the selected laws fit into +theories, “the form of which is dictated chiefly by preconceived ideas +of what a theory should be.” It may be stated at once that Mr. Campbell +admits the presence of an arbitrary element in science, but it is +precisely his case that this arbitrary element gives to science its +value. + +We cannot here summarise his exposition, because it would be +unintelligible except to readers with a scientific training, since Mr. +Campbell has adopted the very sound method of analysing the actual +laws and theories current in physics. We may indicate, however, the +general lines of his investigation. He attempts to analyse the kind of +relation involved in a scientific “law.” It has been generally assumed +by philosophers that this relation is the “causal” relation, but, in +fact, it is very doubtful whether this relation is ever used in the +statement of laws. It is a very special kind of relation, and its +supposed importance to science seems to rest on a confusion between the +psychological process in an observer performing an experiment and the +relation stated to exist between his observations. Thus, in Ohm’s Law, +does the potential difference enter as cause or effect of the current? +The question is sufficient to show that the causal relation is not +concerned. Mr. Campbell admits that he has not succeeded in making a +final analysis of the propositions called laws, but we think that he +has certainly established several points of great value. It is more to +our present purpose, however, that this analysis shows more clearly +how an arbitrary element enters into scientific laws. A law does +not simply relate concepts in a manner consistent with observation; +it would be perfectly possible, for instance, to replace Ohm’s Law, +expressing simple proportionality between current and potential +difference, by a much more complicated expression which should agree +equally well with observation. There are always several laws which will +satisfy the observations; the one that is chosen is chosen for its +simplicity, i.e., because of the mental satisfaction it affords. The +fact that it does fit the observations gives it what Mr. Campbell calls +its “truth,” and the fact that it affords intellectual satisfaction +gives it what he calls its “meaning.” + +When we pass from laws to theories we find that the element of +“meaning” becomes much more prominent. Now the truth of a law is +something that rests on universal assent; this is not the case, +however, for the meaning of a law. It may be that the contemplation +of Ohm’s Law gives you no satisfaction whatever; if it satisfies me, +however, then to me it has meaning. It is only necessary, therefore, +that scientific laws should have meaning for scientific men; their +truth, however, is the same for all. When we come to consider theories +we find that, concerning their meaning, there is much more difference +of opinion. This difference, in fact, almost follows national lines, +so that of the two great classes of theories, the “mechanical” and the +“mathematical,” the former is largely a product of British physicists, +while continental physicists prefer the second type. Mr. Campbell +analyses very acutely the differences between the two classes as +well as the elements they have in common. As he says, there may be a +“taste” for certain kinds of theories, as there is a taste for oysters. +The result of this analysis is to show very clearly in what respects +science is impersonal and in what respects personal; it also helps to +make clear what science is. It is true that the impersonal element in +science is the most important, in this sense, that if any law or theory +can be shown not to be true, then, however much meaning it may have, +it must be at once rejected. It is also true that it is the meaning +of laws and theories, particularly theories, which gives them their +value to scientific men. We therefore reach once more the conclusion, +sufficiently familiar, but seldom so satisfactorily prepared, that the +value of science is in the æsthetic satisfactions it affords. In Mr. +Campbell’s words, “Science is the noblest of the arts.” + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 1: Assuming, in accordance with the principle of Relativity, +that all observers have the same motion.] + + + + + SCIENCE AND CULTURE + + +The influence of scientific discoveries on that vaguely defined +complex of beliefs and intellectual interests called culture seems, at +first sight, to have something paradoxical about it. There can be no +question that this influence is very widespread, and there can be as +little question that ignorance of scientific discoveries is equally +widespread. If our admittedly cultured classes were submitted to such a +_questionnaire_ as the workers in Sheffield were recently called +upon to answer, we should doubtless find that such questions as Who +was Dante? Who was Plato? would act like holes in a dam; but it is to +be feared that the questions under the heading _Science_ would +evoke the merest trickle of information. And yet many of the questions +in other parts of the _questionnaire_ would be answered very +differently were it not for those scientific discoveries of which the +examinee can give no satisfactory description. The apparent paradox is +resolved by remembering that it is only the broadest generalisations +of science, and only certain aspects of those, which exert a marked +influence on the rest of a man’s beliefs. The varied and highly +complicated studies which make up modern astronomy, for instance, +can be known, in any real sense, to but a few specialists; the one +significant thing, for purposes of general culture, that emerges from +these studies, is that the earth is materially insignificant in the +universe. We need not mind if so much knowledge and no more percolates +through the barriers of a literary education; the damage is done; +the rest of the man’s beliefs begin to be profoundly affected. In +the papers on geology and biology the majority of cultured people +would fail; they would all be amused, however, at the idea that the +earth was formed in 4004 B.C. and that man was a special and +separate creation. Psychological studies have not yet reached, perhaps, +a great and easily understood generalisation, but there is a growing +charity vis-à-vis the “criminal classes” and other moral outcasts. Our +Victorian parents’ hearty condemnation of everybody they disliked is +now just a little more difficult. Such generalisations as we have been +mentioning are important to general culture because of what we may +call their perspective effect. Their bearing on the rest of a man’s +mental furniture is not direct; they put the furniture in a different +setting. A change of residence, if the difference between the two +houses be sufficiently marked, may well lead to a change of habits, +and the furniture which looked quite well in four rooms may seem a +little inadequate in forty. Those writers who declare that there is +no “real” conflict between science and religion, for instance, may be +perfectly good logicians; the point is whether a particular religion +looks adequate in the modern universe of science. It is not a question +of destroying the furniture; it is whether the contents of a bijou +villa adequately furnish Salisbury Plain. The influence of science +on philosophy is similarly indirect. Perhaps there is no philosophy +which does not still find defenders; our objection to many of these +philosophies is not that they are illogical, but that they look so +funny. + +When we come to study the influence of science on the arts we see that +there is yet another way in which science modifies culture. Many of the +pleasurable emotions associated with the arts are not unknown to the +student of science. The study of such sciences as astronomy, physics +or biology awakens emotions not readily distinguishable from those +evoked by even the greatest works of art. It is as if the universe with +which science deals was itself a work of art; it is, to an increasing +number of people, the greatest of all works of art. Such students often +acquire a new standard of æsthetic excellence. Darwin’s indifference to +poetry in his later years was probably the result, not of the atrophy +of a faculty, but of its fuller exercise elsewhere. The young William +Thomson, reading at night in the library, and drawing great breaths of +rapture over Lagrange’s _Mécanique Analytique_, was experiencing +emotions probably not very different from those of Swinburne when +reading Shakespeare. Before such satisfactions become accessible to the +ordinary cultured classes more is required than that vague acquaintance +with outstanding generalities to which we have referred. In such a +science as astronomy the mere results are often sufficiently attractive +to rouse pleasurable emotions in the reader, although the actual march +of the investigation by which the results were obtained is often of +equal interest. At the present day both results and the broad lines +of the investigations are in many cases accessible to the ordinary +cultured person, with the result that his intellectual interests are +added to, or at least find a new field for deployment. A greater number +of æsthetic objects people his world, and it may even happen that the +new arrivals affect the estimate in which he held the old. He may +discover an unsuspected futility in some of his earlier occupations; he +may, in fact, change his ideals of culture. + +But it is, in truth, impossible to trace precisely the effect on an +individual of a new belief or of a new interest. Psychologists have +made us aware of the fact that the mind is not only immensely complex, +but that the connections between its elements are often of the most +unsuspected character. Destruction of an old belief or the grafting +of a new interest may issue in results as unlike their cause as the +butterfly is unlike the chrysalis. The effect of the impact of science +on the old culture cannot be foreseen; it has, however, already +produced such changes that the culture of the comparatively near future +will probably differ from ours by more than ours differs from that of +Babylon. + + + + + JAMES CLERK MAXWELL + + +The place that will be held by James Clerk Maxwell in the history of +physics is not easy to determine. That it will be a very high place is +obvious, that he will emerge as the greatest of the physicists of the +nineteenth century is probable, but the student of Maxwell must feel +that this kind of ranking is somehow irrelevant, or likely to become +irrelevant, to his peculiar effect. The unique impression produced by +Maxwell’s achievement is not adequately described by being referred to +his “originality.” There are different ways of being original; it is +not a sufficiently penetrating term. A number of Maxwell’s scientific +contemporaries were original men, but one is conscious that they +had more in common with one another than Maxwell had with them. An +exception from this statement is found in W. K. Clifford, who, as has +often been remarked, had a genius curiously akin to Maxwell’s. Both men +were exceptionally _independent_ thinkers, both men resisted the +attraction of the high road; both men, if the term may be permitted, +had a personal and unique angle of approach to the problems of their +time. But this, though true, is not a sufficient description. It is +important that in neither case do we feel their individual quality +to be an eccentricity; their work has a power, and, still more, a +comprehensive serenity, which is never the product of mere oddity--the +oddity, for instance, of a Samuel Butler. If we try to get closer to +this elusive and important characteristic we do not meet with much +success; but we may suggest that the ideas of these men have the +effect of springing from an unusually rich, subtle and comprehensive +_context_. The fundamental ideas of the science of their time were +subtly modified by reception into these minds; they were connected in a +personal and unusual web of implications. + +It is doubtless worth noting in this connection that Maxwell, unlike +most of the scientific men of his time, was genuinely interested in +metaphysical speculation. This was not merely another interest of +his; it was, at most, another field of attention; he brought the same +attitude of mind to all the objects with which he was concerned. We +cannot make an exception even in the case of his religious views; to +this man the problems of metaphysics, of physics, of morality, are +almost arbitrary divisions of the one object of his thought. He was +expressing a real difference from himself when he said that some men +seem to have water-tight compartments in their minds. When we study the +kind of homogeneity characteristic of Maxwell’s mental life it is easy +to understand those who call him a mystic. Even as a purely scientific +man, his rational faculty, as evidenced by his mathematical reasoning, +was a distinctly more fallible thing than his intuition. This is not to +say that he was not a fine mathematician, but it is his intuitive grasp +of a physical problem which gives him his high position, and not his +purely mathematical verifications. His mathematics, in fact, was not +always impeccable, as Sir Joseph Larmor points out in the new edition +of _Matter and Motion_. But it is characteristic of Maxwell, that, +even when his proofs were faulty, his results were usually sound. His +own way of confirming a difficult intuition was not to provide a formal +mathematical verification, but to make appeal to easier intuitions--in +fact, to construct mechanical models. He always liked to _see_ the +way things worked. It is important to remember that this desire for a +particular kind of verification was not due to any lack of power to +form abstractions; it was due to something quite different, to a lack +of ease when faced by a purely logical chain of deduction. On Maxwell’s +famous _Treatise on Electricity and Magnetism_, Poincaré comments +that its difficulty resides precisely in its great abstraction. It is +this presentation of his theory to which one has to turn; nevertheless +Maxwell, as if for his private satisfaction, developed some extremely +complicated models which seemed to him to make his theory clearer. It +was doubtless this combination, a great power of abstraction on the one +hand, and a desire for very definite, even unnecessarily definite, +confirmation on the other, which enabled him to be at once extremely +original and remarkably sound. + +In his boyhood he was constantly making all kinds of experiments with +common substances, drawing complicated diagrams, constructing solid +geometrical figures, even knitting elaborate pieces of wool-work; +practically all these pursuits were dictated by the same desire, the +desire to see an abstract principle embodied in a concrete instance. +No man was less at the mercy of words. But it was, nevertheless, +the abstract principle with which Maxwell was concerned; he merely +wished to be quite sure that he understood it. His occasional trick of +supplying an unexpectedly simple proof of a difficult theorem is due to +this habit of realisation. Platitudes acquired a wealth of implication +in Maxwell’s hands. During his student life at Cambridge, when he seems +to have been chiefly occupied in making a survey of things in general, +we find the same desire to reduce everything to a few principles; but +the principles must first stand a rigorous examination. Merely vague +unifications provoked his irony, and where no principle could be made +to work, then, in spite of his love for coherent and inclusive systems, +he would admit ignorance. And, in spite of his need for principles, +and the tenacity with which he clung to those that met his need, he +claimed no “absolute” quality for his beliefs. In his own words, +“Nothing is to be _holy ground_ consecrated to Stationary Faith, +whether positive or negative.” And, later, “Again, I assert the Right +of Trespass on any plot of Holy Ground which any man has set apart....” +Such questioning as Maxwell applied to himself was to be applied to +all other men. He was conservative, but not on exterior authority. His +scepticism was, in truth, very profound, and it was always present. +It informs his criticism, which is often extremely penetrating. The +letters he wrote on the death of his friend Pomeroy, shortly after +Maxwell had become a Fellow of Trinity, are very instructive from this +point of view. His distrust of the “rationalisations” that men give of +their beliefs extends to the beliefs themselves. As he says, men “are +ignorant even of their own true faith till something brings it into +action.” This was a deep-rooted conviction with him, and is responsible +for the flavour of irony which is never long absent from his comments +on philosophic matters, indefatigable student as he was. He can direct +this scepticism against himself, as in the entry in his programme of +future study: “4. Metaphysics--Kant’s _Kritik of Pure Reason_ +in German, read with a determination to make it agree with Sir W. +Hamilton.” On another occasion he writes to a friend pointing out that, +in reading an author, he had to find out first of all, not what the +author meant, but that it was not what he was convinced must be meant. +A little experience of criticism persuades us that this is, indeed, a +very necessary procedure. + +This aspect of Maxwell, as a critic at large, as it were, would +well repay study, and it is unfortunate that our material for it is +contained in a scarcely ideal biography. He differed from the run of +scientific men, whose absorption in one pursuit makes their mental life +unrepresentative; his chief problems are not found in his scientific +writings, and they are the problems of us all. There was nothing +superficial in Maxwell, and he had no easily won conclusions. It is +the path he followed that gives interest to his goal. We should like +to know, for instance, what experiences, what reflections, enabled him +to write: “Long ago I felt like a peasant in a country overrun with +soldiers, and saw nothing but carnage and danger. Since then I have +learned at least that some soldiers in the field die nobly, and that +all are summoned there for a cause.” That Maxwell, either suddenly +or gradually, developed a mystic consciousness of life, is borne +out by many passages of his correspondence. We can attach no other +significance to his description of his “nostrum”: “an abandonment of +wilfulness without extinction of will, but rather by means of a great +development of will, whereby, instead of being consciously free and +really in subjection to unknown laws, it becomes consciously acting by +law, and really free from the interference of unrecognised laws”; and +his letters to his wife, dealing with passages from the Bible, abound +in interpretations which are indubitably mystical. Yet we have no +evidence that he was acquainted with the literature and terminology +of mysticism; he is speaking of personal experiences, not of acquired +doctrines. + +The maintenance of a mystical outlook on life, together with a +perfect realisation of the implications of physical science, was +accomplished, in Maxwell’s case, by denying the ordinary conception of +the _direction_ of scientific progress. It is the idea which would +inevitably occur to him, for it is the peculiar merit of his own work +that it was not the result of straightforward progress. He made a new +way of thinking necessary just as, in our own time, Quantum Theory and +Relativity Theory have fundamentally disturbed our most unquestionable +assumptions. The way Maxwell actually approached the problem we have +mentioned was by insisting on what he called, by a mathematical +analogy, the “singular points” of existences, that is, the points where +the equations break down, and he postulated that the more there were +of these singular points the higher the rank of the existence. At a +“singular point” influences which are usually negligible may assume a +dominating importance, and Maxwell saw the science of the future as +being largely concerned with these lapses in continuity--as, in fact, +science since his time has been. In this way he escaped determinism. In +his own words: + + If, therefore, those cultivators of physical science from whom the + intelligent public deduce their conception of the physicist, and + whose style is recognized as marking with a scientific stamp the + doctrines they promulgate, are led in the pursuit of the arcana of + science to the study of the singularities and instabilities, rather + than the continuities and stabilities of things, the promotion of + natural knowledge may tend to remove that prejudice in favour of + determinism which seems to arise from assuming that the physical + science of the future is a mere magnified image of that of the past. + +This speculation, the problem of evil, and in what sense the individual +may be said to persist in Time, are the kind of questions which +concerned him during the last years of his life. It would be merely +fanciful to mention these things as evidence of that “context” of which +we spoke, but we think it is possible to understand more intimately the +origin of the Electromagnetic Theory of Light if we remember that it +originated in a mind which also constantly entertained these other, and +apparently disconnected, speculations. + + + + + ASSUMPTIONS + + + I + +It has been remarked that man’s senses were given him, not to +philosophise with, but to help him in the struggle for existence; +Boltzmann, the great German physicist, was frankly distrustful of +many of the natural motions of the mind. He could admit that Science, +although often very abstract, had a certain validity, since it issues +in the prediction of events which are accessible to sense perception. +But philosophy, he insisted, was in an altogether different case, and +he thought the chances considerable that its impalpable conclusions +were the merest moonshine. It is a speculation that must have exercised +everyone who has whole-heartedly accepted the evolutionary account of +the rise of intelligence. Why should this instrument be adapted to +other than its original uses? Doubts of this kind, however, are both +too vague and too comprehensive to serve any useful purpose. They +do not tell us in what way and to what extent our intelligence is +untrustworthy; they do not enable us to make one step towards drawing +up an Index of Forbidden Subjects. At the most they enable a man with +a constitutional dislike of philosophic speculations to indulge his +contempt for that occupation with an easy conscience. Nevertheless, +a tincture of this doubt is very wholesome, and more particularly if +it be the result of an acquaintance with the history of human thought +rather than the product of a kind of lazy _a priori_ scepticism. +A student of the history of science, for instance, is inevitably led +to reflect on the curious nature of the barriers to further advance +which the mind itself has set up. It is as if the mind could only take +exercise within some imaginary prisoner’s yard, and that the great +advances were really the result of liberations. These liberations are +only partial; the mythical boundaries are set a little further off, but +it is agreed that the high walls exist. + +It is interesting to review the progress of Science from this point of +view, to see it as a gradual secession from unwarrantable assumptions. +The exceedingly cautious, the almost groping character, of the +advance of knowledge, becomes very apparent. And, although such a +survey may lead us to become very conscious of this particular mental +limitation, we are not one whit nearer being enfranchised. It is still +the prerogative of genius to be innocent, to turn surprised eyes on +one of our most arbitrary assumptions, and to say: But that is not +necessary. The history of Astronomy, of course, provides some of the +best examples of mental prison yards. That the planets must move in +circles because the circle is the perfect figure is an assumption now +sufficiently remote from our acquired sense of probability to seem +exceedingly strange. That it was an assumption possessing a high degree +of obviousness is apparent from the fact that even Copernicus did not +question it. The attempt to enter into this assumption, to see it as +obviously reasonable, would be a useful exercise for the historian, +since it involves, very largely, a reconstitution of the mental life +of that age. It acquired its obvious character from the fact that it +_fitted in_; it was the natural companion of a great number of +other equally obvious assumptions; it was not an isolated eccentricity +of the mind. It is for that reason that Copernicus never freed himself +from it, and that Kepler only succeeded after a difficult struggle. +Kepler was required to question not merely an isolated doctrine, but to +escape from a veritable _Zeitgeist_. The Inquisitorial examination +of Galileo, also, was not directed merely to correcting the erroneous +statement of an isolated fact; it was, in truth, a whole system of +thought that stood on trial. It is this double aspect of any given +abandoned assumption that accounts for our unimaginative surprise on +learning that very intelligent men once mistook it for an obvious +truth. We are judging the assumption, not on its own merits, as it +were, but from the standpoint of an alien system of thought. + +We can form a juster estimate of the degree of credulity manifested by +the contemporaries of Copernicus by considering assumptions that have +been but recently questioned, or rather, which have only recently been +generally questioned. The assumptions regarding animal psychology form +a vivid example. Such men as Darwin and Romanes found it quite natural +to assume that the emotions and many of the intellectual processes of +which they were conscious in themselves furnished an adequate key to +animal behaviour. It is an assumption which the average educated man +of to-day makes quite readily, although he may not share Aristotle’s +views on the perfection of circles. We now know that there is no reason +whatever to suppose, for example, that the psychology of snails has +the slightest resemblance to the psychology of human beings. We may be +confident that, in a very few years, the assumptions of Darwin and most +other people will appear almost inexplicably gratuitous. It will take +longer, we think, for the Freudian ideas about man himself to become +acclimatised; man will take a long time to learn that in trusting his +immediate awareness of himself he is making a number of unwarrantable +assumptions. The system of thought into which his present assumptions +fit is so profound and extensive that it is impossible, even now, to +picture the thoroughly enfranchised man. + +A general acceptance of the Einsteinian ideas of space and time is +easier to predict. The current conceptions of space and time, although +Euclidean when reduced to a logical scheme, are not, in fact, present +as a logical scheme in the mind of the ordinary man. He is sufficiently +vague about his fundamental assumptions to offer no strenuous +resistance to their subtle modification. We think that part of his +general bewilderment about Einstein’s space and time is due to his +bewilderment on thinking about space and time at all. His assumptions +on these questions, whatever those assumptions may be, are not really +part of a general scheme of beliefs. Nothing that greatly concerns him +is incompatible with non-Euclidean geometry, and we confidently expect +that the grandchildren of the ordinary man will as blandly believe they +have swallowed Einstein as the contemporary ordinary man believes he +has swallowed Euclid. For an assumption which is not an integral part +of a general scheme of thought is readily abandoned. It is the lopping +of connections which the mind resists. It is no paradox to say that the +mathematician and philosopher finds it harder to accept Einstein than +does the ordinary man. That is because the mathematician’s acceptance +involves both believing more and disbelieving more. + + + II + +Probability is, of course, the guide of life. If all our assumptions +were expressed, we should find the phrase “it is reasonable to suppose” +occurred more frequently than any other, whether we were engaged +in crossing a street or in writing a philosophical essay. Yet our +perception of the reasonableness of anything rests on a sentiment +which is often very delicate and extremely difficult to define. The +mathematicians have succeeded in giving exact expression to some of the +simplest manifestations of this sentiment, but most of the cases we +are called upon to solve in ordinary daily life cannot be dealt with +by their analysis. It is the great strength of science that it builds +wholly upon this sentiment. We are not called upon to “transcend” +reason by faith; we are asked to believe nothing that sins against +our sense of probability. It is admitted, of course, that there are +scientific theories that do not sound reasonable on a first hearing; +indeed, they sometimes outrage common sense, and every scientific +engineer knows the difficulty of persuading the “practical” man that +the obvious thing is not always the right thing. Nevertheless, it is +claimed for science that, on the evidence, its conclusions are the +most reasonable ones even when they are wrong. The sense of what is +reasonable depends upon the evidence, but the word “evidence” must +often be taken to include a great deal of which the mind is not fully +conscious. It was at one time thought quite reasonable that the +heavenly bodies should move in circles round the earth. The belief was +not wholly a matter of astronomical evidence. It was considered that +there was something peculiarly and inherently reasonable in circular +motion for heavenly bodies. We can see that this expectation was +connected with the æsthetic properties of the circle, and we now think +that expectations based on such considerations are, in astronomical +matters, illegitimate. Something akin to such considerations still +plays a part in science, however, although in a less obvious form. +Other things being equal, a simple explanation of natural phenomena is +preferred to a more complicated one, although, as Fresnel remarked, +there is no _a priori_ reason to suppose that Nature takes any +account of analytical difficulties. The history of the Copernican +theory of the solar system is instructive from this point of view. The +notion that the Earth and other planets went round the sun immediately +made a number of puzzling things clear. It seemed, on the whole, a very +reasonable notion. It was attended, however, by one great difficulty. +If, at the end of six months, the earth were really at opposite ends +of a long line, it should follow that the stars, viewed from these +two points, should seem to shift their relative positions in the sky, +just as the trees in a wood seem to change their relative positions as +we pass them in a train. Tycho Brahe, one of the greatest astronomers +who ever lived, was so impressed by the fact that this expected change +does not occur, that he could not accept the Copernican theory as it +stood. He invented a curious hybrid theory of his own, according to +which, while the other planets went round the sun, they, together with +the sun, revolved round the earth. He does not seem to have made many +converts to this view; it somehow offends one’s sense of probability. +The Copernican hypothesis persisted, in spite of the difficulty we have +mentioned, but not without causing considerable mental discomfort. When +Horrebow at last thought that he had obtained evidence of the apparent +annual motion of the stars he published his discovery under the title +_Copernicus Triumphans_. It was found, however, that the supposed +differences were caused by temperature changes affecting the observer’s +clock, and the old difficulty persisted. It might be thought that the +correct solution was obvious; one had only to assume that the stars +are so far away that, with such instruments as were then used, their +apparent motion is imperceptible. We now know that this solution is +the right solution, but in the eighteenth century it did not appear +a reasonable solution. It was felt that if the stars were really at +such immense distances as this hypothesis required, then Nature showed +a grave lack of economy in space. Such enormous stellar distances +pointed, so far as these astronomers could see, to a most unreasonable +waste of space. No farmer would behave in such a fashion, and although +the eighteenth-century astronomers would have denied that they viewed +the universe as a gigantic farm, yet this delicate and elusive notion +of what is reasonable was, in this case, greatly influenced by farming +considerations. It is not possible to form reasonable expectations +except on the basis of experience, and sometimes the most irrelevant +considerations play a part in our estimate. + +As instruments improved, however, the expected motion was observed, +and the distances of some stars calculated. They proved to be +enormous; the great waste of space does occur. God is not a farmer. +This being established, one could approach the general problem of +stellar distribution free from certain prepossessions. One’s sense +of the reasonable acquired a different orientation, as it were. But +it still remains reasonable to suppose that the brighter stars are, +on the whole, nearer to us than the fainter stars. This assumption +must, however, be employed with caution. If a list be formed of +the nearest stars from amongst those whose distances have actually +been determined, we reach some rather unexpected results. Knowing +the apparent magnitudes of these stars, and their distances, we can +calculate their actual luminosity compared with the sun as a standard. +The apparent magnitudes range from Sirius, which is considerably +brighter than a first-magnitude star, to stars of more than the ninth +magnitude, that is, to stars quite invisible to the naked eye. Some +of the nearest stars may be fainter yet, for determinations of the +distances of stars fainter than magnitude 9.5 are lacking. The actual +luminosities of these stars range from forty-eight times that of the +sun to four-thousandths that of the sun. The actual distribution of +the nearer stars is not at all that which would appear reasonable +if we were guided by considerations of apparent brightness. Some of +the very brightest stars, such as Canopus, must be at inconceivable +distances, and their actual brightness must be thousands of times, +perhaps very many thousands of times, that of the sun. Here again our +unsophisticated notion of what is reasonable is apt to be more of a +hindrance than a help. Excellent as a guide through not too unfamiliar +country, it is apt to lead us sadly astray when we advance into +completely unknown territory. Nevertheless, it is the only guide we +have. + + + III + +If we contrast ancient with modern scientific theories we find +that the chief distinguishing characteristic of the former is that +they employ principles drawn from other branches of knowledge or +speculation. It would be, perhaps, rash to say that modern science, +in all its branches, is yet completely autonomous; sometimes, for +instance, it seems to make assumptions which are the result of an +uncritical philosophy, but even the grossest of these examples, +compared with many celebrated early scientific theories, shows how +great is the purification that has been effected. The chief error of +the old speculators consisted in imagining that the world is a more +obvious unity than we have now any reason to suppose. Hence they were +always willing to argue by “analogy,” comparing terms between which +we cannot now find the slightest resemblance. The method was not only +illegitimate, but sometimes led to quite unnecessary complexities of +explanation. The Ptolemaic system of astronomy, for instance, conceived +as the theory that the heavenly bodies revolve round the earth, was +a perfectly reasonable and satisfactory theory. It was capable of +explaining all the observed planetary motions, except a few minute +irregularities requiring precise measurements for their detection. Its +proper development required, of course, complete docility in face of +the facts. But in its actual development it was forced to accommodate +itself to quite other considerations. It had to take into account the +venerable principle that, the celestial bodies being obviously sublime, +incorrupt and perfect, their orbits must be perfect and described with +uniform velocities. The only possible perfect orbit was as obviously +a circle. Hence the Ptolemaic theory was loaded with the task of +explaining the observed heavenly motions on two grounds: first, that +the earth was stationary and at the centre of the system, and second, +that the planetary orbits were circular and described with unvarying +velocities. Alternative hypotheses were not only stupid but impious. +The task thus set to the early astronomers was one of considerable +difficulty. + +The observed path of a planet, say Mars, or Jupiter, or Saturn, is +by no means simple. If its motion amongst the stars be watched from +night to night it is seen to be moving sometimes from east to west +and sometimes from west to east. Further, in changing its direction +of motion it does not retrace its path amongst the stars. Its actual +observed path exhibits irregular loops, and, more rarely, a twisted +line. It was at once obvious that a circular orbit, traversed with +uniform velocity, would not suffice to explain these appearances. +Nevertheless, the principle must be preserved. The astronomers +overcame this difficulty by a device that strikes one as being almost +disingenuous. They imagined a small circle whose centre traversed the +circumference of the big circle with a constant velocity and round +whose own circumference the planet moved with a constant velocity. By +assigning suitable velocities to these two motions the crude features +of the planet’s actual observed motion could be represented--it would +sometimes be retrograde and sometimes direct. This is ingenious, but it +is questionable whether it preserves the principle. The planet’s motion +is obtained by circular motions, it is true, but it is not itself a +circular motion with reference to the earth as centre. The astronomers +have entered on a slippery path. We view them with the same suspicion +with which we watch a Broad Churchman expounding the Thirty-Nine +Articles. But they had to go further. The theoretical and the observed +motions did not fit well enough. On the little circle it was necessary +to imagine a still smaller circle, and to place the planet on its +circumference. After all, this interpretation of “circular motion” once +admitted, there was no reason why it should not be followed up. But +progress in this direction soon came to a halt. It became evident that +this method would not, by itself, reconcile observation and theory. +The principle had to be strained again, and this time in an almost +indefensible manner. It was declared that the big circle was eccentric +with respect to the earth and that the little circles were eccentric +with respect to their supposed former centres. This assertion must have +been a great strain on the faith of the orthodox believer. He may well +have wondered whether, by this time, the pure doctrine of his fathers +had not been subtly undermined. Circular motion was still preserved, in +a way, it is true, but with so many circles, and their centres all over +the place--this must have appeared something very different from what +he supposed the principle to mean. + +The same difficulty was felt by simple minds in modern times, when the +correct explanations of statements in Genesis were worked out by the +theologians. And just as the simple story of the Creation in Genesis +became transformed into an extremely obscure and ambiguous anticipation +of the discoveries of Geology, so the interpretation of circular motion +advanced from complexity to complexity. Immutable principles must +exist, of course--it is part of the glory of man that he should have +been able to discover so many of them--but they sometimes seem more +trouble than they are worth. The old astronomers found that yet again a +more liberal interpretation must be given to the principle of circular +motion. This time it was found that the circles do not all lie in one +plane. Each circle has its own plane, which may be inclined at any +angle to the others. By this time the theorists, whom we might call the +“commentators,” had forged a very powerful method. Circles could be +multiplied; their centres could be placed anywhere; their planes could +be inclined at any angle. The rich content of the principle of circular +motion was now fully revealed. With all these variables to play with a +very close correspondence between theory and observation was effected. + +The rise of the “higher criticism” of this system leads to the history +of modern astronomy. It is to be noted, however, that the first higher +critic, like the first higher critics in other departments, was not +wholly emancipated from his early teaching. Copernicus effected the +immense revolution of placing the sun in the centre of the system, but +he did not abandon circular motion. So he had to retain parts of the +epicyclic apparatus. The revolution was first completely effected by +Kepler, but even he conducted his early researches as a semi-believer, +a kind of very Broad Churchman. He made nineteen successive attempts +to explain the motions of Mars by the arrangements of eccentric +and epicyclic motions, and only then did he frankly throw the great +principle of circular motion overboard, and state that the actual paths +of the planets were ellipses. And so, in a few years, a great immutable +principle, a whole system of beliefs, the industry and thought of +generations went for nothing, and now exist merely as an occasional +cold reference in a treatise on Astronomy to the Ptolemaic system as a +“monument of misplaced ingenuity.” + + + IV + +We may divide scientific theories into two classes, which have recently +been distinguished by Einstein as theories of construction and theories +of principle. His own theory of relativity is a theory of principle, +and its attraction resides in its logical perfection. Such theories, +whatever charm they may have for the logician, are not, man being +constituted as he is, felt to be sufficient. A principle which natural +phenomena obey, and which enables equations to be deduced expressing +the relations between phenomena, is, to a few austere souls, all with +which science need concern itself, but the majority of men require, in +addition, something they call an “explanation” of the relations deduced +from the principle. They desire to see events described in terms with +which they are familiar. Thus, a description of the behaviour of the +material universe in terms of the mutual impacts of little billiard +balls would afford genuine satisfaction to the mind, and important +advances have been made in science by the attempt to describe phenomena +in these terms. The assumptions which underlie some such attempts +may seem, to the logician, preposterous, but there is no doubt that +the mind is impelled to make such assumptions. Our familiarity with +the motions of matter in bulk makes it quite natural that we should +endeavour to give, as far as possible, dynamical explanations of +events, although, if we stop to ask ourselves why nature should be +flexible enough to admit of descriptions in such terms, we are at a +loss for an answer. + +The history of theories of the æther is particularly instructive from +this point of view, because the irrational nature of the impulse is +here most clearly apparent. The attempt to explain phenomena in terms +of an æther has led to some very remarkable theories of the nature of +matter itself. It has been supposed, for instance, that the ultimate +particles of matter are vortical whirls in the æther, or, again, points +of a very special kind of strain in the æther. Nevertheless, a theory +of the æther is regarded as unsatisfactory which is not couched in +terms of the observed behaviour of ordinary matter as we know it. A +dynamical explanation is always sought after, and a great part of the +scientific effort of the nineteenth century was devoted to describing +the æther as an elastic solid. But men of science were not content +with showing that the laws of dynamics could be applied to the æther; +many of them endeavoured to devise models which should represent, on a +large scale, the actual construction of the æther. It is difficult to +know to what extent their authors supposed these models to correspond +to the reality; it is probably not sufficient, however, to say that +they regarded them merely as furnishing useful tools for subsequent +investigations. The models were usually extremely complicated, for, +from the very beginning, the æther proved somewhat recalcitrant to this +attempt to represent it as an elastic solid. The most obvious objection +to this representation was provided by the observed motions of the +planets. It could be proved that, if there were any resistance to their +motions round the sun, it must be excessively minute, and how was this +to be combined with the hypothesis that they were moving with great +speed through an elastic solid? The answer was found in cobbler’s wax. +Sir George Stokes noticed that cobbler’s wax, although rigid enough to +be capable of elastic vibration, is yet sufficiently plastic to permit +other bodies to pass slowly through it. We have only to imagine that +in the æther these qualities are much exaggerated, and the motion of +the planets presents no difficulty. If no substance like cobbler’s +wax happened to be known it is difficult to know what satisfactory +answer could be returned to the objection. Here we have the first +glimpse of the remarkable combination of qualities with which it was +found necessary to dower the æther. The mathematical examination of +the properties of the æther, undertaken by such men as Navier, Cauchy, +Poisson, Green, was continually leading to queer and unsatisfactory +results, unsatisfactory, that is, in the light of our experience of +the properties of matter. Cauchy, in particular, deduced a number of +remarkable physical properties which were irreconcilable with one +another, although one of his theories, that of the æther considered as +a kind of foam, attracted the attention of Lord Kelvin. + +With the rise of Maxwell’s electromagnetic theory, the elastic solid +æther received less attention. Maxwell himself, in his great treatise, +gives no mechanical explanation of his theory; he merely shows that +an infinite number of mechanical explanations are possible. With the +publication of Einstein’s first principle of relativity in 1905, +however, the æther began to disappear; and now, with the generalised +theory of relativity, it has become a mere ghost. There are still +sturdy champions of the æther, and, indeed, it seems a pity to have +to abandon the mechanical explanations it promised. But possibly +the attempt to find dynamical explanations of this kind is doomed +to failure; perhaps, after all, nature is not flexible enough. The +orientation of modern science is in another direction. It is towards +a more abstract class of theories altogether--theories which tell us +nothing about the mechanism of a process, but tell us the principles +the process must obey. Such theories effect a vast unification of +knowledge. They are magnificently comprehensive, and it is possible +that they contain all that we can really know, although men will long +be reluctant to abandon all hope of ever approaching reality with the +intimacy that the theory of the æther seemed to promise. + + + V + +Whether or not it be true that the proper study of mankind is man, it +is certain that he finds great difficulty in studying anything else. +His first impulse, when he thinks about the universe at large, is to +consider it in reference to himself, and to explain it in terms of his +own actions and desires. In Astronomy, for example, it long seemed +quite reasonable that in the peculiarities of men’s bodies should be +found the system on which the universe is constructed. The arguments +of Galileo’s contemporaries amuse us now, for we have learned modesty, +but the tendency to explain all things in purely human terms, as it +were, is by no means yet extinct, and is still a hindrance to science. +It is even hinted that man’s explanation of himself is not free from +bias; psychologists inform us that a man’s account of his own actions +is not always to be trusted, that the true springs of his conduct +are usually those he would blush to own. But if we are to say that +man’s speculations about the universe show an overwhelming sense of +his own importance we must allow him also a certain generosity. Until +quite recent times he was willing to dower almost anything, animate or +inanimate, with his own attributes. He credited stones with life and +trees with desire, while the whole animal world were his brothers. He +could admire the loving sentiments of the dove and weep for the sorrows +of the crab. A pathetic confidence in man as the type and exemplar +of the universe informed nearly all the early writings on animal +psychology, and Descartes’ theory that animals were automatic roused +a sentimental indignation which has not yet subsided. Nevertheless, +comparatively recent investigations tend to overthrow the natural +assumption that worms and insects are little men inhabiting strange +bodies. The modern biologist refuses to be conscience-stricken when +referred to the industry of the bee or the conjugal perfections of the +dove. It is only recently that he has become so heartless. Darwin, +in a celebrated passage, describes with simple reverence the mutual +affection existing between snails. The intelligence of these little +creatures was also estimated highly by Romanes. Loeb, the great +American biologist, did much to upset this naïve anthropomorphism. +He took some worms who are “always attracted by light,” and showed +that this movement did not testify to a “more light” cry in these +little souls, but was a purely automatic proceeding. The worm places +itself so that both sides of its body are equally illuminated. It is a +mechanical action due to the influence of light on the living matter of +its body. If there are two lights the worm passes between them, thus +securing equal illumination of its two sides. + +The crab which, being held by a claw, sheds that claw and hurries to +the nearest rock for shelter, is found to do the same thing after its +eyes or brain have been destroyed. Dr. Georges Bohn, who has made many +experiments to determine how far the actions of the lower animals are +purely mechanical, gives an interesting account of a certain parasitic +worm which attaches itself to the fish called the torpedo. He finds +(1) that if the amount of salt in the water be varied the reactions +of the worm alter; (2) that if light be allowed to play first on one +part and then on another part of the worm, its reactions alter; (3) if +the animal has already taken up its position, attached to the glass, +for instance, and a shadow be passed over the top of the vessel, the +whole body of the worm turns itself into the vertical in such a way +that if the shadow were caused by a passing torpedo, the worm could +attach itself to the fish. If, however, it be already attached to a +torpedo, it does not raise itself at a passing shadow. Here, then, is +an _association_ between the region of the body excited by light +and the part fixed to the fish. It was found, also, that the crab which +abandons its claw only does so when held by a certain part. The action +appears to be purely automatic. If it were dependent in any way on the +crab’s simultaneous visual perceptions, for instance, an associative +phenomon would be established. But experimental tests find no such +correspondence. As the result of numerous experiments of this kind +biologists have become very wary of offering psychical explanations of +the actions of the lower animals. Even when genuine associations are +established one must be careful not to interpret them in terms of human +psychology. In the very description of experiments an unwarrantable +turn may be given to the phenomena by the fact that words of ordinary +language inevitably call up associations which may be out of place in +the discussion. To say that an amœba _learns_ to reject certain +foreign particles in a solution, for instance, is a statement that +requires careful interpretation. How are we to picture an amœba +_learning_ something? + +But, indeed, the danger of anthropomorphic interpretations becomes +very obvious when we reflect on the purely physical phenomena which +accompany man’s own emotions. If the James-Lange theory be correct, +it is in terms of these physical phenomena that we must understand +man’s emotions. Now consider the example given in Washburn’s book, +_The Animal Mind_. An angry man has a quickened heartbeat, altered +breathing, a change in muscular tension, and a change in the blood. +Consider a wasp. It has no lungs, but breathes through its tracheæ; +the circulation of its blood is fundamentally different from that in +man; all its muscles are attached internally because its skeleton is +everywhere external. What, then, is an “angry” wasp? It seems clear +that if a man is to study anything but man he must forget himself as +far as possible. + + + + + ON LEARNING SCIENCE + + +It is a well-known fact that a really intelligent child finds great +difficulty in believing that the earth is round. Stupid children, +on the other hand, believe anything they are told. The difficulty +experienced by the first child is due to the fact that, in however +elementary a way, it is conscious of the implications of the statement. +The stupid child seems to be unaware that the statement has any +implications; it seems able to accept almost any statement in some +curiously bare, unrelated fashion. Hermann Bahr has an interesting and +amusing story of how profoundly his faith in his father was shaken when +the latter, _à propos_ of a sunset, told the young boy that in +reality it was the earth that turned round and not the sun. Completely +overwhelming objections to this statement rose instantly in young +Hermann’s mind, and, outraged by this insult to his intelligence, he +preserved a hurt and dignified silence that lasted for days. + +We notice the same essential difference in schoolboys and university +students, and, in fact, in men of any age. Perhaps the majority +of men, and less certainly of children, have but little sense of +the implications of a statement. The sense of implications does not +necessarily involve the ability to discover the implications--that is +a comparatively rare gift. It acts rather in a negative manner, making +the student restless under a subtly illogical presentation of a case, +or leaving the schoolboy frankly mutinous at the end of a sermon. It +is not a gift which makes a rapid learner, although its absence will +prevent a man from ever knowing a subject properly. It is unfortunate +that education, as practised in this country, does not sufficiently +take into account this very desirable inhibition. The text-book plays +a very large part in contemporary education, and most text-books are +designed for those who can swallow statements at great speed. That +delicate web of doubt, of half-seen alternative explanations, which +comes into the mind of the intelligent student when confronted with +the highly dogmatic statements and somewhat perfunctory “proofs” of +many modern text-books, counts as sheer loss in the examination race. +This is especially true of scientific text-books, which are usually +conceived on an entirely wrong plan, judged from the standpoint of +rational education. Statements which are the final expression of +very difficult and slowly acquired abstractions are presented in all +their nakedness, and followed by a collection of “examples.” The glib +student learns these statements as if he were learning a foreign +language, and soon masters the tricks necessary to apply them. I +have known such students able to solve very difficult problems and +yet entirely unable to meet, in any way, a sceptical attack upon +the fundamental theorem they employ. The fact is that this method +of teaching science is psychologically unnatural, and the knowledge +acquired on this method is largely sham knowledge. While it may not +be true that the child passes through “cultural epochs” in its mental +growth, it is true that it will feel many of the hesitations and +difficulties experienced by the men who first formulated the concepts +now presented to it for its instant acceptance. It is for this reason +that the best method of teaching a science is probably the historic +method. In this way not only are many doubts fairly met instead of +being merely repressed, but the exact _portée_ of a statement and +possible lines of extension are much more clearly seen. The effect of +the modern text-book is to make the intelligent student feel that he is +remarkably unintelligent; the text-book writer is so terribly cocksure. + +But if the historic method must be rejected as too lengthy one may +plead for its partial application. Let the text-book give the broad +outlines, and let the student supplement these by reading, wherever +possible, the standard memoirs written by the original discoverers. +In this way he will gain something much more valuable than a more +thorough acquaintance with his subject; he will learn something of the +mental gesture of the true man of science, something very different +from the glittering efficiency of the text-book writer. Consider, for +instance, the following passage from Newton, writing on the theory of +light: He discusses a corpuscular theory, and continues: + + But they, that like not this, may suppose light any other corporeal + emanation, or any impulse or motion of any other medium or æthereal + spirit diffused through the main body of æther, or what else they + can imagine proper for this purpose. To avoid dispute, and make this + hypothesis general, let every man here take his fancy; only whatever + light be, I suppose it consists of rays differing from one another in + contingent circumstances, as bigness, form, or vigour. + +The subject here becomes alive in a way it never does in the text-book. +It is of the greatest importance that the student should see, not +merely the results, but the avenues of approach. He will gain more +confidence in his own powers and more interest in the subject. + +For those people also who, without being students, take an interest in +science, the reading of original memoirs may be recommended. Much of +the science they learn in this way will be wrong, but they will see it +as something thoroughly human and, it may be, as something thoroughly +sympathetic. The text-book has an air of infallibility which is very +repellent, and it is difficult to avoid associating this with the +scientific man. But it is merely a manifestation of the same tendency +that produces stereotyped restaurants. A reading of the old memoirs +shows science as tentative, imaginative, courageous. They show that the +man of science is a humanist. + + + + + THE ENTENTE CORDIALE + + +Those who are interested in current “serious” literature, and more +particularly that branch of it which deals in a speculative way +with those vague but impressive problems which have always haunted +men, the existence of God, the “meaning” of the Universe and so on, +cannot have failed to notice the unaccustomed prestige now enjoyed by +science. The supposed contributions of science to these discussions +are now listened to with a gravity and politeness, with a kind of +serious hush, which was formerly reserved for quotations from Plato +and Aristotle. Compared with the crude materialists of Huxley’s day, +it is evident that the modern man of science has greatly improved his +social standing; he now frequently talks to the best people, on equal +terms, on such subjects as the Good and the Beautiful. The underbred, +pushing, clamorous self-assertion of the Victorian scientist is a rare +note in these improving conversations between philosophers and men +of science. A man like Haeckel is dismissed as a mere vulgarian; no +one would trouble to refute him; his loud voice and hob-nailed boots +are sufficient condemnation. Even Huxley is felt to be a rather noisy +person; the modern expositor of the relations of Science and Religion +or Science and Philosophy no longer borrows his technique from the Hyde +Park orator; he has adopted rather the insinuating charm of the curate. +There are, of course, survivals on both sides; sweetness and light +are not yet universal; the general atmosphere of mutual forbearance +and respect is still occasionally marred by the harsh note of some +exceptionally fanatic or insensitive partisan. One or two grave lapses +of this kind may be detected amongst the mass of recent books devoted +to cosmical questions. There are still one or two literary men and +philosophers who hint at those dreadful early days of science, before +it went to Oxford, and there are still one or two provincial men of +science, _farouche_, suspicious, who attend a modern cultured +salon carrying their obsolete life-preserver in their pocket. But on +the whole good manners prevail everywhere. It is realised that there is +no reason why anybody should feel awkward at meeting anybody else in a +world which is so indulgent of the difference between a man’s private +and public capacities. + +To be on amiable terms with everybody is worth a sacrifice, and in +our relief at escaping from the ferocious savagery of the Victorian +controversialists we may well endure the minor discomforts of a +reconciliation between science, philosophy and religion so effective +as to render indistinguishable the separate persons of this trinity. +The particular advantage of this amalgamation that concerns us here +is the fact that it has brought a new branch of literature into +existence. As is usual in an amalgamation, each member profits by the +custom brought by the others, until finally a composite article is +evolved which is, as it were, simultaneously buff and blue. That is +how we get these very curious and interesting modern works on cosmical +questions--works which seem to result from a close collaboration +between, say, a professor of physics, an archdeacon and a Bond Street +crystal-gazer. A very comprehensive _Weltanschauung_ is thereby +afforded, and doubtless a truly “balanced” mind must result from the +perusal of such works, but we may doubt whether each component, as +it were, is presented in its purity. The advantages of association +are only obtained by a certain loss of individuality. We cannot speak +for the philosophy and religion of these works, but we are impelled +to these reflections by detecting a certain quality which pervades +the scientific part of the expositions. It is, as we have admitted, +a good thing for science that it has been taken up in this way. It +moves in an atmosphere of culture; it finds itself being described in +chapters headed with Greek quotations; it is complimented on its strong +vein of poetry; its peculiarities are explained, inaccurately but +sympathetically, in columns of literary causerie, and the unexpected +but gratifying discovery is made that it by no means lacks the bump of +reverence and proper respect for constituted authority. + +Yet, kindly as are the surrounding faces, and pleasant as is the +consciousness that one’s clothes and accent excite no comment, there +is, on the part of many scientific men, a persistent uneasy feeling +that one has gained this position on false pretences. It is these +remarkable modern books to which we have referred which render the +feeling acute. At the same time, it is very difficult to state +precisely the elements of this feeling. We understand, however, that +there are young poets and novelists who experience very much the same +emotion when one of the great “official” men of letters talks about +literature. It appears that such people often get everything subtly +wrong, that their criticism never pierces to the real heart of the +matter, that they make literature at once more pompous and more tame +than it really is. These new cultured expositors of science affect +one very much like that. Their indisputable intelligence and their +wide knowledge do not save them; they lack something--it may be a +mere familiar way of talking--which marks the practitioner; we feel +they touch their subject with padded fingers. We attribute no occult +influence to laboratories, but we think the expositor of science who +is not also a creator is something like that curiously unconvincing +creature--the theoretical sailor who has never been to sea. For +that reason we are uneasy in the presence of these numerous modern +expositions. Such work of the kind as was done in the old days was done +by real men of science in their spare time. They had the competence, +if also something of the crudity, of the workman in the factory who +explains to you how his machine works. The modern writers are so much +more like those frock-coated “attendants” at Exhibitions. One is +oppressed with the same suavity, the same incredible readiness, the +same secret doubt whether he has ever handled a tool in his life.... + +Such being our estimate of our modern teachers, we may be permitted to +be sceptical concerning the complete satisfactoriness of their account +of the present disposition and relations of science. When they vouch +for the complete respectability and harmlessness of science we wonder +if they are not a little too kind. We have an absurd nervousness, as +in the presence of a reformed burglar. He looks well-dressed enough +and his hands are not impossibly horny; moreover, we are told that +the two very respectable gentlemen with him find him a most charming +companion. We are prejudiced, we suppose; but to our thinking there +is a coarseness about the jaw, an occasional hard glint in the eye, +which would make us reluctant to accept him as, at any rate, a sleeping +companion. We wonder if those two gentlemen, the one reverend and the +other nearly so, ever feel a little apprehensive during the night? + + + + + POPULAR SCIENCE + + +The Victorian Age was unquestionably the great age of physical science. +It was not only the number and quality of the scientific men whose +working lives were covered by this period that were responsible for +this--although no period in history makes a braver show--but it was +due also to the fact that the scientific discoveries of that age were +often of the kind that rouses a vast amount of public attention. The +attention of a cultured minority was no new thing in the history +of science. Newton’s discoveries, largely through the influence of +his indefatigable populariser Voltaire, speedily became, in a more +or less adequate form, the common property of the cultured part of +Europe. But from the time of Newton to that of Davy there was no such +general attention paid to science; England and the Continent largely +lost touch, even technical students working in comparative isolation, +so that the great French advances in Newtonian philosophy were not +appreciated for several years in England, and the cultured public in +England itself no longer considered the intelligent observation of +scientific progress to be one of its chief duties. It never did regain +this outlook; science, becoming increasingly technical, became more and +more completely the affair of a small and specialised class, until, by +the middle of the nineteenth century, it was the most dissociated of +intellectual activities. The great recrudescence of general interest +in science was brought about by the discovery that this dissociation +was merely a consequence of lack of attention, and that, in fact, +scientific discovery was not unconnected with the major interests of +mankind. + +The publication in 1859 of Darwin’s _Origin of Species_ persuaded +the men of that time, rightly or wrongly, that science and religion +were very intimately connected, and science, at one blow, obtained +a degree of public attention without precedent in its history. The +interest thus evoked was not always very intelligent, but it was +intense and widely diffused; it extended to other branches of science, +influenced the educational system of the country and gave rise to an +enormous extension of “popular” science lectures and articles. This +popular interest was of a different kind from the leisurely interest +previously shown by the cultured classes. The latter was, indeed, much +more genuinely an interest in science for its own sake; the former +had a different emotional basis and was merely the diversion of an +interest in religious or social questions. There is a controversial +air about nearly all the popular scientific writings of that time; the +scientific man, like his audience, was fully aware that he was talking +about a good deal more than the ostensible subject of discussion. +Science, the creature of the least popular of man’s activities, +patient and unprejudiced ratiocination, became associated with violent +emotions. With Biology and Geology this association was inevitable and +immediate; their subject-matter happened to be that of the first few +chapters of Genesis. But the more exact sciences, when public attention +turned their way, could offer no such excitements. They seem to have +compromised by specialising on “marvels.” The “Marvels of Science” +became a familiar heading, and the unsophisticated public were stunned +by figures: the distances of the stars, the number of molecules in +a cubic centimetre of water, the weight, in tons, of the earth, the +incredible minuteness of light-waves, and so on, the whole object of +such discourses being, as Maxwell unkindly put it, to prevent the +audience realising that intellectual exhaustion had set in until the +hour had elapsed. + +We readily admit that popular science of a very different kind was +also provided. Faraday, Kelvin, Huxley, Tyndall, Maxwell himself, did +their best to make the lay public acquainted with scientific methods +as well as results, to present their results as part of a coherent +theory instead of as items in catalogue of marvels. But it is the +marvel-mongers who have proved most tenacious of life, so that +“popular” science has now become a term of contempt, and any statement +whatever, provided it has the right marvellous flavour, may be printed +in our newspapers as scientific information. In America such marvellous +statements, not only inaccurate but meaningless, occupy pages of the +Sunday supplements, so that that meritorious organ, _The Scientific +American_, has to announce, in self-defence, that it publishes, not +“popular” science, but merely non-technical science. In our own country +that sober periodical _Nature_ used to print extracts from the +more marvellous scientific items provided by the daily press, thus +furnishing a little light relief from its own austere pages. The fact +that this quackery exists is not unimportant. If it does no more, it +often leads to a waste of time, for there has been more than one worthy +gentleman who has imagined himself to be attacking the pernicious +doctrines of science, when, as his argument makes clear, it is this +kind of quackery he has in mind. The cure for this kind of thing would +seem to be the development of a conscience in newspaper editors, unless +we prefer to wait patiently until a tincture of science forms part of +the education of an English adult. + +But, turning to the popular but accurate scientific article, we may ask +what purpose it serves. Should its object be to supply the deficiencies +of a defective general education, to provide an easy introduction +to science? Doubtless such articles or lectures have served such a +purpose; Faraday himself, as we know, was won over to science by the +blandishments of Mrs. Somerville, and there is more than one case where +the current of a man’s life has been definitely changed by a lantern +lecture. It is, nevertheless, a mistake to suppose that the attentive +perusal of a number of popular science articles is equivalent to a +scientific education, a mistake which is unfortunately very common. The +fact is that the scientific treatise and the popular science article, +so far from being rivals, serve entirely different ends, and may be +read with profit by the same man. Broadly speaking, the function of +the popular science article is to present science in its humanistic +aspect. It should, while dealing with as definite a scientific problem +as the author chooses, hint at the relations between this problem and +the other interests of mankind. Very often these relations are implicit +in the subject; such subjects are, in fact, usually chosen, and for +that reason. But there is another type of article which has for its +object the exposition of relations which are not obvious, and this +exposition may be the result of a genuine and valuable intellectual +effort on the part of the writer. Such articles are really essays in +criticism and are not essentially different from the best type of +literary criticism. Some of the best articles of this kind--some of +those by W. K. Clifford, for example--are as truly “research” work as +is the technical paper. A third type of article may, either by way +of history or by way of logic, show the position occupied by a given +theory or fact in a scheme of knowledge. This type is usually of more +interest to the scientific student than to the general reader, since a +general acquaintance with the whole subject is presupposed, and in this +connection it is interesting to note that a powerful plea has recently +been made for the more effective endowment of the teaching of the +history of science. + +If a popular science article serves none of these three purposes, +it must inevitably be nothing but the description of a “marvel.” In +competent hands this may be agreeable enough; the appetite for marvels +is vigorous and universal, and its indulgence cannot be condemned as a +vice. To look at a marvel for the pleasure of gaping is not, however, +a very intelligent occupation, and, to judge from the number and kind +of phenomena unhesitatingly ascribed to “the electricity in the air,” +merely increases credulity. Regarded as a marvel, wireless telegraphy +is, of course, merely a miracle, a fact extensively exploited by +spiritualists. The human tendency to seize on the merely marvellous +should, in fact, be carefully allowed for by the writer of popular +science articles; he should, if anything, be even more reserved and +pedantically precise than when addressing a scientific audience; an +incautiously flamboyant remark is very likely to be seized upon to +support some preposterous philosophy or religion. Usually, however, +the popular science writer yields to the temptation, to _épater_ +his audience, to make himself more readable, as readability is now +understood, and so he may, while speaking the truth, have all the +effect of telling a lie. + +Thus the division between the genuine and the quack science article is +not, in practice, clearly defined. The difference between the writers +is definite enough; but it is writer and public together which make the +popular science article. Lack of education is just as great a hindrance +to perception as is lack of sensitiveness. The poet may be subtly and +completely misunderstood because his audience lacks sensitiveness, +and, to compare small things with great, the conscientious retailer of +scientific information may be in a like case for a different reason. +So that if it is true that the best type of poetry is that written +by the poet “for himself,” it is perhaps true that the best type of +popular science article is written for a similar reason--because the +writer is genuinely interested in working out certain speculations or +treating certain facts in a certain way. Some of the very best popular +articles--those by Helmholtz, for example--are of this kind, and have +achieved a relative immortality, although, like the poetry which is +read chiefly by poets, they are probably read chiefly by scientific +men. + + + + + PATIENT PLODDERS + + +It is a melancholy fact that the estimable qualities of patience +and industry do not, by themselves, enable their possessor to +attain eminence in the arts. There is very good reason to suppose +that character, particularly a certain simple type of integrity and +sincerity, is necessary to great artistic achievement, but it is +certain that such gifts are not sufficient; they must be allied with +very unusual mental qualities. In the sciences, however, we often find +work of very great importance being performed by men of quite average +intelligence, but of exceptional tenacity. A pure heart seems to be all +that is necessary. This is not true, of course, of the mathematical +sciences--mathematicians, like musicians, are “born”--but it is very +obviously true of what are called the “observational” sciences. A +history of Astronomy, in particular, is interesting from this point +of view. The fact that the whole of our knowledge of the heavens +comes through the sense of sight, and that we cannot experiment, in +the ordinary way, upon the heavenly bodies, means that the patient +observer, by merely accumulating observations, is performing an +absolutely essential function. There is no other subject which yields +such rich rewards to mere patience. There is no other subject which +has so long a record of valuable discoveries achieved by purely +average ability. It is interesting to notice how often a telescope +and a capacity for sitting still have made their owners immortal. In +the region of stellar astronomy the minuteness of the phenomena which +may be observed has narrowed possible competitors to those possessing +large instruments, and that usually means public institutions and +professional astronomers. But the history of our knowledge of the +nearer heavenly bodies, the sun, the planets and the moon, owes much to +the industrious amateur. No history of planetary and lunar discoveries +would be complete without mention of Schröter, the “Oberamtmann” +of Lilienthal, who watched the moon and planets incessantly for +thirty-four years with a patience only equalled by his enthusiasm. He +died of a “broken heart,” the result of a French atrocity, for after +firing, on the night of April 20, 1813, the Vale of Lilies and thereby +destroying, amongst other things, the whole of Schröter’s books and +writings, the French army under Vandamme broke into and pillaged his +observatory. The old man, then sixty-eight years of age, had not +the means to repair the catastrophe, and, deprived of his one great +interest, he died three years later, leaving, amongst his published +works, some of the most long-winded and entertaining observations in +the history of astronomy. + +But although Schröter is undoubtedly the most amusing of all amateur +observers, he has had his prototypes in all countries. Francis Baily, +the “philosopher of Newbury,” is a good example of our more sober +English product. We may have doubts as to what sort of chief magistrate +old Schröter was, but we know that Baily took his profession of +stockbroking with the utmost seriousness. He did not allow astronomy +to interfere with business. Beginning in 1799, he remained on the +Stock Exchange in London for twenty-four years, devoting his leisure +largely to solar observations, particularly those connected with +eclipses. It is with two of these phenomena, the first annular, a +ring of the sun being visible round the moon, and the second total, +that Baily’s name is particularly associated, in each case for the +vivid and accurate account he gave of what he witnessed. The first +phenomenon, a ring of bright points extending round that part of the +moon’s circumference which has just entered on the solar disc, is +merely a consequence of the lunar edge being serrated with mountains. +These “Baily’s beads,” as they were called, were successful, however, +in stimulating interest in the physical aspect of eclipses, with the +result that the next total eclipse, that of 1842, was looked for with +an unprecedented degree of enthusiasm. Astronomers like Airy, Otto +Struve and Arago travelled to Central or Southern Europe to observe +the eclipse, and the indefatigable Mr. Baily accompanied them. He +fitted up his telescope in an upper room of the University of Pavia. +The result was magnificent. At the instant of totality the sun appeared +decorated with a glorious _auréole_, the famous corona. It was +not, of course, an unknown phenomenon, but it had never before excited +so much attention. Mr. Baily, in particular, was moved to write a most +eloquent description of this flaming object. He calls it splendid and +astonishing, but continues: “Yet I must confess that there was at the +same time something in its singular and wonderful appearance that was +appalling; and I can readily imagine that uncivilised nations may +occasionally have become alarmed and terrified at such an object....” +Besides being a specialist on eclipses, Baily was an untiring editor +of star-catalogues, and he also made no fewer than 2,153 laborious +experiments, on Cavendish’s method, to determine the density of the +earth. He was indeed a zealous worker in what Sir John Herschel called +the “archæology of astronomy.” He was noted for his unvarying health, +undisturbed equanimity and methodical habits. + +Another testimonial to the importance of such qualities in astronomical +discovery is furnished by the career of Heinrich Schwabe, of Dessau. +In the hope of escaping his fate as an apothecary he bought a small +telescope in 1826, and began to observe the sun, being advised to do +so by a friend. He continued to observe the sun daily (weather and +health permitting) for forty-three years. Every day he counted the +number of spots visible on the surface of the sun. It was a simple +occupation, but it led to important consequences. His immense record of +sun-spot statistics showed that the increase and decrease in the number +of sun-spots did not occur in a random manner, but fell into periods, +maxima alternating with minima, a complete period occupying about ten +years. This figure has been modified since, but the fact of sun-spot +periodicity is established and is at the present time one of the most +suggestive and probably far-reaching of solar phenomena. Schwabe +displayed no striking quality of mind or character beyond an almost +incomprehensible patience. He was buoyed up in his spot-counting, +however, by the hope of discovering a planet between Mercury and the +sun, and in order to distinguish between the tiny disc of the planet +crossing the face of the sun and a sun-spot, he found it necessary, in +virtue of his instrumental equipment, to count the spots. When he found +that, as a consequence of this pastime, he was world-famous, he likened +himself to Saul who, going forth to seek his father’s asses, discovered +a kingdom. His magnificent serenity of body and mind enabled him to +attain the age of eighty-six. + +Part of his mantle fell on Richard Carrington (born 1826), who built +an observatory at Redhill with the intention of devoting himself to +a study of sun-spots throughout a complete cycle. He failed to finish +the cycle completely, as the death of his father made it necessary +for him to divert his energies to controlling a brewery. He achieved +results of great importance, however. His observations were concerned +with the positions and movements of the spots, and from a series of +5,290 such observations he was enabled, amongst other things, to clear +up the uncertainties attending the period of rotation of the sun. +Galileo, apparently not appreciating the importance of the matter, had +said that the sun rotated in “about a lunar month,” and a number of +other observers gave figures varying from 27 to 25 days. Carrington +illuminated this darkness by remarking that there is no single period +of rotation for the sun. The polar regions rotate more slowly than +those in the neighbourhood of the equator; the equator rotates in a +little less than twenty-five days, while in latitude 50° the period is +twenty-seven and a-half days. Thus the mystery was cleared up and a +fresh direction given to solar investigation. + +It is difficult to say whether Astronomy still offers such rewards +to industry. It is probable, however, that it still yields more to +character, as distinguished from ability, than any other science, and +incomparably more, alas! than the arts. + + + + + THE AMATEUR ASTRONOMER + + +The indifference of the Englishman is, considered pragmatically, +the same thing as tolerance. It bestows freedom and leaves every +man, within fairly wide limits, at ease to pursue his bent. There is +doubtless a relation between this English characteristic and the fact +that England, above any other country, is the home of the amateur. +In England, compared with the Continent, there are comparatively few +men whose dominant activity is their exclusive activity. There are +many fair specialists, but there are few specialised men. There are +countries such as France, where the _Gemeinplatz_ of intelligent +men is probably larger and more richly furnished than it is in England, +but it is comparatively difficult to meet the type of man who is an +eminent lawyer, an authority on Eastern poisons, and a really good +judge of horseflesh. Such manifestations of a national quality may +sometimes appear almost grotesque, but we believe that the quality +of which they are partial manifestations is the most splendid and +individual characteristic of the English intellect. It is not a +quality which produces many thrice-armed specialists, but it is a +quality which produces a great number of amateurs. The English amateur +in the arts belongs to a family well worth consideration, but our more +immediate concern is with the amateur in science. + +There was a time when the scientific amateur abounded in England. +In the time of Huxley and his contemporaries, as we see from their +letters, amateur zoologists, botanists, and, more rarely, amateur +mathematicians and physicists, were scattered all over England and +occasionally had something of interest, or even of value, to report. In +the days when R. A. Proctor edited _Knowledge_ the country seemed +to be full of reverend gentlemen who owned small observatories and +home-made telescopes. This large and interesting family seems now to +be making towards extinction. The increasing complexity of the various +sciences, to say nothing of the variety and cost of modern apparatus, +has made anything but trifling discoveries difficult to the verge of +impossibility for an amateur equipment. Perhaps the amateur who has +suffered least from these changes is the amateur astronomer. There is +good reason for supposing that his numbers have increased. In this +branch of science the English amateur has always been particularly +strong, and this cannot be attributed to the official encouragement +accorded astronomy in this country. There are many more amateur +astronomers in England than in France, although astronomy counts for +more in France than in England, and although, since Newton, France has +played the leading rôle in the history of astronomy. + +The popularity of amateur astronomy in England certainly needs +explanation, for it is a pursuit attended by many disappointments in +so capricious a climate, and Englishmen have few opportunities of +seeing a really impressive display of stars. Perhaps the Englishman +is sufficient of a Northerner to be profoundly attracted by the +sheer vastness and the mystery of stellar phenomena. Then the actual +telescope and its accessories probably appeal to the English love of +mechanism. There are few instruments more delightful in themselves +than a properly mounted telescope of moderate aperture. Its adjustment +affords a pleasure as refined as that given by operating a small hand +printing-press, and superior to that of mending a bicycle. Every +telescope has its distinctive “performance,” and one can grow as +enthusiastically partisan about makes of telescopes as one can about +makes of motor-cars or pianos. Whether or not these be the reasons +it is certain that astronomy is the science which most attracts the +English amateur. The existence of the British Astronomical Association, +an amateur society with some hundreds of members, is sufficient proof +of this. It would perhaps be difficult to justify by the results the +amount of time and money spent in amateur stargazing, if one estimated +results from the severe standpoint of the professional astronomer. But +if one adopts a broader outlook and estimates the results in rather +more human terms, then there is probably no pursuit which affords more +innocent pleasure and provides, in itself, a more liberal education. +It is said that the vast photographic telescopes of the present day +have rendered the small instrument valueless. Even Mr. Hinks, in his +excellent volume _Astronomy_ in the Home University Library, says +that the would-be amateur would do well to hesitate before buying a +small telescope, and that a measuring machine, to measure photographs +taken by big instruments, would be a far better investment. This is the +severely professional point of view; it is to mistake the psychology +of the amateur observer. The amateur likes to think that he might some +day make a discovery, but that is only by the way. His real joy is in +doing precisely what the professional cannot do, and that is to enjoy +the _spectacle_ of the heavens. The ordinary run of work in a +big observatory is not much more exciting than work in an ordinary +business office. To sit up half the night measuring photographs would +conceivably add to scientific knowledge, and there are doubtless stern +men who are willing to do it. These, like computers, are the martyrs +of science. The average amateur will continue to prefer his present +pleasant, if ineffectual, method of adding to scientific knowledge. It +is to be feared that, as one result of the war, this amiable occupation +will decline. A little before the war the amateur could purchase a +modest but thoroughly good, instrument at a reasonable price. The same +instrument to-day would cost at least twice as much, and there would +probably be an interval of several months between the order and the +delivery. One large firm of optical instrument makers announces that it +is not now making astronomical telescopes at all. At the present time, +when astronomy is entering on perhaps the most pregnant phase in its +history, and when men are more than ever attracted by anything which +promises escape from the fret of daily life, this lessening of the +opportunities for acquaintance with the most serene of the sciences is +a minor calamity. The decline in amateur astronomy will probably have +no appreciable reaction on the progress of science, but it will lead to +a real, if small decrease in the intellectual pleasures and spiritual +wealth of the nation. + + + + + SCIENTIFIC CITIZENS + + +It would be an entertaining pursuit to compile the characteristics of +the man of science--usually a Professor--as he is depicted in popular +fiction, on the stage, and in the writings of exasperated conservatives +in religious and social matters. It would be found that these +characteristics combine to give one dominant and entirely untruthful +impression: the man of science is represented as being scientific on +all occasions. We may ignore the inferior school that portrays him as +being constantly obsessed by his work--like Dickens’ learned gentleman +who mistook the nature of a dark lantern--and confine our attention +to the Professor who is represented, not as imbecile, but merely as +homogeneous. This imaginary individual is never to be diverted from his +passion for precise statement and strictly logical inference. Whether +the subject be politics or the state of the weather, he brings the same +preliminary scepticism, the same demands for verification, that he +carries into his scientific researches. As we have said, this picture +is untruthful; we think, however, that this is an unfortunate fact, +and that it is highly desirable that men of science should begin to +live up to the story-teller’s conception of them. + +We think that, at the present stage of man’s evolution, science is the +one activity in which he displays himself as a truly rational creature. +The reason is, of course, that success is granted on no other terms; in +everything else, philosophy, theology, politics, reason is usually the +handmaid to prejudice. The penalties that visit error in these fields +are not so swift nor so unambiguous. The ideal of truthfulness is +probably more rigorous with the scientist, _qua_ scientist, than +with any other kind of man. But it would appear that this dispassionate +rationality is hardly won and precariously maintained. Outside his +laboratory the scientist may, and usually does, show himself as +simple, as kindly, as credulous, as irrational as any other man. On +Bolshevism, Disestablishment, the Morality of the Public Parks, his +opinions will be indistinguishable from those of any other comfortable +member of the lower middle class; that is to say that opinions on all +such matters are “distributed” amongst scientific men according to +the same statistical rules as they are distributed amongst ordinary +citizens. Outside their views on purely scientific matters there is +nothing _characteristic_ of men of science. The Royal Society may +conceivably issue a unanimous report on some scientific matter; it +would issue a unanimous report on nothing else whatever. Now on the +assumption that men of science are truly rational beings this is a very +strange state of affairs. Dispassionate attempts to sift evidence, +to argue correctly and to base judgments solely on the outcome of +these processes could hardly result in so remarkable a multiplicity +of opinions. We must assume that, for scientific men as a body, their +“scientific” methods of thought function only within very narrow +limits. As a distinct community they are far less coherent than, for +instance, the community of artists--musicians, poets, painters. The +community of artists, with the exception of a few prosperous members, +exhibits a really remarkable homogeneity in matters outside art. +Doubtless this homogeneity is based on feeling--unless we are prepared +to admit that artists, as a whole, are more rational than are men of +science--and it is probable that the scientist’s difference from his +fellow-citizens is more an intellectual than an emotional difference. +But it is surprising that greater emotional sensitiveness should prove +so much more pervasive and dominating a peculiarity than greater +intellectual subtlety. + +It is time that men of science assumed a greater position in the +general community. If a scientific training has a tithe of the +_general_ educational value that is claimed for it, it is time +we had some evidence of that fact. Men of science must adopt a higher +ideal of personal honour. At present the man who will conduct a +laboratory experiment with meticulous precision and describe his +results in an agony of honesty will be content to be a prejudiced +observer and a slovenly and inaccurate thinker in all other matters. +This is the chief reason, we are convinced, why men of science count +for so little in public affairs. If the Royal Society elected its own +member of Parliament, who would bother about the political opinion so +expressed? What greater weight would it have than the political opinion +of an equal number of moderately prosperous ordinary citizens? Does not +the scientific man waggle his head just as solemnly over his morning +newspaper as does any unsophisticated voter? + +We plead for the development of a class consciousness on the part +of the man of science. We want scientific men to regard their ideal +of evidence, their conception of proof, their really admirable +scientific detachment, not merely as rules making for success in their +particular game, but as principles applicable to every subject that +concerns a citizen. Why should a man of science be merely a Liberal +or a Conservative in politics? The alternative belongs to the stage +of mental development that explained the material universe by saying +that its moving principle was fire, or, alternatively, water. We +expect a more sober contribution to political questions from, say, a +distinguished physicist, than the panacea “Shoot the miners.” All the +questions on which scientific men now adopt “sides” as uncritically +as any simple dupe of the daily press are amenable to scientific +investigation. They can reach a solution only by the application of +scientific methods, and the modern world badly needs deliverance from +the method of charms and incantations by which these questions are at +present treated. How long are these vital matters to remain in the +hands of the witch-doctors? With scientific men content to sit in the +circle and help beat the tom-toms what hope is there of real advance +founded on real knowledge? The artists cannot help us; they are useful +indicators of the value of the product, as it were; they look pleased +or they look disgusted, and that is very helpful in showing us where +we are. It is the scientific man who must show us how to go somewhere +else. So we plead for the conscious formation of a community of men +of science, for scientific men who are at least as pervasively and +constantly scientific as a good Jesuit is Roman Catholic. + + + + + THE SCEPTIC AND THE SPIRITS + + +It is only youth that has the energy to be bothered with everything. +There comes a time when one’s mind is “made up” on all sorts of things +that were once matters of inquiry; we have profited by experience; we +know that some things are not worth investigating. It is one of the +marvellous laws of growth that this increase in wisdom should accompany +physical decay. As our teeth and hair start to fall out our judgment +grows riper. The law of growth is not really as simple as this, for +there are many silly old men and there are one or two wise youths. The +rich, mellow, balanced period is never reached by some people: Solomon, +on the other hand, was noted for his wisdom while still a young man. +There is, it must be admitted, something mechanical about old men’s +wisdom. Truth is one, of course, so that we should expect a certain +unanimity. The answers of the old can usually be predicted. Wisdom can +be simulated; all that one lacks is the conviction, the spirit that +animates the letter. + +Deep conviction is a very impressive quality, especially to youth, +which secretly doubts everything. The man of strong convictions is a +cause of optimism in others, for life would appear a sad cheat if the +payment for sixty years of it did not include one certainty. Youth’s +certainties make as much noise, but everybody detects the bluff. A +fearful man shouts to hearten himself, as all the world knows. Between +the certainties of youth and age there is scepticism, a _fine +fleur_ of brief life, an exquisite tempering of the soul, neither +too soft nor too hard, an infinite flexibility. It is a state of +intense activity; life lived at this pace cannot long endure; the tired +spirit relaxes and one finds rest either in credulity or in dogmatism, +accident determining which attitude affords the soundest slumber. It is +not always easy to detect the true sceptic; that honourable title has +often been wrongly bestowed--Voltaire, for instance, was a dogmatist. +Sceptics exist in all ages, but they are more clearly revealed at those +periods that see the birth of some new inquiry. It is essential to +their indubitable manifestation that the inquiry should be attended by +the passionate interest of a large number of people. At the present +day a very good test inquiry is spiritualism. It is a very much better +test than Free Trade and Tariff Reform, for, owing to its comparative +remoteness, the true sceptic of that alternative might live and die in +obscurity. But spiritualism is a subject on which no one is genuinely +indifferent and towards which hardly anyone is genuinely sceptical. +Dispassionate inquiry on this, as on all matters where human interests +are strongly engaged, is usually a pretence. We need not suppose that +the great ones of the Psychical Research Society are less credulous +than the majority of believers or less intolerant than their louder +opponents; it is merely that, their traditions being scientific, they +have better manners. + +Psychical literature, as a whole, is as wearisome as theological +literature, as incredible but less amusing than the lives of the +saints. We lack the quality, be it faith, hope or charity, which would +enable us to share these strange excitements. The “exposers,” on the +other hand, are too sturdy in their common sense. We hear the mallet +fall, but we are not always sure that the eggshell is broken. It is a +situation for the sceptic. In the late Lord Rayleigh’s presidential +address to the Psychical Research Society we find that the sceptic has +at last appeared. It is merely a record of his own experiences, very +plain, very simple, and, like the experiences themselves, singularly +elusive. Many years ago, in a friend’s rooms at Cambridge, he witnessed +an exhibition of the powers of Madame Card, the hypnotist. When she had +completed her passes over the closed eyes of those present she asked +them to open their eyes. “I and some others experienced no difficulty; +and naturally she discarded us and developed her powers over +those--about half the sitters--who had failed or found difficulty.” +From hypnotism he passed to spiritualism, his interest aroused by Sir +William Crookes’ experiences. He induced the medium, Mrs. Jencken, and +her husband, to visit his country house as guests. He describes the +results as disappointing: + + I do not mean that very little happened, or that what did happen was + always easy to explain. But most of the happenings were trifling, + and not such as to preclude the idea of trickery. One’s coat-tails + would be pulled, paper cutters, etc., would fly about, knocks would + shake our chairs, and so on. I do not count messages, usually of no + interest, which were spelt out alphabetically by raps that seemed to + come from the neighbourhood of the medium’s feet. Perhaps what struck + us most were lights which on one or two occasions floated about. They + were real enough, but rather difficult to locate, though I do not + think they were ever more than six or eight feet away from us. + +Another incident was the gradual tipping over of a rather heavy table +at which they had been sitting. “Mrs. Jencken, as well as ourselves +[i.e. Lady Rayleigh and himself. The husband was not admitted to +these séances] was apparently standing quite clear of it.” He found +it very difficult to reproduce the phenomenon himself, using both +hands. He endeavoured to “improve” the conditions for some experiments. +After being shown some writing, “supposed to be spirit writing,” he +arranged paper and pencils inside a large glass retort, which he then +hermetically sealed. Nothing then appeared on the paper at these +séances. “Possibly this was too much to expect. I may add that on +recently inspecting the retort I find that the opportunity has remained +neglected for forty-five years.” + +And so he has left the matter. The experiences were certainly strange, +yes, but in his judgment, not strange enough. On the other hand, +he is reluctant to believe they were due to fraud, and he is quite +convinced that he was not a victim of hallucinations. If Mrs. Jencken +were a clever fraud “her acting was as wonderful as her conjuring.” +She practically never made an intelligent remark on any occasion. +“Her interests seemed to be limited to the spirits and her baby.” In +investigating this subject he finds that the attitude of convinced +believers makes a difficulty. They “take no pains over the details +of evidence on which everything depends.” Others attribute all these +phenomena to the devil and will have nothing to do with them. “I have +sometimes pointed out that if during the long hours of séances we +could keep the devil occupied in so comparatively harmless a manner we +deserved well of our neighbours.” + +The general disbelief in scientific circles that meteorites really +came from outer space occurs to him. This disbelief was due, he points +out, to the impossibility of producing the phenomena at pleasure in +our laboratories. Nevertheless, the disbelief was unjustified. Spirit +manifestations may be, he thinks, just such sporadic phenomena. The +situation is made worse by the fact that there has undoubtedly been a +great deal of fraud in connection with spiritualist phenomena. Eusapia +Palladino, for instance, undoubtedly practised deception, “but that is +not the last word.” Telepathy puzzles him. If there is such a means of +communication, why should Nature have adopted the laborious method of +building up our very complicated senses? An antelope in danger from +a lion, for instance, depends on his senses and speed. “But would it +not be simpler if he could know something telepathically of the lion’s +intention, even if it were no more than vague apprehension warning +him to be on the move?” He advises the society to continue their +investigations, and mentions that it is quality, not quantity, that +is so desirable in evidence. He concludes by saying that he fears his +attitude, or want of attitude, will be disappointing to some members of +the society. He suggests that after forty-five years of hesitation “it +may require some personal experience of a compelling kind to break the +crust.” He apologises for this. “Some of those who know me best think +that I ought to be more convinced than I am. Perhaps they are right.” + +There he leaves us. We do not believe more or disbelieve less, yet we +are completely satisfied. His massive sincerity, his obvious competence +and, above all, that impression of exquisite balance, have charmed us. +So far as present evidence is concerned we feel that while he has said +nothing he has also said the last word. That is the function of the +sceptic. + + + + + THE SCIENTIFIC MIND + + +It is quite common, in reading and in conversation, to find references +to the “scientific mind,” but it is difficult to ascertain precisely +how this mental structure is supposed to differ from other sorts +of mind. The difficulty of defining an object does not, perhaps, +affect the probability of the existence of the object; although it is +difficult for some people to refrain from concluding that because a man +cannot define what he means he does not mean anything. We must suppose +that there is some particular kind of mind called the scientific mind, +in spite of the fact that the numerous references to it tell us little +about it except that it is somewhat extensively disliked. So far as can +be judged from a superficial comparison of different references, the +“scientific mind” is characterised by an inordinate appetite for facts +and an absence of generosity in drawing conclusions from facts. In +ordinary times this absence of generosity is dismissed by most people +as quibbling, while in time of war it becomes unpatriotic. During the +war every Englishman was supposed to believe a great number of things +on very slender evidence or even on no evidence. It was considered that +a right patriotic feeling not only could, but should, supply the place +of evidence, and lead to correct conclusions. The majority of people +in every class of the community found themselves able to adopt this +method of thought without discomfort, and it became evident that the +scientific mind is as rare amongst scientific men as amongst any other +men, while those who could not give this supreme proof of patriotism +were found pretty evenly distributed amongst the different classes. As +a type of mind, therefore, it is not peculiar to scientific men nor do +they all possess it. It cannot be regarded as a distinguishing mark of +this class. But while a just, cautious temperament need not belong to +the man of science as a human being, it might be thought that, as a +mental habit, it is necessary to his work. There is much truth in this, +although it is not wholly true. Alternative explanations are not always +explored by scientists, and if, as sometimes happens, the alternative +explanations are wrong, the scientific man may have reached a correct +result although he worked in a partisan spirit. + +But while the characteristics of what is popularly known as the +scientific mind are not peculiar to scientific men, it is true that, +in their actual scientific work, these characteristics have a greater +survival value than they possess in almost any other kind of work. +The extent to which mental habits may be local, confined to some only +of a man’s mental activities, has been made apparent by the war. The +majority of men’s minds are split up into water-tight compartments +in a way truly astonishing, and the various eloquent addresses on +the moral value of scientific studies now make melancholy reading. +We must assume of scientific men, as of any other class, that such +qualities of fairness and deliberation as they exhibit in their work +are imposed upon them as conditions of success, and are not, in +general, the natural manifestations of an exceptionally delicate moral +sensibility. If we adopt William James’ classification of human beings +into tender-minded and tough-minded the dividing line runs through the +scientific camp as through any other. We see this most clearly in the +case of mathematicians, for idealist or empiricist assumptions seem to +be equally reconcilable with the results. Such sciences as physics and +chemistry seem, at first glance, to be given over to the tough-minded; +the official language, as it were, is the language of the tough-minded, +but directly controversy arises on a point having philosophical +bearings we see the dichotomy establish itself. + +Nevertheless, it remains true that while scientific men, as human +beings, are of all sorts, they do exhibit, in their own work, a degree +of mental honesty which is unusual. It is easy to see that this virtue, +at any rate, has a strictly utilitarian basis. A scientific man +is honest because he cannot succeed on any other terms in the long +run. The experimental verification always looms ahead. He cannot, +like the mystic who maintains his opinion in face of the world, +take refuge in the deeper insight. His results are communicable and +verifiable or they are not science. Philosophies may be constructed +which no man can verify and no man can refute. Their authors may, with +complete assurance, remain satisfied of their truth and lament the +universal blindness of mankind, just as a poet may present a front of +unconquerable self-esteem to the ignorant derision of the world. But +the whole claim of science is that it is communicable and capable of +verification. It is found, as a matter of experience, that results of +this kind are not usually obtained unless a certain mental habit is +first acquired. It is this mental habit which is usually called the +scientific mind. Where it is the outcome of a natural predisposition it +may be classed as a moral quality, and, as such, is not peculiar to, or +widely distributed amongst, scientific men. But as a tool, as a kind of +technique, it is of more obvious value and is more extensively employed +in the sciences than in any other human activities. + + + + + THE SCIENTIFIC CONTRIBUTION + + +For something like seventy years science has been the dominant +intellectual activity of the Western world. During that period the +range of its material has greatly increased until now the scientific +method is regarded as the method proper to almost any investigation. +Philosophy is still a partial exception, but there is a strong tendency +to regard such philosophic problems as are not susceptible to the +application of the scientific method as being essentially incapable +of solution, or else as incorrectly stated. But although the prestige +of science is so great, and the general attitude towards it so +reverential, there is still much confusion respecting its function and +achievement. Its relations to other human interests and activities are +not yet clearly defined. The attempts to define them by allotting to +science its “sphere” have proved, in the result, to be so ill-judged +that it is now considered safer to waive the question of limitations +altogether. The question is not settled. Everything is left open, but +it is not therefore assumed that science contains or will contain all +we know or all we need to know. Science is not yet the one object of +our contemplation: we have a number of interests which still lead +separate lives. The separation is not complete. Science, if not openly, +then indirectly, has invaded every province of the mind, and even a +modern musical composition counts Copernicus as well as Beethoven +amongst its ancestors. But it is admitted, of course, that we are +not usually reminded of astronomy in listening to music; there is a +sense in which music, and many other things, are autonomous. But it +is interesting to notice that science, to a greater extent than any +other pursuit, can be isolated, although its historical direction has +been influenced, of course, by social and political accidents. Science +has given generously, but has taken comparatively little, and its few +borrowings are in process of being handed back with regret as being, +after all, unsuitable. + +What, then, is the precise nature and extent of the contribution of +science to our total stock? Although we do not intend its practical +applications by this question, we cannot wholly ignore them. It is +impossible completely to separate the “material” and “spiritual” +aspects of life, and the sum of the practical applications of science +has even profoundly affected much of our abstract thinking. Where it +has not originated questions it has at least made them acute, if by no +other process than by creating or transforming social conditions. It is +easy to trace the ancestry of whole schools of social philosophy to +the steam engine and the dynamo, and it is probable that the influence +of future applications will be even more extensive. The morality, +art and philosophy of, for example, a disease-less world, where the +average span of human life was two or three times its present value, +would certainly differ greatly from our own. We cannot, then, ignore +the practical applications of science, although they are not, in +themselves, pertinent to our question. But when we turn to consider the +direct spiritual value of science we are conscious, at the outset, of +some hesitation. + +It was a common article of the Victorian scientist’s creed that +scientific study was, in itself, an “ennobling” and purifying +influence. He stressed the complete detachment required, in scientific +research, from all prepossessions; the man of science was completely +candid, completely docile in face of the facts. Until one became as +a little child it was no use entering a laboratory. We have realised +since then that scientific men are human, and have their full share of +the unfortunate characteristics proper to that state. But it remains +true that the scientific ideal of detachment and the scientific ideal +of evidence are higher than the corresponding ideals elsewhere. In +spite of the evidence furnished by our newspapers we may, if we are +optimists, believe that science is gradually infecting the whole +community with its conception of these ideals. If this is indeed the +case it must be counted a direct and very important moral gain, as an +indisputably valuable contribution which may be set over against those +somewhat ambiguous practical applications. + +A third contribution is to be found in the large store of æsthetic +objects provided by science. Many of its theories are objects of +surpassing beauty. This is particularly true of the mathematical +sciences--indeed, there are a number of mathematicians who have felt +impelled to write of their science in a kind of prose-poetry--but it is +almost equally true of such a science as Geology. We can contemplate +schemes which, in their own way, are as all-embracing as that of the +_Divina Commedia_, and it does not detract from their æsthetic +charm to know that they are also true. The processes by which the +theories are obtained are often as æsthetically important as the +theories themselves. A subtle, elaborate and economical piece of +reasoning often affords great æsthetic pleasure, none the less real +because comparatively few people enjoy it. The fact that the history of +a big scientific investigation, such as the Electromagnetic Theory or +Einstein’s Theory of Relativity, is not generally regarded as a poem +is due merely to an accident of language and education. But we have to +admit that most people are affected by these accidents, and that the +æsthetic objects provided by science count almost as few admirers as +do the “beauties” of chess. If we may judge from the number of popular +books and articles dealing with science, there is some hope, however, +that this particular contribution is receiving more attention. The +results of such increased attention will not be simple, but if it did +no more than add fresh æsthetic objects, the contribution would be +important. + +The fourth contribution of science, both in itself and for its reaction +on other interests, is perhaps the most important of all. This +contribution is, put briefly, the light thrown by science on man’s +place in the universe. Every branch of science conspires directly to +this end. With some the emphasis is on the universe as distinct from +man; others are concerned chiefly with man himself. To the general +mind the result has been to make the universe bigger and man smaller, +and this is, perhaps, no unfair summary. It is probably difficult, +after hearing a duet sung by an astronomer and a psycho-analyst, not +to feel depressed. But, such as it is, there can be no doubt that any +conception of man’s destiny that is to command attention must conceive +that destiny as played against the background of the scientific cosmos. +Whether the vision be that of a prophet, philosopher or poet, it must +accept those postulates. The cosmos revealed by science, both in +its direct influence upon the mind and in its almost equally direct +influence upon religion, philosophy and the arts, is the most important +part of the scientific contribution to our spiritual life. So far as +philosophers and artists are concerned, this influence is recognised. +It is probably desirable that the influence upon philosophy should +increase, but in the case of the artist we are faced with a special +problem. Its discussion would be interesting, the more so in view of +the fact that artists themselves have contributed very little that is +helpful to its elucidation. We think it essential to its solution to +remember that the artist, like the scientist, starts with facts. But +the system within which the facts are related is entirely different +in the two cases. The scientific scheme must, of course, be accepted +by the artist _en bloc_ if his work is to be more than a pure +fantasy. But this is very different from identifying his own scheme +with the scientific scheme. That is to fail signally to perceive +the limitations of the scientific contribution. An interesting +particular case of this problem is to be found in the question of +the right relations of the psychological novelist to the science of +psycho-analysis. A scientific investigation is often, as we have +said, a work of art, but not necessarily a work of literary art. The +scientific contribution is very considerable, but offerings from the +older benefactors are still gratefully received. + + + + + THEORIES AND PERSONALITIES + + +That a scientific theory is, in some sense, a personal achievement, +becomes evident when we study a number of theories lying within the +same branch of science. The ordinary belief that science is completely +impersonal is certainly not true. And yet it is not easy to see how +a scientific theory can express the personality of its author; it is +difficult, that is to say, to understand in what way a scientific +theory can resemble a work of art. It seems that the fact that a +scientific theory must have “objective truth” renders it an altogether +different thing from a work of art. It would be more just to say that +the element of objective truth radically differentiates a scientific +theory from those works of art which are independent of all experience +of life--as certain musical compositions may be, for instance. But +it is not clear that, in general, works of art are independent of +objective truth; all those works of art which assume experience claim +assent--they do, in their intention, claim universal assent--to the +truth of their assumptions. The serious artist believes his personal +vision to be true; he will not, probably, claim “absolute” truth for +it, but neither does a scientific theory profess to be absolutely true. +And, further, works of art and scientific theories exist to serve the +same purpose--to aid _comprehension_. An artist’s chief title to +consideration is to be found in the depth and extent of his vision, +in the profundity and range, that is to say, of the comprehension he +makes possible. The value of a scientific theory is judged by the same +criteria. So far, therefore, it would appear that the chief difference +between a work of art and a scientific theory is to be found in their +subject-matter. It cannot even be said that the subject-matter is +arranged to serve different ends in the two cases, for in each case the +end which is aimed at is æsthetic satisfaction. Comprehension is one of +the elements of what is loosely termed the æsthetic emotion, and it is +the most important element. Even when we descend to particulars, and +study the quality of similes in poetry, and, indeed, “ornamentation” +generally, we shall find the criterion we employ is still the degree +of comprehension afforded by the device. But we cannot here work out +the analogy in detail. It is sufficient to show that works of art that +have a reference to experience, to an external world, in short, are, in +important respects, similar to scientific theories. + +Since, then, a work of art, although conditioned by experience, +may nevertheless be a personal achievement, we need have no _a +priori_ objection to conceding personality to a scientific theory. +In each case it is the method of transformation from what we may +call the raw material to the finished product which is the personal +thing. The artist’s raw material, whether it be the Thames in a fog, +a number of incidents from Holinshed, or the lives of the inhabitants +of a Russian village, is no more and no less common property than are +the _données_ from which a scientific man constructs a theory; +the end product, also, in each case, claims universal assent and +bestows comprehension. What is personal is the law of transformation +by which the one objective thing is changed into the other objective +thing. The law of transformation is different for each individual +mind, and this is as true of scientific men as of any other sort of +men. In this sense, then, both works of art and scientific theories +are personal achievements. A history of science written from this +point of view would be instructive. It would be interesting to trace +the personal element in each great scientific achievement, to show +what kinds of personalities have dominated us, to see what meaning +_eccentricity_ can have as applied to the thought of a scientific +man. But although a detailed history of this kind has not yet been +written, certain _national_ differences have long been recognised. + +There is almost as marked a difference between English and French +science as between English and French literature. The English +scientific mind is, on the whole, intuitive, mobile, illogical, and +very prone to imagery of a curiously practical kind. The French +scientific mind, on the other hand, likes to simplify the complicated +reality to as few terms as possible, and then to build up an impeccable +logical edifice. Maxwell was a very fine type of the great English +man of science, but we have Poincaré’s authority for saying that the +great _Treatise on Electricity and Magnetism_ awakens in the +French reader feelings of distrust. So far from finding an impeccable +logical structure, he finds that different parts of the book are +written from different points of view, and that these points of +view are even irreconcilable with one another. Maxwell’s liking for +immensely complicated mechanical models, designed to illustrate some +abstruse equation, is also a stumbling-block to the French reader. +What are such models supposed to prove? Surely Maxwell did not suppose +that the æther contained trains of geared wheels with “idle wheels” +in between? What mysterious satisfaction did he derive from such +unnecessary and irrelevant pictures? But this curious liking for models +is characteristic of the English school, and it is a characteristic +that Continental physicists have never been able to understand. It is +doubtless a manifestation of the English reluctance to get out of touch +with experience. The English man of science trusts logic much less +than he trusts experience. The Frenchman has much less respect for +experience. He is willing to simplify in a way which, to the English +mind, is almost outrageous--to see the Universe as a collection of +little billiard balls with forces varying inversely as the square of +the distance. And on such assumptions he is willing to proceed as far +as logic can take him. There is, indeed, a school in France which +asserts that all we can ever know of the Universe is its equations; +we can never know what they “mean” in the English sense. From the +æsthetic point of view there is no doubt that the French method is to +be preferred. We can all share Lagrange’s satisfaction when he says, +in the Avertissement to his _Mécanique Analytique_: “Je me suis +proposé de réduire la théorie de cette Science, et l’art de résoudre +les problèmes qui s’y rapportent, à des formules générales, dont le +simple développement donne toutes les équations nécessaires pour la +solution de chaque problème.” But we must remember that when the +interest is chiefly in the “développement” the assumptions may remain +uncriticised. The English way is to hold the assumptions tentatively, +and to be always open to the suggestions of experience. The German way, +which, if we are to judge by the work of Riemann and Einstein, seems +to be to concentrate an immense critical apparatus on the assumptions, +is equally interesting. The “philosophic” tendency which is supposed +to characterise German thought in other departments, is certainly +apparent in its science. The three tendencies are sufficiently marked +to constitute national differences and suggest that a detailed analysis +of individual achievements would yield equally interesting results. + + + + + THE IDEAL SCIENTIFIC MAN + + +Is the scientific man really a distinct kind of man, or is it merely +that science is a distinct occupation? To answer the question we +must make the elementary distinction between the scientific man and +the man who practises science, and when we do that the answer is +obvious. There is as certainly the “born” scientific man as there +is the born artist. But in saying this we are referring to ideals. +Perhaps there has never been a perfect man of science, and perhaps +there has never been a perfect artist. But in order to understand +the distinction between one kind of man and another it is helpful to +construct ideals--extreme cases which may be used as measuring rods. +What, then, are the characteristics of the ideal man of science? We may +approach the solution by trying to make precise the characteristics +which have led us, vaguely, to construct the hierarchy we already +possess. We _feel_, for instance, that Henry Cavendish, that +passionless recluse, was a much more “purely scientific” man than, +say, Thomas Henry Huxley. If we examine this conviction of ours we +make the interesting discovery that it is chiefly for his negative +characteristics that we assign this greater purity to Cavendish. Huxley +was passionately interested in the questions which concern every good +citizen, in politics, in social reform, in religion; he took sides +on these questions and fought for his side. Of Cavendish we can only +say that it is inconceivable that he would have taken sides on these +questions, and very difficult to believe that he was even remotely +interested in them. Take another point. Huxley abounded in ordinary +human affections. He was a devoted husband, a good father, a faithful +friend, a resolute opponent. Cavendish never manifested a vestige of +any of these qualities. He had no wife, no children, no friends, and +never showed the faintest dislike of anybody. Huxley was a champion of +what he thought the truth, and strained every nerve to enable it to +prevail. Cavendish, who was one of the greatest investigators, one of +the clearest and most subtle minds, in the history of science, kept +his discoveries to himself. For years Huxley bore the brunt of the +attacks on Darwin’s theory. Cavendish blandly watched the growth in +popularity of theories he had privately demonstrated to be wrong, and +never stirred a finger to rebut them. And finally, Huxley was a man who +suffered his alternations of high spirits and despondency, hope and +despair, while Cavendish, from the evidence we have, was imperturbably +serene. + +Now, the interesting point that emerges from this comparison is that +Cavendish, in virtue of his scientific purity, _could not_ have +exhibited those qualities which allied Huxley to the ordinary run of +men. A man’s characteristics are not disconnected. Cavendish’s cold +passion for knowledge required for its gratification qualities of the +spirit as well as of the mind. No man was ever more single in his +desire to _know_; no man ever was so little hindered by having +other interests to serve; no man, therefore, had a greater measure +of the purely scientific spirit. This is the important point for our +question; it is comparatively irrelevant that very few men have ever +had so great a mind to place at the service of their passion. That his +actual scientific standing should be so much greater than Huxley’s +is an accident; he would still have been more purely scientific than +Huxley had his ability been less than Huxley’s. Cavendish is all of +a piece. His very perfection as a recording and measuring instrument +tended to deprive him of “personality.” The less personal he was, +in fact, the more dispassionately open he could be. Other passions +were incompatible with his perfection; they would derange this +exquisite instrument. Judgments of good and evil would not have been +natural to him. His reaction to anything was exhausted in the act of +_understanding_ that thing. + +So far as we have gone, it would seem that Nietzsche’s description of +what he calls the “objective man” is exactly what we mean by the ideal +man of science. “The objective man is in truth a mirror: accustomed +to prostration before everything that wants to be known, with such +desires only as knowing or ‘reflecting’ implies ...” he will regard +such personality as he has, Nietzsche goes on to say, as accidental and +arbitrary. He cannot take himself seriously and devote time to himself. +His love is constrained, his hate artificial. He is only genuine so far +as he can be objective; he is unable to say either “Yea” or “Nay” to +life; he is concerned solely to understand, to “reflect.” He says, with +Leibniz: “Je ne méprise presque rien.” This description is undoubtedly +the result of genuine psychological insight. When we try to disentangle +the purely scientific element in a man of science we find that, so far +as he is scientific, he approximates to Nietzsche’s objective man. If +this, then, is the ideal scientific man, what place does he occupy? +Where does he stand in relation to the rest of mankind? According to +Nietzsche he is merely an instrument; “he is an instrument, something +of a slave, though certainly the sublimest sort of slave, but nothing +in himself.” He is no goal, no termination, no complementary man in +whom the rest of creation justifies itself. As compared with the +_true_ philosopher, the philosopher in Nietzsche’s sense, the man +who gives a new direction to life, the ideal man of science is merely +the most costly, the most easily tarnished, the most exquisite of +instruments. + +We need not quarrel with this valuation, but we would point out that +there is an omission in it. The scientific man is an instrument, but +he is an indispensable instrument. The human race has endured all the +different “new directions” given to it by the “true” philosophers of +the past without any marked increase in its spiritual stature. The +philosopher, however commanding, who would really lead us in any but a +circular direction must have _knowledge_. This knowledge, to be +valuable, must be clear and trustworthy; it must be scientific. And +if the inspirations and impulses of our leaders should prove to be +incompatible with deductions from scientific knowledge, then we may +be sure that the Promised Land does not lie their way. The scientific +man is merely an instrument. But it is this instrument alone that can +show to mankind which, of all the goals it desires, are possible goals, +and which, of all the leaders it trusts, are trustworthy leaders. The +scientific man is an instrument, but it is by this instrument that +those who would use it are first tested. Scientific knowledge is, if +you like, as dispassionate and inhuman as is the universe with which it +concerns itself--and it can as little be ignored. + + + + + PARALLEL STRAIGHT LINES + + +Geometry, it has been satisfactorily shown, had a purely empirical +origin. It appears that the earliest geometrical formulæ which have +been discovered belong to ancient Egypt, and that all these formulæ +served a useful purpose. The oldest of them are concerned with the +measurements of areas, a class of problem which the yearly sinking +of the Nile rendered of great importance. The formulæ obtained +by the ancient Egyptians were usually wrong, although they were +approximately correct; they evidently rested on no theoretical basis, +but were compendious statements of the results of somewhat rough +measurements, a point of view which is borne out by the fact that no +proof, nor even an attempt at a proof, is anywhere hinted at. So far +as the evidence goes, it seems to be established that geometry, as +consisting of logical deductions from stated premises, began with the +Greeks. A number of theorems of a fair degree of complexity had been +developed before they were reduced to a system; before, that is, the +assumptions on which they were based were made explicit. The task of +discovering the necessary and sufficient assumptions on which a system +of geometry rests is one of the greatest difficulty; the necessary +combination of subtlety and rigour is rare. The great systematisation +of Greek geometry was effected, of course, by Euclid, and although +his reduction of the system to its essential assumptions was not +final, his performance was such as to awaken the admiration of great +mathematicians in every succeeding century. But there is one point in +which this great reduction is notably imperfect--the so-called parallel +axiom. It says, essentially, that through a given point only one line +can be drawn parallel to a given straight line. It was felt, even +by the earliest commentators on Euclid, that this postulate did not +possess quite the same degree of self-evidence as was manifested by the +others. It was necessary, they felt, to give a proof of this postulate; +they attempted to improve on Euclid’s work in a number of minor ways, +but it was the parallel axiom which they were most concerned to revise; +the proof of this postulate should be contained, they thought, in the +other postulates. The attempts to supply this proof were all fruitless, +and the sixth century was reached with this nine-hundred-years-old +disfigurement still persisting. For some time after the sixth century +the world rested from Euclid’s parallel axiom; indeed, it rested from +geometry altogether, and the old empirical outlook of the Egyptians, +and even their formulæ, again became current. But the Greek culture +penetrated to the Arabs, and with the Greek culture came the riddle of +Euclid’s axiom. Again proofs were attempted; a famous attempt is that +of Nasir Eddin, who flourished in the thirteenth century. In 1663 John +Wallis made the important discovery that unless the parallel axiom be +assumed, similar figures of different sizes are not possible, that +is to say, that if we are to assume that _shape_ is independent +of _size_, then we must assume Euclid’s parallel axiom. Many of +these attempts brought out points of interest, but none of them were +successful. In the year 1733, however, the whole research took on a new +complexion with the publication of Girolamo Saccheri’s _Euclides ab +omni naevo vindicatus_. The importance of this work consists in the +fact that, although it was written to vindicate Euclid’s parallel axiom +once for all, it contains the first real outline of a non-Euclidean +geometry. + +Saccheri was a Jesuit, and it was in 1690, while he was teaching +grammar in Milan, that he first studied the _Elements_ of Euclid. +He was a man of very great acumen, and when he, in turn, succumbed to +the spell of the parallel postulate, he brought to bear on it a more +subtle and rigorous logic than had yet been applied to it. Thirty-six +years before he published his treatise on Euclid he had published a +book on logic which gives him a high place as a logician. In it he +is particularly concerned with investigating the compatibility of +different assumptions or postulates. His method was to determine +whether a member of a group of postulates is independent of the others +by finding a particular case in which the postulate in question is not +true while all the others remain true. If such a case can be found, it +is obvious that the postulate in question cannot be deduced from the +others, else it would be true whenever they were true. This was the +method he applied to the parallel postulate of Euclid. He showed that +the parallel postulate is equivalent to saying that the three interior +angles of a triangle are equal to two right angles. He proceeds, +therefore, in accordance with his method, to develop the consequences +of supposing them less than, or greater than, two right angles. In +the latter case he succeeds in showing that we are led to impossible +conclusions, since he assumed, as everybody assumed for more than a +century after, that the straight line is of infinite length. But in the +former case, the hypothesis that the interior angles of a triangle are +together less than two right angles, Saccheri, although he struggled +very hard, did not succeed in falling into contradictions. He does not +seem to have had the boldness necessary completely to trust his own +logic, but the fact remains that, accepting the rest of Euclid’s axioms +and denying the parallel axiom, he developed a logically consistent +geometry. + +There is reason to suppose that Saccheri’s work had some influence on +subsequent thought, although its full significance was certainly not +perceived. The parallel axiom continued to be investigated, and the +total effect of all these efforts was to induce a doubt concerning +the absolute _necessity_ of the Euclidean geometry. Such a doubt +was very daring; for two thousand years the postulates of Euclid had +been accepted as absolutely true; the fact of their existence had +profoundly influenced philosophy, and, indeed, theology. But the +doubt persisted and grew, until finally, early in the nineteenth +century, a perfectly logical and consistent non-Euclidean geometry, +one explicitly denying the parallel postulate, was published to the +world. As so often happens, the great step was taken by two men +independently of one another, Lobatschewski, a Russian, and Bolyai, a +Hungarian. It appeared, however, that both had been preceded by that +great mathematical genius, Gauss, although he had been too timid to +publish his conclusions. The new geometry developed the consequences of +that one of Saccheri’s alternatives which supposed the interior angles +of a triangle to be less than two right angles. The whole outlook on +geometry now assumed a new complexion. Riemann tried the effect of +denying the infinity of the straight line and of developing Saccheri’s +other alternative. He found he was led to no contradictions. But with +Riemann’s work we come to a yet further extension of geometry--the +extension to space of four, five, or any number of dimensions. And +these investigations, which seemed for some time to constitute the most +gratuitous, although the most profound and subtle, exercises of the +mind, have now received their complete justification by flowering into +the Generalised Principle of Relativity. + + + + + THE NEW SCIENTIFIC HORIZON + + +About current scientific speculations there is one characteristic, +subtle, perhaps, but profound and far-reaching, which distinguishes +them from the scientific speculations of the Victorian age. We can +best isolate this characteristic by considering it as a particular +manifestation of something which is met with in nearly every +phase of contemporary life--something which may fairly be called +the _Zeitgeist_ of our time. This spirit is chiefly a sense +of unlimited possibilities, a sense that the radically new and +unprecedented may be upon us; with this feeling comes a recrudescence +of the spirit of adventure; there are unknown paths leading to vague +but--probably--splendid goals. In the Victorian age the main lines of +everything were settled; the chief features of the universe were known. +There were matter and energy, and there was, of course, the æther. +The astronomical and geological scales were known in broad outline, +and a first survey of the march from amœba to man had been taken. The +work of future ages was to fill in the details. The universe of the +Victorians was a large and rather grand affair, but it was sombre. +Those emotional barometers, the poets, in so far as they were aware +of the scientific outlook, either “transcended” it or were crushed by +it. Jules Laforge furnishes an excellent example of the effect of the +Victorian scientific outlook on an intelligent and sensitive mind. +His reaction was to compose funereal dirges on the death of the earth +and the extinction of mankind. The universe of the Victorians was +objective, indifferent, tracing a purposeless pattern in obedience to +“iron” laws. It was a universe which held no great surprises. + +It is obvious that a very different spirit is abroad to-day. At the +present time the general consciousness seems to hold that almost +anything is possible. In part this may be accounted for, as in other +ages, by credulity based on ignorance, but there is also a credulity +based on knowledge, and it is this aspect of the general attitude which +deserves attention. The two kinds of credulity may be observed in +different believers of the same statements. Spiritualism, for instance, +has its followers amongst those who are unfamiliar with investigations +in the subject and amongst those whose belief has been compelled by +their very knowledge of the investigations. And disbelievers form +two exactly similar classes. There is also a credulity--the most +common kind--based on neither ignorance nor knowledge, but on partial +knowledge. Thus knowledge, but incomplete knowledge, of such phenomena +as wireless telegraphy or telephony, seems to predispose many people +to believe “wonders” which have no real connection with those +phenomena, but which are merely as inexplicable by partial knowledge. +Undoubtedly the recent developments in science are responsible for much +of this kind of credulity. But the new indulgence of possibilities, +as exhibited by the man of science, is dependent on quite different +considerations. To the student of physics, at any rate, the work of +the last two or three decades has been peculiarly disturbing. He has +been called upon, not merely to revise and extend his knowledge, but to +alter his assumptions. It is in this respect that the physics of our +own day chiefly differs from Victorian physics. + +The distinctively modern epoch began with the promulgation of the +Electron Theory. That “matter” could be “electrified” was easily +granted. The fact that the famous question, What is electricity? could +not be answered was no difficulty in admitting the fact that, as a +result of certain processes, matter could be made to exhibit certain +phenomena which could conveniently be referred to the fact that it +possessed an “electric charge.” And the discovery of particles very +much smaller than a hydrogen atom presented no conceptual difficulties. +The fact that the ultimate particles of matter were smaller than had +been supposed could easily be granted; the new assumption was of the +same kind as the old one. And, further, to admit that each of these +particles possessed an electric charge made no unfamiliar demands on +the imagination. But the next step, that these particles consisted +of nothing but an electric charge--that was a very different thing. +The early popularisations of the idea show something of the mental +confusion it caused. “Disembodied charges of electricity” was a +favourite descriptive phrase; many physicists fought hard to retain +even a nucleus of “ordinary matter” on which this charge could be +supposed to be lodged. That an electric charge could exist apart from +matter seemed to many people as difficult to conceive as motion without +anything which moved. But the conception speedily became familiar; that +useful entity, the æther, soon made things easier. For the disembodied +charge, the electron, could be conceived as a local distortion of +some kind in the æther, and, by endowing the æther with some sort of +substantiality, the hypothesis that matter was in some way built up +out of this primitive substance could be tolerated. But the general +effect of the theory was to give a more philosophical tinge to science. +The gross, easy assumptions of everyday thinking about “matter” had +to be revised; articles were written showing that matter was really +immaterial, and materialism was conjectured to have received a severe +set-back. + +The mind had barely become accustomed to the new assumptions before it +was again profoundly disturbed by the publication of Planck’s Quantum +Theory. The theory, which was invented to explain certain radiation +phenomena, asserted, briefly, that energy was atomic. One’s most +intimate assumptions were disturbed. Men of science are not usually +accustomed to philosophic exercises, and the idea that energy, which +they regarded as necessarily continuous, had an atomic structure seemed +at first almost meaningless. If we consider, for instance, the energy +possessed by a moving body, it seems natural to suppose that this +energy can be increased or diminished in a continuous manner; the idea +that its energy can only increase or decrease by finite jumps was a +very strange idea, and led again to a scrutiny of assumptions which +had appeared fundamental in science. Here, again, objections to the +new theory were sometimes the outcome purely of mental inertia, of an +inability to examine and discard a way of thinking which seemed almost +a necessary consequence of the structure of the mind. The last great +_bouleversement_ of one’s fundamental assumptions has been, of +course, Einstein’s generalised theory of relativity. Here we are asked +to revise our most deep-rooted assumptions--so deep-rooted that we are, +for the most part, unconscious of them--our assumptions regarding space +and time. + +It is this thorough overhauling of primary assumptions which +distinguishes the modern progress in physics from all the progress of +the Victorian age. Physics has not merely been extended, it has become +a radically new thing, and there are very good reasons for supposing +that it is going to change still more. A certain sense of unknown +possibilities is therefore natural, even if it be the product merely of +bewilderment. The total effect of the new ideas is to make the universe +of physics less objective; to an unsuspected extent this indifferent +universe, with its iron laws, is a product of our own minds. To some +extent this fact was always recognised, particularly by the Continental +physicists, but as a general persuasion it is comparatively recent. +We cannot escape the structure of our own minds, it is true, but we +do not yet know what that structure is; we do not know what barriers +are breakable; we do not know what thoughts are thinkable by man. A +universe in whose construction so plastic and mysterious an entity as +the mind of man collaborates, may very well hold great surprises. + + + + + THE HOPE OF SCIENCE + + +It is not an unfair judgment, we think, that decides, on a survey +of contemporary intellectual activities, to grant science the first +place. Whether we consider the quality of the work which is being +done, its importance to mankind, or the spirit in which the work is +done, we think science earns that place. Our age is a scientific age +to an extent which is certainly not generally realised. Contemporary +scientific work is of a quality fully comparable with that of the +greatest periods of its history; it is inevitable that our age should +emerge, in the history of the future, as an age of science. It has, +indeed, already established a perspective which leads to a revaluation +of the Victorian age. There have already been many writers who have +thought that age more memorable for its science than for its other +achievements, that its significance to humanity lay more in the work +of Darwin, Faraday, and Maxwell than in that of Tennyson and Matthew +Arnold, or even in that of Mr. Gladstone, but the perspective we have +now obtained puts the matter almost beyond doubt. With most of us our +outlook is the result of a decrepit tradition. Our orientation towards +life, so far as we are conscious of having one, is based upon the +values we attribute to the various objects of our thoughts, and these +values are determined partly by our instinctive desires and partly by +the suggestions of our education--using the term “education” to include +all converse with the minds of our fellows. Education, so defined, is +the result very largely of a long and widespread tradition, a general +tradition of European culture. It is a curious fact that, although +the history of science goes as far back as the history of the arts, +science is not an integral part of this, nevertheless, very catholic +culture. There are periods, it is true, when some scientific theory +is sufficiently dramatic, or appears sufficiently pertinent to man’s +destiny, to secure general attention; Newton’s theory of gravitation, +Darwin’s theory of evolution, and Einstein’s theory of relativity have +each given rise to such a period. Einstein’s theory, we are informed, +is now the favourite topic of enlightened conversation in Parisian +salons, as Newton’s theory once was. Some of this interest, no doubt, +is the product of disinterested curiosity, and in that respect is +vastly different from the once general interest in Darwin’s theory. +But we fear that many of those who are curious about Einstein’s theory +would, if they understood it, find it uninteresting. We dare not +interpret this curiosity as a sign that people are beginning to be +as naturally interested in science as they are in literature, for +instance. + +Nevertheless, we believe that the old culture is moribund in the sense +that its particular scale of values is undergoing revision. Science +is becoming less an affair for specialists; it is acquiring a “human” +value. An increasing number of people are beginning to realise that a +great science, such as Physics, may offer objects for contemplation +which are as delicate, as subtle, as exquisitely harmonious as the +dreams of Plato--and much better founded. And in relation to man, his +present state and possible future, science alone, to those who are not +satisfied with less than verifiable knowledge, speaks with the accent +of authority. The great constructions of science are grandiose without +being chimerical; they are beautiful but not deceiving. Indeed, one +sometimes has the feeling that it is only in science, nowadays, that +one still meets with the spirit of adventure, the sense of boundless +and glorious possibilities, with an exultant hope. Our poets and +men of letters generally are extraordinarily tame and disillusioned +creatures compared with our romantic and daring men of science. It is +refreshing to turn from the lamentations of our literary men to such +a book as the _Space, Time, Matter_ of Hermann Weyl, if only for +the fervour, the immense enthusiasm with which that highly accomplished +mathematician writes. Einstein is his Columbus, with the difference +that his America has indicated the existence of yet vaster continents. +And this enthusiasm is justified by its fruits; it has inspired Herr +Weyl to make what is unquestionably the greatest advance on Einstein’s +own work which has yet been made. It is not in Physics alone that we +find this note. To the biologists, also, the world has become young +again. Should our ignorant and unimaginative politicians, and our +still more ignorant and unimaginative business men, succeed in turning +the whole heroic effort and age-long struggle which has produced our +present culture to a mockery, they will put an end to a curiously +interesting and promising transition age, to an age which is at once +_fin de siècle_ and at the morning of a glorious renaissance. +But if they do not succeed, if the ordinary man shows himself even a +little worthy of the immense travail of his species, then we prophesy +that science will become an integral part of the culture of the future. +The new physics, the new biology, the new psychology, will be too +obviously pertinent to all man’s chief preoccupations for us to be +able to pretend that the present narrowly conceived _humaniora_ +furnish a liberal education. We even believe that if the old arts are +to become youthful again, it must be by a transfusion of blood. It will +not be sufficient that the philosophy and literature of the future +should “accommodate” themselves to the scientific outlook; they must be +inspired by it. + +Meanwhile, scientific men must be charitable; they must believe the +best. If science is to become an integral part of culture, scientific +men must help to make this possible. We believe that much of the +present interest in science is genuine; that it springs from a serious +attempt on the part of many people to find out what science can tell +them about themselves and the Universe they live in. Science is not +hunted purely for its dividend-earning capacities or for its power of +providing new thrills. Einstein, we understand, is suspicious of the +popular interest his theory has evoked; “a mere fashion,” he says. And +doubtless his suspicion is largely justified. But we believe there is +more in it than that--that there are many who, besides valuing the +delightful dreams of the poets and philosophers, have an affection for +_knowledge_. And when they find that the constructions of science +are not one whit less delightful than the dreams of the poets, this +affection may give rise to a permanent attachment. And with these new +objects of interest will come a change in values. Men will learn to +differentiate in their beliefs between those which are mere indulgences +of emotion and those which correspond to objective truth. This is the +path by which the mind becomes mature. It may not be, in all stages, +a pleasant process, but it leads to increased freedom and increased +power. The impossible will no longer be attempted, but the region of +the possible will be seen to be vastly greater. Man will see in what +directions he can shape his destiny, and he will be able to enter on +the task with a rational hope. All his courage and endurance will have +a chance of victorious achievement; he will know that he is not engaged +in a forlorn hope; the world will become young again. + + + + + THE RETURN OF MYSTERY + + “It is a universal condition of the enjoyable that the mind must + believe in the existence of a law and yet have a mystery to move about + in.”--JAMES CLERK MAXWELL. + + +That our thinking, and with it our feeling, is largely conditioned +by assumptions which have no logical necessity, is a commonplace of +philosophy, and is indeed apparent to the slightest introspection. +Characteristic of any age is a body of beliefs, resting on more or less +good evidence, and a group of feelings associated with those beliefs. +The German language, so rich in indefinite but valuable general terms, +afforded the word _Zeitgeist_ for this complex, a word we have +directly translated into the Spirit of the Age. The name is a good +one; it indicates that we are dealing with something which is widely +diffused and also subject to change. It is subject to change, but it +plays a dominating rôle in the age to which it belongs. The Spirit of +the Age is something that practically all the intellectual life of the +age has in common. It is not manifested only in philosophical treatises +or in works of art; it is often manifested even more strikingly in +statesmen’s speeches and a country’s domestic and foreign policy. It is +a kind of intellectual and emotional atmosphere of which everybody is +aware, but which probably nobody could define. We see, however, that +a very important part of it consists of a sense of probability, of a +tendency to accept certain kinds of explanation and to reject others. + +For the last few decades, at any rate, Science has been the chief +factor in forming this omnipresent sense of probability. As a matter +of fact, it is probable that the influence of Science in forming +the Spirit of the Age can be traced a very long way back, as far +back as Copernicus. Not that we assert the existence of a close +connection between the Science and the other intellectual activities +of Copernicus’s own age. The influence of which we speak is likely to +manifest itself gradually; in particular, it may take a long time to +affect the arts. And by the time it has percolated so far its origin +may be forgotten; it may appear as a subconscious rather than as a +conscious group of assumptions. By the time a scientific discovery +becomes part of the mental furniture of an age, many of what were +originally its possible implications will have become an integral part +of it. The original discovery will then be merely the nucleus of a rich +intellectual and, possibly, emotional complex, of which the parts are +no longer envisaged separately. The work of Newton, for example, and +the great body of exact investigations he made possible, influenced the +outlook of the nineteenth century chiefly in the direction of making +determinism plausible. Such lecturers as Tyndall could confidently +appeal to this mental predisposition on the part of their audience, +although they had no need to postulate any direct acquaintance with the +work of Newton and of his successors. The fact that Newton successfully +formulated exact laws for the description of natural phenomena is +the important aspect of his work from our present point of view. The +influence of Copernicus was rather different. From the point of view of +the history of Science his importance is that he made Newton possible; +from our present point of view his importance is that he made Darwin +possible. Copernicus’ destruction of the isolated position of man’s +planet in the solar system prepares the mind for Darwin’s destruction +of the isolated position of man in the animal kingdom. They each +shocked the same set of prepossessions. + +The “materialistic philosophy” which was so marked a feature of the +latter part of the nineteenth century, and which still forms, we +believe, the prevalent intellectual complexion, owed the whole of its +plausibility to its supposed scientific backing. Its basis was not +merely biological; physics played quite as great a part as biology. +The notion of determinism derived its strength, as we have said, +chiefly from physics; biology was not in a position to demonstrate the +exact correspondences required. The ultimate grandiose vision of the +purely natural and inevitable march of evolution from the atoms of +the primitive nebula to the British Association for the Advancement +of Science, as outlined by Tyndall in his Belfast Address, assumed +the results of physics and astronomy as much as Darwin’s _Origin +of Species_. It was because biology was not the only science +involved that it was possible to found a “materialistic” philosophy +on Darwinism. One primary assumption of that philosophy, that life +arises from “dead” matter, not only had no biological support, but had +been decisively refuted by the experiments of Pasteur. But, as related +to the general movement of Science, the hypothesis had the necessary +plausibility. Considering the then existing evidence, this hypothesis, +together with the hypothesis that mental states are produced by atomic +movements in a strictly determinist manner, are, indeed, striking +instances of the way in which the _Zeitgeist_, as much as the +evidence, determines the direction of our thinking. + +The importance of such conceptions cannot be over-estimated. Directly +or indirectly they influence the whole life, if not of their time, then +of an age which succeeds them. The philosophy in question had existed +for centuries, of course; what made it influential was the scientific +backing it received, for, in these matters, Science has for some time +past played the dominant rôle. Neither religion nor philosophy has been +able successfully to oppose it; nowadays, indeed, they seem concerned +only to agree with it. And if, here and there, a few artists have +felt themselves outraged by what were supposed to be the teachings +of Science, their influence has not been sufficient to deflect the +stream. Such isolated protestants have had nothing but their feelings +to oppose to what were considered to be facts, and the world, with what +may have been a stupid honesty, has followed after the supposed facts. +But the influence of Science on the arts would require a separate +investigation. A certain stability is given to some serious art by +its own tradition, and this may lessen its sensitiveness regarded +merely as an indication of the spirit of its age. It is, nevertheless, +very sensitive. In a history of modern literature, for example, it +is impossible to exclude direct references to Darwin; it is usual, +indeed, to devote some space to such “influences.” And the artist who +is not at home in his age may be reduced to impotence by it. Dostoevsky +is a magnificent example of a writer who, extremely sensitive to the +spirit of his age, and profoundly understanding it, strove to transcend +it. A smaller Dostoevsky might well have been nothing. And is a +post-Darwinian Beethoven, or a post-Darwinian Dante, really conceivable? + +Now it is unfortunate that, so far as scientific discoveries form +the Spirit of the Age, they do so at second-hand. The _Origin of +Species_ happens to be easy to read, but even so that body of +thought known as “Darwinism” owes its influence chiefly to such +expositors as Huxley and Tyndall. The thing becomes set; it assumes +hard, bold outlines; the issue has to be presented with something of +the simplicity of an election cry. The universe of Science becomes +finally a universe from which all mystery is banished and where the +only ultimates are small, incompressible spheres whose movements and +combinations produce--everything. The chasm separating this conclusion +from the actual scientific evidence is not realised. Very tentative and +almost fantastic hypotheses become dogmas, and it is as dogmas that +they become influences. As a matter of fact the scientific evidence, +even of Darwin’s day, suggested quite other possibilities than those +popularised as a “materialistic” philosophy. James Clerk Maxwell, +who had a profounder insight into physical reality than any other +man of his time, in a very little known essay, draws attention to +the “singularities” characteristic of certain natural phenomena, and +suggests that there are more singular points the higher the rank of the +existence. “At these points, influences whose physical magnitude is too +small to be taken account of by a finite being, may produce results +of the greatest importance,” and he warns his readers against “that +prejudice in favour of determinism which seems to arise from assuming +that the physical science of the future is a mere magnified image of +that of the past.” + +Maxwell’s remark is now seen to have been prophetic. The +extraordinarily profound and far-reaching philosophical implications +of the theory of relativity have hardly yet begun to be investigated, +but we have already a general sense of their direction. Hermann +Weyl’s _Raum, Zeit, Materie_, for instance, the most thorough +mathematical exposition of the whole theory which has yet appeared, +hints not obscurely at the philosophical bearing of the new +investigations. Now that, by Weyl’s own work, Maxwell’s electromagnetic +equations are included by the theory, it seems to be scientifically +complete. It presents us with a picture of the universe which is wholly +unlike the picture of the early physics. In particular, an altogether +different rôle is assigned to the human mind. So far as the exterior +universe and the laws of nature are concerned, we see that the primary +entity is the mind itself. It is the mind which has created, not only +space and time, but the matter it has put within that framework. The +mind has not created the universe out of nothing, it is true. But it +is almost impossible to say anything intelligible in the old sense +about the fundamental entities to which Einstein’s theory leads us. +Professor Eddington suggests that they may be “the very stuff of our +consciousness,” a somewhat mystical remark which nevertheless shows +the trend of the new speculations. And, as a striking confirmation of +Maxwell’s view of the possible development of physical science, we may +quote one of the last sentences of Weyl’s profound discussion: “It +must be emphatically stated that the present state of physics lends no +support whatever to the belief that there is a causality of physical +nature which is founded on rigorously exact laws.” Unfortunately not +all men are mathematicians. The great and wonderful vista now opened +up by Science--greater and more significant, we believe, than has +existed at any previous time in the history of thought--is at present +a consequence of highly abstruse investigations. The sheer technical +difficulty of these inquiries will long hinder them from exerting their +due influence on philosophy and, through philosophy, on the whole of +the intellectual life of the age. But the new conceptions exist, and +they derive their unshakable strength from the fact that they are the +result of the severest Science. And surely no one can fail to see +that they promise not only fascinating regions for thought, but a new +liberation of the human spirit. Mystery, but more wonderful and full of +promise than ever, has been restored to the universe. + + + + + MATHEMATICS AND MUSIC + + +It is possible that the old heading “Arts and Sciences” has been +responsible for some of the barrenness which is so conspicuous a +feature of æsthetic theory. For the heading seems usually to have +suggested, not only that there is a difference between the arts and the +sciences, but that the difference is of a fundamental kind. For the +purposes of æsthetic theory the various arts are assumed to have more +in common than any one of them has with any of the sciences. We find +the writer on æsthetics expounding his principles in chapters headed +Painting, Sculpture, Poetry, Music; but it is rare indeed to find the +argument extended to mathematics and physics. Yet there is no evidence +that such omissions are due to deliberate reflection; the philosopher +has not decided, after examination, that the sciences are unæsthetic +objects; we must assume that accidents of taste and education have +prevented him from paying attention to what may conceivably be useful +data for the formulation of a theory of æsthetic. Within the last two +or three generations scientific men have been thinking and writing +a good deal about the philosophic basis and implications of their +study, and it is significant that this inquiry has led many of them +to insist on the æsthetic character of the satisfactions that science +affords. The late Henri Poincaré, in particular, has shown that +scientific theories are akin to works of art, and in this country, Dr. +Norman Campbell has asserted his belief that great men of science are +essentially great artists. The point of view is an interesting one, +and suggests that fresh light may be thrown upon æsthetic problems by +a new grouping of their subject-matter. Instead of putting the arts +and the sciences on opposite sides of the fence, it may be helpful to +see whether certain members of these two groups have not a natural +affinity with one another, and so gain hints for a different and more +comprehensive classification. + +It is noteworthy, in this respect, that music has always occupied an +exceptional position among the arts. Pater tried to relate it to other +arts by saying it was the art to which all others aspire: + + The arts may be represented as continually struggling after the law + or principle of music, to a condition which music alone completely + realises; and one of the chief functions of æsthetic criticism, + dealing with the products of art, new or old, is to estimate the + degree in which each of these products approaches, in this sense, to + musical law. + +It is characteristic of Pater’s criticism, and of much of the criticism +of his school, that it exists, as it were, within a world of its own. +The meanings to be attached to his most important terms are always +suggested or insinuated; they are never defined. The method is useful, +perhaps even necessary, in dealing with a complex and elusive object, +and where appeal is made to perceptions which lie on the fringe of +consciousness. But it runs the grave danger of becoming altogether +too tenuous to be intelligible when we make direct reference to the +object it is supposed to illuminate. When, for instance, Pater says +of the best music, “the end is not distinct from the means, the form +from the matter, the subject from the expression,” we become acutely +aware of the absence of definition in each of these primary terms +directly we think of any actual composition. We feel, indeed, that the +terminology is not natural; in contemplating a poem the mind may be +naturally impelled to distinguish between subject and expression as a +kind of first effort in analysis; it is doubtful whether, in listening +to music, this direction for analysis ever presents itself. So that +to say that in music subject and expression are identical is not to +say anything useful about music, but merely to declare that that kind +of analysis is irrelevant. It is very probable that nothing is to be +gained by first making distinctions which have a meaning for other arts +and then bringing music into the scheme by saying that for music such +distinctions become meaningless. + +But if we are to maintain that this kind of criticism is irrelevant, +then music becomes not only an isolated art but the art of which we +know least. If it cannot be accommodated as an example within the +general body of æsthetic criticism, the criticism that uses such terms +as Pater uses, then whatever general conclusions the multifarious +writings of the last two centuries on the “beautiful” may be considered +to have reached are not applicable to music. In this extremity it is +natural, nowadays, to become “scientific.” Comparative studies are +undertaken: the music of Java is compared with the music of Bach: the +evolution of musical devices is made clear; the psychological condition +of the patient under music is examined: the time taken for the right +degree of hypnosis to be induced is determined. That such methods may +one day stumble upon important facts it would be rash to deny, but +nothing has yet been reached which illuminates the particular problem +that music presents. We are frankly of the opinion that, so far, the +difficult utterances of certain mystical or semi-mystical writers throw +more light on the real nature of music than do those of common sense. + +Among such writers on music Schopenhauer is notorious; and it is worth +while to dwell a little on his speculations, fantastic as they may +seem, since they contain an element common to all such interpretations, +which does serve to isolate the essential problem of music. In +Schopenhauer’s æsthetic the object of all arts, except music, is to +lead, by the description of objects, to the recognition of the Ideas +(Platonic) whose appearance in multiplicity constitutes the world. +All arts, therefore, have a transcendental function; their aim is to +reveal to us the Platonic world of eternal essences or Ideas. But they +have to raise us to this region _via_ the objects of experience; +in that sense they are also, therefore, concerned with the world of +appearance and are dependent upon it. The case is different with music. +Music is not concerned with the external world either as a symbol or as +a reality. It is not even, in Schopenhauer’s language, concerned with +the Ideas, but refers directly to that “Will” which, in Schopenhauer’s +philosophy, underlies the Ideas themselves. The essence of his theory +is given in the following passage: + + ... so ist die Musik, da sie die Ideen übergeht, auch von der + erscheinenden Welt ganz unabhängig, ignoriert sie schlechthin, könnte + gewissermaassen, auch wenn die Welt gar nicht wäre, doch bestehen: + was von den anderen Künsten sich nicht sagen lässt. Die Musik ist + nämlich eine so unmittelbare Objektivation und Abbild des ganzen + Willens, wie die Welt selbst es ist, ja wie die Ideen es sind, deren + vervielfältigte Erscheinung die Welt der einzelnen Dinge ausmacht. + +Or, as he says a little later on, the world may be regarded as embodied +music. + +It is not likely that anyone will take Schopenhauer’s philosophy of +music seriously; and even those who are sympathetic to his general +view are not likely to find their sense of the ludicrous undisturbed +by his identification of bass notes with the planets, tenor notes with +the vegetable world, and so on. The intensity of his response to music +and his humourless courage have led him to what are perhaps the most +fantastic statements in all his writings. But what is worth noting is +that so imaginative and fertile a speculator, because he was genuinely +sensitive to music, had to give it a profoundly isolated position in +his æsthetic. In so doing we think he recognised one very important +difference between music and the other arts. It is true that music is +independent of the world of experience in a way that other arts are +not. It is true that there is a sense in which Schopenhauer is right +when he says that music would exist even if the world did not. We +can see what is meant if we compare the development of a “dramatic” +piece of music, such as the first movement of Beethoven’s C minor +Symphony, with a great tragedy. The tragedy, as a condition of success, +must make reference to our experience of life. The ostensible matter +of the tragedy, the characters and incidents, must not violate our +conception of reality if they are to be accepted. The tragedy must be +plausible. Such considerations obviously do not apply to music. It is +meaningless to say that the development of a composition must satisfy +our sense of probability. Yet there is a meaning in saying that its +development seems either arbitrary or inevitable. The analogy that +immediately presents itself is a chain of logical reasoning, as in +the sustained development of a mathematical theorem. Such development +is independent of all experience; the mind is obeying none but its +own laws, and is paying no attention to any alien elements. And it is +this characteristic of mathematics which seems responsible for the +fascination the study possesses for its devotees. + + Remote from human passions, remote even from the pitiful facts of + nature, the generations have gradually created an ordered cosmos, + where pure thought can dwell as in its natural home, and where one, at + least, of our nobler impulses can escape from the dreary exile of the + actual world, + +says Mr. Bertrand Russell in a typical passage. A strain of romantic +eloquence seems, indeed, to be inseparable from the writings of +mathematicians on their subject. But the analogy can be pressed more +closely. There are elegant and inelegant mathematical demonstrations, +those which merely “command assent,” as Lord Rayleigh said, and those +which provide a very high degree of æsthetic satisfaction. In these +latter demonstrations the mind seems to be moving with more swiftness +and freedom; the whole demonstration seems to flower in a natural +and spontaneous way; we have the impression of _inevitability_. +Mathematical elegance, as Poincaré has put it, “n’est autre chose que +la satisfaction due à je ne sais quelle adaptation entre la solution +que l’on vient de découvrir et les besoins de notre esprit.” It is +as if there were a mode of living natural to the human spirit, an +_unadapted_ life, a life free from the necessity of accommodating +itself to the elements, so largely alien, of the actual world. +Mathematics is the expression of this life so far as the intellect is +concerned. Is it too much to say that music is a fuller embodiment of +this free life? + +If we are to say this we must acknowledge that more than the intellect +is capable of this free life, that there is a logic of the emotions as +well as of the mind. This assumption is not difficult to make; indeed, +if we reflect on our experience of some compositions, such as, to take +the same example, the first movement of the C minor Symphony, it is +difficult to avoid making it. And, in considering the matter from this +point of view, we may gain some results useful for musical criticism +in general. The theme of the movement in question is characteristic +of many of Beethoven’s themes in that it does not serve merely as a +kind of structural skeleton on which a composition is to be built. In +this respect it differs from, for instance, many of Bach’s themes. +The theme immediately, in its ominous and arresting quality, throws +the mind into a certain state of expectancy, a state where a large +number of happenings, but only the happenings belonging to a certain +class, can logically follow. As an analogous vague yet restricted +initial preparation we may instance the entry of the witches at the +beginning of _Macbeth_. As the music proceeds this rich, but more +or less definite, state in the hearer becomes more and more precise, +more and more subtle. It is, as it were, explored and shown in all +its height and depth. What was pregnant in the theme is exhibited +to us in all its extent, its definiteness, and its force. The theme +was the entrance to a world. And we have the consciousness of logic, +of _inevitability_, because at no point are we constrained. We +exult because we are free; this is how we, too, would move but for +our fetters, our alien, arbitrary fetters from which, for this time, +we have been freed. And in none of this, unless we have incurably +literary minds, are we ever reminded of experience. This life is no +life that we have lived or that, on this planet, we could live. Music +is as independent of the world as mathematics, but it cannot, like a +system of geometry, even be applied to the real world as an hypothesis. +It is even doubtful how far the emotions it expresses, when it is +merely expressing emotion, correspond to those of real life. The +sorrow of the bereaved father is not the same thing as the sorrow +of the bereaved lover, but music can express sorrow with thousands +of _nuances_. It is customary to say that the emotions of music +are generalised emotions; that its sorrow, for instance, is a kind of +common denominator of all sorrows. But the exact opposite seems to be +the case. The situations of real life, like the resources of language, +are probably too limited to afford correspondences to the immense +variety of emotions expressible in music. The musician is as free as +the non-Euclidean geometer to create worlds which have no objective +counterpart. + +It is natural, therefore, in comparing the arts, that we should class +mathematics and music together, since they resemble one another by +their most intimate characteristics and differ, in these respects, +from all other arts. It is worth noting, in this connection, that it +is only in mathematics and music that we have the creative infant +prodigy. Experience and learning, compared with what we vaguely call +“instinct” or “gift,” play a comparatively insignificant rôle; the +boy mathematician or musician, unlike other artists, is not utilising +a store of impressions, emotional or other, drawn from experience or +learning; he is utilising inner resources so obviously independent of +experience that, like Plato’s slave, he seems to have brought them +with him from some anterior life. And the artistic progress of a +musician, if it be a true progress, means primarily that he is making +ever more accessible the riches of this inner life. It is difficult +to avoid mysticism, or at least Platonism, at this point. But here +again it seems to us that Schopenhauer understood something essential. +When he says that music, like the Platonic ideas, is an embodiment +of the “Will” that underlies all things, he does at least say that +what is revealed to us by a composition is something other than the +“personality” of the composer. The function of music is not, like +that of literature, to illuminate this world, but there is a world it +illuminates--a world at least as vast and independent of this one as +that mathematical “cosmos” described by Mr. Bertrand Russell. + +There is much music, of course, which suggests no such mystical +fancies. With most of Wagner’s music, for instance, there is no hint +of other worlds, but rather a gorgeous colouring of this one--or of +those aspects of this one which excite romantic poets with strong +bodily appetites who can assume the background of the vigorous +material prosperity of the nineteenth century. Such music is fully +comparable with a certain kind of literature; all it lacks is the +definiteness of statement, and hence the intellectual clarity, which +the use of language affords. It may be even more powerful and subtle +than literature can be--_Tristan und Isolde_ expresses certain +emotions with immense adequacy. But it is not doing something which +music alone can do; and, for that reason, it throws very little light +on the peculiar problem of music. For the peculiar problem of music +consists in its independence, in its power of transporting us to a +world which is not otherwise revealed. To Schopenhauer, to whom both +the world and music were embodiments of the same Will, there was a +musical equivalent for every experience; and, it would seem to follow, +for every musical utterance there is a corresponding experience. +The two worlds are independent, but there exists between them, as a +mathematician would say, a one-to-one correspondence. Yet he very +strangely goes on to accept the theory that a musical utterance is a +kind of generalisation of a number of distinct experiences. He points +out that the musical setting of a poem, for instance, will serve for a +number of similar poems. It is the “kernal” of all these poems which +is given directly by the music. But it is equally true that the same +poem will serve for several musical settings. When Beethoven, as one +of sixty-three composers, composed his setting of Carpani’s poem “In +questa tomba oscura,” he probably composed the best setting, since it +is the only one that has survived; but among the other sixty-two there +must have been many which, in Schopenhauer’s phrase, were expressions +of the “kernal” of the poem. The fact seems to be that, unless music +is deliberately illustrative, it is not concerned with what is +otherwise expressible. That is why musicians are always dissatisfied +with “literary” descriptions of music. However good in their own kind +they may be, they are always felt to be irrelevant and even, in some +way, a degradation of the actual musical utterance. It is felt that +they exhibit a certain insensitiveness or lack of taste, as in that +curiously popular image which likens twin hills to a woman’s breasts. + +As compared with literature, music is abstract. It is independent, as +literature is not, of the facts of life. But just as there is some +music which approaches to the condition of literature, so there is some +literature which approaches to the condition of music. Such literature, +while it is concerned with the world of experience, as literature must +be, is concerned with that world as symbol and not as reality. Such +literature, we might say, is not concerned to illuminate the world +of what we here call experience, but to reveal something about the +soul of man itself--or, if we prefer scientific jargon to mystical, +to deal with the normally subconscious rather than with the normally +conscious. Both kinds of literature have been called realistic, but +they are realistic from entirely different points of view. Dostoevsky, +for instance, regarded the realism of such writers as Zola as trivial. +And can _Macbeth_ be regarded as a realistic work, on the basis of +the French conception of realism? _Macbeth_ is, indeed, a striking +example of the extent to which literature can approach the condition +of music. The whole apparatus of the play, the witches, the characters, +the incidents, are so obviously not presented for their own sakes, but +as symbols through which an overwhelming perception was to be conveyed. +Here the fact that the literary artist must accommodate himself to the +laws of the real world, that he must satisfy our sense of probability, +seems hardly a hindrance. Our sense of probability is, indeed, +purposely lulled by the entrance of the witches at the beginning. We +are made aware that not the real world alone is concerned. In this +respect the supernatural “machinery” of _Macbeth_ performs an +altogether different function from that in _Hamlet_. The whole of +_Hamlet_ is perfectly realistic in the tight sense. But the fact +that literature must always use symbols differentiates it utterly from +music. And just as we have seen that real life may present no analogies +to what is revealed in music, so it may happen that the literary artist +who has access to a wide and deep inner life may find no symbols, such +as are essential to literary art, to convey his perceptions. Mr. T. +S. Eliot has stated that _Hamlet_ is an artistic failure because +the whole play, considered as presentation in terms of symbols, does +not adequately convey the emotions or perceptions we confusedly feel +Shakespeare is trying to express. Whether or not Mr. Eliot is correct +in his instance, his general thesis is perfectly sound. Even if +_Hamlet_ could be re-written so as to satisfy Mr. Eliot, it is +still true that there are some perceptions, states of mind, emotions, +or whatever one likes to call them, which it is very difficult to +believe are expressible in literature at all. Santayana gives a neat +but somewhat trivial instance in one of his essays where he says that +there is no human incident or group of incidents which can serve as a +fitting symbol for pure radiant joy--a sort of prolonged, exultant, +celestial state of joy. A shadow, to the mature mind, lies over the +brightest and most delightful of life’s happenings. He suggests that a +poet who should try to imitate music in this respect could do little +but write the word “Joy!” with exclamation marks. He could write +nothing else that was unambiguous. And, indeed, a symbol is always +ambiguous unless, like the symbols of the mathematician, its meaning is +completely exhausted by its symbolic intent. The symbol distracts; it +brings with it a crowd of irrelevant associations, and for that reason, +even when the symbols are most superbly handled, as in _Macbeth_, +the resultant communication is less definite than with music. But the +very great, the immense, importance of literature lies in the fact that +it can, partially at least, shape the facts of life so as to make them +consonant with the nature of man. If experience can furnish symbols +which express the deepest needs and aspirations of the soul, then life +can be, at least partially, illuminated. For man can understand nothing +which is not consonant with his own nature. The literature which truly +illuminates life is the literature which interprets life most fully +in terms of our own emotions and aspirations. In this sense not only +all literature, but all science, is anthropomorphic. Science is only +possible in so far as it is logical. That is to say, the universe can +only be understood in so far as its happenings are obedient to the laws +of man’s own mind. In its relation to mathematics, where the mind pays +no attention to the arbitrary conditions of experience, physics plays +something of the same part as is played by literature in its relation +to music. Both physics and literature, in their universal function, +are concerned with a world which _need_ not obey the laws native +to the spirit of man. Such illumination as they can give is dependent +upon, as it were, what correspondences they can find. The revelation of +life afforded by _The Brothers Karamazov_, for instance, consists +in relating the phenomena of life to the deepest impulses of the spirit +of man. Only so does life become in any measure truly comprehended; +and it is in this respect that such works differ from those reports +on life where we may recognise and assent to everything, but where +our comprehension of anything is not deepened. Such works as _The +Brothers Karamazov_ may be called philosophic, if we use the word to +include something other than purely intellectual understanding. + +We have suggested that, if mathematics may be taken as the intellectual +analogue of music, then it is not perhaps too far-fetched to say that +such a science as physics may be taken as the intellectual analogue +of literature, since both are concerned to interpret what we call the +real in terms of what we call the ideal, while the two former arts +are not concerned with the real. And the question arises whether the +arts, mathematics, and music, which are not concerned to illuminate +experience, are worthy of serious attention. In the case of mathematics +the answer is not doubtful, since it has repeatedly shown itself +applicable to real happenings, however little notions of utility may +have played a part, or need have played a part, in its creation. Even +the most remote mathematical theorems are not certainly immune from +practical application. But no such claim can be made for music, and +it is for that reason that to some philosophers music is a pleasing +but essentially trivial art. To such philosophers music, while it may +suggest spiritual profundities, is, after all, saying nothing of any +possible significance. The adventures of the soul that it depicts are +less significant even than a stage fight. Its one justification is the +pleasure it affords; it takes us out of ourselves in a way no other art +can do, and after this refreshing interregnum we return to the things +that matter. It may be so; we can give no proof that it is not so; we +can only say we find the point of view incredible. On this point, +again, we certainly find the mystical view of Schopenhauer, if less +intelligible, at least more convincing than that of common sense. + + + + + HUMAN TESTIMONY + + +Everybody normally acts on the assumption that the value of human +testimony is an extremely variable quantity. The rules by which we +assess the value of testimony, in the ordinary affairs of life, are of +that thoroughly habitual kind that hardly involve conscious processes; +they repose on two judgments, which we are always making. Our belief in +direct testimony to an event is conditioned by the nature of the event +and by our estimate of the “personal equation” of the witness. These +two factors are not quite independent; it is very seldom, for instance, +that we attribute “general untrustworthiness” to anybody who is known +to us. Our experience usually teaches us that there are certain classes +of statements--e.g. his breaks at billiards, the number of miles +his motor-car runs on a gallon of petrol--for which that particular +witness’s credibility is at a minimum. For some other classes of +statements we may have learnt to take his word without hesitation. What +the mathematicians call the “credibility” of a witness is not, in the +case of any witness of whom we have personal knowledge, a constant +figure. It varies with the event, often in an extremely complicated +way. When Brown is listening to Jones talking about the enormities of +Smith the extremely delicate and rapid weighing of probabilities being +performed by Brown beggars any mathematical description. When the +witness is personally unknown to us the matter becomes simpler. Our +conclusions, one way or another, will be held with less confidence, but +they will be more simply arrived at. We may, on the evidence supplied +by the testimony itself--the tone of the letter, the man’s manner in +the dock--class the witness as a man of a certain type. Corresponding +to each type we have a rough scale of credibility for different types +of events. In cases where we know nothing of the witness beyond his +bare statement that he witnessed the occurrence of the event our +estimate of his credibility is based on very general and usually +rather vague considerations. We are guided by two things: the initial +credibility of the event and our estimate of the general value of human +testimony. Both of these criteria, and in particular the second, are +excessively ill-defined. + +In the first place, what do we mean by the initial credibility +of an event? There are very few cases where this notion can be +precisely defined. The simple instances dealt with in the elements of +mathematical probability do, it is true, permit of precise definition. +The chance that a white ball will be drawn from an urn containing +five black balls and one white ball can be exactly estimated, for we +are in possession of all the very simple relevant factors. But the +probability that Romulus founded Rome obviously belongs to a very +different category. And what is the initial credibility of a miracle? +Hume, as is well known, thought that the _a priori_ incredibility +of a miracle was so great that its occurrence could not be established +by human testimony. He is here trying to establish a ratio between the +initial credibility of a class of events and the initial credibility +of human testimony to such events. He is taking some kind of average +in both cases, but it is difficult to see how such an average can +be arrived at. Vague considerations of this kind are of no value in +forming conclusions on matters of real interest to us, although they +may be sufficient to warrant a lazy scepticism regarding what William +James calls “dead hypotheses,” or may form the basis for amusing and +ingenious mathematical exercises. But we have no notion of an average +initial credibility which is of any use in practice; each case must +be judged on its own merits. And if, to take the second point, we +reached some average for the value of human testimony in general, we +should never, in practice, apply it. The utmost we can hope to do is +to establish a more or less constant relation between the testimony +of classes of witnesses and classes of events. We have to divide +witnesses into types, and for each given type estimate the value of +its testimony to different classes of events. We must investigate the +difference it makes when the witness is taken as isolated and when he +is taken as a member of a group of witnesses. In this way we may hope +to reach results which are of value in judicial procedure, in the study +of history, and in various particular investigations, including those +modern substitutes for miracles, the phenomena of spiritualism. We +are, in fact, to investigate man in his capacity as a truth-recording +instrument. + +The result of such researches as have been made may be said, briefly, +to show that human testimony has much less value than is normally +assigned to it and, in particular, much less value than it is held to +possess in a Court of Law. The experimental results obtained in this +field are, indeed, often startling. It is hardly too much to say that +one’s first impulse, on becoming acquainted with the results hitherto +reached, is to fall back on a general and dismayed scepticism regarding +the value of human testimony to anything whatever. But a closer +examination of the results show us that this attitude is unwarranted, +and reinforces the common-sense assumption that the value of human +testimony is a matter of degree, varying from complete worthlessness +to a very fair presumption that the event occurred as stated. The +investigation is useful chiefly in showing us what factors influence +this value. + +It is convenient to separate out these factors according to the scheme +recently employed by Dr. Edmond Locard, in his analysis of police +records over a number of years. The statements made by a witness +repose, in the first place, on sensations which he has experienced. It +might be thought too obvious to be worth mentioning that we require +the witness who heard a sound, for instance, to have reasonably +good hearing, and yet there are many cases where simple preliminary +considerations of this kind are not taken into account. Professor +Zöllner’s famous book _Transcendental Physics_, for instance, +alleged marvels that occurred in the presence of Slade, the medium; +and these alleged marvels, of great influence in spreading a belief +in spiritualism, were witnessed to by four professors, Zöllner, +Fechner, Scheibner and Weber. But a member of the Seybert Commission, +Mr. George S. Fullerton, as a result of personal interviews, found +that two of these professors, Fechner and Scheibner, were partially +blind at the time. Their sensations, therefore, in this respect, were +untrustworthy. But defects of this kind may usually be determined and +this factor conditioning the witnesses’ credibility allowed for. Where +a witness makes appeal to a sensation which may be checked the check +should always be imposed. Thus Dr. Locard gives an instance where a +witness stated that an event occurred in a mill at a certain hour. +How did he know the hour? By hearing a clock strike at the time the +event occurred. A test was made, and it was found that the noise of +the mill made the striking of the clock quite inaudible. The witness +then remembered that he did not hear the clock strike until he had +left the mill. Similarly, witnesses have testified that they saw a man +leave a doorway, their post of observation being one from which the +doorway could not be seen. Sensations may often be checked, however, +and, to a careful inquirer, they need not be a grave source of error. +But the next stage is concerned with the witness’s perceptions. Of his +sensations he will single some out for attention and neglect the rest. +He singles out those which, for some reason or another, interest him +most. It may quite easily happen, therefore, that the sensations most +relevant to the inquiry in hand have been neglected. They have been +filtered, as it were, through the medium of the witness’s interest; +and it is often the case that his interest has not been excited by the +sensations most pertinent to the subsequent inquiry. It is on this fact +that conjurers very largely depend for their success. The attention +of the audience is distracted; they are invited to dismiss certain +sensations as being of no importance, and, in general, it is remarkably +easy to ensure this distraction of attention. Dr. Hodgson’s case of the +English officer and the Hindu juggler well illustrates this point: + + Referring to the movements of the coins, he said that he had taken a + coin from his own pocket and placed it on the ground himself, yet + that this coin had indulged in the same freaks as the other coins. + His wife ventured to suggest that the juggler had taken the coin and + placed it on the ground, but the officer was emphatic in repeating + his statement, and appealed to me for confirmation. He was, however, + mistaken. I had watched the transaction with special curiosity, as I + knew what was necessary for the performance of the trick. The officer + had apparently intended to place the coin upon the ground himself, but + as he was doing so the juggler leant slightly forward, dexterously and + in a most unobtrusive manner received the coin from the fingers of the + officer, as the latter was stooping down, and laid it close to the + others. If the juggler had not thus taken the coin, but had allowed + the officer himself to place it on the ground, the trick, as actually + performed, would have been frustrated. + + Now I think it highly improbable that the movement of the juggler + entirely escaped the perception of the officer; highly improbable, + that is to say, that the officer was absolutely unaware of the + juggler’s action at the moment of its happening; but I suppose that, + although an impression was made on his consciousness, it was so slight + as to be speedily effaced by the officer’s _imagination_ of + himself as stooping and placing the coin upon the ground. + +We have here an instance of erroneous testimony by a witness to his own +actions; testimony to the actions of other people is usually much less +trustworthy. In this matter of direct perception we may discriminate +still further. Tactile perceptions are of almost no value whatever. If +a witness be blindfolded and asked to determine, by touch alone, the +nature, the volume and the material of an object, it will be found that +the responses are very inaccurate. Experience of tactile sensations is +relatively small and deductions therefrom are practically valueless. +Thus the shock of a bullet entering the body may be interpreted as a +slight blow, several dagger thrusts in the back as one thrust, and so +on. A piece of ice drawn across the neck of a blindfolded man and warm +water simultaneously poured on his chest have been stated to cause +death by fright, the man having previously been informed that he was +going to have his throat cut. Perceptions of odour or of taste are even +less trustworthy; and here the difficulty of expression in precise +terms, in the lack of a precise vocabulary, is complicated by the fact +that the witness primarily perceives odours and tastes as pleasant or +unpleasant, and pays attention only to that aspect of them. In cases of +poisoning, therefore, evidence of this kind should be given very little +value. + +It is only when we come to the senses of hearing and of sight that +we enter the region where perceptions may have evidential value. In +the case of hearing, however, we must still proceed very warily. +Experiment has shown that estimates of direction, for example, are +quite valueless, since the different estimates made by different +observers obey the laws of pure chance. Training can do a little, but +very little, to render these perceptions more trustworthy; in general, +however, evidence as to the direction of a sound may be neglected. +Estimates of the distance of a sound, also, are of very small value. +The intensity of a heard sound depends on the intensity of the source, +and also on its distance; and these two factors may be apportioned +by the observer in the most arbitrary manner. In the case where the +sound is articulate, as in overhearing a conversation, we are in the +presence of still other sources of error, due to illegitimate inference +and the association of ideas. For words which are not heard will be +supplied by the witness in all good faith. He will have a theory of +the purport of the conversation, and will arrange the sounds he heard +to fit it. Edgar Allen Poe’s example, in _The Murders in the Rue +Morgue_, of the cries of an ape which were interpreted as remarks +in different languages by different observers, is judged by Dr. Locard +to be not at all fantastic. The same general source of error applies +to visual perceptions. Not everything is observed, and the lacunæ +are filled in by the witness in what seems to him the most probable +manner. Oversights in proof-reading furnish a familiar example of this +kind of error. But psychological experiments have produced much more +striking examples. Claparède arranged for a man, wearing the mask of +a clown, to enter his lecture room while a lecture was in progress. +The students were afterwards asked to pick out this mask from a series +of ten, and out of twenty-three who attempted the task five only +were successful--and even these successes were probably due, largely +or wholly, to chance. The appreciation of distances, measured by the +eye, is also very likely to be erroneous, the rule being that large +distances are under-estimated and small ones over-estimated. A similar +rule holds good of estimations of intervals of time. Errors of this +kind are not pure errors of perception; they are due chiefly to lack +of experience. A carpenter or builder would usually make a much more +accurate estimate of the dimensions of, say, the side of a house than +would the ordinary person; and astronomers who work with transit +instruments have, as a class, very accurate perceptions of small +intervals of time. It is chiefly lack of experience, also, which is +responsible for the absurdly different estimates different observers +will make of the number of people in a crowd. Dr. Locard states that, +on questioning the policemen employed to keep order during a procession +as to the number of people they estimated to be taking part in the +procession, he obtained the figures five thousand, ten thousand, +twenty-four thousand. The actual number, he states, was three thousand. +And during another procession two middle-aged, intelligent, educated +Paris journalists gave as their estimates for the number of people +engaged, the one thirty thousand and the other three hundred thousand. + +But now let us suppose that our witness, through the medium of his +imperfect senses and his partial attention, has received a certain +image. What deformations may it suffer before it is produced as his +evidence? If his memory of the incident has “lapsed” the image will +undergo comparatively little alteration, but if it has often been +called to mind it will probably suffer a very considerable change. +Each time the image is recalled it will suggest others; the creative +imagination gets to work, altering the emphasis, adding particulars, +obliterating others, and the result will be as much a work of art +as the reproduction of a fact. This tendency is particularly to be +noticed with women, and with certain “excitable” types; it may be +almost a national characteristic, as with Gascons and Sicilians. But +all witnesses are prone to this kind of inaccuracy. Where the event has +often been narrated by the witness the deformations become even more +serious. For he is here exposed not only to the suggestions of his own +creative imagination, but to the suggestions of other people. Every one +wishes to make a success of the story he is telling, and the perception +of what points to stress and what details to add is wonderfully ready +and alert. It has often happened that a witness of perfect good faith +has changed from the simple spectator of a drama to a prominent actor +in it under the influence of repeated narration. Finally, we reach +the point when the witness has to bear his formal testimony. His +observations were imperfect, he has imperfectly remembered them, his +imagination has distorted them, and he is now to express them. A very +considerable additional source of inaccuracy is likely to enter here. +The witness probably cannot express his complete image--words may not +be sufficiently precise to render the fine shades of his remembered +perceptions. The nature of a sound, the kind of emotion expressed by +a voice,--he may have no words for such things. And, in any case, +the witness will not express his complete image. He will select--in +accordance with his own estimate of what is pertinent and what trivial. +He will do this even if he be allowed to talk to his heart’s content; +but the method of question and answer as pursued in our Law Courts +leads to even more imperfect expression. For he is forced to be precise +where his recollection is vague, and he will either give a false +precision to his answer or else profess complete ignorance. More often +still the witness sins by exaggeration, and these exaggerations, in a +thousand subtle ways, usually tend to add to his own importance. And +it is important to notice that, besides tending to import fictitious +details, the witness will tend to exaggerate his degree of conviction. +Where he was originally doubtful he is now perfectly sure. + +So far we have been considering the witness in isolation, and we have +not considered the reaction upon his testimony of the emotional state +produced in him by the event. Yet the emotions accompanying the event +have a great bearing upon the value of the witness’s testimony. During +the war it was noticed that the evidence of soldiers freshly wounded +was often of the most fantastic description. They would testify to +the details of catastrophes which had never occurred; they would +assert that so-and-so had been decapitated in front of their eyes, and +so-and-so buried by an explosion, when, as a matter of fact, nothing +remotely resembling these events had taken place. And, under the +influence of the comparatively slighter emotions of a spiritualistic +séance, people will identify the same “materialised” mask as the +features of their husbands, wives, sons, daughters. Under the influence +of such emotions it may be taken as a general rule that perceptions +deteriorate, and illegitimate inference, “unconscious reasoning,” +becomes more marked. Unconscious reasoning, indeed, plays a very great +part in nearly all cases of mal-observation. It is well exemplified +in the statement of the man sitting in a dark wood: “That dog’s bark +is not really a grasshopper, it is the squeaking of a cart.” And Dr. +Locard tells of one experiment he made, while in the Army, with a +barometer which bore a remote resemblance to a clock. His suggestion +that it was a clock was invariably accepted, even by the most eminent +people, and several of them acquired their knowledge of the time of +day from its indications, even when the hour so indicated was highly +improbable. The testimony of great and commanding figures, even to +the time of day, may therefore be open to suspicion. But the immense +part played by unconscious reasoning is best seen in the psychology +of conjuring, under which head it is fair to group the great majority +of alleged spiritualistic phenomena. In this latter case we have +further to recognise what Freud calls the “pleasure-pain principle,” +as distinguished from the “reality-principle.” In other words, the +witnesses are seldom disinterested; they strongly desire to witness +certain events rather than others, and in such cases the slightest +suggestion is sufficient to produce conviction. + +When the witness is not isolated, but is a member of a group, the +defects we have before noted, due to the creative imagination, are +likely to be accentuated. The event will have been discussed and a +uniform version gradually prepared. It is almost impossible, from +the unanimous testimony of a number of witnesses who have been in +consultation, to extract the original perceptions. The phenomenon of +_mimétisme testimonial_ makes its appearance, and may assume +abnormal dimensions. A kind of collective hysteria may be induced, and +there can be little doubt that some of the collective denunciations of +witches which took place in the Middle Ages were manifestations of this +form of mimicry. + +Such are some of the results that have been reached by the modern +investigations of the value of human testimony. They tell us little +we did not know before, for mankind has had an immense experience of +human testimony; but they make our knowledge more precise and enable us +to see what kinds of testimony are most open to suspicion. The effect +of these researches on judicial procedure should be considerable, and +their influence on the study of history not less marked. On this latter +subject their influence can only be indirect, and in the direction, +probably, of throwing still more doubt on the accuracy of historical +records. The “credibility” of a witness still remains a vague quantity, +but the chances are that it is something less than the value hitherto +assigned to it. The investigation can claim no such precise results +as those enunciated by Craig in 1699 in his _Theologiæ Christianæ +Principia mathematica_, where, after proving that the suspicions of +any history vary in the duplicate ratio of the times taken from the +beginning of the history, he shows that faith in the Gospel, so far as +it depended on oral tradition, expired about the year 880, and, so far +as it depended on written tradition, would expire in the year 3150. The +new investigations of the value of human testimony start from humbler, +but surer, foundations. + + + _Printed in Great Britain by_ Butler & Tanner, _Frome and + London_ + + + + + =TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES= + +Simple typographical errors have been silently corrected; unbalanced +quotation marks were remedied when the change was obvious, and +otherwise left unbalanced. + +Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a +predominant preference was found in the original book; otherwise they +were not changed. + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76989 *** diff --git a/76989-h/76989-h.htm b/76989-h/76989-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b84106b --- /dev/null +++ b/76989-h/76989-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4432 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + Aspects of Science | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +/* General headers */ + +h1 { + text-align: center; + clear: both; +} + +/* General headers */ +h2, h3 { + text-align: center; + font-weight: bold; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + +p { + margin-top: .51em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .49em; + text-indent: 1.5em; +} + +.nind {text-indent:0;} + +.nindc {text-align:center; text-indent:0;} + +.large {font-size: 125%;} + +.spa1 { + margin-top: 1em + } + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + +.space-above2 { margin-top: 2em; } + +hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} +@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} } + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} +h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} +table.autotable { border-collapse: collapse; } +table.autotable td { padding: 0.25em; } + +.tdl {text-align: left;} +.tdr {text-align: right;} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-style: normal; + font-weight: normal; + font-variant: normal; + text-indent: 0; +} /* page numbers */ + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.right {text-align: right;} + +.allsmcap {font-variant: small-caps; text-transform: lowercase;} + + +/* Images */ + +img {max-width: 100%; width: 100%; height: auto;} +.width500 {max-width: 500px;} +.x-ebookmaker .width500 {width: 100%;} + + + +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + page-break-inside: avoid; + max-width: 100%; +} + +/* Footnotes */ +.footnotes {border: 1px dashed;} + +.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + +.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + +.fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: + none; +} + +/* Transcriber's notes */ +.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; + color: black; + font-size:small; + padding:0.5em; + margin-bottom:5em; + font-family:sans-serif, serif; +} + + </style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76989 ***</div> + +<figure class="figcenter width500" id="cover" style="width: 1734px;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="1734" height="2560" alt="A +collection of essays by J.W.N. Sullivan exploring physics, astronomy, +and philosophy, presenting science’s concepts and discoveries in clear, +engaging terms for the general reader."> +</figure> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="nindc"><span class="large"> +ASPECTS OF SCIENCE</span></p> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<div class="chapter"> + + +<h1>ASPECTS OF SCIENCE</h1> + + +<p class="nindc space-above2"><span class="large"> +<i>By</i> J. W. N. SULLIVAN</span></p> + + + + +<p class="nindc space-above2">LONDON<br> +RICHARD COBDEN-SANDERSON<br> +17 THAVIES INN</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="nindc space-above2"> +Copyright 1923</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="PREFACE">PREFACE</h2> +</div> + + +<p>The papers which make up this volume have been selected because, +although they deal with different aspects of various scientific ideas, +yet they do illustrate, more or less, one point of view. That point +of view may be described, perhaps as æsthetic, but rather better as +humanistic. Scientific ideas have a history; they arose to satisfy +certain human needs; to see them in their context is to see them as +part of the general intellectual and emotional life of man. What they +exist to do they do better than does anything else, and the needs they +satisfy are not peculiar to scientific specialists. These papers try +to show one or two of the many reasons why, for people who are not +specialists as well as for those who are, science may be interesting.</p> + +<p class="right"> +J. W. N. SULLIVAN.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</h2> +</div> + + + +<table class="autotable"> +<tbody><tr> +<td class="tdl"></td> +<td class="tdr"> <span class="allsmcap">PAGE</span></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="allsmcap">THE INTEREST OF SCIENCE</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="allsmcap">A PHYSICIST ON PHYSICS</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_23">23</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="allsmcap">SCIENCE AND CULTURE</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_36">36</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="allsmcap">JAMES CLERK MAXWELL</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_41">41</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="allsmcap">ASSUMPTIONS</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_49">49</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="allsmcap">ON LEARNING SCIENCE</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_72">72</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="allsmcap">THE ENTENTE CORDIALE</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_77">77</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="allsmcap">POPULAR SCIENCE</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_82">82</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="allsmcap">PATIENT PLODDERS</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_89">89</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="allsmcap">THE AMATEUR ASTRONOMER</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_95">95</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="allsmcap">SCIENTIFIC CITIZENS</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_100">100</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="allsmcap">THE SCEPTIC AND THE SPIRITS</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_105">105</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="allsmcap">THE SCIENTIFIC MIND</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_112">112</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="allsmcap">THE SCIENTIFIC CONTRIBUTION</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_116">116</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="allsmcap">THEORIES AND PERSONALITIES</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_122">122</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="allsmcap">THE IDEAL SCIENTIFIC MAN</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_128">128</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="allsmcap">PARALLEL STRAIGHT LINES</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_133">133</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="allsmcap">THE NEW SCIENTIFIC HORIZON</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_139">139</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="allsmcap">THE HOPE OF SCIENCE</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_145">145</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="allsmcap">THE RETURN OF MYSTERY</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_151">151</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="allsmcap">MATHEMATICS AND MUSIC</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_159">159</a></td> +</tr><tr> +<td class="tdl"><span class="allsmcap">HUMAN TESTIMONY</span></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_177">177</a></td> +</tr> +</tbody> +</table> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_INTEREST_OF_SCIENCE">THE INTEREST OF SCIENCE</h2> +</div> + +<p class="nindc space-above2"><span class="large">I</span></p> + + +<p class="nind"> +The conception of science as a body of thought embracing the whole +of our rational convictions about reality has hardly yet been +generally reached. Man is still so far from being a rational animal +that the application of rational methods of inquiry to all branches +of his experience is still instinctively resisted—as if reason +were an alien and hostile intruder. Beliefs which are held with +passion, being the expression of instinctive preferences, are felt +not to belong to the “sphere” of science. On all questions where +his passions are strongly engaged, man prizes certitude and fears +knowledge. Dispassionate inquiry is welcomed only when the result is +indifferent. Nearly every great scientific generalisation has incurred +the <i>odium theologicum</i>—which is not the exclusive possession +of theologians—from the Copernican hypothesis to the theory of herd +instinct. That science, although continually wounding men, should +nevertheless have progressed, is evidence that it serves impulses +deeply rooted in man’s nature. The great scientific<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</span> innovator, like +the great altruist, is treated with ignominy by the society whose +deepest instincts he lives to serve.</p> + +<p>Science, the child of irrational impulse, has inherited something +of the parental character. Its history reveals it as purblind and +fumbling, with no clear vision of its aim, no premonition of its +imperial state. Unlike philosophy, it did not aspire to universal +dominion. It was content to investigate the particular instance, +and did not reject a certain incoherence in explanation rather than +accept a generalisation which did not spring from its own ground. It +refused foreign assistance, but kept its independence. That scientific +men did not always understand that science must, from its nature, be +autonomous, is evident from the history of every particular science. +Even as late as Descartes it was considered quite natural to deduce +phenomena from metaphysical principles; and an admixture of mythical +elements is not entirely absent from some branches of science, even at +the present day. Science has not yet reached full consciousness of its +proper ground and aims.</p> + +<p>The values served by science, in terms of which its claim to +consideration is to be judged, have become more numerous as science has +developed. The earliest scientific researches were concerned wholly +with the particular event, with, at most, the vaguest inkling of large +perspectives. The savage who discovers that the branch lying partly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</span> +in the stream is not really bent, is prompted by the same localised +and detached curiosity which led to most of the early scientific +discoveries. Interest in the oddity of an event is undoubtedly the +root of scientific observations. The more closely the events concern +us, the more pregnant they may be with possible pleasure or pain, +the greater the degree of abstraction necessary to see them in their +relations. Human beings remain miracles to us long after we have +learned to predict the motion of a planet. Psychology is the latest +of the sciences, not so much because of the intrinsic difficulty of +its subject-matter as because our interest in the subject-matter is so +vehement that it is almost impossible to be indifferent to the results. +An intelligent fish would probably have found most of the painfully won +results of human psychology fairly obvious.</p> + +<p>From the accumulation of facts and the attempt to see them in +relation springs the scientific theory. With the construction of +theories science enters on a new phase in its development, and +serves a different set of human values. Its facts, the products +of local curiosities, now take on an order, and serve the desire +for comprehension. The apparently dissimilar becomes related; law +supervenes on chaos. The desire for knowledge becomes transformed into +the desire for <i>significant</i> knowledge—significant primarily +for contemplation, and secondarily for practice. It is the scientific +theory alone that gives to science its true being and makes<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</span> it worthy +of a deep concern. The desire for comprehension is deeply rooted in +human nature. Religious myths and philosophical systems arose in +obedience to this impulse. Science also exists to satisfy this craving, +and the terms on which it does so are altogether to its advantage. The +fact that it is an extension of common knowledge, and infers nothing +that cannot be verified, differentiates it from myth, and is the secret +of the grave and serious satisfaction it affords. Those accustomed +to this homely, invigorating atmosphere find the rarer air of much +traditional philosophy quite insupportable. A certain indifference to +other methods of describing reality becomes more evident as the years +advance and the domain of science becomes more and more extended. +Peaceful penetration takes the place of open warfare, and in face of +rival systems men of science feel less inclined to disprove what they +feel more at liberty to ignore.</p> + +<p>Science still falls far short of affording complete comprehension or +of providing so finished a picture of reality that we feel no need +of other speculations. The different sciences do not yet conspire to +form one single coherent body of truth. The interstices between them +are still sufficiently large to admit foreign interpretations. But the +impulse to comprehension, which created science, will be justified by +it: we may have so much faith. Even that moiety of mankind who care for +little beyond pure immediacy will find that science alone can give<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span> +them much of what they desire. Scientific theories possess a value +even to those who are strangers to the pleasures of contemplation, for +science has powerful reactions in the world of practice. To those who +have lost their birthright it can offer a mess of pottage.</p> + +<p>Besides serving curiosity, comprehension and practice, science offers +richly satisfying objects to the æsthetic impulse. The language of +æsthetics is not far to seek in the writings of men of science, and +were it not that the word arouses such a proprietary fury, we should +agree, reviewing their motives and the kind of their satisfactions, +to call them artists. The matter of the highest art, like that of +true science, is reality, and the measure in which science falls +short as art is the measure in which it is incomplete as science. All +good philosophy, art or science partakes of the nature of the other +two. When these three are regarded as one, each will have reached its +apotheosis.</p> + + +<p class="nindc space-above2"><span class="large">II</span></p> + +<p>It is unfortunately true that as a science advances it grows more +complex. Not only does its language depart more and more from ordinary +speech by the accumulation of technical terms, but the terms in current +use at any time are defined in terms of others which are defined in +terms of others—something after the manner of the description of +the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span> house that Jack built. The most obvious case of this Chinese box +kind of language is, of course, that of mathematics. A mathematical +theorem occupying one line of type might very well occupy a volume if +written out in ordinary prose in which no terms were used which were +not common property. For this reason modern mathematical discoveries, +except in very special instances, cannot be made intelligible except +to mathematicians. To learn the language of a highly developed science +like mathematics takes about as long as to learn Chinese, but the +task of translation into English is very much harder. For this reason +mathematicians cannot hope for intelligent popular recognition; they +must be content to be regarded either as vaguely impressive figures +or else as mild lunatics busied with incomprehensible and probably +trifling abstractions. Compared with writers, musicians or painters, +they are, for social purposes, mental outlaws. It is apparent, however, +that mathematics was not always so remote. It was possible for Voltaire +to take an interest which was, at any rate, enthusiastic, in the work +of Newton. This was doubtless due, in some degree, to the obviously +dramatic quality of Newton’s discoveries, but it was also due to the +fact that his discoveries could be expressed in comparatively simple +language. Again, physics and chemistry at that time, and for some years +later, were not only intelligible to men without special training, but +such men could actually make valuable discoveries<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span> in these sciences. +As these sciences progressed their language became more and more +forbidding and their fundamental notions more and more abstract. Men +without special training, but with scientific curiosity, turned their +attention to the biological sciences. They collected birds’ eggs and +butterflies; they bought microscopes and wrote little papers on the +sea-shells they discovered in a morning’s walk. But biology has now +developed a technical language, and the days of the untrained observer +are almost over. The one science which is still, to some extent, +accessible to these amiable people is psychology. It is growing more +technical, it is true, but the majority of the books dealing with +psychology may still be read almost as easily as a treatise on the +history of the Balkans. And the “psychological” novelist can still +regard himself as being, from one point of view, a scientific man. +Psycho-analysis is, as yet, a favourite subject of discussion in +advanced drawing-rooms where discussions of the principle of relativity +are comparatively rare.</p> + +<p>The divorce between science and the general intellectual world is +unfortunate, but inevitable. It is unfortunate both for the scientific +man and for the general <i>intelligentsia</i>. The scientific man, +mentally companionless except for the little circle of his immediate +co-workers, becomes less complete as a human being; he fails as a +humanist. He too often accepts his outlawed position and turns his +special interests into his exclusive interests,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span> as if, through some +inverted generosity, he refused to take where he could not give. He +may grow to ignore the other intellectual activities of his time, +as Darwin, to his distress, found he had grown to ignore poetry, +or he may actually become intolerant of such activities and so add +contempt to the ignorance with which his preoccupations are regarded +by the outside world. For the outside world, also, this divorce is +unfortunate. For science, in its own way, satisfies just the same +impulses as do other intellectual interests, and some of them it +satisfies more completely and in a richer way. A great waste of mental +energy and much inconclusive discussion would be avoided were certain +scientific results more generally known, and, more particularly, were +the advantages of the scientific method more widely recognised and the +method itself more extensively practised. An air of superiority is +often noticed in the references of scientific men to certain current +discussions. It is a fault of manner, but one difficult to avoid. +“Inside” information usually has this effect on the possessor, and +when it is information that cannot be shared the attitude is apt to +become chronic. Both sides, then, are the poorer for their lack of +intercourse. But this state of affairs seems to be inevitable. The +claims of the Latin and Greek literatures to attention, whether they +are justified or not, have led to the study of these languages being +imposed on perhaps the majority of the people in this country who are +predominantly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span> interested in intellectual affairs. It is a training +which consumes several years: is a training in the sciences to be +added? This is manifestly impossible. Even if our whole educational +system were radically altered, only those sciences, such as biology and +psychology, which may be understood with comparatively little training, +could ever become objects of common knowledge. But sciences where, in +addition to a severe and prolonged discipline, special aptitude is +necessary, must always be the property of the few. As, every year, +all the sciences grow more complex, so the difficulty of obtaining an +adequate knowledge of them increases. A dead language may be learnt +once for all, but the language of a science must be learnt afresh every +few years. The popular article of Huxley’s day, the link between the +man of science and the general public, is now the link between the more +and less advanced students of the same science. A so-called “popular” +account of Relativity Theory, for instance, is like an annotated +edition of Pindar; a very fair knowledge of the language is assumed +beforehand. It might be thought that the process of reduction, as it +were, could be continued, until finally an account was prepared where +no technical terms were used. But such an account would be, at best, +like a translation of Greek poetry; the essential quality would be +gone. Such translations have, of course, their uses, but the attraction +of science for the scientific man, like the attraction<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</span> of a poem for +the poet, is not to be communicated in this way. In art the separation +of matter and form is not really possible, and the same is true of the +sciences.</p> + + +<p class="nindc space-above2"><span class="large">III</span></p> + +<p>In their apologias, which have now become so common, men of science +never weary of pointing out that it is the method of science which +is really worthy of adoption by philosophers and that the results of +science are merely provisional. The philosopher who bases his system +upon the results reached at any given time by any given science has +ensured the ultimate downfall of his system. He is sometimes told that +the adoption of scientific methods, on the other hand, will enable him +to make sure progress. At first sight there seems to be a contradiction +here, for if the scientific method is infallible why are the results +reached by it provisional? To judge from the history of science, the +scientific method is excellent as a means of obtaining plausible +conclusions which are always wrong, but hardly as a means of reaching +the truth. The contradiction is only apparent, however, for it will +be found that there is a part of every discarded hypothesis which is +incorporated in the new theory. The discarded hypothesis proves to +have been too general; the scientific man made a mistake of the same +kind as the philosopher who uses the hypothesis as the basis of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</span> a +general system. It is now known, for instance, that Newton’s theory of +gravitation is very probably not exactly true; in most cases, however, +it remains very nearly true, and there are large regions of dynamical +astronomy which are unaffected by the alteration. The Newtonian laws +of motion, again, are not sufficient to describe the motion of bodies +moving with very large velocities, but they are very nearly true +for all ordinary velocities. That the theories which have taken the +place of those abandoned are exactly true is very improbable; they +are, however, nearer the truth. We may say, therefore, that while the +scientific method may, quite possibly, never enable us to reach the +exact truth, successive applications of it enable us to approximate +nearer and nearer to the exact truth. In this lies its chief difference +from the methods usually adopted in philosophy, which aim at obtaining, +at one blow, theories which shall never need revision. It is for this +reason that philosophy does not progress.</p> + +<p>In what, then, does the scientific method consist? It would be +difficult to give a precise definition; it has, however, two main +characteristics, the choice of facts and the treatment of facts. It +does not seem to be generally recognised that scientific men do choose +their facts; there are many people who suppose that all facts are of +equal interest to scientific men, and that information respecting the +number of nightingales heard<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</span> in Hertfordshire during a certain month, +for instance, is a contribution to scientific knowledge. It should +be obvious, however, that a mere random collection of facts is very +unlikely to aid either practice or theory. The aim of science is not to +form catalogues, but to form theories describing phenomena, and to this +end some facts are pertinent and a very great number are not. All men, +faced with a problem of any kind, choose such facts for examination +as they consider relevant. Sherlock Holmes often bewildered Watson by +pondering over facts that Watson considered irrelevant, but Watson’s +surprise was a proof that even he had a standard of relevance. The +history of any science shows that the facts first chosen were those +most likely to be repeated. Such facts obviously lead to statements +which have a greater or less degree of generality. That an unsupported +stone falls to the ground is a fact of this kind. The facts chosen +by the man of science are those that permit generalisation. For this +reason they usually differ entirely from the facts of interest to +historians. After selecting, in accordance with this principle, the +facts which are to be examined, the next step consists in establishing +relations between sets of these facts. The precise expression of these +relations is called a law of nature, to use a somewhat old-fashioned +terminology. If now all the relations between certain sets of facts +can be expressed in one general statement, that general statement is +called a scientific theory. The<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span> ultimate aim of the scientific method +is to create scientific theories. The scientific theory, however, +usually introduces an element which has not been or cannot be directly +observed, and also, as we have seen, usually proves to have been too +hasty a generalisation. Its function is to co-ordinate known phenomena +and to predict hitherto unobserved phenomena. The extent to which it +does this is the measure of its success as a scientific theory, and, +since the primary object of the scientific theory is to express the +harmonies which are found to exist in nature, we see at once that these +theories must have an æsthetic value. The measure of the success of a +scientific theory is, in fact, a measure of its æsthetic value, since +it is a measure of the extent to which it has introduced harmony in +what was before chaos.</p> + +<p>It is in its æsthetic value that the justification of the scientific +theory is to be found, and with it the justification of the scientific +method. Since facts without laws would be of no interest, and laws +without theories would have, at most, a practical utility, we see that +the motives which guide the scientific man are, from the beginning, +manifestations of the æsthetic impulse. The reason why certain facts +and not others interest the scientific man, the reason why he makes a +choice, is because truth without beauty is as uninteresting to him as +to any other artist. In the words of Poincaré: “Le savant n’étudie pas +la nature<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span> parce que cela est utile; il l’étudie parce qu’il y prend +plaisir, et il y prend plaisir parce qu’elle est belle. Si la nature +n’était pas belle, elle ne vaudrait pas la peine d’être connue, la vie +ne vaudrait pas la peine d’être vécue.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="A_PHYSICIST_ON_PHYSICS">A PHYSICIST ON PHYSICS</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="nindc space-above2"><span class="large">I</span></p> + +<p class="nind"> +The well-meant and industrious efforts of professional metaphysicians +to explain to men of science in what sense science is true, in what +sense it has meaning and in what its value really consists, practically +all suffer from the defect that men of science do not recognise the +subject of investigation as being science at all. It is almost true to +say that the professional philosopher is only convincing when he is +talking about the Absolute, for that is a subject with which nobody +else is concerned; but when he devotes his attention to subjects with +which other people are familiar, it often becomes possible to put +the book down before finishing it. Thus treatises on æsthetics are +usually convincing to everybody but poets, painters and musicians, +and philosophical writings on science are probably in great demand +amongst classical scholars. Nevertheless, since philosophising on these +subjects is an agreeable mental exercise, we find that some artists +are now engaged in developing an æsthetic for themselves, and some<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span> +men of science are engaged in trying to find out what science is. +In each case the work consists chiefly in making explicit processes +which are instinctive. This fact is of the greatest importance, for, +if the instinctive equipment be lacking, the results will inevitably +be unsatisfactory. There are treatises on æsthetics, for instance, +whose chief effect on the poet is to make him doubt whether the author +could tell a good poem from a bad one; this is an absolutely fatal +objection. If poets cannot recognise what they call poetry as being +the subject of the discussion, then, as a discussion of poetry, that +discussion is worthless. Practitioners, whether artists or men of +science, seldom have the inclination to uncover and dissect what is +to them an instinctive and delightful process; but it is quite easy +for them to see (or, rather, to feel) that a suggested explanation +is unsatisfactory, although they may find it wholly impossible to +give reasons for their dissatisfaction. Nevertheless, when this +dissatisfaction is due to an inability to recognise the subject-matter, +the explanation must be condemned. It is perfectly possible, for +instance, that psycho-analysis, by introducing a mother-complex, an +inferiority-complex, and two or three more, might “explain” the Ode to +a Nightingale. But if this explanation left out everything which made +poets regard that composition as a poem, it would not be a satisfactory +explanation.</p> + +<p>We have treated this point at some length<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span> because Dr. Campbell, in +a recent valuable book on the Elements of Physics, insists that the +physics he is talking about is that of physicists. He has endeavoured +to supply a criticism of the terms used in Physics, to find what is +meant by a Law, by a Theory, what a physicist means when he says a +proposition is “true,” or that something “exists,” or that a theory has +“meaning.” Mr. Campbell is perfectly aware that all these subjects have +already been treated by the professional metaphysician, but he claims, +and we have no doubt that his claim is just, that he is speaking not +only for himself but for the great majority of scientific men when +he says that in these discussions he not only does not recognise +the subject-matter, but he does not recognise any subject-matter. +Such words as “reality” and “existence,” as they are employed by +metaphysicians, he finds productive of nothing but great discomfort and +intense mental confusion. As he unhesitatingly rejects the hypothesis +that metaphysicians are imbeciles, he thinks this confusion can be due +only to the fact that these words are used by metaphysicians in senses +quite different from those they bear to men of science. He has not +been able to explain precisely in what the difference consists, since +he has not been able to discover what meanings metaphysicians attach +to these words. Accordingly he has confined himself to explaining the +meanings these words have in science. The result is a subtle, fairly +clear,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span> and frequently entertaining piece of analysis. He acknowledges +that his two masters have been Poincaré and Bertrand Russell, and he +shows complete familiarity with other writers of the kind. But part +of his reason for publishing the book, he tells us, is that even the +mathematical philosophers occasionally misrepresent science as the +experimental physicist knows it. That they are mathematicians and +not physicists is a little too evident in some of their conclusions. +Thus Mach’s idea that the object of science is to economise thought +is only plausible, he thinks, to a mathematician; and a fundamental +proposition that Russell and Whitehead find quite necessary to thought +Mr. Campbell does not find necessary at all. He thinks it quite likely, +also, that scientific thinking is illogical, but not therefore invalid. +The point of view, in fact, is that there are different kinds of minds +with different needs and different satisfactions, and Mr. Campbell +claims that physicists, for example, belong to a certain species and +that the science of physics is something which exists in the minds of +physicists. Therefore this book, as he insists, is not only written +by a physicist, but it is written for physicists. He is confident +that what he has to say will be found an explicit statement of their +instinctive processes, and he thinks the highest compliment that could +be paid to his book would be for physicists to say they knew it all +before.</p> + +<p>Now it is true that nobody but a physicist could<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span> have written this +book and that nobody ignorant of physics could understand it. It may +also be true that none but a practising physicist could understand it +with the intimacy that Mr. Campbell desires. But any reader who is +not, in Mr. Campbell’s sense, half-educated (the other half consists +of science—preferably physics) will find the book not only valuable, +but delightful. The slight touch of <i>brusquerie</i> that the +metaphysician or the equally unfortunate “half-educated” person might +attribute to Mr. Campbell from the above exposition is not in the +least that of the horny-handed son of toil, but is the half-humorous +impatience of a subtle and vigorous thinker who is by no means naïve. +There is no reason why the audience that reads Poincaré’s popular four +volumes should not also read this book, and there are many reasons why +it should. Many of the questions raised there are here developed more +fully; most of the questions, in fact, raised by the speculations of +such men as Poincaré, Russell, Mach, etc., in so far as they affect +science, are here given systematic treatment. We hope to devote a +future article to the exposition of some of Mr. Campbell’s more +interesting results; we are concerned here to indicate the nature and +scope of the book.</p> + +<p>The present volume is in two pretty distinct parts, the first part +being concerned with the propositions of science, and the second part +with measurement. These are to be followed by Part<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span> III. on Space and +Time, Part IV. on Force, and Part V. on Energy, although, regarding +these parts, Mr. Campbell says: “I have not the remotest idea when, +if ever, they will be published.” Without anticipating a future +discussion of the more technical parts of Mr. Campbell’s work, we may +refer here, because of the general interest taken in the subject, to +the explanation he gives of the fact that while the outside world +resolutely marks off Science from Art, yet this distinction is not at +all clear to scientific men. It is difficult, for example, in studying +the life of a great man of science, to resist the conclusion that his +incentives and satisfactions are indistinguishable from those of a +great artist. Yet it seems to be undoubtedly true that a work of Art +is something personal, whereas Science is obviously impersonal. Mr. +Campbell asks us to distinguish between truth and meaning. The truth +of science is something impersonal, but its meaning is personal. The +achievement of Newton and Maxwell is as personal as that of Giotto, +Shakespeare and Bach. Their dreams were not less personal, nor less +delightful, and it is nothing to their discredit that their dreams also +came true. And the fact that the meaning of a scientific theory is +something that exists, perhaps, only for men of science, has an obvious +parallel in Art. The following passage from Mr. Campbell’s book is one +to which every man of science would give instant assent:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>Nobody who has any portion of the scientific spirit can fail to +remember times when he has thrilled to a new discovery as if it were +his own. He has greeted a new theory with the passionate exclamation, +“It must be true!” He has felt that its eternal value is beyond +all reasoning, that it is to be defended, if need be, not by the +cold-blooded methods of the laboratory or the soulless processes of +formal logic, but, like the honour of a friend, by simple affirmation +and eloquent appeal. The mood will and should pass; the impersonal +enquiry must be made before the new ideas can be admitted to our +complete confidence. But in that one moment we have known the real +meaning of science, we have experienced its highest value; unless such +knowledge and such experience were possible, science would be without +meaning and therefore without truth.</p> +</div> + + +<p class="nindc space-above2"><span class="large">II</span></p> + +<p>What kind of Physics would be developed by a man alone on an island? +We are assuming, of course, that this favourite figure of speculative +writers enjoys the properties usually attributed to him; he is +remarkably intelligent, and can create by a word any scientific +apparatus he requires. The point is that he has no need to take into +account the judgments of other people. Let us choose an experiment +designed to make clear the consequences of his isolated state. +Suppose our islander, after looking at a red patch, glances at a +white ceiling. He sees a green patch. Now suppose that he heats a +copper wire in the flame of a Bunsen burner.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span> The flame turns green. +Will our islander proceed to construct a physics which shall embrace +both these observations? Before we can answer this question we must +consider why our own physics distinguishes so sharply between them. +In the first place, it may be said that all observers, except the man +who contemplated a patch of red, agree that the colour of the ceiling +is unchanged, whereas, in the case of the copper wire, all observers +agree that the flame has turned green. In the first case, therefore, +we say that there has occurred a change in the observer, and in the +second case a change in the flame. We invoke the criterion of universal +assent. But it can readily be shown that we have not, in fact, invoked +this criterion, for in saying that the flame has turned green, we have +left out the testimony of colour-blind persons. Not everybody would +agree that the flame has turned green, and on what principle are we to +decide between the conflicting opinions of different observers? Mr. +Campbell’s examination of this question appears to take us to the root +of the matter. Universal assent is involved, but also something more, +and it is the something more which will probably enable our islander +to form a physics like our own. Let us first consider the way in which +universal assent is involved in science.</p> + +<p>We must obviously leave out judgments of colour; similarly, science +does not now measure electrical quantities in the manner of Cavendish, +by comparing the intensities of electric shocks<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span> experienced by the +observer. Science makes a choice of the judgments it shall consider; +it does not even embrace all judgments for which universal assent may +be obtained. The judgments on which science is based, and for which +universal agreement may be obtained, are divided by Mr. Campbell into +three groups: (1) Judgments of simultaneity, consecutiveness and +“betweenness” in time;<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> (2) Judgments of coincidence and betweenness +in space; (3) Judgments of number, such as, The number of the group +A is equal to, greater than or less than, the number of the group +B. Now it is judgments of this kind that are involved in physical +observations: the deflection of a spot of light on a scale, the reading +of a stop-watch, and so on. These judgments are fundamental to science +and are such that universal assent may be obtained for them. Let us +now consider the case of the copper wire in the Bunsen flame. We have +said that not all people will agree that the flame has turned green. +But the light from the Bunsen has other properties than its colour; +it has a measurable refrangibility and a measurable wave-length. The +important point for physics is that all observers, both “normal” +and colour-blind, would agree on these measurements, since they are +connected with the fundamental judgments mentioned above. The fact that +different observers associate these same measurements with different +colours is a fact<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span> of no importance for physics; “colour” is not a +notion essential to physics at all; when phrases containing such words +as “red” or “yellow” occur in physics they may always be replaced by +words depending for their meaning solely on fundamental time, space and +number judgments. It is for this reason, then, that science builds on +perfectly sure foundations; its foundations can only be denied by an +imposter, that is, by one whose actions show that he actually believes +what he says he denies. Now, how does this apply to our islander? +We may assume that he can measure refrangibility and wave-length. +He finds that, in these particulars, the light from the ceiling is +unaltered, while the light from the Bunsen flame is altered. But these +observations have no greater support than his colour judgments. On both +occasions the only testimony is his own. But he would notice a great +difference directly he began to establish the laws connecting these +phenomena. The laws derived from the second set of observations would +be much more satisfactory than those derived from the first set. He +would undoubtedly prefer them and would unhesitatingly adopt them. When +it is put in this way, there certainly seems something arbitrary about +the process by which science selects its fundamental judgments. They +are selected because they fall neatly and satisfactorily into laws. Mr. +Campbell further suggests that the laws used in science are selected +from amongst other possible laws because the selected<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span> laws fit into +theories, “the form of which is dictated chiefly by preconceived ideas +of what a theory should be.” It may be stated at once that Mr. Campbell +admits the presence of an arbitrary element in science, but it is +precisely his case that this arbitrary element gives to science its +value.</p> + +<p>We cannot here summarise his exposition, because it would be +unintelligible except to readers with a scientific training, since Mr. +Campbell has adopted the very sound method of analysing the actual +laws and theories current in physics. We may indicate, however, the +general lines of his investigation. He attempts to analyse the kind of +relation involved in a scientific “law.” It has been generally assumed +by philosophers that this relation is the “causal” relation, but, in +fact, it is very doubtful whether this relation is ever used in the +statement of laws. It is a very special kind of relation, and its +supposed importance to science seems to rest on a confusion between the +psychological process in an observer performing an experiment and the +relation stated to exist between his observations. Thus, in Ohm’s Law, +does the potential difference enter as cause or effect of the current? +The question is sufficient to show that the causal relation is not +concerned. Mr. Campbell admits that he has not succeeded in making a +final analysis of the propositions called laws, but we think that he +has certainly established several points of great value. It is more to +our present purpose, however, that this analysis shows more<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</span> clearly +how an arbitrary element enters into scientific laws. A law does +not simply relate concepts in a manner consistent with observation; +it would be perfectly possible, for instance, to replace Ohm’s Law, +expressing simple proportionality between current and potential +difference, by a much more complicated expression which should agree +equally well with observation. There are always several laws which will +satisfy the observations; the one that is chosen is chosen for its +simplicity, i.e., because of the mental satisfaction it affords. The +fact that it does fit the observations gives it what Mr. Campbell calls +its “truth,” and the fact that it affords intellectual satisfaction +gives it what he calls its “meaning.”</p> + +<p>When we pass from laws to theories we find that the element of +“meaning” becomes much more prominent. Now the truth of a law is +something that rests on universal assent; this is not the case, +however, for the meaning of a law. It may be that the contemplation +of Ohm’s Law gives you no satisfaction whatever; if it satisfies me, +however, then to me it has meaning. It is only necessary, therefore, +that scientific laws should have meaning for scientific men; their +truth, however, is the same for all. When we come to consider theories +we find that, concerning their meaning, there is much more difference +of opinion. This difference, in fact, almost follows national lines, +so that of the two great classes of theories, the “mechanical” and the +“mathematical,”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span> the former is largely a product of British physicists, +while continental physicists prefer the second type. Mr. Campbell +analyses very acutely the differences between the two classes as +well as the elements they have in common. As he says, there may be a +“taste” for certain kinds of theories, as there is a taste for oysters. +The result of this analysis is to show very clearly in what respects +science is impersonal and in what respects personal; it also helps to +make clear what science is. It is true that the impersonal element in +science is the most important, in this sense, that if any law or theory +can be shown not to be true, then, however much meaning it may have, +it must be at once rejected. It is also true that it is the meaning +of laws and theories, particularly theories, which gives them their +value to scientific men. We therefore reach once more the conclusion, +sufficiently familiar, but seldom so satisfactorily prepared, that the +value of science is in the æsthetic satisfactions it affords. In Mr. +Campbell’s words, “Science is the noblest of the arts.”</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p class="nind"><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">[1]</a> +Assuming, in accordance with the principle of Relativity, +that all observers have the same motion.</p> + +</div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="SCIENCE_AND_CULTURE">SCIENCE AND CULTURE</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="nind"> +The influence of scientific discoveries on that vaguely defined +complex of beliefs and intellectual interests called culture seems, at +first sight, to have something paradoxical about it. There can be no +question that this influence is very widespread, and there can be as +little question that ignorance of scientific discoveries is equally +widespread. If our admittedly cultured classes were submitted to such a +<i>questionnaire</i> as the workers in Sheffield were recently called +upon to answer, we should doubtless find that such questions as Who +was Dante? Who was Plato? would act like holes in a dam; but it is to +be feared that the questions under the heading <i>Science</i> would +evoke the merest trickle of information. And yet many of the questions +in other parts of the <i>questionnaire</i> would be answered very +differently were it not for those scientific discoveries of which the +examinee can give no satisfactory description. The apparent paradox is +resolved by remembering that it is only the broadest generalisations +of science, and only certain aspects of those, which exert a marked<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span> +influence on the rest of a man’s beliefs. The varied and highly +complicated studies which make up modern astronomy, for instance, +can be known, in any real sense, to but a few specialists; the one +significant thing, for purposes of general culture, that emerges from +these studies, is that the earth is materially insignificant in the +universe. We need not mind if so much knowledge and no more percolates +through the barriers of a literary education; the damage is done; +the rest of the man’s beliefs begin to be profoundly affected. In +the papers on geology and biology the majority of cultured people +would fail; they would all be amused, however, at the idea that the +earth was formed in 4004 <span class="allsmcap">B.C.</span> and that man was a special and +separate creation. Psychological studies have not yet reached, perhaps, +a great and easily understood generalisation, but there is a growing +charity vis-à-vis the “criminal classes” and other moral outcasts. Our +Victorian parents’ hearty condemnation of everybody they disliked is +now just a little more difficult. Such generalisations as we have been +mentioning are important to general culture because of what we may +call their perspective effect. Their bearing on the rest of a man’s +mental furniture is not direct; they put the furniture in a different +setting. A change of residence, if the difference between the two +houses be sufficiently marked, may well lead to a change of habits, +and the furniture which looked quite well in four rooms may seem a +little inadequate in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span> forty. Those writers who declare that there is +no “real” conflict between science and religion, for instance, may be +perfectly good logicians; the point is whether a particular religion +looks adequate in the modern universe of science. It is not a question +of destroying the furniture; it is whether the contents of a bijou +villa adequately furnish Salisbury Plain. The influence of science +on philosophy is similarly indirect. Perhaps there is no philosophy +which does not still find defenders; our objection to many of these +philosophies is not that they are illogical, but that they look so +funny.</p> + +<p>When we come to study the influence of science on the arts we see that +there is yet another way in which science modifies culture. Many of the +pleasurable emotions associated with the arts are not unknown to the +student of science. The study of such sciences as astronomy, physics +or biology awakens emotions not readily distinguishable from those +evoked by even the greatest works of art. It is as if the universe with +which science deals was itself a work of art; it is, to an increasing +number of people, the greatest of all works of art. Such students often +acquire a new standard of æsthetic excellence. Darwin’s indifference to +poetry in his later years was probably the result, not of the atrophy +of a faculty, but of its fuller exercise elsewhere. The young William +Thomson, reading at night in the library, and drawing great breaths of +rapture over Lagrange’s <i>Mécanique Analytique</i>, was experiencing +emotions probably<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span> not very different from those of Swinburne when +reading Shakespeare. Before such satisfactions become accessible to the +ordinary cultured classes more is required than that vague acquaintance +with outstanding generalities to which we have referred. In such a +science as astronomy the mere results are often sufficiently attractive +to rouse pleasurable emotions in the reader, although the actual march +of the investigation by which the results were obtained is often of +equal interest. At the present day both results and the broad lines +of the investigations are in many cases accessible to the ordinary +cultured person, with the result that his intellectual interests are +added to, or at least find a new field for deployment. A greater number +of æsthetic objects people his world, and it may even happen that the +new arrivals affect the estimate in which he held the old. He may +discover an unsuspected futility in some of his earlier occupations; he +may, in fact, change his ideals of culture.</p> + +<p>But it is, in truth, impossible to trace precisely the effect on an +individual of a new belief or of a new interest. Psychologists have +made us aware of the fact that the mind is not only immensely complex, +but that the connections between its elements are often of the most +unsuspected character. Destruction of an old belief or the grafting +of a new interest may issue in results as unlike their cause as the +butterfly is unlike the chrysalis. The effect of the impact of science +on the old culture cannot be foreseen; it has, however,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span> already +produced such changes that the culture of the comparatively near future +will probably differ from ours by more than ours differs from that of +Babylon.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="JAMES_CLERK_MAXWELL">JAMES CLERK MAXWELL</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="nind"> +The place that will be held by James Clerk Maxwell in the history of +physics is not easy to determine. That it will be a very high place is +obvious, that he will emerge as the greatest of the physicists of the +nineteenth century is probable, but the student of Maxwell must feel +that this kind of ranking is somehow irrelevant, or likely to become +irrelevant, to his peculiar effect. The unique impression produced by +Maxwell’s achievement is not adequately described by being referred to +his “originality.” There are different ways of being original; it is +not a sufficiently penetrating term. A number of Maxwell’s scientific +contemporaries were original men, but one is conscious that they +had more in common with one another than Maxwell had with them. An +exception from this statement is found in W. K. Clifford, who, as has +often been remarked, had a genius curiously akin to Maxwell’s. Both men +were exceptionally <i>independent</i> thinkers, both men resisted the +attraction of the high road; both men, if the term may be permitted, +had a personal and unique angle of approach to the problems of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span> their +time. But this, though true, is not a sufficient description. It is +important that in neither case do we feel their individual quality +to be an eccentricity; their work has a power, and, still more, a +comprehensive serenity, which is never the product of mere oddity—the +oddity, for instance, of a Samuel Butler. If we try to get closer to +this elusive and important characteristic we do not meet with much +success; but we may suggest that the ideas of these men have the +effect of springing from an unusually rich, subtle and comprehensive +<i>context</i>. The fundamental ideas of the science of their time were +subtly modified by reception into these minds; they were connected in a +personal and unusual web of implications.</p> + +<p>It is doubtless worth noting in this connection that Maxwell, unlike +most of the scientific men of his time, was genuinely interested in +metaphysical speculation. This was not merely another interest of +his; it was, at most, another field of attention; he brought the same +attitude of mind to all the objects with which he was concerned. We +cannot make an exception even in the case of his religious views; to +this man the problems of metaphysics, of physics, of morality, are +almost arbitrary divisions of the one object of his thought. He was +expressing a real difference from himself when he said that some men +seem to have water-tight compartments in their minds. When we study the +kind of homogeneity characteristic of Maxwell’s mental life it is easy +to understand those who call him a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span> mystic. Even as a purely scientific +man, his rational faculty, as evidenced by his mathematical reasoning, +was a distinctly more fallible thing than his intuition. This is not to +say that he was not a fine mathematician, but it is his intuitive grasp +of a physical problem which gives him his high position, and not his +purely mathematical verifications. His mathematics, in fact, was not +always impeccable, as Sir Joseph Larmor points out in the new edition +of <i>Matter and Motion</i>. But it is characteristic of Maxwell, that, +even when his proofs were faulty, his results were usually sound. His +own way of confirming a difficult intuition was not to provide a formal +mathematical verification, but to make appeal to easier intuitions—in +fact, to construct mechanical models. He always liked to <i>see</i> the +way things worked. It is important to remember that this desire for a +particular kind of verification was not due to any lack of power to +form abstractions; it was due to something quite different, to a lack +of ease when faced by a purely logical chain of deduction. On Maxwell’s +famous <i>Treatise on Electricity and Magnetism</i>, Poincaré comments +that its difficulty resides precisely in its great abstraction. It is +this presentation of his theory to which one has to turn; nevertheless +Maxwell, as if for his private satisfaction, developed some extremely +complicated models which seemed to him to make his theory clearer. It +was doubtless this combination, a great power of abstraction on the one +hand, and a desire<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span> for very definite, even unnecessarily definite, +confirmation on the other, which enabled him to be at once extremely +original and remarkably sound.</p> + +<p>In his boyhood he was constantly making all kinds of experiments with +common substances, drawing complicated diagrams, constructing solid +geometrical figures, even knitting elaborate pieces of wool-work; +practically all these pursuits were dictated by the same desire, the +desire to see an abstract principle embodied in a concrete instance. +No man was less at the mercy of words. But it was, nevertheless, +the abstract principle with which Maxwell was concerned; he merely +wished to be quite sure that he understood it. His occasional trick of +supplying an unexpectedly simple proof of a difficult theorem is due to +this habit of realisation. Platitudes acquired a wealth of implication +in Maxwell’s hands. During his student life at Cambridge, when he seems +to have been chiefly occupied in making a survey of things in general, +we find the same desire to reduce everything to a few principles; but +the principles must first stand a rigorous examination. Merely vague +unifications provoked his irony, and where no principle could be made +to work, then, in spite of his love for coherent and inclusive systems, +he would admit ignorance. And, in spite of his need for principles, +and the tenacity with which he clung to those that met his need, he +claimed no “absolute” quality for his beliefs. In his own words, +“Nothing is to be <i>holy ground</i> consecrated to Stationary Faith,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span> +whether positive or negative.” And, later, “Again, I assert the Right +of Trespass on any plot of Holy Ground which any man has set apart....” +Such questioning as Maxwell applied to himself was to be applied to +all other men. He was conservative, but not on exterior authority. His +scepticism was, in truth, very profound, and it was always present. +It informs his criticism, which is often extremely penetrating. The +letters he wrote on the death of his friend Pomeroy, shortly after +Maxwell had become a Fellow of Trinity, are very instructive from this +point of view. His distrust of the “rationalisations” that men give of +their beliefs extends to the beliefs themselves. As he says, men “are +ignorant even of their own true faith till something brings it into +action.” This was a deep-rooted conviction with him, and is responsible +for the flavour of irony which is never long absent from his comments +on philosophic matters, indefatigable student as he was. He can direct +this scepticism against himself, as in the entry in his programme of +future study: “4. Metaphysics—Kant’s <i>Kritik of Pure Reason</i> +in German, read with a determination to make it agree with Sir W. +Hamilton.” On another occasion he writes to a friend pointing out that, +in reading an author, he had to find out first of all, not what the +author meant, but that it was not what he was convinced must be meant. +A little experience of criticism persuades us that this is, indeed, a +very necessary procedure.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span></p> + +<p>This aspect of Maxwell, as a critic at large, as it were, would +well repay study, and it is unfortunate that our material for it is +contained in a scarcely ideal biography. He differed from the run of +scientific men, whose absorption in one pursuit makes their mental life +unrepresentative; his chief problems are not found in his scientific +writings, and they are the problems of us all. There was nothing +superficial in Maxwell, and he had no easily won conclusions. It is +the path he followed that gives interest to his goal. We should like +to know, for instance, what experiences, what reflections, enabled him +to write: “Long ago I felt like a peasant in a country overrun with +soldiers, and saw nothing but carnage and danger. Since then I have +learned at least that some soldiers in the field die nobly, and that +all are summoned there for a cause.” That Maxwell, either suddenly +or gradually, developed a mystic consciousness of life, is borne +out by many passages of his correspondence. We can attach no other +significance to his description of his “nostrum”: “an abandonment of +wilfulness without extinction of will, but rather by means of a great +development of will, whereby, instead of being consciously free and +really in subjection to unknown laws, it becomes consciously acting by +law, and really free from the interference of unrecognised laws”; and +his letters to his wife, dealing with passages from the Bible, abound +in interpretations which are indubitably mystical. Yet we have no +evidence that he was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span> acquainted with the literature and terminology +of mysticism; he is speaking of personal experiences, not of acquired +doctrines.</p> + +<p>The maintenance of a mystical outlook on life, together with a +perfect realisation of the implications of physical science, was +accomplished, in Maxwell’s case, by denying the ordinary conception of +the <i>direction</i> of scientific progress. It is the idea which would +inevitably occur to him, for it is the peculiar merit of his own work +that it was not the result of straightforward progress. He made a new +way of thinking necessary just as, in our own time, Quantum Theory and +Relativity Theory have fundamentally disturbed our most unquestionable +assumptions. The way Maxwell actually approached the problem we have +mentioned was by insisting on what he called, by a mathematical +analogy, the “singular points” of existences, that is, the points where +the equations break down, and he postulated that the more there were +of these singular points the higher the rank of the existence. At a +“singular point” influences which are usually negligible may assume a +dominating importance, and Maxwell saw the science of the future as +being largely concerned with these lapses in continuity—as, in fact, +science since his time has been. In this way he escaped determinism. In +his own words:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>If, therefore, those cultivators of physical science from whom the +intelligent public deduce their conception<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span> of the physicist, and +whose style is recognized as marking with a scientific stamp the +doctrines they promulgate, are led in the pursuit of the arcana of +science to the study of the singularities and instabilities, rather +than the continuities and stabilities of things, the promotion of +natural knowledge may tend to remove that prejudice in favour of +determinism which seems to arise from assuming that the physical +science of the future is a mere magnified image of that of the past.</p> +</div> + +<p>This speculation, the problem of evil, and in what sense the individual +may be said to persist in Time, are the kind of questions which +concerned him during the last years of his life. It would be merely +fanciful to mention these things as evidence of that “context” of which +we spoke, but we think it is possible to understand more intimately the +origin of the Electromagnetic Theory of Light if we remember that it +originated in a mind which also constantly entertained these other, and +apparently disconnected, speculations.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="ASSUMPTIONS">ASSUMPTIONS</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="nindc space-above2"><span class="large">I</span></p> + +<p class="nind"> +It has been remarked that man’s senses were given him, not to +philosophise with, but to help him in the struggle for existence; +Boltzmann, the great German physicist, was frankly distrustful of +many of the natural motions of the mind. He could admit that Science, +although often very abstract, had a certain validity, since it issues +in the prediction of events which are accessible to sense perception. +But philosophy, he insisted, was in an altogether different case, and +he thought the chances considerable that its impalpable conclusions +were the merest moonshine. It is a speculation that must have exercised +everyone who has whole-heartedly accepted the evolutionary account of +the rise of intelligence. Why should this instrument be adapted to +other than its original uses? Doubts of this kind, however, are both +too vague and too comprehensive to serve any useful purpose. They +do not tell us in what way and to what extent our intelligence is +untrustworthy; they do not enable us to make one step towards drawing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span> +up an Index of Forbidden Subjects. At the most they enable a man with +a constitutional dislike of philosophic speculations to indulge his +contempt for that occupation with an easy conscience. Nevertheless, +a tincture of this doubt is very wholesome, and more particularly if +it be the result of an acquaintance with the history of human thought +rather than the product of a kind of lazy <i>a priori</i> scepticism. +A student of the history of science, for instance, is inevitably led +to reflect on the curious nature of the barriers to further advance +which the mind itself has set up. It is as if the mind could only take +exercise within some imaginary prisoner’s yard, and that the great +advances were really the result of liberations. These liberations are +only partial; the mythical boundaries are set a little further off, but +it is agreed that the high walls exist.</p> + +<p>It is interesting to review the progress of Science from this point of +view, to see it as a gradual secession from unwarrantable assumptions. +The exceedingly cautious, the almost groping character, of the +advance of knowledge, becomes very apparent. And, although such a +survey may lead us to become very conscious of this particular mental +limitation, we are not one whit nearer being enfranchised. It is still +the prerogative of genius to be innocent, to turn surprised eyes on +one of our most arbitrary assumptions, and to say: But that is not +necessary. The history of Astronomy, of course, provides some of the +best examples of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span> mental prison yards. That the planets must move in +circles because the circle is the perfect figure is an assumption now +sufficiently remote from our acquired sense of probability to seem +exceedingly strange. That it was an assumption possessing a high degree +of obviousness is apparent from the fact that even Copernicus did not +question it. The attempt to enter into this assumption, to see it as +obviously reasonable, would be a useful exercise for the historian, +since it involves, very largely, a reconstitution of the mental life +of that age. It acquired its obvious character from the fact that it +<i>fitted in</i>; it was the natural companion of a great number of +other equally obvious assumptions; it was not an isolated eccentricity +of the mind. It is for that reason that Copernicus never freed himself +from it, and that Kepler only succeeded after a difficult struggle. +Kepler was required to question not merely an isolated doctrine, but to +escape from a veritable <i>Zeitgeist</i>. The Inquisitorial examination +of Galileo, also, was not directed merely to correcting the erroneous +statement of an isolated fact; it was, in truth, a whole system of +thought that stood on trial. It is this double aspect of any given +abandoned assumption that accounts for our unimaginative surprise on +learning that very intelligent men once mistook it for an obvious +truth. We are judging the assumption, not on its own merits, as it +were, but from the standpoint of an alien system of thought.</p> + +<p>We can form a juster estimate of the degree of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span> credulity manifested by +the contemporaries of Copernicus by considering assumptions that have +been but recently questioned, or rather, which have only recently been +generally questioned. The assumptions regarding animal psychology form +a vivid example. Such men as Darwin and Romanes found it quite natural +to assume that the emotions and many of the intellectual processes of +which they were conscious in themselves furnished an adequate key to +animal behaviour. It is an assumption which the average educated man +of to-day makes quite readily, although he may not share Aristotle’s +views on the perfection of circles. We now know that there is no reason +whatever to suppose, for example, that the psychology of snails has +the slightest resemblance to the psychology of human beings. We may be +confident that, in a very few years, the assumptions of Darwin and most +other people will appear almost inexplicably gratuitous. It will take +longer, we think, for the Freudian ideas about man himself to become +acclimatised; man will take a long time to learn that in trusting his +immediate awareness of himself he is making a number of unwarrantable +assumptions. The system of thought into which his present assumptions +fit is so profound and extensive that it is impossible, even now, to +picture the thoroughly enfranchised man.</p> + +<p>A general acceptance of the Einsteinian ideas of space and time is +easier to predict. The current conceptions of space and time, although +Euclidean<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span> when reduced to a logical scheme, are not, in fact, present +as a logical scheme in the mind of the ordinary man. He is sufficiently +vague about his fundamental assumptions to offer no strenuous +resistance to their subtle modification. We think that part of his +general bewilderment about Einstein’s space and time is due to his +bewilderment on thinking about space and time at all. His assumptions +on these questions, whatever those assumptions may be, are not really +part of a general scheme of beliefs. Nothing that greatly concerns him +is incompatible with non-Euclidean geometry, and we confidently expect +that the grandchildren of the ordinary man will as blandly believe they +have swallowed Einstein as the contemporary ordinary man believes he +has swallowed Euclid. For an assumption which is not an integral part +of a general scheme of thought is readily abandoned. It is the lopping +of connections which the mind resists. It is no paradox to say that the +mathematician and philosopher finds it harder to accept Einstein than +does the ordinary man. That is because the mathematician’s acceptance +involves both believing more and disbelieving more.</p> + + +<p class="nindc space-above2"><span class="large">II</span></p> + +<p>Probability is, of course, the guide of life. If all our assumptions +were expressed, we should find the phrase “it is reasonable to suppose” +occurred more frequently than any other, whether we were<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span> engaged +in crossing a street or in writing a philosophical essay. Yet our +perception of the reasonableness of anything rests on a sentiment +which is often very delicate and extremely difficult to define. The +mathematicians have succeeded in giving exact expression to some of the +simplest manifestations of this sentiment, but most of the cases we +are called upon to solve in ordinary daily life cannot be dealt with +by their analysis. It is the great strength of science that it builds +wholly upon this sentiment. We are not called upon to “transcend” +reason by faith; we are asked to believe nothing that sins against +our sense of probability. It is admitted, of course, that there are +scientific theories that do not sound reasonable on a first hearing; +indeed, they sometimes outrage common sense, and every scientific +engineer knows the difficulty of persuading the “practical” man that +the obvious thing is not always the right thing. Nevertheless, it is +claimed for science that, on the evidence, its conclusions are the +most reasonable ones even when they are wrong. The sense of what is +reasonable depends upon the evidence, but the word “evidence” must +often be taken to include a great deal of which the mind is not fully +conscious. It was at one time thought quite reasonable that the +heavenly bodies should move in circles round the earth. The belief was +not wholly a matter of astronomical evidence. It was considered that +there was something peculiarly and inherently reasonable in circular +motion for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span> heavenly bodies. We can see that this expectation was +connected with the æsthetic properties of the circle, and we now think +that expectations based on such considerations are, in astronomical +matters, illegitimate. Something akin to such considerations still +plays a part in science, however, although in a less obvious form. +Other things being equal, a simple explanation of natural phenomena is +preferred to a more complicated one, although, as Fresnel remarked, +there is no <i>a priori</i> reason to suppose that Nature takes any +account of analytical difficulties. The history of the Copernican +theory of the solar system is instructive from this point of view. The +notion that the Earth and other planets went round the sun immediately +made a number of puzzling things clear. It seemed, on the whole, a very +reasonable notion. It was attended, however, by one great difficulty. +If, at the end of six months, the earth were really at opposite ends +of a long line, it should follow that the stars, viewed from these +two points, should seem to shift their relative positions in the sky, +just as the trees in a wood seem to change their relative positions as +we pass them in a train. Tycho Brahe, one of the greatest astronomers +who ever lived, was so impressed by the fact that this expected change +does not occur, that he could not accept the Copernican theory as it +stood. He invented a curious hybrid theory of his own, according to +which, while the other planets went round the sun, they, together with +the sun, revolved round<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span> the earth. He does not seem to have made many +converts to this view; it somehow offends one’s sense of probability. +The Copernican hypothesis persisted, in spite of the difficulty we have +mentioned, but not without causing considerable mental discomfort. When +Horrebow at last thought that he had obtained evidence of the apparent +annual motion of the stars he published his discovery under the title +<i>Copernicus Triumphans</i>. It was found, however, that the supposed +differences were caused by temperature changes affecting the observer’s +clock, and the old difficulty persisted. It might be thought that the +correct solution was obvious; one had only to assume that the stars +are so far away that, with such instruments as were then used, their +apparent motion is imperceptible. We now know that this solution is +the right solution, but in the eighteenth century it did not appear +a reasonable solution. It was felt that if the stars were really at +such immense distances as this hypothesis required, then Nature showed +a grave lack of economy in space. Such enormous stellar distances +pointed, so far as these astronomers could see, to a most unreasonable +waste of space. No farmer would behave in such a fashion, and although +the eighteenth-century astronomers would have denied that they viewed +the universe as a gigantic farm, yet this delicate and elusive notion +of what is reasonable was, in this case, greatly influenced by farming +considerations. It is not possible to form reasonable expectations<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span> +except on the basis of experience, and sometimes the most irrelevant +considerations play a part in our estimate.</p> + +<p>As instruments improved, however, the expected motion was observed, +and the distances of some stars calculated. They proved to be +enormous; the great waste of space does occur. God is not a farmer. +This being established, one could approach the general problem of +stellar distribution free from certain prepossessions. One’s sense +of the reasonable acquired a different orientation, as it were. But +it still remains reasonable to suppose that the brighter stars are, +on the whole, nearer to us than the fainter stars. This assumption +must, however, be employed with caution. If a list be formed of +the nearest stars from amongst those whose distances have actually +been determined, we reach some rather unexpected results. Knowing +the apparent magnitudes of these stars, and their distances, we can +calculate their actual luminosity compared with the sun as a standard. +The apparent magnitudes range from Sirius, which is considerably +brighter than a first-magnitude star, to stars of more than the ninth +magnitude, that is, to stars quite invisible to the naked eye. Some +of the nearest stars may be fainter yet, for determinations of the +distances of stars fainter than magnitude 9.5 are lacking. The actual +luminosities of these stars range from forty-eight times that of the +sun to four-thousandths that of the sun. The actual distribution of +the nearer stars is not at all<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span> that which would appear reasonable +if we were guided by considerations of apparent brightness. Some of +the very brightest stars, such as Canopus, must be at inconceivable +distances, and their actual brightness must be thousands of times, +perhaps very many thousands of times, that of the sun. Here again our +unsophisticated notion of what is reasonable is apt to be more of a +hindrance than a help. Excellent as a guide through not too unfamiliar +country, it is apt to lead us sadly astray when we advance into +completely unknown territory. Nevertheless, it is the only guide we +have.</p> + + +<p class="nindc space-above2"><span class="large">III</span></p> + +<p>If we contrast ancient with modern scientific theories we find +that the chief distinguishing characteristic of the former is that +they employ principles drawn from other branches of knowledge or +speculation. It would be, perhaps, rash to say that modern science, +in all its branches, is yet completely autonomous; sometimes, for +instance, it seems to make assumptions which are the result of an +uncritical philosophy, but even the grossest of these examples, +compared with many celebrated early scientific theories, shows how +great is the purification that has been effected. The chief error of +the old speculators consisted in imagining that the world is a more +obvious unity than we have now any reason to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span> suppose. Hence they were +always willing to argue by “analogy,” comparing terms between which +we cannot now find the slightest resemblance. The method was not only +illegitimate, but sometimes led to quite unnecessary complexities of +explanation. The Ptolemaic system of astronomy, for instance, conceived +as the theory that the heavenly bodies revolve round the earth, was +a perfectly reasonable and satisfactory theory. It was capable of +explaining all the observed planetary motions, except a few minute +irregularities requiring precise measurements for their detection. Its +proper development required, of course, complete docility in face of +the facts. But in its actual development it was forced to accommodate +itself to quite other considerations. It had to take into account the +venerable principle that, the celestial bodies being obviously sublime, +incorrupt and perfect, their orbits must be perfect and described with +uniform velocities. The only possible perfect orbit was as obviously +a circle. Hence the Ptolemaic theory was loaded with the task of +explaining the observed heavenly motions on two grounds: first, that +the earth was stationary and at the centre of the system, and second, +that the planetary orbits were circular and described with unvarying +velocities. Alternative hypotheses were not only stupid but impious. +The task thus set to the early astronomers was one of considerable +difficulty.</p> + +<p>The observed path of a planet, say Mars, or<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span> Jupiter, or Saturn, is +by no means simple. If its motion amongst the stars be watched from +night to night it is seen to be moving sometimes from east to west +and sometimes from west to east. Further, in changing its direction +of motion it does not retrace its path amongst the stars. Its actual +observed path exhibits irregular loops, and, more rarely, a twisted +line. It was at once obvious that a circular orbit, traversed with +uniform velocity, would not suffice to explain these appearances. +Nevertheless, the principle must be preserved. The astronomers +overcame this difficulty by a device that strikes one as being almost +disingenuous. They imagined a small circle whose centre traversed the +circumference of the big circle with a constant velocity and round +whose own circumference the planet moved with a constant velocity. By +assigning suitable velocities to these two motions the crude features +of the planet’s actual observed motion could be represented—it would +sometimes be retrograde and sometimes direct. This is ingenious, but it +is questionable whether it preserves the principle. The planet’s motion +is obtained by circular motions, it is true, but it is not itself a +circular motion with reference to the earth as centre. The astronomers +have entered on a slippery path. We view them with the same suspicion +with which we watch a Broad Churchman expounding the Thirty-Nine +Articles. But they had to go further. The theoretical and the observed +motions did not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span> fit well enough. On the little circle it was necessary +to imagine a still smaller circle, and to place the planet on its +circumference. After all, this interpretation of “circular motion” once +admitted, there was no reason why it should not be followed up. But +progress in this direction soon came to a halt. It became evident that +this method would not, by itself, reconcile observation and theory. +The principle had to be strained again, and this time in an almost +indefensible manner. It was declared that the big circle was eccentric +with respect to the earth and that the little circles were eccentric +with respect to their supposed former centres. This assertion must have +been a great strain on the faith of the orthodox believer. He may well +have wondered whether, by this time, the pure doctrine of his fathers +had not been subtly undermined. Circular motion was still preserved, in +a way, it is true, but with so many circles, and their centres all over +the place—this must have appeared something very different from what +he supposed the principle to mean.</p> + +<p>The same difficulty was felt by simple minds in modern times, when the +correct explanations of statements in Genesis were worked out by the +theologians. And just as the simple story of the Creation in Genesis +became transformed into an extremely obscure and ambiguous anticipation +of the discoveries of Geology, so the interpretation of circular motion +advanced from complexity to complexity. Immutable principles must +exist,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span> of course—it is part of the glory of man that he should have +been able to discover so many of them—but they sometimes seem more +trouble than they are worth. The old astronomers found that yet again a +more liberal interpretation must be given to the principle of circular +motion. This time it was found that the circles do not all lie in one +plane. Each circle has its own plane, which may be inclined at any +angle to the others. By this time the theorists, whom we might call the +“commentators,” had forged a very powerful method. Circles could be +multiplied; their centres could be placed anywhere; their planes could +be inclined at any angle. The rich content of the principle of circular +motion was now fully revealed. With all these variables to play with a +very close correspondence between theory and observation was effected.</p> + +<p>The rise of the “higher criticism” of this system leads to the history +of modern astronomy. It is to be noted, however, that the first higher +critic, like the first higher critics in other departments, was not +wholly emancipated from his early teaching. Copernicus effected the +immense revolution of placing the sun in the centre of the system, but +he did not abandon circular motion. So he had to retain parts of the +epicyclic apparatus. The revolution was first completely effected by +Kepler, but even he conducted his early researches as a semi-believer, +a kind of very Broad Churchman. He made nineteen successive attempts +to explain<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span> the motions of Mars by the arrangements of eccentric +and epicyclic motions, and only then did he frankly throw the great +principle of circular motion overboard, and state that the actual paths +of the planets were ellipses. And so, in a few years, a great immutable +principle, a whole system of beliefs, the industry and thought of +generations went for nothing, and now exist merely as an occasional +cold reference in a treatise on Astronomy to the Ptolemaic system as a +“monument of misplaced ingenuity.”</p> + + +<p class="nindc space-above2"><span class="large">IV</span></p> + +<p>We may divide scientific theories into two classes, which have recently +been distinguished by Einstein as theories of construction and theories +of principle. His own theory of relativity is a theory of principle, +and its attraction resides in its logical perfection. Such theories, +whatever charm they may have for the logician, are not, man being +constituted as he is, felt to be sufficient. A principle which natural +phenomena obey, and which enables equations to be deduced expressing +the relations between phenomena, is, to a few austere souls, all with +which science need concern itself, but the majority of men require, in +addition, something they call an “explanation” of the relations deduced +from the principle. They desire to see events described in terms with +which they are familiar. Thus, a description of the behaviour<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span> of the +material universe in terms of the mutual impacts of little billiard +balls would afford genuine satisfaction to the mind, and important +advances have been made in science by the attempt to describe phenomena +in these terms. The assumptions which underlie some such attempts +may seem, to the logician, preposterous, but there is no doubt that +the mind is impelled to make such assumptions. Our familiarity with +the motions of matter in bulk makes it quite natural that we should +endeavour to give, as far as possible, dynamical explanations of +events, although, if we stop to ask ourselves why nature should be +flexible enough to admit of descriptions in such terms, we are at a +loss for an answer.</p> + +<p>The history of theories of the æther is particularly instructive from +this point of view, because the irrational nature of the impulse is +here most clearly apparent. The attempt to explain phenomena in terms +of an æther has led to some very remarkable theories of the nature of +matter itself. It has been supposed, for instance, that the ultimate +particles of matter are vortical whirls in the æther, or, again, points +of a very special kind of strain in the æther. Nevertheless, a theory +of the æther is regarded as unsatisfactory which is not couched in +terms of the observed behaviour of ordinary matter as we know it. A +dynamical explanation is always sought after, and a great part of the +scientific effort of the nineteenth century was devoted to describing +the æther as an elastic<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</span> solid. But men of science were not content +with showing that the laws of dynamics could be applied to the æther; +many of them endeavoured to devise models which should represent, on a +large scale, the actual construction of the æther. It is difficult to +know to what extent their authors supposed these models to correspond +to the reality; it is probably not sufficient, however, to say that +they regarded them merely as furnishing useful tools for subsequent +investigations. The models were usually extremely complicated, for, +from the very beginning, the æther proved somewhat recalcitrant to this +attempt to represent it as an elastic solid. The most obvious objection +to this representation was provided by the observed motions of the +planets. It could be proved that, if there were any resistance to their +motions round the sun, it must be excessively minute, and how was this +to be combined with the hypothesis that they were moving with great +speed through an elastic solid? The answer was found in cobbler’s wax. +Sir George Stokes noticed that cobbler’s wax, although rigid enough to +be capable of elastic vibration, is yet sufficiently plastic to permit +other bodies to pass slowly through it. We have only to imagine that +in the æther these qualities are much exaggerated, and the motion of +the planets presents no difficulty. If no substance like cobbler’s +wax happened to be known it is difficult to know what satisfactory +answer could be returned to the objection. Here we have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</span> the first +glimpse of the remarkable combination of qualities with which it was +found necessary to dower the æther. The mathematical examination of +the properties of the æther, undertaken by such men as Navier, Cauchy, +Poisson, Green, was continually leading to queer and unsatisfactory +results, unsatisfactory, that is, in the light of our experience of +the properties of matter. Cauchy, in particular, deduced a number of +remarkable physical properties which were irreconcilable with one +another, although one of his theories, that of the æther considered as +a kind of foam, attracted the attention of Lord Kelvin.</p> + +<p>With the rise of Maxwell’s electromagnetic theory, the elastic solid +æther received less attention. Maxwell himself, in his great treatise, +gives no mechanical explanation of his theory; he merely shows that +an infinite number of mechanical explanations are possible. With the +publication of Einstein’s first principle of relativity in 1905, +however, the æther began to disappear; and now, with the generalised +theory of relativity, it has become a mere ghost. There are still +sturdy champions of the æther, and, indeed, it seems a pity to have +to abandon the mechanical explanations it promised. But possibly +the attempt to find dynamical explanations of this kind is doomed +to failure; perhaps, after all, nature is not flexible enough. The +orientation of modern science is in another direction. It is towards +a more abstract class of theories altogether—theories<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</span> which tell us +nothing about the mechanism of a process, but tell us the principles +the process must obey. Such theories effect a vast unification of +knowledge. They are magnificently comprehensive, and it is possible +that they contain all that we can really know, although men will long +be reluctant to abandon all hope of ever approaching reality with the +intimacy that the theory of the æther seemed to promise.</p> + + +<p class="nindc space-above2"><span class="large">V</span></p> + +<p>Whether or not it be true that the proper study of mankind is man, it +is certain that he finds great difficulty in studying anything else. +His first impulse, when he thinks about the universe at large, is to +consider it in reference to himself, and to explain it in terms of his +own actions and desires. In Astronomy, for example, it long seemed +quite reasonable that in the peculiarities of men’s bodies should be +found the system on which the universe is constructed. The arguments +of Galileo’s contemporaries amuse us now, for we have learned modesty, +but the tendency to explain all things in purely human terms, as it +were, is by no means yet extinct, and is still a hindrance to science. +It is even hinted that man’s explanation of himself is not free from +bias; psychologists inform us that a man’s account of his own actions +is not always to be trusted, that the true springs of his conduct +are usually those he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</span> would blush to own. But if we are to say that +man’s speculations about the universe show an overwhelming sense of +his own importance we must allow him also a certain generosity. Until +quite recent times he was willing to dower almost anything, animate or +inanimate, with his own attributes. He credited stones with life and +trees with desire, while the whole animal world were his brothers. He +could admire the loving sentiments of the dove and weep for the sorrows +of the crab. A pathetic confidence in man as the type and exemplar +of the universe informed nearly all the early writings on animal +psychology, and Descartes’ theory that animals were automatic roused +a sentimental indignation which has not yet subsided. Nevertheless, +comparatively recent investigations tend to overthrow the natural +assumption that worms and insects are little men inhabiting strange +bodies. The modern biologist refuses to be conscience-stricken when +referred to the industry of the bee or the conjugal perfections of the +dove. It is only recently that he has become so heartless. Darwin, +in a celebrated passage, describes with simple reverence the mutual +affection existing between snails. The intelligence of these little +creatures was also estimated highly by Romanes. Loeb, the great +American biologist, did much to upset this naïve anthropomorphism. +He took some worms who are “always attracted by light,” and showed +that this movement did not testify to a “more light” cry in these +little souls,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</span> but was a purely automatic proceeding. The worm places +itself so that both sides of its body are equally illuminated. It is a +mechanical action due to the influence of light on the living matter of +its body. If there are two lights the worm passes between them, thus +securing equal illumination of its two sides.</p> + +<p>The crab which, being held by a claw, sheds that claw and hurries to +the nearest rock for shelter, is found to do the same thing after its +eyes or brain have been destroyed. Dr. Georges Bohn, who has made many +experiments to determine how far the actions of the lower animals are +purely mechanical, gives an interesting account of a certain parasitic +worm which attaches itself to the fish called the torpedo. He finds +(1) that if the amount of salt in the water be varied the reactions +of the worm alter; (2) that if light be allowed to play first on one +part and then on another part of the worm, its reactions alter; (3) if +the animal has already taken up its position, attached to the glass, +for instance, and a shadow be passed over the top of the vessel, the +whole body of the worm turns itself into the vertical in such a way +that if the shadow were caused by a passing torpedo, the worm could +attach itself to the fish. If, however, it be already attached to a +torpedo, it does not raise itself at a passing shadow. Here, then, is +an <i>association</i> between the region of the body excited by light +and the part fixed to the fish. It was found, also, that the crab which +abandons its<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</span> claw only does so when held by a certain part. The action +appears to be purely automatic. If it were dependent in any way on the +crab’s simultaneous visual perceptions, for instance, an associative +phenomon would be established. But experimental tests find no such +correspondence. As the result of numerous experiments of this kind +biologists have become very wary of offering psychical explanations of +the actions of the lower animals. Even when genuine associations are +established one must be careful not to interpret them in terms of human +psychology. In the very description of experiments an unwarrantable +turn may be given to the phenomena by the fact that words of ordinary +language inevitably call up associations which may be out of place in +the discussion. To say that an amœba <i>learns</i> to reject certain +foreign particles in a solution, for instance, is a statement that +requires careful interpretation. How are we to picture an amœba +<i>learning</i> something?</p> + +<p>But, indeed, the danger of anthropomorphic interpretations becomes +very obvious when we reflect on the purely physical phenomena which +accompany man’s own emotions. If the James-Lange theory be correct, +it is in terms of these physical phenomena that we must understand +man’s emotions. Now consider the example given in Washburn’s book, +<i>The Animal Mind</i>. An angry man has a quickened heartbeat, altered +breathing, a change in muscular tension, and a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</span> change in the blood. +Consider a wasp. It has no lungs, but breathes through its tracheæ; +the circulation of its blood is fundamentally different from that in +man; all its muscles are attached internally because its skeleton is +everywhere external. What, then, is an “angry” wasp? It seems clear +that if a man is to study anything but man he must forget himself as +far as possible.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="ON_LEARNING_SCIENCE">ON LEARNING SCIENCE</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="nind"> +It is a well-known fact that a really intelligent child finds great +difficulty in believing that the earth is round. Stupid children, +on the other hand, believe anything they are told. The difficulty +experienced by the first child is due to the fact that, in however +elementary a way, it is conscious of the implications of the statement. +The stupid child seems to be unaware that the statement has any +implications; it seems able to accept almost any statement in some +curiously bare, unrelated fashion. Hermann Bahr has an interesting and +amusing story of how profoundly his faith in his father was shaken when +the latter, <i>à propos</i> of a sunset, told the young boy that in +reality it was the earth that turned round and not the sun. Completely +overwhelming objections to this statement rose instantly in young +Hermann’s mind, and, outraged by this insult to his intelligence, he +preserved a hurt and dignified silence that lasted for days.</p> + +<p>We notice the same essential difference in schoolboys and university +students, and, in fact, in men<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</span> of any age. Perhaps the majority +of men, and less certainly of children, have but little sense of +the implications of a statement. The sense of implications does not +necessarily involve the ability to discover the implications—that is +a comparatively rare gift. It acts rather in a negative manner, making +the student restless under a subtly illogical presentation of a case, +or leaving the schoolboy frankly mutinous at the end of a sermon. It +is not a gift which makes a rapid learner, although its absence will +prevent a man from ever knowing a subject properly. It is unfortunate +that education, as practised in this country, does not sufficiently +take into account this very desirable inhibition. The text-book plays +a very large part in contemporary education, and most text-books are +designed for those who can swallow statements at great speed. That +delicate web of doubt, of half-seen alternative explanations, which +comes into the mind of the intelligent student when confronted with +the highly dogmatic statements and somewhat perfunctory “proofs” of +many modern text-books, counts as sheer loss in the examination race. +This is especially true of scientific text-books, which are usually +conceived on an entirely wrong plan, judged from the standpoint of +rational education. Statements which are the final expression of +very difficult and slowly acquired abstractions are presented in all +their nakedness, and followed by a collection of “examples.” The glib +student<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</span> learns these statements as if he were learning a foreign +language, and soon masters the tricks necessary to apply them. I +have known such students able to solve very difficult problems and +yet entirely unable to meet, in any way, a sceptical attack upon +the fundamental theorem they employ. The fact is that this method +of teaching science is psychologically unnatural, and the knowledge +acquired on this method is largely sham knowledge. While it may not +be true that the child passes through “cultural epochs” in its mental +growth, it is true that it will feel many of the hesitations and +difficulties experienced by the men who first formulated the concepts +now presented to it for its instant acceptance. It is for this reason +that the best method of teaching a science is probably the historic +method. In this way not only are many doubts fairly met instead of +being merely repressed, but the exact <i>portée</i> of a statement and +possible lines of extension are much more clearly seen. The effect of +the modern text-book is to make the intelligent student feel that he is +remarkably unintelligent; the text-book writer is so terribly cocksure.</p> + +<p>But if the historic method must be rejected as too lengthy one may +plead for its partial application. Let the text-book give the broad +outlines, and let the student supplement these by reading, wherever +possible, the standard memoirs written by the original discoverers. +In this way he will gain something much more valuable than a more<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</span> +thorough acquaintance with his subject; he will learn something of the +mental gesture of the true man of science, something very different +from the glittering efficiency of the text-book writer. Consider, for +instance, the following passage from Newton, writing on the theory of +light: He discusses a corpuscular theory, and continues:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>But they, that like not this, may suppose light any other corporeal +emanation, or any impulse or motion of any other medium or æthereal +spirit diffused through the main body of æther, or what else they +can imagine proper for this purpose. To avoid dispute, and make this +hypothesis general, let every man here take his fancy; only whatever +light be, I suppose it consists of rays differing from one another in +contingent circumstances, as bigness, form, or vigour.</p> +</div> + +<p>The subject here becomes alive in a way it never does in the text-book. +It is of the greatest importance that the student should see, not +merely the results, but the avenues of approach. He will gain more +confidence in his own powers and more interest in the subject.</p> + +<p>For those people also who, without being students, take an interest in +science, the reading of original memoirs may be recommended. Much of +the science they learn in this way will be wrong, but they will see it +as something thoroughly human and, it may be, as something thoroughly +sympathetic. The text-book has an air of infallibility which is very +repellent, and it is difficult<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</span> to avoid associating this with the +scientific man. But it is merely a manifestation of the same tendency +that produces stereotyped restaurants. A reading of the old memoirs +shows science as tentative, imaginative, courageous. They show that the +man of science is a humanist.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_ENTENTE_CORDIALE">THE ENTENTE CORDIALE</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="nind"> +Those who are interested in current “serious” literature, and more +particularly that branch of it which deals in a speculative way +with those vague but impressive problems which have always haunted +men, the existence of God, the “meaning” of the Universe and so on, +cannot have failed to notice the unaccustomed prestige now enjoyed by +science. The supposed contributions of science to these discussions +are now listened to with a gravity and politeness, with a kind of +serious hush, which was formerly reserved for quotations from Plato +and Aristotle. Compared with the crude materialists of Huxley’s day, +it is evident that the modern man of science has greatly improved his +social standing; he now frequently talks to the best people, on equal +terms, on such subjects as the Good and the Beautiful. The underbred, +pushing, clamorous self-assertion of the Victorian scientist is a rare +note in these improving conversations between philosophers and men +of science. A man like Haeckel is dismissed as a mere vulgarian; no +one would trouble to refute him; his loud<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</span> voice and hob-nailed boots +are sufficient condemnation. Even Huxley is felt to be a rather noisy +person; the modern expositor of the relations of Science and Religion +or Science and Philosophy no longer borrows his technique from the Hyde +Park orator; he has adopted rather the insinuating charm of the curate. +There are, of course, survivals on both sides; sweetness and light +are not yet universal; the general atmosphere of mutual forbearance +and respect is still occasionally marred by the harsh note of some +exceptionally fanatic or insensitive partisan. One or two grave lapses +of this kind may be detected amongst the mass of recent books devoted +to cosmical questions. There are still one or two literary men and +philosophers who hint at those dreadful early days of science, before +it went to Oxford, and there are still one or two provincial men of +science, <i>farouche</i>, suspicious, who attend a modern cultured +salon carrying their obsolete life-preserver in their pocket. But on +the whole good manners prevail everywhere. It is realised that there is +no reason why anybody should feel awkward at meeting anybody else in a +world which is so indulgent of the difference between a man’s private +and public capacities.</p> + +<p>To be on amiable terms with everybody is worth a sacrifice, and in +our relief at escaping from the ferocious savagery of the Victorian +controversialists we may well endure the minor discomforts of a +reconciliation between science, philosophy<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</span> and religion so effective +as to render indistinguishable the separate persons of this trinity. +The particular advantage of this amalgamation that concerns us here +is the fact that it has brought a new branch of literature into +existence. As is usual in an amalgamation, each member profits by the +custom brought by the others, until finally a composite article is +evolved which is, as it were, simultaneously buff and blue. That is +how we get these very curious and interesting modern works on cosmical +questions—works which seem to result from a close collaboration +between, say, a professor of physics, an archdeacon and a Bond Street +crystal-gazer. A very comprehensive <i>Weltanschauung</i> is thereby +afforded, and doubtless a truly “balanced” mind must result from the +perusal of such works, but we may doubt whether each component, as +it were, is presented in its purity. The advantages of association +are only obtained by a certain loss of individuality. We cannot speak +for the philosophy and religion of these works, but we are impelled +to these reflections by detecting a certain quality which pervades +the scientific part of the expositions. It is, as we have admitted, +a good thing for science that it has been taken up in this way. It +moves in an atmosphere of culture; it finds itself being described in +chapters headed with Greek quotations; it is complimented on its strong +vein of poetry; its peculiarities are explained, inaccurately but +sympathetically, in columns of literary causerie, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</span> the unexpected +but gratifying discovery is made that it by no means lacks the bump of +reverence and proper respect for constituted authority.</p> + +<p>Yet, kindly as are the surrounding faces, and pleasant as is the +consciousness that one’s clothes and accent excite no comment, there +is, on the part of many scientific men, a persistent uneasy feeling +that one has gained this position on false pretences. It is these +remarkable modern books to which we have referred which render the +feeling acute. At the same time, it is very difficult to state +precisely the elements of this feeling. We understand, however, that +there are young poets and novelists who experience very much the same +emotion when one of the great “official” men of letters talks about +literature. It appears that such people often get everything subtly +wrong, that their criticism never pierces to the real heart of the +matter, that they make literature at once more pompous and more tame +than it really is. These new cultured expositors of science affect +one very much like that. Their indisputable intelligence and their +wide knowledge do not save them; they lack something—it may be a +mere familiar way of talking—which marks the practitioner; we feel +they touch their subject with padded fingers. We attribute no occult +influence to laboratories, but we think the expositor of science who +is not also a creator is something like that curiously unconvincing +creature—the theoretical sailor who has never been to sea. For<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</span> +that reason we are uneasy in the presence of these numerous modern +expositions. Such work of the kind as was done in the old days was done +by real men of science in their spare time. They had the competence, +if also something of the crudity, of the workman in the factory who +explains to you how his machine works. The modern writers are so much +more like those frock-coated “attendants” at Exhibitions. One is +oppressed with the same suavity, the same incredible readiness, the +same secret doubt whether he has ever handled a tool in his life....</p> + +<p>Such being our estimate of our modern teachers, we may be permitted to +be sceptical concerning the complete satisfactoriness of their account +of the present disposition and relations of science. When they vouch +for the complete respectability and harmlessness of science we wonder +if they are not a little too kind. We have an absurd nervousness, as +in the presence of a reformed burglar. He looks well-dressed enough +and his hands are not impossibly horny; moreover, we are told that +the two very respectable gentlemen with him find him a most charming +companion. We are prejudiced, we suppose; but to our thinking there +is a coarseness about the jaw, an occasional hard glint in the eye, +which would make us reluctant to accept him as, at any rate, a sleeping +companion. We wonder if those two gentlemen, the one reverend and the +other nearly so, ever feel a little apprehensive during the night?</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="POPULAR_SCIENCE">POPULAR SCIENCE</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="nind"> +The Victorian Age was unquestionably the great age of physical science. +It was not only the number and quality of the scientific men whose +working lives were covered by this period that were responsible for +this—although no period in history makes a braver show—but it was +due also to the fact that the scientific discoveries of that age were +often of the kind that rouses a vast amount of public attention. The +attention of a cultured minority was no new thing in the history +of science. Newton’s discoveries, largely through the influence of +his indefatigable populariser Voltaire, speedily became, in a more +or less adequate form, the common property of the cultured part of +Europe. But from the time of Newton to that of Davy there was no such +general attention paid to science; England and the Continent largely +lost touch, even technical students working in comparative isolation, +so that the great French advances in Newtonian philosophy were not +appreciated for several years in England, and the cultured public in +England itself no longer considered<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span> the intelligent observation of +scientific progress to be one of its chief duties. It never did regain +this outlook; science, becoming increasingly technical, became more and +more completely the affair of a small and specialised class, until, by +the middle of the nineteenth century, it was the most dissociated of +intellectual activities. The great recrudescence of general interest +in science was brought about by the discovery that this dissociation +was merely a consequence of lack of attention, and that, in fact, +scientific discovery was not unconnected with the major interests of +mankind.</p> + +<p>The publication in 1859 of Darwin’s <i>Origin of Species</i> persuaded +the men of that time, rightly or wrongly, that science and religion +were very intimately connected, and science, at one blow, obtained +a degree of public attention without precedent in its history. The +interest thus evoked was not always very intelligent, but it was +intense and widely diffused; it extended to other branches of science, +influenced the educational system of the country and gave rise to an +enormous extension of “popular” science lectures and articles. This +popular interest was of a different kind from the leisurely interest +previously shown by the cultured classes. The latter was, indeed, much +more genuinely an interest in science for its own sake; the former +had a different emotional basis and was merely the diversion of an +interest in religious or social questions. There is a controversial +air<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</span> about nearly all the popular scientific writings of that time; the +scientific man, like his audience, was fully aware that he was talking +about a good deal more than the ostensible subject of discussion. +Science, the creature of the least popular of man’s activities, +patient and unprejudiced ratiocination, became associated with violent +emotions. With Biology and Geology this association was inevitable and +immediate; their subject-matter happened to be that of the first few +chapters of Genesis. But the more exact sciences, when public attention +turned their way, could offer no such excitements. They seem to have +compromised by specialising on “marvels.” The “Marvels of Science” +became a familiar heading, and the unsophisticated public were stunned +by figures: the distances of the stars, the number of molecules in +a cubic centimetre of water, the weight, in tons, of the earth, the +incredible minuteness of light-waves, and so on, the whole object of +such discourses being, as Maxwell unkindly put it, to prevent the +audience realising that intellectual exhaustion had set in until the +hour had elapsed.</p> + +<p>We readily admit that popular science of a very different kind was +also provided. Faraday, Kelvin, Huxley, Tyndall, Maxwell himself, did +their best to make the lay public acquainted with scientific methods +as well as results, to present their results as part of a coherent +theory instead of as items in catalogue of marvels. But it is the +marvel-mongers who have proved most tenacious of life,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span> so that +“popular” science has now become a term of contempt, and any statement +whatever, provided it has the right marvellous flavour, may be printed +in our newspapers as scientific information. In America such marvellous +statements, not only inaccurate but meaningless, occupy pages of the +Sunday supplements, so that that meritorious organ, <i>The Scientific +American</i>, has to announce, in self-defence, that it publishes, not +“popular” science, but merely non-technical science. In our own country +that sober periodical <i>Nature</i> used to print extracts from the +more marvellous scientific items provided by the daily press, thus +furnishing a little light relief from its own austere pages. The fact +that this quackery exists is not unimportant. If it does no more, it +often leads to a waste of time, for there has been more than one worthy +gentleman who has imagined himself to be attacking the pernicious +doctrines of science, when, as his argument makes clear, it is this +kind of quackery he has in mind. The cure for this kind of thing would +seem to be the development of a conscience in newspaper editors, unless +we prefer to wait patiently until a tincture of science forms part of +the education of an English adult.</p> + +<p>But, turning to the popular but accurate scientific article, we may ask +what purpose it serves. Should its object be to supply the deficiencies +of a defective general education, to provide an easy introduction +to science? Doubtless such articles<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</span> or lectures have served such a +purpose; Faraday himself, as we know, was won over to science by the +blandishments of Mrs. Somerville, and there is more than one case where +the current of a man’s life has been definitely changed by a lantern +lecture. It is, nevertheless, a mistake to suppose that the attentive +perusal of a number of popular science articles is equivalent to a +scientific education, a mistake which is unfortunately very common. The +fact is that the scientific treatise and the popular science article, +so far from being rivals, serve entirely different ends, and may be +read with profit by the same man. Broadly speaking, the function of +the popular science article is to present science in its humanistic +aspect. It should, while dealing with as definite a scientific problem +as the author chooses, hint at the relations between this problem and +the other interests of mankind. Very often these relations are implicit +in the subject; such subjects are, in fact, usually chosen, and for +that reason. But there is another type of article which has for its +object the exposition of relations which are not obvious, and this +exposition may be the result of a genuine and valuable intellectual +effort on the part of the writer. Such articles are really essays in +criticism and are not essentially different from the best type of +literary criticism. Some of the best articles of this kind—some of +those by W. K. Clifford, for example—are as truly “research” work as +is the technical paper. A third type of article may, either by way<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span> +of history or by way of logic, show the position occupied by a given +theory or fact in a scheme of knowledge. This type is usually of more +interest to the scientific student than to the general reader, since a +general acquaintance with the whole subject is presupposed, and in this +connection it is interesting to note that a powerful plea has recently +been made for the more effective endowment of the teaching of the +history of science.</p> + +<p>If a popular science article serves none of these three purposes, +it must inevitably be nothing but the description of a “marvel.” In +competent hands this may be agreeable enough; the appetite for marvels +is vigorous and universal, and its indulgence cannot be condemned as a +vice. To look at a marvel for the pleasure of gaping is not, however, +a very intelligent occupation, and, to judge from the number and kind +of phenomena unhesitatingly ascribed to “the electricity in the air,” +merely increases credulity. Regarded as a marvel, wireless telegraphy +is, of course, merely a miracle, a fact extensively exploited by +spiritualists. The human tendency to seize on the merely marvellous +should, in fact, be carefully allowed for by the writer of popular +science articles; he should, if anything, be even more reserved and +pedantically precise than when addressing a scientific audience; an +incautiously flamboyant remark is very likely to be seized upon to +support some preposterous philosophy or religion. Usually, however, +the popular science writer yields to the temptation, to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</span> <i>épater</i> +his audience, to make himself more readable, as readability is now +understood, and so he may, while speaking the truth, have all the +effect of telling a lie.</p> + +<p>Thus the division between the genuine and the quack science article is +not, in practice, clearly defined. The difference between the writers +is definite enough; but it is writer and public together which make the +popular science article. Lack of education is just as great a hindrance +to perception as is lack of sensitiveness. The poet may be subtly and +completely misunderstood because his audience lacks sensitiveness, +and, to compare small things with great, the conscientious retailer of +scientific information may be in a like case for a different reason. +So that if it is true that the best type of poetry is that written +by the poet “for himself,” it is perhaps true that the best type of +popular science article is written for a similar reason—because the +writer is genuinely interested in working out certain speculations or +treating certain facts in a certain way. Some of the very best popular +articles—those by Helmholtz, for example—are of this kind, and have +achieved a relative immortality, although, like the poetry which is +read chiefly by poets, they are probably read chiefly by scientific +men.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="PATIENT_PLODDERS">PATIENT PLODDERS</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="nind"> +It is a melancholy fact that the estimable qualities of patience +and industry do not, by themselves, enable their possessor to +attain eminence in the arts. There is very good reason to suppose +that character, particularly a certain simple type of integrity and +sincerity, is necessary to great artistic achievement, but it is +certain that such gifts are not sufficient; they must be allied with +very unusual mental qualities. In the sciences, however, we often find +work of very great importance being performed by men of quite average +intelligence, but of exceptional tenacity. A pure heart seems to be all +that is necessary. This is not true, of course, of the mathematical +sciences—mathematicians, like musicians, are “born”—but it is very +obviously true of what are called the “observational” sciences. A +history of Astronomy, in particular, is interesting from this point +of view. The fact that the whole of our knowledge of the heavens +comes through the sense of sight, and that we cannot experiment, in +the ordinary way, upon the heavenly bodies, means that the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</span> patient +observer, by merely accumulating observations, is performing an +absolutely essential function. There is no other subject which yields +such rich rewards to mere patience. There is no other subject which +has so long a record of valuable discoveries achieved by purely +average ability. It is interesting to notice how often a telescope +and a capacity for sitting still have made their owners immortal. In +the region of stellar astronomy the minuteness of the phenomena which +may be observed has narrowed possible competitors to those possessing +large instruments, and that usually means public institutions and +professional astronomers. But the history of our knowledge of the +nearer heavenly bodies, the sun, the planets and the moon, owes much to +the industrious amateur. No history of planetary and lunar discoveries +would be complete without mention of Schröter, the “Oberamtmann” +of Lilienthal, who watched the moon and planets incessantly for +thirty-four years with a patience only equalled by his enthusiasm. He +died of a “broken heart,” the result of a French atrocity, for after +firing, on the night of April 20, 1813, the Vale of Lilies and thereby +destroying, amongst other things, the whole of Schröter’s books and +writings, the French army under Vandamme broke into and pillaged his +observatory. The old man, then sixty-eight years of age, had not +the means to repair the catastrophe, and, deprived of his one great +interest, he died three years later, leaving, amongst his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span> published +works, some of the most long-winded and entertaining observations in +the history of astronomy.</p> + +<p>But although Schröter is undoubtedly the most amusing of all amateur +observers, he has had his prototypes in all countries. Francis Baily, +the “philosopher of Newbury,” is a good example of our more sober +English product. We may have doubts as to what sort of chief magistrate +old Schröter was, but we know that Baily took his profession of +stockbroking with the utmost seriousness. He did not allow astronomy +to interfere with business. Beginning in 1799, he remained on the +Stock Exchange in London for twenty-four years, devoting his leisure +largely to solar observations, particularly those connected with +eclipses. It is with two of these phenomena, the first annular, a +ring of the sun being visible round the moon, and the second total, +that Baily’s name is particularly associated, in each case for the +vivid and accurate account he gave of what he witnessed. The first +phenomenon, a ring of bright points extending round that part of the +moon’s circumference which has just entered on the solar disc, is +merely a consequence of the lunar edge being serrated with mountains. +These “Baily’s beads,” as they were called, were successful, however, +in stimulating interest in the physical aspect of eclipses, with the +result that the next total eclipse, that of 1842, was looked for with +an unprecedented degree of enthusiasm. Astronomers like Airy, Otto +Struve<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</span> and Arago travelled to Central or Southern Europe to observe +the eclipse, and the indefatigable Mr. Baily accompanied them. He +fitted up his telescope in an upper room of the University of Pavia. +The result was magnificent. At the instant of totality the sun appeared +decorated with a glorious <i>auréole</i>, the famous corona. It was +not, of course, an unknown phenomenon, but it had never before excited +so much attention. Mr. Baily, in particular, was moved to write a most +eloquent description of this flaming object. He calls it splendid and +astonishing, but continues: “Yet I must confess that there was at the +same time something in its singular and wonderful appearance that was +appalling; and I can readily imagine that uncivilised nations may +occasionally have become alarmed and terrified at such an object....” +Besides being a specialist on eclipses, Baily was an untiring editor +of star-catalogues, and he also made no fewer than 2,153 laborious +experiments, on Cavendish’s method, to determine the density of the +earth. He was indeed a zealous worker in what Sir John Herschel called +the “archæology of astronomy.” He was noted for his unvarying health, +undisturbed equanimity and methodical habits.</p> + +<p>Another testimonial to the importance of such qualities in astronomical +discovery is furnished by the career of Heinrich Schwabe, of Dessau. +In the hope of escaping his fate as an apothecary he bought a small +telescope in 1826, and began<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</span> to observe the sun, being advised to do +so by a friend. He continued to observe the sun daily (weather and +health permitting) for forty-three years. Every day he counted the +number of spots visible on the surface of the sun. It was a simple +occupation, but it led to important consequences. His immense record of +sun-spot statistics showed that the increase and decrease in the number +of sun-spots did not occur in a random manner, but fell into periods, +maxima alternating with minima, a complete period occupying about ten +years. This figure has been modified since, but the fact of sun-spot +periodicity is established and is at the present time one of the most +suggestive and probably far-reaching of solar phenomena. Schwabe +displayed no striking quality of mind or character beyond an almost +incomprehensible patience. He was buoyed up in his spot-counting, +however, by the hope of discovering a planet between Mercury and the +sun, and in order to distinguish between the tiny disc of the planet +crossing the face of the sun and a sun-spot, he found it necessary, in +virtue of his instrumental equipment, to count the spots. When he found +that, as a consequence of this pastime, he was world-famous, he likened +himself to Saul who, going forth to seek his father’s asses, discovered +a kingdom. His magnificent serenity of body and mind enabled him to +attain the age of eighty-six.</p> + +<p>Part of his mantle fell on Richard Carrington (born 1826), who built +an observatory at Redhill<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</span> with the intention of devoting himself to +a study of sun-spots throughout a complete cycle. He failed to finish +the cycle completely, as the death of his father made it necessary +for him to divert his energies to controlling a brewery. He achieved +results of great importance, however. His observations were concerned +with the positions and movements of the spots, and from a series of +5,290 such observations he was enabled, amongst other things, to clear +up the uncertainties attending the period of rotation of the sun. +Galileo, apparently not appreciating the importance of the matter, had +said that the sun rotated in “about a lunar month,” and a number of +other observers gave figures varying from 27 to 25 days. Carrington +illuminated this darkness by remarking that there is no single period +of rotation for the sun. The polar regions rotate more slowly than +those in the neighbourhood of the equator; the equator rotates in a +little less than twenty-five days, while in latitude 50° the period is +twenty-seven and a-half days. Thus the mystery was cleared up and a +fresh direction given to solar investigation.</p> + +<p>It is difficult to say whether Astronomy still offers such rewards +to industry. It is probable, however, that it still yields more to +character, as distinguished from ability, than any other science, and +incomparably more, alas! than the arts.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_AMATEUR_ASTRONOMER">THE AMATEUR ASTRONOMER</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="nind"> +The indifference of the Englishman is, considered pragmatically, +the same thing as tolerance. It bestows freedom and leaves every +man, within fairly wide limits, at ease to pursue his bent. There is +doubtless a relation between this English characteristic and the fact +that England, above any other country, is the home of the amateur. +In England, compared with the Continent, there are comparatively few +men whose dominant activity is their exclusive activity. There are +many fair specialists, but there are few specialised men. There are +countries such as France, where the <i>Gemeinplatz</i> of intelligent +men is probably larger and more richly furnished than it is in England, +but it is comparatively difficult to meet the type of man who is an +eminent lawyer, an authority on Eastern poisons, and a really good +judge of horseflesh. Such manifestations of a national quality may +sometimes appear almost grotesque, but we believe that the quality +of which they are partial manifestations is the most splendid and +individual characteristic of the English intellect. It is not a +quality<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</span> which produces many thrice-armed specialists, but it is a +quality which produces a great number of amateurs. The English amateur +in the arts belongs to a family well worth consideration, but our more +immediate concern is with the amateur in science.</p> + +<p>There was a time when the scientific amateur abounded in England. +In the time of Huxley and his contemporaries, as we see from their +letters, amateur zoologists, botanists, and, more rarely, amateur +mathematicians and physicists, were scattered all over England and +occasionally had something of interest, or even of value, to report. In +the days when R. A. Proctor edited <i>Knowledge</i> the country seemed +to be full of reverend gentlemen who owned small observatories and +home-made telescopes. This large and interesting family seems now to +be making towards extinction. The increasing complexity of the various +sciences, to say nothing of the variety and cost of modern apparatus, +has made anything but trifling discoveries difficult to the verge of +impossibility for an amateur equipment. Perhaps the amateur who has +suffered least from these changes is the amateur astronomer. There is +good reason for supposing that his numbers have increased. In this +branch of science the English amateur has always been particularly +strong, and this cannot be attributed to the official encouragement +accorded astronomy in this country. There are many more amateur +astronomers in England than in France,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</span> although astronomy counts for +more in France than in England, and although, since Newton, France has +played the leading rôle in the history of astronomy.</p> + +<p>The popularity of amateur astronomy in England certainly needs +explanation, for it is a pursuit attended by many disappointments in +so capricious a climate, and Englishmen have few opportunities of +seeing a really impressive display of stars. Perhaps the Englishman +is sufficient of a Northerner to be profoundly attracted by the +sheer vastness and the mystery of stellar phenomena. Then the actual +telescope and its accessories probably appeal to the English love of +mechanism. There are few instruments more delightful in themselves +than a properly mounted telescope of moderate aperture. Its adjustment +affords a pleasure as refined as that given by operating a small hand +printing-press, and superior to that of mending a bicycle. Every +telescope has its distinctive “performance,” and one can grow as +enthusiastically partisan about makes of telescopes as one can about +makes of motor-cars or pianos. Whether or not these be the reasons +it is certain that astronomy is the science which most attracts the +English amateur. The existence of the British Astronomical Association, +an amateur society with some hundreds of members, is sufficient proof +of this. It would perhaps be difficult to justify by the results the +amount of time and money spent in amateur stargazing, if one estimated +results from the severe<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</span> standpoint of the professional astronomer. But +if one adopts a broader outlook and estimates the results in rather +more human terms, then there is probably no pursuit which affords more +innocent pleasure and provides, in itself, a more liberal education. +It is said that the vast photographic telescopes of the present day +have rendered the small instrument valueless. Even Mr. Hinks, in his +excellent volume <i>Astronomy</i> in the Home University Library, says +that the would-be amateur would do well to hesitate before buying a +small telescope, and that a measuring machine, to measure photographs +taken by big instruments, would be a far better investment. This is the +severely professional point of view; it is to mistake the psychology +of the amateur observer. The amateur likes to think that he might some +day make a discovery, but that is only by the way. His real joy is in +doing precisely what the professional cannot do, and that is to enjoy +the <i>spectacle</i> of the heavens. The ordinary run of work in a +big observatory is not much more exciting than work in an ordinary +business office. To sit up half the night measuring photographs would +conceivably add to scientific knowledge, and there are doubtless stern +men who are willing to do it. These, like computers, are the martyrs +of science. The average amateur will continue to prefer his present +pleasant, if ineffectual, method of adding to scientific knowledge. It +is to be feared that, as one result of the war, this amiable occupation +will decline. A<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</span> little before the war the amateur could purchase a +modest but thoroughly good, instrument at a reasonable price. The same +instrument to-day would cost at least twice as much, and there would +probably be an interval of several months between the order and the +delivery. One large firm of optical instrument makers announces that it +is not now making astronomical telescopes at all. At the present time, +when astronomy is entering on perhaps the most pregnant phase in its +history, and when men are more than ever attracted by anything which +promises escape from the fret of daily life, this lessening of the +opportunities for acquaintance with the most serene of the sciences is +a minor calamity. The decline in amateur astronomy will probably have +no appreciable reaction on the progress of science, but it will lead to +a real, if small decrease in the intellectual pleasures and spiritual +wealth of the nation.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="SCIENTIFIC_CITIZENS">SCIENTIFIC CITIZENS</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="nind"> +It would be an entertaining pursuit to compile the characteristics of +the man of science—usually a Professor—as he is depicted in popular +fiction, on the stage, and in the writings of exasperated conservatives +in religious and social matters. It would be found that these +characteristics combine to give one dominant and entirely untruthful +impression: the man of science is represented as being scientific on +all occasions. We may ignore the inferior school that portrays him as +being constantly obsessed by his work—like Dickens’ learned gentleman +who mistook the nature of a dark lantern—and confine our attention +to the Professor who is represented, not as imbecile, but merely as +homogeneous. This imaginary individual is never to be diverted from his +passion for precise statement and strictly logical inference. Whether +the subject be politics or the state of the weather, he brings the same +preliminary scepticism, the same demands for verification, that he +carries into his scientific researches. As we have said, this picture +is untruthful; we think, however,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</span> that this is an unfortunate fact, +and that it is highly desirable that men of science should begin to +live up to the story-teller’s conception of them.</p> + +<p>We think that, at the present stage of man’s evolution, science is the +one activity in which he displays himself as a truly rational creature. +The reason is, of course, that success is granted on no other terms; in +everything else, philosophy, theology, politics, reason is usually the +handmaid to prejudice. The penalties that visit error in these fields +are not so swift nor so unambiguous. The ideal of truthfulness is +probably more rigorous with the scientist, <i>qua</i> scientist, than +with any other kind of man. But it would appear that this dispassionate +rationality is hardly won and precariously maintained. Outside his +laboratory the scientist may, and usually does, show himself as +simple, as kindly, as credulous, as irrational as any other man. On +Bolshevism, Disestablishment, the Morality of the Public Parks, his +opinions will be indistinguishable from those of any other comfortable +member of the lower middle class; that is to say that opinions on all +such matters are “distributed” amongst scientific men according to +the same statistical rules as they are distributed amongst ordinary +citizens. Outside their views on purely scientific matters there is +nothing <i>characteristic</i> of men of science. The Royal Society may +conceivably issue a unanimous report on some scientific matter; it +would issue a unanimous report on nothing else whatever. Now on the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</span> +assumption that men of science are truly rational beings this is a very +strange state of affairs. Dispassionate attempts to sift evidence, +to argue correctly and to base judgments solely on the outcome of +these processes could hardly result in so remarkable a multiplicity +of opinions. We must assume that, for scientific men as a body, their +“scientific” methods of thought function only within very narrow +limits. As a distinct community they are far less coherent than, for +instance, the community of artists—musicians, poets, painters. The +community of artists, with the exception of a few prosperous members, +exhibits a really remarkable homogeneity in matters outside art. +Doubtless this homogeneity is based on feeling—unless we are prepared +to admit that artists, as a whole, are more rational than are men of +science—and it is probable that the scientist’s difference from his +fellow-citizens is more an intellectual than an emotional difference. +But it is surprising that greater emotional sensitiveness should prove +so much more pervasive and dominating a peculiarity than greater +intellectual subtlety.</p> + +<p>It is time that men of science assumed a greater position in the +general community. If a scientific training has a tithe of the +<i>general</i> educational value that is claimed for it, it is time +we had some evidence of that fact. Men of science must adopt a higher +ideal of personal honour. At present the man who will conduct a +laboratory experiment<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</span> with meticulous precision and describe his +results in an agony of honesty will be content to be a prejudiced +observer and a slovenly and inaccurate thinker in all other matters. +This is the chief reason, we are convinced, why men of science count +for so little in public affairs. If the Royal Society elected its own +member of Parliament, who would bother about the political opinion so +expressed? What greater weight would it have than the political opinion +of an equal number of moderately prosperous ordinary citizens? Does not +the scientific man waggle his head just as solemnly over his morning +newspaper as does any unsophisticated voter?</p> + +<p>We plead for the development of a class consciousness on the part +of the man of science. We want scientific men to regard their ideal +of evidence, their conception of proof, their really admirable +scientific detachment, not merely as rules making for success in their +particular game, but as principles applicable to every subject that +concerns a citizen. Why should a man of science be merely a Liberal +or a Conservative in politics? The alternative belongs to the stage +of mental development that explained the material universe by saying +that its moving principle was fire, or, alternatively, water. We +expect a more sober contribution to political questions from, say, a +distinguished physicist, than the panacea “Shoot the miners.” All the +questions on which scientific men now adopt “sides” as uncritically +as any<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</span> simple dupe of the daily press are amenable to scientific +investigation. They can reach a solution only by the application of +scientific methods, and the modern world badly needs deliverance from +the method of charms and incantations by which these questions are at +present treated. How long are these vital matters to remain in the +hands of the witch-doctors? With scientific men content to sit in the +circle and help beat the tom-toms what hope is there of real advance +founded on real knowledge? The artists cannot help us; they are useful +indicators of the value of the product, as it were; they look pleased +or they look disgusted, and that is very helpful in showing us where +we are. It is the scientific man who must show us how to go somewhere +else. So we plead for the conscious formation of a community of men +of science, for scientific men who are at least as pervasively and +constantly scientific as a good Jesuit is Roman Catholic.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_SCEPTIC_AND_THE_SPIRITS">THE SCEPTIC AND THE SPIRITS</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="nind"> +It is only youth that has the energy to be bothered with everything. +There comes a time when one’s mind is “made up” on all sorts of things +that were once matters of inquiry; we have profited by experience; we +know that some things are not worth investigating. It is one of the +marvellous laws of growth that this increase in wisdom should accompany +physical decay. As our teeth and hair start to fall out our judgment +grows riper. The law of growth is not really as simple as this, for +there are many silly old men and there are one or two wise youths. The +rich, mellow, balanced period is never reached by some people: Solomon, +on the other hand, was noted for his wisdom while still a young man. +There is, it must be admitted, something mechanical about old men’s +wisdom. Truth is one, of course, so that we should expect a certain +unanimity. The answers of the old can usually be predicted. Wisdom can +be simulated; all that one lacks is the conviction, the spirit that +animates the letter.</p> + +<p>Deep conviction is a very impressive quality,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</span> especially to youth, +which secretly doubts everything. The man of strong convictions is a +cause of optimism in others, for life would appear a sad cheat if the +payment for sixty years of it did not include one certainty. Youth’s +certainties make as much noise, but everybody detects the bluff. A +fearful man shouts to hearten himself, as all the world knows. Between +the certainties of youth and age there is scepticism, a <i>fine +fleur</i> of brief life, an exquisite tempering of the soul, neither +too soft nor too hard, an infinite flexibility. It is a state of +intense activity; life lived at this pace cannot long endure; the tired +spirit relaxes and one finds rest either in credulity or in dogmatism, +accident determining which attitude affords the soundest slumber. It is +not always easy to detect the true sceptic; that honourable title has +often been wrongly bestowed—Voltaire, for instance, was a dogmatist. +Sceptics exist in all ages, but they are more clearly revealed at those +periods that see the birth of some new inquiry. It is essential to +their indubitable manifestation that the inquiry should be attended by +the passionate interest of a large number of people. At the present +day a very good test inquiry is spiritualism. It is a very much better +test than Free Trade and Tariff Reform, for, owing to its comparative +remoteness, the true sceptic of that alternative might live and die in +obscurity. But spiritualism is a subject on which no one is genuinely +indifferent and towards which hardly anyone is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</span> genuinely sceptical. +Dispassionate inquiry on this, as on all matters where human interests +are strongly engaged, is usually a pretence. We need not suppose that +the great ones of the Psychical Research Society are less credulous +than the majority of believers or less intolerant than their louder +opponents; it is merely that, their traditions being scientific, they +have better manners.</p> + +<p>Psychical literature, as a whole, is as wearisome as theological +literature, as incredible but less amusing than the lives of the +saints. We lack the quality, be it faith, hope or charity, which would +enable us to share these strange excitements. The “exposers,” on the +other hand, are too sturdy in their common sense. We hear the mallet +fall, but we are not always sure that the eggshell is broken. It is a +situation for the sceptic. In the late Lord Rayleigh’s presidential +address to the Psychical Research Society we find that the sceptic has +at last appeared. It is merely a record of his own experiences, very +plain, very simple, and, like the experiences themselves, singularly +elusive. Many years ago, in a friend’s rooms at Cambridge, he witnessed +an exhibition of the powers of Madame Card, the hypnotist. When she had +completed her passes over the closed eyes of those present she asked +them to open their eyes. “I and some others experienced no difficulty; +and naturally she discarded us and developed her powers over +those—about half the sitters—who had failed or found difficulty.”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</span> +From hypnotism he passed to spiritualism, his interest aroused by Sir +William Crookes’ experiences. He induced the medium, Mrs. Jencken, and +her husband, to visit his country house as guests. He describes the +results as disappointing:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>I do not mean that very little happened, or that what did happen was +always easy to explain. But most of the happenings were trifling, +and not such as to preclude the idea of trickery. One’s coat-tails +would be pulled, paper cutters, etc., would fly about, knocks would +shake our chairs, and so on. I do not count messages, usually of no +interest, which were spelt out alphabetically by raps that seemed to +come from the neighbourhood of the medium’s feet. Perhaps what struck +us most were lights which on one or two occasions floated about. They +were real enough, but rather difficult to locate, though I do not +think they were ever more than six or eight feet away from us.</p> +</div> + +<p>Another incident was the gradual tipping over of a rather heavy table +at which they had been sitting. “Mrs. Jencken, as well as ourselves +[i.e. Lady Rayleigh and himself. The husband was not admitted to +these séances] was apparently standing quite clear of it.” He found +it very difficult to reproduce the phenomenon himself, using both +hands. He endeavoured to “improve” the conditions for some experiments. +After being shown some writing, “supposed to be spirit writing,” he +arranged paper and pencils inside a large glass retort, which he then +hermetically sealed.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</span> Nothing then appeared on the paper at these +séances. “Possibly this was too much to expect. I may add that on +recently inspecting the retort I find that the opportunity has remained +neglected for forty-five years.”</p> + +<p>And so he has left the matter. The experiences were certainly strange, +yes, but in his judgment, not strange enough. On the other hand, +he is reluctant to believe they were due to fraud, and he is quite +convinced that he was not a victim of hallucinations. If Mrs. Jencken +were a clever fraud “her acting was as wonderful as her conjuring.” +She practically never made an intelligent remark on any occasion. +“Her interests seemed to be limited to the spirits and her baby.” In +investigating this subject he finds that the attitude of convinced +believers makes a difficulty. They “take no pains over the details +of evidence on which everything depends.” Others attribute all these +phenomena to the devil and will have nothing to do with them. “I have +sometimes pointed out that if during the long hours of séances we +could keep the devil occupied in so comparatively harmless a manner we +deserved well of our neighbours.”</p> + +<p>The general disbelief in scientific circles that meteorites really +came from outer space occurs to him. This disbelief was due, he points +out, to the impossibility of producing the phenomena at pleasure in +our laboratories. Nevertheless, the disbelief was unjustified. Spirit +manifestations<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</span> may be, he thinks, just such sporadic phenomena. The +situation is made worse by the fact that there has undoubtedly been a +great deal of fraud in connection with spiritualist phenomena. Eusapia +Palladino, for instance, undoubtedly practised deception, “but that is +not the last word.” Telepathy puzzles him. If there is such a means of +communication, why should Nature have adopted the laborious method of +building up our very complicated senses? An antelope in danger from +a lion, for instance, depends on his senses and speed. “But would it +not be simpler if he could know something telepathically of the lion’s +intention, even if it were no more than vague apprehension warning +him to be on the move?” He advises the society to continue their +investigations, and mentions that it is quality, not quantity, that +is so desirable in evidence. He concludes by saying that he fears his +attitude, or want of attitude, will be disappointing to some members of +the society. He suggests that after forty-five years of hesitation “it +may require some personal experience of a compelling kind to break the +crust.” He apologises for this. “Some of those who know me best think +that I ought to be more convinced than I am. Perhaps they are right.”</p> + +<p>There he leaves us. We do not believe more or disbelieve less, yet we +are completely satisfied. His massive sincerity, his obvious competence +and, above all, that impression of exquisite<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</span> balance, have charmed us. +So far as present evidence is concerned we feel that while he has said +nothing he has also said the last word. That is the function of the +sceptic.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_SCIENTIFIC_MIND">THE SCIENTIFIC MIND</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="nind"> +It is quite common, in reading and in conversation, to find references +to the “scientific mind,” but it is difficult to ascertain precisely +how this mental structure is supposed to differ from other sorts +of mind. The difficulty of defining an object does not, perhaps, +affect the probability of the existence of the object; although it is +difficult for some people to refrain from concluding that because a man +cannot define what he means he does not mean anything. We must suppose +that there is some particular kind of mind called the scientific mind, +in spite of the fact that the numerous references to it tell us little +about it except that it is somewhat extensively disliked. So far as can +be judged from a superficial comparison of different references, the +“scientific mind” is characterised by an inordinate appetite for facts +and an absence of generosity in drawing conclusions from facts. In +ordinary times this absence of generosity is dismissed by most people +as quibbling, while in time of war it becomes unpatriotic. During the +war every Englishman<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</span> was supposed to believe a great number of things +on very slender evidence or even on no evidence. It was considered that +a right patriotic feeling not only could, but should, supply the place +of evidence, and lead to correct conclusions. The majority of people +in every class of the community found themselves able to adopt this +method of thought without discomfort, and it became evident that the +scientific mind is as rare amongst scientific men as amongst any other +men, while those who could not give this supreme proof of patriotism +were found pretty evenly distributed amongst the different classes. As +a type of mind, therefore, it is not peculiar to scientific men nor do +they all possess it. It cannot be regarded as a distinguishing mark of +this class. But while a just, cautious temperament need not belong to +the man of science as a human being, it might be thought that, as a +mental habit, it is necessary to his work. There is much truth in this, +although it is not wholly true. Alternative explanations are not always +explored by scientists, and if, as sometimes happens, the alternative +explanations are wrong, the scientific man may have reached a correct +result although he worked in a partisan spirit.</p> + +<p>But while the characteristics of what is popularly known as the +scientific mind are not peculiar to scientific men, it is true that, +in their actual scientific work, these characteristics have a greater +survival value than they possess in almost any<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</span> other kind of work. +The extent to which mental habits may be local, confined to some only +of a man’s mental activities, has been made apparent by the war. The +majority of men’s minds are split up into water-tight compartments +in a way truly astonishing, and the various eloquent addresses on +the moral value of scientific studies now make melancholy reading. +We must assume of scientific men, as of any other class, that such +qualities of fairness and deliberation as they exhibit in their work +are imposed upon them as conditions of success, and are not, in +general, the natural manifestations of an exceptionally delicate moral +sensibility. If we adopt William James’ classification of human beings +into tender-minded and tough-minded the dividing line runs through the +scientific camp as through any other. We see this most clearly in the +case of mathematicians, for idealist or empiricist assumptions seem to +be equally reconcilable with the results. Such sciences as physics and +chemistry seem, at first glance, to be given over to the tough-minded; +the official language, as it were, is the language of the tough-minded, +but directly controversy arises on a point having philosophical +bearings we see the dichotomy establish itself.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, it remains true that while scientific men, as human +beings, are of all sorts, they do exhibit, in their own work, a degree +of mental honesty which is unusual. It is easy to see that this virtue, +at any rate, has a strictly utilitarian<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</span> basis. A scientific man +is honest because he cannot succeed on any other terms in the long +run. The experimental verification always looms ahead. He cannot, +like the mystic who maintains his opinion in face of the world, +take refuge in the deeper insight. His results are communicable and +verifiable or they are not science. Philosophies may be constructed +which no man can verify and no man can refute. Their authors may, with +complete assurance, remain satisfied of their truth and lament the +universal blindness of mankind, just as a poet may present a front of +unconquerable self-esteem to the ignorant derision of the world. But +the whole claim of science is that it is communicable and capable of +verification. It is found, as a matter of experience, that results of +this kind are not usually obtained unless a certain mental habit is +first acquired. It is this mental habit which is usually called the +scientific mind. Where it is the outcome of a natural predisposition it +may be classed as a moral quality, and, as such, is not peculiar to, or +widely distributed amongst, scientific men. But as a tool, as a kind of +technique, it is of more obvious value and is more extensively employed +in the sciences than in any other human activities.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_SCIENTIFIC_CONTRIBUTION">THE SCIENTIFIC CONTRIBUTION</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="nind"> +For something like seventy years science has been the dominant +intellectual activity of the Western world. During that period the +range of its material has greatly increased until now the scientific +method is regarded as the method proper to almost any investigation. +Philosophy is still a partial exception, but there is a strong tendency +to regard such philosophic problems as are not susceptible to the +application of the scientific method as being essentially incapable +of solution, or else as incorrectly stated. But although the prestige +of science is so great, and the general attitude towards it so +reverential, there is still much confusion respecting its function and +achievement. Its relations to other human interests and activities are +not yet clearly defined. The attempts to define them by allotting to +science its “sphere” have proved, in the result, to be so ill-judged +that it is now considered safer to waive the question of limitations +altogether. The question is not settled. Everything is left open, but +it is not therefore assumed that science contains or will contain all<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</span> +we know or all we need to know. Science is not yet the one object of +our contemplation: we have a number of interests which still lead +separate lives. The separation is not complete. Science, if not openly, +then indirectly, has invaded every province of the mind, and even a +modern musical composition counts Copernicus as well as Beethoven +amongst its ancestors. But it is admitted, of course, that we are +not usually reminded of astronomy in listening to music; there is a +sense in which music, and many other things, are autonomous. But it +is interesting to notice that science, to a greater extent than any +other pursuit, can be isolated, although its historical direction has +been influenced, of course, by social and political accidents. Science +has given generously, but has taken comparatively little, and its few +borrowings are in process of being handed back with regret as being, +after all, unsuitable.</p> + +<p>What, then, is the precise nature and extent of the contribution of +science to our total stock? Although we do not intend its practical +applications by this question, we cannot wholly ignore them. It is +impossible completely to separate the “material” and “spiritual” +aspects of life, and the sum of the practical applications of science +has even profoundly affected much of our abstract thinking. Where it +has not originated questions it has at least made them acute, if by no +other process than by creating or transforming social conditions. It is +easy to trace the ancestry of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</span> whole schools of social philosophy to +the steam engine and the dynamo, and it is probable that the influence +of future applications will be even more extensive. The morality, +art and philosophy of, for example, a disease-less world, where the +average span of human life was two or three times its present value, +would certainly differ greatly from our own. We cannot, then, ignore +the practical applications of science, although they are not, in +themselves, pertinent to our question. But when we turn to consider the +direct spiritual value of science we are conscious, at the outset, of +some hesitation.</p> + +<p>It was a common article of the Victorian scientist’s creed that +scientific study was, in itself, an “ennobling” and purifying +influence. He stressed the complete detachment required, in scientific +research, from all prepossessions; the man of science was completely +candid, completely docile in face of the facts. Until one became as +a little child it was no use entering a laboratory. We have realised +since then that scientific men are human, and have their full share of +the unfortunate characteristics proper to that state. But it remains +true that the scientific ideal of detachment and the scientific ideal +of evidence are higher than the corresponding ideals elsewhere. In +spite of the evidence furnished by our newspapers we may, if we are +optimists, believe that science is gradually infecting the whole +community with its conception of these ideals. If this is indeed the +case it must<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</span> be counted a direct and very important moral gain, as an +indisputably valuable contribution which may be set over against those +somewhat ambiguous practical applications.</p> + +<p>A third contribution is to be found in the large store of æsthetic +objects provided by science. Many of its theories are objects of +surpassing beauty. This is particularly true of the mathematical +sciences—indeed, there are a number of mathematicians who have felt +impelled to write of their science in a kind of prose-poetry—but it is +almost equally true of such a science as Geology. We can contemplate +schemes which, in their own way, are as all-embracing as that of the +<i>Divina Commedia</i>, and it does not detract from their æsthetic +charm to know that they are also true. The processes by which the +theories are obtained are often as æsthetically important as the +theories themselves. A subtle, elaborate and economical piece of +reasoning often affords great æsthetic pleasure, none the less real +because comparatively few people enjoy it. The fact that the history of +a big scientific investigation, such as the Electromagnetic Theory or +Einstein’s Theory of Relativity, is not generally regarded as a poem +is due merely to an accident of language and education. But we have to +admit that most people are affected by these accidents, and that the +æsthetic objects provided by science count almost as few admirers as +do the “beauties” of chess. If we may judge from the number of popular +books and articles dealing with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</span> science, there is some hope, however, +that this particular contribution is receiving more attention. The +results of such increased attention will not be simple, but if it did +no more than add fresh æsthetic objects, the contribution would be +important.</p> + +<p>The fourth contribution of science, both in itself and for its reaction +on other interests, is perhaps the most important of all. This +contribution is, put briefly, the light thrown by science on man’s +place in the universe. Every branch of science conspires directly to +this end. With some the emphasis is on the universe as distinct from +man; others are concerned chiefly with man himself. To the general +mind the result has been to make the universe bigger and man smaller, +and this is, perhaps, no unfair summary. It is probably difficult, +after hearing a duet sung by an astronomer and a psycho-analyst, not +to feel depressed. But, such as it is, there can be no doubt that any +conception of man’s destiny that is to command attention must conceive +that destiny as played against the background of the scientific cosmos. +Whether the vision be that of a prophet, philosopher or poet, it must +accept those postulates. The cosmos revealed by science, both in +its direct influence upon the mind and in its almost equally direct +influence upon religion, philosophy and the arts, is the most important +part of the scientific contribution to our spiritual life. So far as +philosophers and artists are concerned, this influence is recognised. +It is probably desirable<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</span> that the influence upon philosophy should +increase, but in the case of the artist we are faced with a special +problem. Its discussion would be interesting, the more so in view of +the fact that artists themselves have contributed very little that is +helpful to its elucidation. We think it essential to its solution to +remember that the artist, like the scientist, starts with facts. But +the system within which the facts are related is entirely different +in the two cases. The scientific scheme must, of course, be accepted +by the artist <i>en bloc</i> if his work is to be more than a pure +fantasy. But this is very different from identifying his own scheme +with the scientific scheme. That is to fail signally to perceive +the limitations of the scientific contribution. An interesting +particular case of this problem is to be found in the question of +the right relations of the psychological novelist to the science of +psycho-analysis. A scientific investigation is often, as we have +said, a work of art, but not necessarily a work of literary art. The +scientific contribution is very considerable, but offerings from the +older benefactors are still gratefully received.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THEORIES_AND_PERSONALITIES">THEORIES AND PERSONALITIES</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="nind"> +That a scientific theory is, in some sense, a personal achievement, +becomes evident when we study a number of theories lying within the +same branch of science. The ordinary belief that science is completely +impersonal is certainly not true. And yet it is not easy to see how +a scientific theory can express the personality of its author; it is +difficult, that is to say, to understand in what way a scientific +theory can resemble a work of art. It seems that the fact that a +scientific theory must have “objective truth” renders it an altogether +different thing from a work of art. It would be more just to say that +the element of objective truth radically differentiates a scientific +theory from those works of art which are independent of all experience +of life—as certain musical compositions may be, for instance. But +it is not clear that, in general, works of art are independent of +objective truth; all those works of art which assume experience claim +assent—they do, in their intention, claim universal assent—to the +truth of their assumptions. The serious artist believes his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</span> personal +vision to be true; he will not, probably, claim “absolute” truth for +it, but neither does a scientific theory profess to be absolutely true. +And, further, works of art and scientific theories exist to serve the +same purpose—to aid <i>comprehension</i>. An artist’s chief title to +consideration is to be found in the depth and extent of his vision, +in the profundity and range, that is to say, of the comprehension he +makes possible. The value of a scientific theory is judged by the same +criteria. So far, therefore, it would appear that the chief difference +between a work of art and a scientific theory is to be found in their +subject-matter. It cannot even be said that the subject-matter is +arranged to serve different ends in the two cases, for in each case the +end which is aimed at is æsthetic satisfaction. Comprehension is one of +the elements of what is loosely termed the æsthetic emotion, and it is +the most important element. Even when we descend to particulars, and +study the quality of similes in poetry, and, indeed, “ornamentation” +generally, we shall find the criterion we employ is still the degree +of comprehension afforded by the device. But we cannot here work out +the analogy in detail. It is sufficient to show that works of art that +have a reference to experience, to an external world, in short, are, in +important respects, similar to scientific theories.</p> + +<p>Since, then, a work of art, although conditioned by experience, +may nevertheless be a personal<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</span> achievement, we need have no <i>a +priori</i> objection to conceding personality to a scientific theory. +In each case it is the method of transformation from what we may +call the raw material to the finished product which is the personal +thing. The artist’s raw material, whether it be the Thames in a fog, +a number of incidents from Holinshed, or the lives of the inhabitants +of a Russian village, is no more and no less common property than are +the <i>données</i> from which a scientific man constructs a theory; +the end product, also, in each case, claims universal assent and +bestows comprehension. What is personal is the law of transformation +by which the one objective thing is changed into the other objective +thing. The law of transformation is different for each individual +mind, and this is as true of scientific men as of any other sort of +men. In this sense, then, both works of art and scientific theories +are personal achievements. A history of science written from this +point of view would be instructive. It would be interesting to trace +the personal element in each great scientific achievement, to show +what kinds of personalities have dominated us, to see what meaning +<i>eccentricity</i> can have as applied to the thought of a scientific +man. But although a detailed history of this kind has not yet been +written, certain <i>national</i> differences have long been recognised.</p> + +<p>There is almost as marked a difference between English and French +science as between English<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</span> and French literature. The English +scientific mind is, on the whole, intuitive, mobile, illogical, and +very prone to imagery of a curiously practical kind. The French +scientific mind, on the other hand, likes to simplify the complicated +reality to as few terms as possible, and then to build up an impeccable +logical edifice. Maxwell was a very fine type of the great English +man of science, but we have Poincaré’s authority for saying that the +great <i>Treatise on Electricity and Magnetism</i> awakens in the +French reader feelings of distrust. So far from finding an impeccable +logical structure, he finds that different parts of the book are +written from different points of view, and that these points of +view are even irreconcilable with one another. Maxwell’s liking for +immensely complicated mechanical models, designed to illustrate some +abstruse equation, is also a stumbling-block to the French reader. +What are such models supposed to prove? Surely Maxwell did not suppose +that the æther contained trains of geared wheels with “idle wheels” +in between? What mysterious satisfaction did he derive from such +unnecessary and irrelevant pictures? But this curious liking for models +is characteristic of the English school, and it is a characteristic +that Continental physicists have never been able to understand. It is +doubtless a manifestation of the English reluctance to get out of touch +with experience. The English man of science trusts logic much less +than he trusts experience. The Frenchman has much less respect<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</span> for +experience. He is willing to simplify in a way which, to the English +mind, is almost outrageous—to see the Universe as a collection of +little billiard balls with forces varying inversely as the square of +the distance. And on such assumptions he is willing to proceed as far +as logic can take him. There is, indeed, a school in France which +asserts that all we can ever know of the Universe is its equations; +we can never know what they “mean” in the English sense. From the +æsthetic point of view there is no doubt that the French method is to +be preferred. We can all share Lagrange’s satisfaction when he says, +in the Avertissement to his <i>Mécanique Analytique</i>: “Je me suis +proposé de réduire la théorie de cette Science, et l’art de résoudre +les problèmes qui s’y rapportent, à des formules générales, dont le +simple développement donne toutes les équations nécessaires pour la +solution de chaque problème.” But we must remember that when the +interest is chiefly in the “développement” the assumptions may remain +uncriticised. The English way is to hold the assumptions tentatively, +and to be always open to the suggestions of experience. The German way, +which, if we are to judge by the work of Riemann and Einstein, seems +to be to concentrate an immense critical apparatus on the assumptions, +is equally interesting. The “philosophic” tendency which is supposed +to characterise German thought in other departments, is certainly +apparent in its science. The three tendencies are sufficiently<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</span> marked +to constitute national differences and suggest that a detailed analysis +of individual achievements would yield equally interesting results.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_IDEAL_SCIENTIFIC_MAN">THE IDEAL SCIENTIFIC MAN</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="nind"> +Is the scientific man really a distinct kind of man, or is it merely +that science is a distinct occupation? To answer the question we +must make the elementary distinction between the scientific man and +the man who practises science, and when we do that the answer is +obvious. There is as certainly the “born” scientific man as there +is the born artist. But in saying this we are referring to ideals. +Perhaps there has never been a perfect man of science, and perhaps +there has never been a perfect artist. But in order to understand +the distinction between one kind of man and another it is helpful to +construct ideals—extreme cases which may be used as measuring rods. +What, then, are the characteristics of the ideal man of science? We may +approach the solution by trying to make precise the characteristics +which have led us, vaguely, to construct the hierarchy we already +possess. We <i>feel</i>, for instance, that Henry Cavendish, that +passionless recluse, was a much more “purely scientific” man than, +say, Thomas Henry Huxley. If we examine this conviction of ours we +make the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</span> interesting discovery that it is chiefly for his negative +characteristics that we assign this greater purity to Cavendish. Huxley +was passionately interested in the questions which concern every good +citizen, in politics, in social reform, in religion; he took sides +on these questions and fought for his side. Of Cavendish we can only +say that it is inconceivable that he would have taken sides on these +questions, and very difficult to believe that he was even remotely +interested in them. Take another point. Huxley abounded in ordinary +human affections. He was a devoted husband, a good father, a faithful +friend, a resolute opponent. Cavendish never manifested a vestige of +any of these qualities. He had no wife, no children, no friends, and +never showed the faintest dislike of anybody. Huxley was a champion of +what he thought the truth, and strained every nerve to enable it to +prevail. Cavendish, who was one of the greatest investigators, one of +the clearest and most subtle minds, in the history of science, kept +his discoveries to himself. For years Huxley bore the brunt of the +attacks on Darwin’s theory. Cavendish blandly watched the growth in +popularity of theories he had privately demonstrated to be wrong, and +never stirred a finger to rebut them. And finally, Huxley was a man who +suffered his alternations of high spirits and despondency, hope and +despair, while Cavendish, from the evidence we have, was imperturbably +serene.</p> + +<p>Now, the interesting point that emerges from this<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</span> comparison is that +Cavendish, in virtue of his scientific purity, <i>could not</i> have +exhibited those qualities which allied Huxley to the ordinary run of +men. A man’s characteristics are not disconnected. Cavendish’s cold +passion for knowledge required for its gratification qualities of the +spirit as well as of the mind. No man was ever more single in his +desire to <i>know</i>; no man ever was so little hindered by having +other interests to serve; no man, therefore, had a greater measure +of the purely scientific spirit. This is the important point for our +question; it is comparatively irrelevant that very few men have ever +had so great a mind to place at the service of their passion. That his +actual scientific standing should be so much greater than Huxley’s +is an accident; he would still have been more purely scientific than +Huxley had his ability been less than Huxley’s. Cavendish is all of +a piece. His very perfection as a recording and measuring instrument +tended to deprive him of “personality.” The less personal he was, +in fact, the more dispassionately open he could be. Other passions +were incompatible with his perfection; they would derange this +exquisite instrument. Judgments of good and evil would not have been +natural to him. His reaction to anything was exhausted in the act of +<i>understanding</i> that thing.</p> + +<p>So far as we have gone, it would seem that Nietzsche’s description of +what he calls the “objective man” is exactly what we mean by the ideal<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</span> +man of science. “The objective man is in truth a mirror: accustomed +to prostration before everything that wants to be known, with such +desires only as knowing or ‘reflecting’ implies ...” he will regard +such personality as he has, Nietzsche goes on to say, as accidental and +arbitrary. He cannot take himself seriously and devote time to himself. +His love is constrained, his hate artificial. He is only genuine so far +as he can be objective; he is unable to say either “Yea” or “Nay” to +life; he is concerned solely to understand, to “reflect.” He says, with +Leibniz: “Je ne méprise presque rien.” This description is undoubtedly +the result of genuine psychological insight. When we try to disentangle +the purely scientific element in a man of science we find that, so far +as he is scientific, he approximates to Nietzsche’s objective man. If +this, then, is the ideal scientific man, what place does he occupy? +Where does he stand in relation to the rest of mankind? According to +Nietzsche he is merely an instrument; “he is an instrument, something +of a slave, though certainly the sublimest sort of slave, but nothing +in himself.” He is no goal, no termination, no complementary man in +whom the rest of creation justifies itself. As compared with the +<i>true</i> philosopher, the philosopher in Nietzsche’s sense, the man +who gives a new direction to life, the ideal man of science is merely +the most costly, the most easily tarnished, the most exquisite of +instruments.</p> + +<p>We need not quarrel with this valuation, but we<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</span> would point out that +there is an omission in it. The scientific man is an instrument, but +he is an indispensable instrument. The human race has endured all the +different “new directions” given to it by the “true” philosophers of +the past without any marked increase in its spiritual stature. The +philosopher, however commanding, who would really lead us in any but a +circular direction must have <i>knowledge</i>. This knowledge, to be +valuable, must be clear and trustworthy; it must be scientific. And +if the inspirations and impulses of our leaders should prove to be +incompatible with deductions from scientific knowledge, then we may +be sure that the Promised Land does not lie their way. The scientific +man is merely an instrument. But it is this instrument alone that can +show to mankind which, of all the goals it desires, are possible goals, +and which, of all the leaders it trusts, are trustworthy leaders. The +scientific man is an instrument, but it is by this instrument that +those who would use it are first tested. Scientific knowledge is, if +you like, as dispassionate and inhuman as is the universe with which it +concerns itself—and it can as little be ignored.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="PARALLEL_STRAIGHT_LINES">PARALLEL STRAIGHT LINES</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="nind"> +Geometry, it has been satisfactorily shown, had a purely empirical +origin. It appears that the earliest geometrical formulæ which have +been discovered belong to ancient Egypt, and that all these formulæ +served a useful purpose. The oldest of them are concerned with the +measurements of areas, a class of problem which the yearly sinking +of the Nile rendered of great importance. The formulæ obtained +by the ancient Egyptians were usually wrong, although they were +approximately correct; they evidently rested on no theoretical basis, +but were compendious statements of the results of somewhat rough +measurements, a point of view which is borne out by the fact that no +proof, nor even an attempt at a proof, is anywhere hinted at. So far +as the evidence goes, it seems to be established that geometry, as +consisting of logical deductions from stated premises, began with the +Greeks. A number of theorems of a fair degree of complexity had been +developed before they were reduced to a system; before, that is, the +assumptions on which they were based were made explicit.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</span> The task of +discovering the necessary and sufficient assumptions on which a system +of geometry rests is one of the greatest difficulty; the necessary +combination of subtlety and rigour is rare. The great systematisation +of Greek geometry was effected, of course, by Euclid, and although +his reduction of the system to its essential assumptions was not +final, his performance was such as to awaken the admiration of great +mathematicians in every succeeding century. But there is one point in +which this great reduction is notably imperfect—the so-called parallel +axiom. It says, essentially, that through a given point only one line +can be drawn parallel to a given straight line. It was felt, even +by the earliest commentators on Euclid, that this postulate did not +possess quite the same degree of self-evidence as was manifested by the +others. It was necessary, they felt, to give a proof of this postulate; +they attempted to improve on Euclid’s work in a number of minor ways, +but it was the parallel axiom which they were most concerned to revise; +the proof of this postulate should be contained, they thought, in the +other postulates. The attempts to supply this proof were all fruitless, +and the sixth century was reached with this nine-hundred-years-old +disfigurement still persisting. For some time after the sixth century +the world rested from Euclid’s parallel axiom; indeed, it rested from +geometry altogether, and the old empirical outlook of the Egyptians, +and even their formulæ, again became current. But the Greek<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</span> culture +penetrated to the Arabs, and with the Greek culture came the riddle of +Euclid’s axiom. Again proofs were attempted; a famous attempt is that +of Nasir Eddin, who flourished in the thirteenth century. In 1663 John +Wallis made the important discovery that unless the parallel axiom be +assumed, similar figures of different sizes are not possible, that +is to say, that if we are to assume that <i>shape</i> is independent +of <i>size</i>, then we must assume Euclid’s parallel axiom. Many of +these attempts brought out points of interest, but none of them were +successful. In the year 1733, however, the whole research took on a new +complexion with the publication of Girolamo Saccheri’s <i>Euclides ab +omni naevo vindicatus</i>. The importance of this work consists in the +fact that, although it was written to vindicate Euclid’s parallel axiom +once for all, it contains the first real outline of a non-Euclidean +geometry.</p> + +<p>Saccheri was a Jesuit, and it was in 1690, while he was teaching +grammar in Milan, that he first studied the <i>Elements</i> of Euclid. +He was a man of very great acumen, and when he, in turn, succumbed to +the spell of the parallel postulate, he brought to bear on it a more +subtle and rigorous logic than had yet been applied to it. Thirty-six +years before he published his treatise on Euclid he had published a +book on logic which gives him a high place as a logician. In it he +is particularly concerned with investigating the compatibility of +different assumptions or postulates. His method<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</span> was to determine +whether a member of a group of postulates is independent of the others +by finding a particular case in which the postulate in question is not +true while all the others remain true. If such a case can be found, it +is obvious that the postulate in question cannot be deduced from the +others, else it would be true whenever they were true. This was the +method he applied to the parallel postulate of Euclid. He showed that +the parallel postulate is equivalent to saying that the three interior +angles of a triangle are equal to two right angles. He proceeds, +therefore, in accordance with his method, to develop the consequences +of supposing them less than, or greater than, two right angles. In +the latter case he succeeds in showing that we are led to impossible +conclusions, since he assumed, as everybody assumed for more than a +century after, that the straight line is of infinite length. But in the +former case, the hypothesis that the interior angles of a triangle are +together less than two right angles, Saccheri, although he struggled +very hard, did not succeed in falling into contradictions. He does not +seem to have had the boldness necessary completely to trust his own +logic, but the fact remains that, accepting the rest of Euclid’s axioms +and denying the parallel axiom, he developed a logically consistent +geometry.</p> + +<p>There is reason to suppose that Saccheri’s work had some influence on +subsequent thought, although its full significance was certainly not +perceived.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</span> The parallel axiom continued to be investigated, and the +total effect of all these efforts was to induce a doubt concerning +the absolute <i>necessity</i> of the Euclidean geometry. Such a doubt +was very daring; for two thousand years the postulates of Euclid had +been accepted as absolutely true; the fact of their existence had +profoundly influenced philosophy, and, indeed, theology. But the +doubt persisted and grew, until finally, early in the nineteenth +century, a perfectly logical and consistent non-Euclidean geometry, +one explicitly denying the parallel postulate, was published to the +world. As so often happens, the great step was taken by two men +independently of one another, Lobatschewski, a Russian, and Bolyai, a +Hungarian. It appeared, however, that both had been preceded by that +great mathematical genius, Gauss, although he had been too timid to +publish his conclusions. The new geometry developed the consequences of +that one of Saccheri’s alternatives which supposed the interior angles +of a triangle to be less than two right angles. The whole outlook on +geometry now assumed a new complexion. Riemann tried the effect of +denying the infinity of the straight line and of developing Saccheri’s +other alternative. He found he was led to no contradictions. But with +Riemann’s work we come to a yet further extension of geometry—the +extension to space of four, five, or any number of dimensions. And +these investigations, which seemed for some time to constitute the most +gratuitous, although<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</span> the most profound and subtle, exercises of the +mind, have now received their complete justification by flowering into +the Generalised Principle of Relativity.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_NEW_SCIENTIFIC_HORIZON">THE NEW SCIENTIFIC HORIZON</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="nind"> +About current scientific speculations there is one characteristic, +subtle, perhaps, but profound and far-reaching, which distinguishes +them from the scientific speculations of the Victorian age. We can +best isolate this characteristic by considering it as a particular +manifestation of something which is met with in nearly every +phase of contemporary life—something which may fairly be called +the <i>Zeitgeist</i> of our time. This spirit is chiefly a sense +of unlimited possibilities, a sense that the radically new and +unprecedented may be upon us; with this feeling comes a recrudescence +of the spirit of adventure; there are unknown paths leading to vague +but—probably—splendid goals. In the Victorian age the main lines of +everything were settled; the chief features of the universe were known. +There were matter and energy, and there was, of course, the æther. +The astronomical and geological scales were known in broad outline, +and a first survey of the march from amœba to man had been taken. The +work of future ages was to fill in the details. The universe of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</span> +Victorians was a large and rather grand affair, but it was sombre. +Those emotional barometers, the poets, in so far as they were aware +of the scientific outlook, either “transcended” it or were crushed by +it. Jules Laforge furnishes an excellent example of the effect of the +Victorian scientific outlook on an intelligent and sensitive mind. +His reaction was to compose funereal dirges on the death of the earth +and the extinction of mankind. The universe of the Victorians was +objective, indifferent, tracing a purposeless pattern in obedience to +“iron” laws. It was a universe which held no great surprises.</p> + +<p>It is obvious that a very different spirit is abroad to-day. At the +present time the general consciousness seems to hold that almost +anything is possible. In part this may be accounted for, as in other +ages, by credulity based on ignorance, but there is also a credulity +based on knowledge, and it is this aspect of the general attitude which +deserves attention. The two kinds of credulity may be observed in +different believers of the same statements. Spiritualism, for instance, +has its followers amongst those who are unfamiliar with investigations +in the subject and amongst those whose belief has been compelled by +their very knowledge of the investigations. And disbelievers form +two exactly similar classes. There is also a credulity—the most +common kind—based on neither ignorance nor knowledge, but on partial +knowledge. Thus knowledge, but incomplete knowledge, of such phenomena<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</span> +as wireless telegraphy or telephony, seems to predispose many people +to believe “wonders” which have no real connection with those +phenomena, but which are merely as inexplicable by partial knowledge. +Undoubtedly the recent developments in science are responsible for much +of this kind of credulity. But the new indulgence of possibilities, +as exhibited by the man of science, is dependent on quite different +considerations. To the student of physics, at any rate, the work of +the last two or three decades has been peculiarly disturbing. He has +been called upon, not merely to revise and extend his knowledge, but to +alter his assumptions. It is in this respect that the physics of our +own day chiefly differs from Victorian physics.</p> + +<p>The distinctively modern epoch began with the promulgation of the +Electron Theory. That “matter” could be “electrified” was easily +granted. The fact that the famous question, What is electricity? could +not be answered was no difficulty in admitting the fact that, as a +result of certain processes, matter could be made to exhibit certain +phenomena which could conveniently be referred to the fact that it +possessed an “electric charge.” And the discovery of particles very +much smaller than a hydrogen atom presented no conceptual difficulties. +The fact that the ultimate particles of matter were smaller than had +been supposed could easily be granted; the new assumption was of the +same kind as the old one. And,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</span> further, to admit that each of these +particles possessed an electric charge made no unfamiliar demands on +the imagination. But the next step, that these particles consisted +of nothing but an electric charge—that was a very different thing. +The early popularisations of the idea show something of the mental +confusion it caused. “Disembodied charges of electricity” was a +favourite descriptive phrase; many physicists fought hard to retain +even a nucleus of “ordinary matter” on which this charge could be +supposed to be lodged. That an electric charge could exist apart from +matter seemed to many people as difficult to conceive as motion without +anything which moved. But the conception speedily became familiar; that +useful entity, the æther, soon made things easier. For the disembodied +charge, the electron, could be conceived as a local distortion of +some kind in the æther, and, by endowing the æther with some sort of +substantiality, the hypothesis that matter was in some way built up +out of this primitive substance could be tolerated. But the general +effect of the theory was to give a more philosophical tinge to science. +The gross, easy assumptions of everyday thinking about “matter” had +to be revised; articles were written showing that matter was really +immaterial, and materialism was conjectured to have received a severe +set-back.</p> + +<p>The mind had barely become accustomed to the new assumptions before it +was again profoundly disturbed by the publication of Planck’s Quantum<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</span> +Theory. The theory, which was invented to explain certain radiation +phenomena, asserted, briefly, that energy was atomic. One’s most +intimate assumptions were disturbed. Men of science are not usually +accustomed to philosophic exercises, and the idea that energy, which +they regarded as necessarily continuous, had an atomic structure seemed +at first almost meaningless. If we consider, for instance, the energy +possessed by a moving body, it seems natural to suppose that this +energy can be increased or diminished in a continuous manner; the idea +that its energy can only increase or decrease by finite jumps was a +very strange idea, and led again to a scrutiny of assumptions which +had appeared fundamental in science. Here, again, objections to the +new theory were sometimes the outcome purely of mental inertia, of an +inability to examine and discard a way of thinking which seemed almost +a necessary consequence of the structure of the mind. The last great +<i>bouleversement</i> of one’s fundamental assumptions has been, of +course, Einstein’s generalised theory of relativity. Here we are asked +to revise our most deep-rooted assumptions—so deep-rooted that we are, +for the most part, unconscious of them—our assumptions regarding space +and time.</p> + +<p>It is this thorough overhauling of primary assumptions which +distinguishes the modern progress in physics from all the progress of +the Victorian age. Physics has not merely been extended, it has become +a radically new thing,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</span> and there are very good reasons for supposing +that it is going to change still more. A certain sense of unknown +possibilities is therefore natural, even if it be the product merely of +bewilderment. The total effect of the new ideas is to make the universe +of physics less objective; to an unsuspected extent this indifferent +universe, with its iron laws, is a product of our own minds. To some +extent this fact was always recognised, particularly by the Continental +physicists, but as a general persuasion it is comparatively recent. +We cannot escape the structure of our own minds, it is true, but we +do not yet know what that structure is; we do not know what barriers +are breakable; we do not know what thoughts are thinkable by man. A +universe in whose construction so plastic and mysterious an entity as +the mind of man collaborates, may very well hold great surprises.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_HOPE_OF_SCIENCE">THE HOPE OF SCIENCE</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="nind"> +It is not an unfair judgment, we think, that decides, on a survey +of contemporary intellectual activities, to grant science the first +place. Whether we consider the quality of the work which is being +done, its importance to mankind, or the spirit in which the work is +done, we think science earns that place. Our age is a scientific age +to an extent which is certainly not generally realised. Contemporary +scientific work is of a quality fully comparable with that of the +greatest periods of its history; it is inevitable that our age should +emerge, in the history of the future, as an age of science. It has, +indeed, already established a perspective which leads to a revaluation +of the Victorian age. There have already been many writers who have +thought that age more memorable for its science than for its other +achievements, that its significance to humanity lay more in the work +of Darwin, Faraday, and Maxwell than in that of Tennyson and Matthew +Arnold, or even in that of Mr. Gladstone, but the perspective we have +now obtained puts the matter almost beyond doubt. With most of us our +outlook<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</span> is the result of a decrepit tradition. Our orientation towards +life, so far as we are conscious of having one, is based upon the +values we attribute to the various objects of our thoughts, and these +values are determined partly by our instinctive desires and partly by +the suggestions of our education—using the term “education” to include +all converse with the minds of our fellows. Education, so defined, is +the result very largely of a long and widespread tradition, a general +tradition of European culture. It is a curious fact that, although +the history of science goes as far back as the history of the arts, +science is not an integral part of this, nevertheless, very catholic +culture. There are periods, it is true, when some scientific theory +is sufficiently dramatic, or appears sufficiently pertinent to man’s +destiny, to secure general attention; Newton’s theory of gravitation, +Darwin’s theory of evolution, and Einstein’s theory of relativity have +each given rise to such a period. Einstein’s theory, we are informed, +is now the favourite topic of enlightened conversation in Parisian +salons, as Newton’s theory once was. Some of this interest, no doubt, +is the product of disinterested curiosity, and in that respect is +vastly different from the once general interest in Darwin’s theory. +But we fear that many of those who are curious about Einstein’s theory +would, if they understood it, find it uninteresting. We dare not +interpret this curiosity as a sign that people are beginning to be +as naturally interested<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</span> in science as they are in literature, for +instance.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, we believe that the old culture is moribund in the sense +that its particular scale of values is undergoing revision. Science +is becoming less an affair for specialists; it is acquiring a “human” +value. An increasing number of people are beginning to realise that a +great science, such as Physics, may offer objects for contemplation +which are as delicate, as subtle, as exquisitely harmonious as the +dreams of Plato—and much better founded. And in relation to man, his +present state and possible future, science alone, to those who are not +satisfied with less than verifiable knowledge, speaks with the accent +of authority. The great constructions of science are grandiose without +being chimerical; they are beautiful but not deceiving. Indeed, one +sometimes has the feeling that it is only in science, nowadays, that +one still meets with the spirit of adventure, the sense of boundless +and glorious possibilities, with an exultant hope. Our poets and +men of letters generally are extraordinarily tame and disillusioned +creatures compared with our romantic and daring men of science. It is +refreshing to turn from the lamentations of our literary men to such +a book as the <i>Space, Time, Matter</i> of Hermann Weyl, if only for +the fervour, the immense enthusiasm with which that highly accomplished +mathematician writes. Einstein is his Columbus, with the difference +that his America has indicated the existence of yet vaster<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</span> continents. +And this enthusiasm is justified by its fruits; it has inspired Herr +Weyl to make what is unquestionably the greatest advance on Einstein’s +own work which has yet been made. It is not in Physics alone that we +find this note. To the biologists, also, the world has become young +again. Should our ignorant and unimaginative politicians, and our +still more ignorant and unimaginative business men, succeed in turning +the whole heroic effort and age-long struggle which has produced our +present culture to a mockery, they will put an end to a curiously +interesting and promising transition age, to an age which is at once +<i>fin de siècle</i> and at the morning of a glorious renaissance. +But if they do not succeed, if the ordinary man shows himself even a +little worthy of the immense travail of his species, then we prophesy +that science will become an integral part of the culture of the future. +The new physics, the new biology, the new psychology, will be too +obviously pertinent to all man’s chief preoccupations for us to be +able to pretend that the present narrowly conceived <i>humaniora</i> +furnish a liberal education. We even believe that if the old arts are +to become youthful again, it must be by a transfusion of blood. It will +not be sufficient that the philosophy and literature of the future +should “accommodate” themselves to the scientific outlook; they must be +inspired by it.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, scientific men must be charitable; they must believe the +best. If science is to become<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</span> an integral part of culture, scientific +men must help to make this possible. We believe that much of the +present interest in science is genuine; that it springs from a serious +attempt on the part of many people to find out what science can tell +them about themselves and the Universe they live in. Science is not +hunted purely for its dividend-earning capacities or for its power of +providing new thrills. Einstein, we understand, is suspicious of the +popular interest his theory has evoked; “a mere fashion,” he says. And +doubtless his suspicion is largely justified. But we believe there is +more in it than that—that there are many who, besides valuing the +delightful dreams of the poets and philosophers, have an affection for +<i>knowledge</i>. And when they find that the constructions of science +are not one whit less delightful than the dreams of the poets, this +affection may give rise to a permanent attachment. And with these new +objects of interest will come a change in values. Men will learn to +differentiate in their beliefs between those which are mere indulgences +of emotion and those which correspond to objective truth. This is the +path by which the mind becomes mature. It may not be, in all stages, +a pleasant process, but it leads to increased freedom and increased +power. The impossible will no longer be attempted, but the region of +the possible will be seen to be vastly greater. Man will see in what +directions he can shape his destiny, and he will be able to enter on +the task with a rational hope. All his courage and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</span> endurance will have +a chance of victorious achievement; he will know that he is not engaged +in a forlorn hope; the world will become young again.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_RETURN_OF_MYSTERY">THE RETURN OF MYSTERY</h2> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“It is a universal condition of the enjoyable that the mind must +believe in the existence of a law and yet have a mystery to move about +in.”—<span class="allsmcap">JAMES CLERK MAXWELL.</span></p> +</div> + + +<p class="nind"> +That our thinking, and with it our feeling, is largely conditioned +by assumptions which have no logical necessity, is a commonplace of +philosophy, and is indeed apparent to the slightest introspection. +Characteristic of any age is a body of beliefs, resting on more or less +good evidence, and a group of feelings associated with those beliefs. +The German language, so rich in indefinite but valuable general terms, +afforded the word <i>Zeitgeist</i> for this complex, a word we have +directly translated into the Spirit of the Age. The name is a good +one; it indicates that we are dealing with something which is widely +diffused and also subject to change. It is subject to change, but it +plays a dominating rôle in the age to which it belongs. The Spirit of +the Age is something that practically all the intellectual life of the +age has in common. It is not manifested only in philosophical treatises +or in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</span> works of art; it is often manifested even more strikingly in +statesmen’s speeches and a country’s domestic and foreign policy. It is +a kind of intellectual and emotional atmosphere of which everybody is +aware, but which probably nobody could define. We see, however, that +a very important part of it consists of a sense of probability, of a +tendency to accept certain kinds of explanation and to reject others.</p> + +<p>For the last few decades, at any rate, Science has been the chief +factor in forming this omnipresent sense of probability. As a matter +of fact, it is probable that the influence of Science in forming +the Spirit of the Age can be traced a very long way back, as far +back as Copernicus. Not that we assert the existence of a close +connection between the Science and the other intellectual activities +of Copernicus’s own age. The influence of which we speak is likely to +manifest itself gradually; in particular, it may take a long time to +affect the arts. And by the time it has percolated so far its origin +may be forgotten; it may appear as a subconscious rather than as a +conscious group of assumptions. By the time a scientific discovery +becomes part of the mental furniture of an age, many of what were +originally its possible implications will have become an integral part +of it. The original discovery will then be merely the nucleus of a rich +intellectual and, possibly, emotional complex, of which the parts are +no longer envisaged separately. The work of Newton, for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</span> example, and +the great body of exact investigations he made possible, influenced the +outlook of the nineteenth century chiefly in the direction of making +determinism plausible. Such lecturers as Tyndall could confidently +appeal to this mental predisposition on the part of their audience, +although they had no need to postulate any direct acquaintance with the +work of Newton and of his successors. The fact that Newton successfully +formulated exact laws for the description of natural phenomena is +the important aspect of his work from our present point of view. The +influence of Copernicus was rather different. From the point of view of +the history of Science his importance is that he made Newton possible; +from our present point of view his importance is that he made Darwin +possible. Copernicus’ destruction of the isolated position of man’s +planet in the solar system prepares the mind for Darwin’s destruction +of the isolated position of man in the animal kingdom. They each +shocked the same set of prepossessions.</p> + +<p>The “materialistic philosophy” which was so marked a feature of the +latter part of the nineteenth century, and which still forms, we +believe, the prevalent intellectual complexion, owed the whole of its +plausibility to its supposed scientific backing. Its basis was not +merely biological; physics played quite as great a part as biology. +The notion of determinism derived its strength, as we have said, +chiefly from physics; biology was not in a position to demonstrate the +exact correspondences required.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</span> The ultimate grandiose vision of the +purely natural and inevitable march of evolution from the atoms of +the primitive nebula to the British Association for the Advancement +of Science, as outlined by Tyndall in his Belfast Address, assumed +the results of physics and astronomy as much as Darwin’s <i>Origin +of Species</i>. It was because biology was not the only science +involved that it was possible to found a “materialistic” philosophy +on Darwinism. One primary assumption of that philosophy, that life +arises from “dead” matter, not only had no biological support, but had +been decisively refuted by the experiments of Pasteur. But, as related +to the general movement of Science, the hypothesis had the necessary +plausibility. Considering the then existing evidence, this hypothesis, +together with the hypothesis that mental states are produced by atomic +movements in a strictly determinist manner, are, indeed, striking +instances of the way in which the <i>Zeitgeist</i>, as much as the +evidence, determines the direction of our thinking.</p> + +<p>The importance of such conceptions cannot be over-estimated. Directly +or indirectly they influence the whole life, if not of their time, then +of an age which succeeds them. The philosophy in question had existed +for centuries, of course; what made it influential was the scientific +backing it received, for, in these matters, Science has for some time +past played the dominant rôle. Neither religion nor philosophy has been +able successfully<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</span> to oppose it; nowadays, indeed, they seem concerned +only to agree with it. And if, here and there, a few artists have +felt themselves outraged by what were supposed to be the teachings +of Science, their influence has not been sufficient to deflect the +stream. Such isolated protestants have had nothing but their feelings +to oppose to what were considered to be facts, and the world, with what +may have been a stupid honesty, has followed after the supposed facts. +But the influence of Science on the arts would require a separate +investigation. A certain stability is given to some serious art by +its own tradition, and this may lessen its sensitiveness regarded +merely as an indication of the spirit of its age. It is, nevertheless, +very sensitive. In a history of modern literature, for example, it +is impossible to exclude direct references to Darwin; it is usual, +indeed, to devote some space to such “influences.” And the artist who +is not at home in his age may be reduced to impotence by it. Dostoevsky +is a magnificent example of a writer who, extremely sensitive to the +spirit of his age, and profoundly understanding it, strove to transcend +it. A smaller Dostoevsky might well have been nothing. And is a +post-Darwinian Beethoven, or a post-Darwinian Dante, really conceivable?</p> + +<p>Now it is unfortunate that, so far as scientific discoveries form +the Spirit of the Age, they do so at second-hand. The <i>Origin of +Species</i> happens to be easy to read, but even so that body of +thought<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</span> known as “Darwinism” owes its influence chiefly to such +expositors as Huxley and Tyndall. The thing becomes set; it assumes +hard, bold outlines; the issue has to be presented with something of +the simplicity of an election cry. The universe of Science becomes +finally a universe from which all mystery is banished and where the +only ultimates are small, incompressible spheres whose movements and +combinations produce—everything. The chasm separating this conclusion +from the actual scientific evidence is not realised. Very tentative and +almost fantastic hypotheses become dogmas, and it is as dogmas that +they become influences. As a matter of fact the scientific evidence, +even of Darwin’s day, suggested quite other possibilities than those +popularised as a “materialistic” philosophy. James Clerk Maxwell, +who had a profounder insight into physical reality than any other +man of his time, in a very little known essay, draws attention to +the “singularities” characteristic of certain natural phenomena, and +suggests that there are more singular points the higher the rank of the +existence. “At these points, influences whose physical magnitude is too +small to be taken account of by a finite being, may produce results +of the greatest importance,” and he warns his readers against “that +prejudice in favour of determinism which seems to arise from assuming +that the physical science of the future is a mere magnified image of +that of the past.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</span></p> + +<p>Maxwell’s remark is now seen to have been prophetic. The +extraordinarily profound and far-reaching philosophical implications +of the theory of relativity have hardly yet begun to be investigated, +but we have already a general sense of their direction. Hermann +Weyl’s <i>Raum, Zeit, Materie</i>, for instance, the most thorough +mathematical exposition of the whole theory which has yet appeared, +hints not obscurely at the philosophical bearing of the new +investigations. Now that, by Weyl’s own work, Maxwell’s electromagnetic +equations are included by the theory, it seems to be scientifically +complete. It presents us with a picture of the universe which is wholly +unlike the picture of the early physics. In particular, an altogether +different rôle is assigned to the human mind. So far as the exterior +universe and the laws of nature are concerned, we see that the primary +entity is the mind itself. It is the mind which has created, not only +space and time, but the matter it has put within that framework. The +mind has not created the universe out of nothing, it is true. But it +is almost impossible to say anything intelligible in the old sense +about the fundamental entities to which Einstein’s theory leads us. +Professor Eddington suggests that they may be “the very stuff of our +consciousness,” a somewhat mystical remark which nevertheless shows +the trend of the new speculations. And, as a striking confirmation of +Maxwell’s view of the possible development of physical science, we may +quote one of the last sentences of Weyl’s profound<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</span> discussion: “It +must be emphatically stated that the present state of physics lends no +support whatever to the belief that there is a causality of physical +nature which is founded on rigorously exact laws.” Unfortunately not +all men are mathematicians. The great and wonderful vista now opened +up by Science—greater and more significant, we believe, than has +existed at any previous time in the history of thought—is at present +a consequence of highly abstruse investigations. The sheer technical +difficulty of these inquiries will long hinder them from exerting their +due influence on philosophy and, through philosophy, on the whole of +the intellectual life of the age. But the new conceptions exist, and +they derive their unshakable strength from the fact that they are the +result of the severest Science. And surely no one can fail to see +that they promise not only fascinating regions for thought, but a new +liberation of the human spirit. Mystery, but more wonderful and full of +promise than ever, has been restored to the universe.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="MATHEMATICS_AND_MUSIC">MATHEMATICS AND MUSIC</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="nind"> +It is possible that the old heading “Arts and Sciences” has been +responsible for some of the barrenness which is so conspicuous a +feature of æsthetic theory. For the heading seems usually to have +suggested, not only that there is a difference between the arts and the +sciences, but that the difference is of a fundamental kind. For the +purposes of æsthetic theory the various arts are assumed to have more +in common than any one of them has with any of the sciences. We find +the writer on æsthetics expounding his principles in chapters headed +Painting, Sculpture, Poetry, Music; but it is rare indeed to find the +argument extended to mathematics and physics. Yet there is no evidence +that such omissions are due to deliberate reflection; the philosopher +has not decided, after examination, that the sciences are unæsthetic +objects; we must assume that accidents of taste and education have +prevented him from paying attention to what may conceivably be useful +data for the formulation of a theory of æsthetic. Within the last two +or<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</span> three generations scientific men have been thinking and writing +a good deal about the philosophic basis and implications of their +study, and it is significant that this inquiry has led many of them +to insist on the æsthetic character of the satisfactions that science +affords. The late Henri Poincaré, in particular, has shown that +scientific theories are akin to works of art, and in this country, Dr. +Norman Campbell has asserted his belief that great men of science are +essentially great artists. The point of view is an interesting one, +and suggests that fresh light may be thrown upon æsthetic problems by +a new grouping of their subject-matter. Instead of putting the arts +and the sciences on opposite sides of the fence, it may be helpful to +see whether certain members of these two groups have not a natural +affinity with one another, and so gain hints for a different and more +comprehensive classification.</p> + +<p>It is noteworthy, in this respect, that music has always occupied an +exceptional position among the arts. Pater tried to relate it to other +arts by saying it was the art to which all others aspire:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>The arts may be represented as continually struggling after the law +or principle of music, to a condition which music alone completely +realises; and one of the chief functions of æsthetic criticism, +dealing with the products of art, new or old, is to estimate the +degree in which each of these products approaches, in this sense, to +musical law.</p> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</span></p> + +<p>It is characteristic of Pater’s criticism, and of much of the criticism +of his school, that it exists, as it were, within a world of its own. +The meanings to be attached to his most important terms are always +suggested or insinuated; they are never defined. The method is useful, +perhaps even necessary, in dealing with a complex and elusive object, +and where appeal is made to perceptions which lie on the fringe of +consciousness. But it runs the grave danger of becoming altogether +too tenuous to be intelligible when we make direct reference to the +object it is supposed to illuminate. When, for instance, Pater says +of the best music, “the end is not distinct from the means, the form +from the matter, the subject from the expression,” we become acutely +aware of the absence of definition in each of these primary terms +directly we think of any actual composition. We feel, indeed, that the +terminology is not natural; in contemplating a poem the mind may be +naturally impelled to distinguish between subject and expression as a +kind of first effort in analysis; it is doubtful whether, in listening +to music, this direction for analysis ever presents itself. So that +to say that in music subject and expression are identical is not to +say anything useful about music, but merely to declare that that kind +of analysis is irrelevant. It is very probable that nothing is to be +gained by first making distinctions which have a meaning for other arts +and then bringing music into the scheme by saying<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</span> that for music such +distinctions become meaningless.</p> + +<p>But if we are to maintain that this kind of criticism is irrelevant, +then music becomes not only an isolated art but the art of which we +know least. If it cannot be accommodated as an example within the +general body of æsthetic criticism, the criticism that uses such terms +as Pater uses, then whatever general conclusions the multifarious +writings of the last two centuries on the “beautiful” may be considered +to have reached are not applicable to music. In this extremity it is +natural, nowadays, to become “scientific.” Comparative studies are +undertaken: the music of Java is compared with the music of Bach: the +evolution of musical devices is made clear; the psychological condition +of the patient under music is examined: the time taken for the right +degree of hypnosis to be induced is determined. That such methods may +one day stumble upon important facts it would be rash to deny, but +nothing has yet been reached which illuminates the particular problem +that music presents. We are frankly of the opinion that, so far, the +difficult utterances of certain mystical or semi-mystical writers throw +more light on the real nature of music than do those of common sense.</p> + +<p>Among such writers on music Schopenhauer is notorious; and it is worth +while to dwell a little on his speculations, fantastic as they may<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</span> +seem, since they contain an element common to all such interpretations, +which does serve to isolate the essential problem of music. In +Schopenhauer’s æsthetic the object of all arts, except music, is to +lead, by the description of objects, to the recognition of the Ideas +(Platonic) whose appearance in multiplicity constitutes the world. +All arts, therefore, have a transcendental function; their aim is to +reveal to us the Platonic world of eternal essences or Ideas. But they +have to raise us to this region <i>via</i> the objects of experience; +in that sense they are also, therefore, concerned with the world of +appearance and are dependent upon it. The case is different with music. +Music is not concerned with the external world either as a symbol or as +a reality. It is not even, in Schopenhauer’s language, concerned with +the Ideas, but refers directly to that “Will” which, in Schopenhauer’s +philosophy, underlies the Ideas themselves. The essence of his theory +is given in the following passage:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>... so ist die Musik, da sie die Ideen übergeht, auch von der +erscheinenden Welt ganz unabhängig, ignoriert sie schlechthin, könnte +gewissermaassen, auch wenn die Welt gar nicht wäre, doch bestehen: +was von den anderen Künsten sich nicht sagen lässt. Die Musik ist +nämlich eine so unmittelbare Objektivation und Abbild des ganzen +Willens, wie die Welt selbst es ist, ja wie die Ideen es sind, deren +vervielfältigte Erscheinung die Welt der einzelnen Dinge ausmacht.</p> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</span></p> + +<p>Or, as he says a little later on, the world may be regarded as embodied +music.</p> + +<p>It is not likely that anyone will take Schopenhauer’s philosophy of +music seriously; and even those who are sympathetic to his general +view are not likely to find their sense of the ludicrous undisturbed +by his identification of bass notes with the planets, tenor notes with +the vegetable world, and so on. The intensity of his response to music +and his humourless courage have led him to what are perhaps the most +fantastic statements in all his writings. But what is worth noting is +that so imaginative and fertile a speculator, because he was genuinely +sensitive to music, had to give it a profoundly isolated position in +his æsthetic. In so doing we think he recognised one very important +difference between music and the other arts. It is true that music is +independent of the world of experience in a way that other arts are +not. It is true that there is a sense in which Schopenhauer is right +when he says that music would exist even if the world did not. We +can see what is meant if we compare the development of a “dramatic” +piece of music, such as the first movement of Beethoven’s C minor +Symphony, with a great tragedy. The tragedy, as a condition of success, +must make reference to our experience of life. The ostensible matter +of the tragedy, the characters and incidents, must not violate our +conception of reality if they are to be accepted. The tragedy must be +plausible.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</span> Such considerations obviously do not apply to music. It is +meaningless to say that the development of a composition must satisfy +our sense of probability. Yet there is a meaning in saying that its +development seems either arbitrary or inevitable. The analogy that +immediately presents itself is a chain of logical reasoning, as in +the sustained development of a mathematical theorem. Such development +is independent of all experience; the mind is obeying none but its +own laws, and is paying no attention to any alien elements. And it is +this characteristic of mathematics which seems responsible for the +fascination the study possesses for its devotees.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>Remote from human passions, remote even from the pitiful facts of +nature, the generations have gradually created an ordered cosmos, +where pure thought can dwell as in its natural home, and where one, at +least, of our nobler impulses can escape from the dreary exile of the +actual world,</p> +</div> + +<p>says Mr. Bertrand Russell in a typical passage. A strain of romantic +eloquence seems, indeed, to be inseparable from the writings of +mathematicians on their subject. But the analogy can be pressed more +closely. There are elegant and inelegant mathematical demonstrations, +those which merely “command assent,” as Lord Rayleigh said, and those +which provide a very high degree of æsthetic satisfaction. In these +latter demonstrations the mind seems to be moving<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</span> with more swiftness +and freedom; the whole demonstration seems to flower in a natural +and spontaneous way; we have the impression of <i>inevitability</i>. +Mathematical elegance, as Poincaré has put it, “n’est autre chose que +la satisfaction due à je ne sais quelle adaptation entre la solution +que l’on vient de découvrir et les besoins de notre esprit.” It is +as if there were a mode of living natural to the human spirit, an +<i>unadapted</i> life, a life free from the necessity of accommodating +itself to the elements, so largely alien, of the actual world. +Mathematics is the expression of this life so far as the intellect is +concerned. Is it too much to say that music is a fuller embodiment of +this free life?</p> + +<p>If we are to say this we must acknowledge that more than the intellect +is capable of this free life, that there is a logic of the emotions as +well as of the mind. This assumption is not difficult to make; indeed, +if we reflect on our experience of some compositions, such as, to take +the same example, the first movement of the C minor Symphony, it is +difficult to avoid making it. And, in considering the matter from this +point of view, we may gain some results useful for musical criticism +in general. The theme of the movement in question is characteristic +of many of Beethoven’s themes in that it does not serve merely as a +kind of structural skeleton on which a composition is to be built. In +this respect<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</span> it differs from, for instance, many of Bach’s themes. +The theme immediately, in its ominous and arresting quality, throws +the mind into a certain state of expectancy, a state where a large +number of happenings, but only the happenings belonging to a certain +class, can logically follow. As an analogous vague yet restricted +initial preparation we may instance the entry of the witches at the +beginning of <i>Macbeth</i>. As the music proceeds this rich, but more +or less definite, state in the hearer becomes more and more precise, +more and more subtle. It is, as it were, explored and shown in all +its height and depth. What was pregnant in the theme is exhibited +to us in all its extent, its definiteness, and its force. The theme +was the entrance to a world. And we have the consciousness of logic, +of <i>inevitability</i>, because at no point are we constrained. We +exult because we are free; this is how we, too, would move but for +our fetters, our alien, arbitrary fetters from which, for this time, +we have been freed. And in none of this, unless we have incurably +literary minds, are we ever reminded of experience. This life is no +life that we have lived or that, on this planet, we could live. Music +is as independent of the world as mathematics, but it cannot, like a +system of geometry, even be applied to the real world as an hypothesis. +It is even doubtful how far the emotions it expresses, when it is +merely expressing emotion, correspond to those of real life. The +sorrow of the bereaved father is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</span> not the same thing as the sorrow +of the bereaved lover, but music can express sorrow with thousands +of <i>nuances</i>. It is customary to say that the emotions of music +are generalised emotions; that its sorrow, for instance, is a kind of +common denominator of all sorrows. But the exact opposite seems to be +the case. The situations of real life, like the resources of language, +are probably too limited to afford correspondences to the immense +variety of emotions expressible in music. The musician is as free as +the non-Euclidean geometer to create worlds which have no objective +counterpart.</p> + +<p>It is natural, therefore, in comparing the arts, that we should class +mathematics and music together, since they resemble one another by +their most intimate characteristics and differ, in these respects, +from all other arts. It is worth noting, in this connection, that it +is only in mathematics and music that we have the creative infant +prodigy. Experience and learning, compared with what we vaguely call +“instinct” or “gift,” play a comparatively insignificant rôle; the +boy mathematician or musician, unlike other artists, is not utilising +a store of impressions, emotional or other, drawn from experience or +learning; he is utilising inner resources so obviously independent of +experience that, like Plato’s slave, he seems to have brought them +with him from some anterior life. And the artistic progress of a +musician, if it be a true progress, means<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</span> primarily that he is making +ever more accessible the riches of this inner life. It is difficult +to avoid mysticism, or at least Platonism, at this point. But here +again it seems to us that Schopenhauer understood something essential. +When he says that music, like the Platonic ideas, is an embodiment +of the “Will” that underlies all things, he does at least say that +what is revealed to us by a composition is something other than the +“personality” of the composer. The function of music is not, like +that of literature, to illuminate this world, but there is a world it +illuminates—a world at least as vast and independent of this one as +that mathematical “cosmos” described by Mr. Bertrand Russell.</p> + +<p>There is much music, of course, which suggests no such mystical +fancies. With most of Wagner’s music, for instance, there is no hint +of other worlds, but rather a gorgeous colouring of this one—or of +those aspects of this one which excite romantic poets with strong +bodily appetites who can assume the background of the vigorous +material prosperity of the nineteenth century. Such music is fully +comparable with a certain kind of literature; all it lacks is the +definiteness of statement, and hence the intellectual clarity, which +the use of language affords. It may be even more powerful and subtle +than literature can be—<i>Tristan und Isolde</i> expresses certain +emotions with immense adequacy. But it is not doing something which<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</span> +music alone can do; and, for that reason, it throws very little light +on the peculiar problem of music. For the peculiar problem of music +consists in its independence, in its power of transporting us to a +world which is not otherwise revealed. To Schopenhauer, to whom both +the world and music were embodiments of the same Will, there was a +musical equivalent for every experience; and, it would seem to follow, +for every musical utterance there is a corresponding experience. +The two worlds are independent, but there exists between them, as a +mathematician would say, a one-to-one correspondence. Yet he very +strangely goes on to accept the theory that a musical utterance is a +kind of generalisation of a number of distinct experiences. He points +out that the musical setting of a poem, for instance, will serve for a +number of similar poems. It is the “kernal” of all these poems which +is given directly by the music. But it is equally true that the same +poem will serve for several musical settings. When Beethoven, as one +of sixty-three composers, composed his setting of Carpani’s poem “In +questa tomba oscura,” he probably composed the best setting, since it +is the only one that has survived; but among the other sixty-two there +must have been many which, in Schopenhauer’s phrase, were expressions +of the “kernal” of the poem. The fact seems to be that, unless music +is deliberately illustrative, it is not concerned with what is +otherwise expressible. That is why<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</span> musicians are always dissatisfied +with “literary” descriptions of music. However good in their own kind +they may be, they are always felt to be irrelevant and even, in some +way, a degradation of the actual musical utterance. It is felt that +they exhibit a certain insensitiveness or lack of taste, as in that +curiously popular image which likens twin hills to a woman’s breasts.</p> + +<p>As compared with literature, music is abstract. It is independent, as +literature is not, of the facts of life. But just as there is some +music which approaches to the condition of literature, so there is some +literature which approaches to the condition of music. Such literature, +while it is concerned with the world of experience, as literature must +be, is concerned with that world as symbol and not as reality. Such +literature, we might say, is not concerned to illuminate the world +of what we here call experience, but to reveal something about the +soul of man itself—or, if we prefer scientific jargon to mystical, +to deal with the normally subconscious rather than with the normally +conscious. Both kinds of literature have been called realistic, but +they are realistic from entirely different points of view. Dostoevsky, +for instance, regarded the realism of such writers as Zola as trivial. +And can <i>Macbeth</i> be regarded as a realistic work, on the basis of +the French conception of realism? <i>Macbeth</i> is, indeed, a striking +example of the extent to which literature<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</span> can approach the condition +of music. The whole apparatus of the play, the witches, the characters, +the incidents, are so obviously not presented for their own sakes, but +as symbols through which an overwhelming perception was to be conveyed. +Here the fact that the literary artist must accommodate himself to the +laws of the real world, that he must satisfy our sense of probability, +seems hardly a hindrance. Our sense of probability is, indeed, +purposely lulled by the entrance of the witches at the beginning. We +are made aware that not the real world alone is concerned. In this +respect the supernatural “machinery” of <i>Macbeth</i> performs an +altogether different function from that in <i>Hamlet</i>. The whole of +<i>Hamlet</i> is perfectly realistic in the tight sense. But the fact +that literature must always use symbols differentiates it utterly from +music. And just as we have seen that real life may present no analogies +to what is revealed in music, so it may happen that the literary artist +who has access to a wide and deep inner life may find no symbols, such +as are essential to literary art, to convey his perceptions. Mr. T. +S. Eliot has stated that <i>Hamlet</i> is an artistic failure because +the whole play, considered as presentation in terms of symbols, does +not adequately convey the emotions or perceptions we confusedly feel +Shakespeare is trying to express. Whether or not Mr. Eliot is correct +in his instance, his general thesis is perfectly sound. Even if +<i>Hamlet</i> could be re-written<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</span> so as to satisfy Mr. Eliot, it is +still true that there are some perceptions, states of mind, emotions, +or whatever one likes to call them, which it is very difficult to +believe are expressible in literature at all. Santayana gives a neat +but somewhat trivial instance in one of his essays where he says that +there is no human incident or group of incidents which can serve as a +fitting symbol for pure radiant joy—a sort of prolonged, exultant, +celestial state of joy. A shadow, to the mature mind, lies over the +brightest and most delightful of life’s happenings. He suggests that a +poet who should try to imitate music in this respect could do little +but write the word “Joy!” with exclamation marks. He could write +nothing else that was unambiguous. And, indeed, a symbol is always +ambiguous unless, like the symbols of the mathematician, its meaning is +completely exhausted by its symbolic intent. The symbol distracts; it +brings with it a crowd of irrelevant associations, and for that reason, +even when the symbols are most superbly handled, as in <i>Macbeth</i>, +the resultant communication is less definite than with music. But the +very great, the immense, importance of literature lies in the fact that +it can, partially at least, shape the facts of life so as to make them +consonant with the nature of man. If experience can furnish symbols +which express the deepest needs and aspirations of the soul, then life +can be, at least partially, illuminated. For man can understand nothing +which is not consonant with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</span> his own nature. The literature which truly +illuminates life is the literature which interprets life most fully +in terms of our own emotions and aspirations. In this sense not only +all literature, but all science, is anthropomorphic. Science is only +possible in so far as it is logical. That is to say, the universe can +only be understood in so far as its happenings are obedient to the laws +of man’s own mind. In its relation to mathematics, where the mind pays +no attention to the arbitrary conditions of experience, physics plays +something of the same part as is played by literature in its relation +to music. Both physics and literature, in their universal function, +are concerned with a world which <i>need</i> not obey the laws native +to the spirit of man. Such illumination as they can give is dependent +upon, as it were, what correspondences they can find. The revelation of +life afforded by <i>The Brothers Karamazov</i>, for instance, consists +in relating the phenomena of life to the deepest impulses of the spirit +of man. Only so does life become in any measure truly comprehended; +and it is in this respect that such works differ from those reports +on life where we may recognise and assent to everything, but where +our comprehension of anything is not deepened. Such works as <i>The +Brothers Karamazov</i> may be called philosophic, if we use the word to +include something other than purely intellectual understanding.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</span></p> + +<p>We have suggested that, if mathematics may be taken as the intellectual +analogue of music, then it is not perhaps too far-fetched to say that +such a science as physics may be taken as the intellectual analogue +of literature, since both are concerned to interpret what we call the +real in terms of what we call the ideal, while the two former arts +are not concerned with the real. And the question arises whether the +arts, mathematics, and music, which are not concerned to illuminate +experience, are worthy of serious attention. In the case of mathematics +the answer is not doubtful, since it has repeatedly shown itself +applicable to real happenings, however little notions of utility may +have played a part, or need have played a part, in its creation. Even +the most remote mathematical theorems are not certainly immune from +practical application. But no such claim can be made for music, and +it is for that reason that to some philosophers music is a pleasing +but essentially trivial art. To such philosophers music, while it may +suggest spiritual profundities, is, after all, saying nothing of any +possible significance. The adventures of the soul that it depicts are +less significant even than a stage fight. Its one justification is the +pleasure it affords; it takes us out of ourselves in a way no other art +can do, and after this refreshing interregnum we return to the things +that matter. It may be so; we can give no proof that it is not so; we +can only say we find the point of view<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</span> incredible. On this point, +again, we certainly find the mystical view of Schopenhauer, if less +intelligible, at least more convincing than that of common sense.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</span></p> + +<h2 class="nobreak" id="HUMAN_TESTIMONY">HUMAN TESTIMONY</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="nind"> +Everybody normally acts on the assumption that the value of human +testimony is an extremely variable quantity. The rules by which we +assess the value of testimony, in the ordinary affairs of life, are of +that thoroughly habitual kind that hardly involve conscious processes; +they repose on two judgments, which we are always making. Our belief in +direct testimony to an event is conditioned by the nature of the event +and by our estimate of the “personal equation” of the witness. These +two factors are not quite independent; it is very seldom, for instance, +that we attribute “general untrustworthiness” to anybody who is known +to us. Our experience usually teaches us that there are certain classes +of statements—e.g. his breaks at billiards, the number of miles +his motor-car runs on a gallon of petrol—for which that particular +witness’s credibility is at a minimum. For some other classes of +statements we may have learnt to take his word without hesitation. What +the mathematicians call the “credibility” of a witness is not, in the +case<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</span> of any witness of whom we have personal knowledge, a constant +figure. It varies with the event, often in an extremely complicated +way. When Brown is listening to Jones talking about the enormities of +Smith the extremely delicate and rapid weighing of probabilities being +performed by Brown beggars any mathematical description. When the +witness is personally unknown to us the matter becomes simpler. Our +conclusions, one way or another, will be held with less confidence, but +they will be more simply arrived at. We may, on the evidence supplied +by the testimony itself—the tone of the letter, the man’s manner in +the dock—class the witness as a man of a certain type. Corresponding +to each type we have a rough scale of credibility for different types +of events. In cases where we know nothing of the witness beyond his +bare statement that he witnessed the occurrence of the event our +estimate of his credibility is based on very general and usually +rather vague considerations. We are guided by two things: the initial +credibility of the event and our estimate of the general value of human +testimony. Both of these criteria, and in particular the second, are +excessively ill-defined.</p> + +<p>In the first place, what do we mean by the initial credibility +of an event? There are very few cases where this notion can be +precisely defined. The simple instances dealt with in the elements of +mathematical probability do, it is true, permit of precise definition. +The chance that a white ball<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</span> will be drawn from an urn containing +five black balls and one white ball can be exactly estimated, for we +are in possession of all the very simple relevant factors. But the +probability that Romulus founded Rome obviously belongs to a very +different category. And what is the initial credibility of a miracle? +Hume, as is well known, thought that the <i>a priori</i> incredibility +of a miracle was so great that its occurrence could not be established +by human testimony. He is here trying to establish a ratio between the +initial credibility of a class of events and the initial credibility +of human testimony to such events. He is taking some kind of average +in both cases, but it is difficult to see how such an average can +be arrived at. Vague considerations of this kind are of no value in +forming conclusions on matters of real interest to us, although they +may be sufficient to warrant a lazy scepticism regarding what William +James calls “dead hypotheses,” or may form the basis for amusing and +ingenious mathematical exercises. But we have no notion of an average +initial credibility which is of any use in practice; each case must +be judged on its own merits. And if, to take the second point, we +reached some average for the value of human testimony in general, we +should never, in practice, apply it. The utmost we can hope to do is +to establish a more or less constant relation between the testimony +of classes of witnesses and classes of events. We have to divide +witnesses into<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</span> types, and for each given type estimate the value of +its testimony to different classes of events. We must investigate the +difference it makes when the witness is taken as isolated and when he +is taken as a member of a group of witnesses. In this way we may hope +to reach results which are of value in judicial procedure, in the study +of history, and in various particular investigations, including those +modern substitutes for miracles, the phenomena of spiritualism. We +are, in fact, to investigate man in his capacity as a truth-recording +instrument.</p> + +<p>The result of such researches as have been made may be said, briefly, +to show that human testimony has much less value than is normally +assigned to it and, in particular, much less value than it is held to +possess in a Court of Law. The experimental results obtained in this +field are, indeed, often startling. It is hardly too much to say that +one’s first impulse, on becoming acquainted with the results hitherto +reached, is to fall back on a general and dismayed scepticism regarding +the value of human testimony to anything whatever. But a closer +examination of the results show us that this attitude is unwarranted, +and reinforces the common-sense assumption that the value of human +testimony is a matter of degree, varying from complete worthlessness +to a very fair presumption that the event occurred as stated. The +investigation is useful chiefly in showing us what factors influence +this value.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</span></p> + +<p>It is convenient to separate out these factors according to the scheme +recently employed by Dr. Edmond Locard, in his analysis of police +records over a number of years. The statements made by a witness +repose, in the first place, on sensations which he has experienced. It +might be thought too obvious to be worth mentioning that we require +the witness who heard a sound, for instance, to have reasonably +good hearing, and yet there are many cases where simple preliminary +considerations of this kind are not taken into account. Professor +Zöllner’s famous book <i>Transcendental Physics</i>, for instance, +alleged marvels that occurred in the presence of Slade, the medium; +and these alleged marvels, of great influence in spreading a belief +in spiritualism, were witnessed to by four professors, Zöllner, +Fechner, Scheibner and Weber. But a member of the Seybert Commission, +Mr. George S. Fullerton, as a result of personal interviews, found +that two of these professors, Fechner and Scheibner, were partially +blind at the time. Their sensations, therefore, in this respect, were +untrustworthy. But defects of this kind may usually be determined and +this factor conditioning the witnesses’ credibility allowed for. Where +a witness makes appeal to a sensation which may be checked the check +should always be imposed. Thus Dr. Locard gives an instance where a +witness stated that an event occurred in a mill at a certain hour. +How did he know the hour? By hearing a clock strike at the time the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</span> +event occurred. A test was made, and it was found that the noise of +the mill made the striking of the clock quite inaudible. The witness +then remembered that he did not hear the clock strike until he had +left the mill. Similarly, witnesses have testified that they saw a man +leave a doorway, their post of observation being one from which the +doorway could not be seen. Sensations may often be checked, however, +and, to a careful inquirer, they need not be a grave source of error. +But the next stage is concerned with the witness’s perceptions. Of his +sensations he will single some out for attention and neglect the rest. +He singles out those which, for some reason or another, interest him +most. It may quite easily happen, therefore, that the sensations most +relevant to the inquiry in hand have been neglected. They have been +filtered, as it were, through the medium of the witness’s interest; +and it is often the case that his interest has not been excited by the +sensations most pertinent to the subsequent inquiry. It is on this fact +that conjurers very largely depend for their success. The attention +of the audience is distracted; they are invited to dismiss certain +sensations as being of no importance, and, in general, it is remarkably +easy to ensure this distraction of attention. Dr. Hodgson’s case of the +English officer and the Hindu juggler well illustrates this point:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>Referring to the movements of the coins, he said that he had taken a +coin from his own pocket and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</span> placed it on the ground himself, yet +that this coin had indulged in the same freaks as the other coins. +His wife ventured to suggest that the juggler had taken the coin and +placed it on the ground, but the officer was emphatic in repeating +his statement, and appealed to me for confirmation. He was, however, +mistaken. I had watched the transaction with special curiosity, as I +knew what was necessary for the performance of the trick. The officer +had apparently intended to place the coin upon the ground himself, but +as he was doing so the juggler leant slightly forward, dexterously and +in a most unobtrusive manner received the coin from the fingers of the +officer, as the latter was stooping down, and laid it close to the +others. If the juggler had not thus taken the coin, but had allowed +the officer himself to place it on the ground, the trick, as actually +performed, would have been frustrated.</p> + +<p>Now I think it highly improbable that the movement of the juggler +entirely escaped the perception of the officer; highly improbable, +that is to say, that the officer was absolutely unaware of the +juggler’s action at the moment of its happening; but I suppose that, +although an impression was made on his consciousness, it was so slight +as to be speedily effaced by the officer’s <i>imagination</i> of +himself as stooping and placing the coin upon the ground.</p> +</div> + +<p>We have here an instance of erroneous testimony by a witness to his own +actions; testimony to the actions of other people is usually much less +trustworthy. In this matter of direct perception we may discriminate +still further. Tactile perceptions are of almost no value whatever. If +a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</span> witness be blindfolded and asked to determine, by touch alone, the +nature, the volume and the material of an object, it will be found that +the responses are very inaccurate. Experience of tactile sensations is +relatively small and deductions therefrom are practically valueless. +Thus the shock of a bullet entering the body may be interpreted as a +slight blow, several dagger thrusts in the back as one thrust, and so +on. A piece of ice drawn across the neck of a blindfolded man and warm +water simultaneously poured on his chest have been stated to cause +death by fright, the man having previously been informed that he was +going to have his throat cut. Perceptions of odour or of taste are even +less trustworthy; and here the difficulty of expression in precise +terms, in the lack of a precise vocabulary, is complicated by the fact +that the witness primarily perceives odours and tastes as pleasant or +unpleasant, and pays attention only to that aspect of them. In cases of +poisoning, therefore, evidence of this kind should be given very little +value.</p> + +<p>It is only when we come to the senses of hearing and of sight that +we enter the region where perceptions may have evidential value. In +the case of hearing, however, we must still proceed very warily. +Experiment has shown that estimates of direction, for example, are +quite valueless, since the different estimates made by different +observers obey the laws of pure chance. Training can do a little, but +very little, to render these perceptions<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</span> more trustworthy; in general, +however, evidence as to the direction of a sound may be neglected. +Estimates of the distance of a sound, also, are of very small value. +The intensity of a heard sound depends on the intensity of the source, +and also on its distance; and these two factors may be apportioned +by the observer in the most arbitrary manner. In the case where the +sound is articulate, as in overhearing a conversation, we are in the +presence of still other sources of error, due to illegitimate inference +and the association of ideas. For words which are not heard will be +supplied by the witness in all good faith. He will have a theory of +the purport of the conversation, and will arrange the sounds he heard +to fit it. Edgar Allen Poe’s example, in <i>The Murders in the Rue +Morgue</i>, of the cries of an ape which were interpreted as remarks +in different languages by different observers, is judged by Dr. Locard +to be not at all fantastic. The same general source of error applies +to visual perceptions. Not everything is observed, and the lacunæ +are filled in by the witness in what seems to him the most probable +manner. Oversights in proof-reading furnish a familiar example of this +kind of error. But psychological experiments have produced much more +striking examples. Claparède arranged for a man, wearing the mask of +a clown, to enter his lecture room while a lecture was in progress. +The students were afterwards asked to pick out this mask from a series +of ten, and out of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</span> twenty-three who attempted the task five only +were successful—and even these successes were probably due, largely +or wholly, to chance. The appreciation of distances, measured by the +eye, is also very likely to be erroneous, the rule being that large +distances are under-estimated and small ones over-estimated. A similar +rule holds good of estimations of intervals of time. Errors of this +kind are not pure errors of perception; they are due chiefly to lack +of experience. A carpenter or builder would usually make a much more +accurate estimate of the dimensions of, say, the side of a house than +would the ordinary person; and astronomers who work with transit +instruments have, as a class, very accurate perceptions of small +intervals of time. It is chiefly lack of experience, also, which is +responsible for the absurdly different estimates different observers +will make of the number of people in a crowd. Dr. Locard states that, +on questioning the policemen employed to keep order during a procession +as to the number of people they estimated to be taking part in the +procession, he obtained the figures five thousand, ten thousand, +twenty-four thousand. The actual number, he states, was three thousand. +And during another procession two middle-aged, intelligent, educated +Paris journalists gave as their estimates for the number of people +engaged, the one thirty thousand and the other three hundred thousand.</p> + +<p>But now let us suppose that our witness, through<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</span> the medium of his +imperfect senses and his partial attention, has received a certain +image. What deformations may it suffer before it is produced as his +evidence? If his memory of the incident has “lapsed” the image will +undergo comparatively little alteration, but if it has often been +called to mind it will probably suffer a very considerable change. +Each time the image is recalled it will suggest others; the creative +imagination gets to work, altering the emphasis, adding particulars, +obliterating others, and the result will be as much a work of art +as the reproduction of a fact. This tendency is particularly to be +noticed with women, and with certain “excitable” types; it may be +almost a national characteristic, as with Gascons and Sicilians. But +all witnesses are prone to this kind of inaccuracy. Where the event has +often been narrated by the witness the deformations become even more +serious. For he is here exposed not only to the suggestions of his own +creative imagination, but to the suggestions of other people. Every one +wishes to make a success of the story he is telling, and the perception +of what points to stress and what details to add is wonderfully ready +and alert. It has often happened that a witness of perfect good faith +has changed from the simple spectator of a drama to a prominent actor +in it under the influence of repeated narration. Finally, we reach +the point when the witness has to bear his formal testimony. His +observations were imperfect, he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</span> has imperfectly remembered them, his +imagination has distorted them, and he is now to express them. A very +considerable additional source of inaccuracy is likely to enter here. +The witness probably cannot express his complete image—words may not +be sufficiently precise to render the fine shades of his remembered +perceptions. The nature of a sound, the kind of emotion expressed by +a voice,—he may have no words for such things. And, in any case, +the witness will not express his complete image. He will select—in +accordance with his own estimate of what is pertinent and what trivial. +He will do this even if he be allowed to talk to his heart’s content; +but the method of question and answer as pursued in our Law Courts +leads to even more imperfect expression. For he is forced to be precise +where his recollection is vague, and he will either give a false +precision to his answer or else profess complete ignorance. More often +still the witness sins by exaggeration, and these exaggerations, in a +thousand subtle ways, usually tend to add to his own importance. And +it is important to notice that, besides tending to import fictitious +details, the witness will tend to exaggerate his degree of conviction. +Where he was originally doubtful he is now perfectly sure.</p> + +<p>So far we have been considering the witness in isolation, and we have +not considered the reaction upon his testimony of the emotional state +produced in him by the event. Yet the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</span> emotions accompanying the event +have a great bearing upon the value of the witness’s testimony. During +the war it was noticed that the evidence of soldiers freshly wounded +was often of the most fantastic description. They would testify to +the details of catastrophes which had never occurred; they would +assert that so-and-so had been decapitated in front of their eyes, and +so-and-so buried by an explosion, when, as a matter of fact, nothing +remotely resembling these events had taken place. And, under the +influence of the comparatively slighter emotions of a spiritualistic +séance, people will identify the same “materialised” mask as the +features of their husbands, wives, sons, daughters. Under the influence +of such emotions it may be taken as a general rule that perceptions +deteriorate, and illegitimate inference, “unconscious reasoning,” +becomes more marked. Unconscious reasoning, indeed, plays a very great +part in nearly all cases of mal-observation. It is well exemplified +in the statement of the man sitting in a dark wood: “That dog’s bark +is not really a grasshopper, it is the squeaking of a cart.” And Dr. +Locard tells of one experiment he made, while in the Army, with a +barometer which bore a remote resemblance to a clock. His suggestion +that it was a clock was invariably accepted, even by the most eminent +people, and several of them acquired their knowledge of the time of +day from its indications, even when the hour so indicated was highly +improbable. The testimony of great and commanding<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</span> figures, even to +the time of day, may therefore be open to suspicion. But the immense +part played by unconscious reasoning is best seen in the psychology +of conjuring, under which head it is fair to group the great majority +of alleged spiritualistic phenomena. In this latter case we have +further to recognise what Freud calls the “pleasure-pain principle,” +as distinguished from the “reality-principle.” In other words, the +witnesses are seldom disinterested; they strongly desire to witness +certain events rather than others, and in such cases the slightest +suggestion is sufficient to produce conviction.</p> + +<p>When the witness is not isolated, but is a member of a group, the +defects we have before noted, due to the creative imagination, are +likely to be accentuated. The event will have been discussed and a +uniform version gradually prepared. It is almost impossible, from +the unanimous testimony of a number of witnesses who have been in +consultation, to extract the original perceptions. The phenomenon of +<i>mimétisme testimonial</i> makes its appearance, and may assume +abnormal dimensions. A kind of collective hysteria may be induced, and +there can be little doubt that some of the collective denunciations of +witches which took place in the Middle Ages were manifestations of this +form of mimicry.</p> + +<p>Such are some of the results that have been reached by the modern +investigations of the value of human testimony. They tell us little<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</span> +we did not know before, for mankind has had an immense experience of +human testimony; but they make our knowledge more precise and enable us +to see what kinds of testimony are most open to suspicion. The effect +of these researches on judicial procedure should be considerable, and +their influence on the study of history not less marked. On this latter +subject their influence can only be indirect, and in the direction, +probably, of throwing still more doubt on the accuracy of historical +records. The “credibility” of a witness still remains a vague quantity, +but the chances are that it is something less than the value hitherto +assigned to it. The investigation can claim no such precise results +as those enunciated by Craig in 1699 in his <i>Theologiæ Christianæ +Principia mathematica</i>, where, after proving that the suspicions of +any history vary in the duplicate ratio of the times taken from the +beginning of the history, he shows that faith in the Gospel, so far as +it depended on oral tradition, expired about the year 880, and, so far +as it depended on written tradition, would expire in the year 3150. The +new investigations of the value of human testimony start from humbler, +but surer, foundations.</p> + + +<p class="nindc space-above2"> +<i>Printed in Great Britain by</i> Butler & Tanner, <i>Frome and +London</i></p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<div class="transnote spa1"> +<p class="nindc"><b>TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES</b></p> + +<p>Simple typographical errors have been silently corrected; unbalanced +quotation marks were remedied when the change was obvious, and +otherwise left unbalanced.</p> + +<p>Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a +predominant preference was found in the original book; otherwise they +were not changed.</p> +</div></div> + + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76989 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + diff --git a/76989-h/images/cover.jpg b/76989-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..bb56e93 --- /dev/null +++ b/76989-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b5dba15 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This book, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. 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