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HARVARD UNIVERSITY.
LIBRARY
OF THE
MUSEUM OF Oe ZOOLOGY
GIFT OF
Noes ol NS
THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
THE
bor wlLAiI, SCIENCE
MONTHLY
EDITED BY
J. MCKEEN CATTELL
VOLUME LXXV
JULY TO DECEMBER, 1909
NEW YORK
THE SCIENCE PRESS
1909
< 3 : Copyright, 1908
eae ; ‘Tue Scrence Press
PRESS OF
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EDITED BY J. MeKEEN CATTELL
CONTENTS Mey ‘
ura Resistance ‘to Infectious Diseases and Its Reinforcement. Dr.
“FLEXNER. ° e . e ° . e a> « e -e ° ° ry ° . e Bs (
Hie eve ee epi Action, Professor W.S. ‘FRANKLIN 20
_ Frecpine ;
on in Dentistry. De Bisa baw Coie ee cot Fase ea ie AG
Orig gi of the Nervous System and its eee of Effectors.. Lom
rofessor G. ae ee ee Va ae re oo a Oe
e Prepara on for the Study of Medicine. _ Dr. Freperic T. Lewis” ve, OO as
inism in the ee of Social ‘Evolution. Professor FranKuINH. =
NG 3 - . o . ge ol . e . e ° e “ / - * D 75 ee
e ° : ey: 90 2 ee
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_ YEARLY es $3. 00"
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TH E
Perv LAR Seren or
MON TEoeey.
JULY, 1909
NATURAL RESISTANCE TO INFECTIOUS DISEASE AND
ITS REINFORCEMENT.
By Dr. SIMON FLEXNER
ROCKEFELLER INSTITUTH FOR MEDICAL RESEARCH
OMMON observations early indicated that individuals of all animal
species, and of the human species especially, were very unequally
subject to disease. This elementary fact is impressed every day upon
the thoughtful and has been, from the earliest times, the object of much
ingenious speculation. Even to-day, and in spite of the acquisition of a
wealth of new facts in physiology and pathology, we are not able to
define fully the conditions that make for or against disease. How-
ever, the new knowledge which has been acquired enables us to see much
more deeply and clearly into the complex mechanisms of disease than
could be seen half a century ago; but unfortunately our insight has not
been strengthened as regards all diseases, but almost exclusively in re-
lation to the infectious diseases. In respect to the other class, or non-
infectious or chronic diseases, among which are Bright’s disease, vas-
cular disease, malignant tumors, the gains in fundamental knowledge
are far less great.
It may be axiomatic to state that all actual progress in unraveling
the complicated conditions of disease depends upon precise knowledge
of its underlying causes; and yet in an age in which comparative
ignorance still requires that a certain amount of practise shall be
empirical, it is well to bear in mind this notion, so that what is under-
taken through knowledge may be kept distinct from what is adventured
through ignorance. It has been to the lasting credit of the medical
profession of an early period, when actual knowledge of the under-
_ lying causes of disease had not, and in the then state of development
1 Read at the University Lectures on Public Health at Columbia University,
New York City, March 1.
6 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
of the physical sciences could not, have yielded a single concrete fact,
that one method—vaccination—and the most perfect one yet discovered
of preventing a disease, and two drugs—quinine and mercury—specific
for two other infectious diseases, should have been found and so suc-
cessfully applied. But in contrast to this slow, painful and halting
advance in practical means for the relief of suffering, is to be placed
the body of robust facts, acquired in a quarter of a century, during the
present or bacteriological era in medicine, which enables us to view in
some measure the mechanisms of disease and defense against it, and
which has pointed the way to efficient modes of prevention, and, in a few
brilliant instances, to the production of biologically perfect means of
combating certain infectious maladies. To produce a means, as has
been done through the perfection of curative sera, that shall strike down
myriads of living parasitic organisms, within the interior of the body,
amid millions of sensitive and even sentient cells of the organs, without
inflicting on them the smallest injury, is indeed a great accomplish-
ment. And if I am successful to-day in placing before you the main
facts, now revealed, of the body’s manner of defense to parasitic inva-
sion, you will, I think, come to see that it has been by imitating nature’s
~ methods and by augmentation of the natural forces of defense, that
good has been achieved.
The facts laboriously acquired, on which this presentation will rest,
have been drawn from the study of spontaneous disease—so-called
natural disease—among man and animals, and from experimental
diseases produced in animals. I need scarcely point out that there is
really no unnatural form of disease any more than there is a really
natural one; in all instances we are dealing with natural laws of health
and disease, the difference merely being that in one case we are often
ignorant of the time and manner of entrance of the infecting germs
into the body, and in the other they are purposely introduced, in a pre-
determined efficient manner, in a pure state into the animal body.
Since we are so often ignorant of the precise manner of ingress of the
germs in the non-experimental forms of disease, we conclude from
the identity of the conditions present in the experimental and non-
experimental forms of the disease, that in effect they are identical.
This power exactly to reproduce at will, by pure bacterial cultures,
infectious disease in animals has been of inestimable benefit in investi-
gating disease.
To escape disease is not merely to remain without the zone of in-
fluence of the germs of disease. To do this in all cases is impossible,
because with certain germ diseases—tuberculosis, for example—the
germs are ubiquitous; and with several other diseases the germs are
constant if not naturalized inhabitants of the body. Thus we carry on
our skin surfaces constantly the germs of suppuration; on the mucous
membranes of the nose and throat the germs of pneumonia, and some-
times those of diphtheria, tuberculosis and meningitis. The intestinal
RESISTANCE TO INFECTIOUS DISEASE 7
mucous membrane supports a rich and varied bacterial flora among
which are several potentially harmful species and sometimes, even
under conditions of health, the bacilli of typhoid fever, of dysentery,
and in regions in which cholera is endemic, or during its epidemics, of
cholera bacilli.
It is obvious, therefore, that it is practically impossible to escape
the dangers of bacterial infection, and withdrawal absolutely from
other human beings and from a]] human habitations would be powerless
to accomplish this result. It is equally obvious that with such constant
and universal exposure to bacterial infection the body must, for the
greater part, easily defend itself against this class of its enemies. It
is now known that this defense is not merely by exclusion of the
bacteria from the interior of the body, although in itself this is an im-
portant means of protection for which special mechanisms are provided,
but that constant small escapes of bacteria into the blood are taking
place from the mucous membranes chiefly, and that there rarely
ensues disease from this cause.
On the other hand, there is another class of disease germs that do
not regularly inhabit the body and whose influence is occasional only.
Some of these germs are exquisitely infectious, as, for example,
those causing small-pox, measles and scarlet fever; and others require
an intermediate agency to inoculate them as in malaria, yellow fever,
and possibly bubonic plague. And yet, excluding small-pox, which in
ante-vaccination days overlooked few if any persons in infected regions,
a great diversity of susceptibility to infection has been noted again and
again among exposed persons and animals. This variability of infec-
tivity affects difference in species, race and individuals and constitutes
one of the fundamental problems of disease. Certain diseases are
naturally limited to certain species and can not at all, or can only with
great difficulty, be transferred to another, although related, species;
other diseases appear among several species widely separated from each
other; still other diseases choose by preference or are quite restricted
to certain breeds of a species; and finally, individuals of a homogeneous
species exhibit wide differences of susceptibility to infection. A
worked-out theory of infection to and immunity from disease would
include and explain, all these, and many more, diversities which have
been observed. I need not offer an apology for this at present unat-
tained ideal.
It was early apparent that bacteria must sometimes escape into the
blood and yet that infection did not follow. It was observed that fre-
quently at death the interior of the body was free of bacteria and might
remain so for many hours and until signs of putrefaction began to be
apparent. The deduction from this observation was to the effect that
the blood and organs must protect themselves during life and for a
period after death from bacterial development. The remarkable anti-
bacterial power of the blood was demonstrated directly by injecting
8 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
putrescent fluids into the veins of rabbits and noting that not only
might they survive the infections and remain quite normal, but that the
blood drawn soon after the injection was made need not, when care-
fully collected, undergo putrefaction. This fundamental experiment, .
performed before pure cultures of bacteria were available, left no doubts
that the body possesses internal means of ridding itself of large num-
bers of bacteria. :
It is apparent that the body possesses two possible distinct ways of
freeing itself of these bacteria: it might remove them through the
excretory organs—the kidneys or liver; it might rid itself of them by
destroying them inside the body. It was with the rise of modern
bacteriology that proof was brought that the blood and certain other
body fluids—peritoneal, pleural, pericardial transudates—possess a re-
markable power of destroying bacteria. This power resides in shed
blood, in the other fluids withdrawn from the body, and even in the
fluids deprived of all their natural cellular constituents. Here was
then a concrete fact: the fluids of the interior of the body are capable
of killing large numbers of bacteria. It could now be shown that the
. bacteria introduced in large numbers into the blood of a living animal
~ are not excreted but are destroyed within the body. This power of the
blood is, however, not indefinite and is not exercised equally against all
kinds of bacteria. Even with bacteria that readily succumb a very large
number may exceed the blood’s capacity to destroy, so that survival and
multiplication would result; and certain bacterial species proved highly
resistant to this blood destruction. Moreover, it was observed that the
blood of all animals tested did not produce the same effects on given
kinds of bacteria, that this power to destroy bacteria was lost spontane-
ously in a few days by the fluids removed from the body and was
destroyed immediately by a temperature a 60° C. It is, therefore, a
highly labile quality.
Apparently the way was opened up for the detection of the condi-
tions which underlie infection and immunity and the various peculiari-
ties determined by species, race and individual. Unfortunately, there
proved to be no sharp relation between the bactericidal powers of shed
blood and immunity from or susceptibility to infection. And impor-
tant as these blood-phenomena proved to be, in accomplishing protection
from infection, they do not in themselves account for all observed
conditions.
The factors upon which the bactericidal properties of the blood
depend have now been clearly ascertained. The chief substance has
been called alexin or defensive substance, but in reality the alexin is
a compound and consists of a sensitive body—complement—and a more
stable substance—intermediary body. Bacteria are killed and disin-
tegrated when the intermediate body can attach itself to them and
bring them under the influence of the complement—a digestive en-
zymotic element, to which the intermediary body also attaches itself.
RESISTANCE TO INFECTIOUS DISEASE 9
Moreover, it is now quite certain that of the two principles the
intermediary body alone is a fixed, native element of the blood plasma,
and the complement is subject to considerable fluctuations in quantity.
The origin of the intermediary body has not been determined, while
it is quite established that the complement is yielded by the white
corpuscles, or leucocytes, of the blood. This matter of the origin of the
complement is very important because the protective value of the blood
fluid is determined by the quantity of complement available at any one
time and not so much by the more constant intermediary body which
is usually in excess of the complement. The complement would appear
to arise from the leucocytes partly as a secretion; but the quantity
derived in this way would not appear to be considerable. It also arises
from leucocytes which are brought by any cause to degeneration and
disintegration, and this would seem to be a richer source than the other.
Leucocytes are constantly being worn out by physiological use and as
constantly yielding up their complement to the blood as they go to
pieces. It would appear, then, that the very essential complement which
exists in the circulating blood and passes from the blood into the lymph
and serous cavities, will be more or less determined in quantity by the
number of blood leucocytes and the conditions to which they are exposed,
and as they are brought to slower or faster degeneration; and it is
extremely probable that the secretion of complement is influenced also
by the nature of the stimuli to which even the living leucocytes are
exposed. It has been shown beyond peradventure that the blood plasma
contains less complement than blood serum, as would now be expected
since the origin of complement from degenerating leucocytes has been
abundantly shown, and because in the clotting of the blood the leuco-
cytes are so greatly disintegrated. But I do not think that even the
most ardent adversaries of the view that the fluids of the interior of the
body do not exert direct bactericidal effects, have been able to show
that the plasma contains no complement. ‘The complement is such a
labile body that doubtless it is constantly used up physiologically and
must therefore as constantly be renewed, and it is highly probable that
the balance between production and destruction may not always be
maintained, whence a considerable fluctuation may occur even in health.
Whether the fluctuations ever synchronize with intending infections in
such a manner as to promote them is not really known, but is not
impossible.
It is, however, patent that the naturally operative defensive mechan-
isms against bacterial invasion must contain other factors than these
humoral ones. We are all now prepared to admit that in the phago-
cytes, or the devouring white corpuscles of the blood, the body possesses
another defensive system of high efficiency. The motile nature of these
cells and their presence in the circulating blood accord them a high
degree of mobility, so that they can be quickly dispatched to any part of
the body threatened by invaders, and are hardly behind the fluids of
Io THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
the blood in this ability to be massed or delivered where needed. The
phagocytic mechanism of defense operates through all the orders of the
metazoa; and while it can hardly have been developed originally as a
protective system against parasites, and doubtless represents a mech-
anism for disposing of effete and useless particulate matter in the body
by a process of intracellular digestion, yet it has reached through
evolutionary selection a high state of perfection and must have exer-
cised no small influence in protecting from extinction certain living
species.
There is good reason to believe that in the final disposal of bacteria
intruded into the body the phagocytes play the terminal réle: 7. e.,
under favorable coriditions they are attracted through chemical stimuli
furnished by the bacteria to which they respond to englobe them, after
which the bacteria are often disintegrated. But there is equally good
reason to believe that, with few exceptions, this engulfing can not take
place until the bacteria have been acted on by certain plasmatie con-
stituents that prepare the bacteria to be taken into the body of the
phagocytes. The further the phenomena of bacterial destruction in the
_ body are probed the more certain does it become that there is no single
‘and uniform process of their disposal. The humoral doctrine of bac-
terial destruction contains much of fact, the phagocytic doctrine much
of fact, and it is quite certain that the practical defensive activities of
the body constantly imply the use of both mechanisms.
And when we push the analysis of the manner in which bacteria
injure the body and enumerate the various bactericidal substances which
have now been determined as existing in the plasma and in the cells,
we find that this interaction must be supposed to take place. Plasmatic
bactericidal action and phagocytic inclusion are cooperative functions;
plasmatic antitoxic action and phagocytic detoxication are cooperative
functions; plasmatic opsonization and phagocytic ingestion are com-
plemental functions; plasmatic agglutination and phagocytic engulfing
are also complemental, although less essential functions. And although
in intending infections the toxic action of the bacteria to be dealt with
is less a matter of great consequence, yet in principle the disposal of a
few bacteria is not different from the disposal of many; and in dealing
with the poison or toxic elements of bacteria, the plasma possesses
distinct power of direct neutralization as the phagocytes possess distinct
ability to transform poisonous into non-poisonous molecules.
I desire now to refer again to the subject of racial and species
immunity for which the humoral factors of bacterial destruction af-
forded an imperfect explanation, in order that I may point out that
the introduction of bacteria, incapable of causing infection, into immune
species is followed by immediate phagocytic ingestion and destruction of
the microorganisms. The rapidity and perfection of the phagocytic
reaction in insusceptible animals are very impressive and might readily
lead to the decision that they suffice to explain the resistance or
RESISTANCE TO INFECTIOUS DISEASE II
immunity. However, the matter does not permit of such summary
disposal, since there appear to be other factors that enter into the
phenomena. The frog that does not become tetanic when inoculated
with tetanus bacilli or poison, develops tetanic spasms when the tem-
perature is raised somewhat; the hen that does not respond to an
anthrax inoculation develops the infection when the temperature is
lowered somewhat. Even for the final ingestion of bacteria by the
phagocytes of alien and insusceptible species the plasma principles are
required.
Undoubtedly the phenomena of racial and species immunity are
affected by phagocytosis. But our present knowledge does not justify
us in disregarding other possible and contributing agencies. We are
still so little informed of even the grosser features of the body’s metab-
‘olism that it would be premature to deny to it influence on susceptibility
to infection. Between the metabolism of birds and mammals there is
such wide disparity that an influence could easily be conceived ; but the
metabolic disparity is less between the herbivora and carnivora, and still
less between some closely related species which yet show marked differ-
ences in susceptibility to bacterial infection ; and as between individuals
of the same species it could only be the finer intramolecular variations
that conceivably could come into play.
Although the properties of the defensive mechanisms of the blood
have not been exhausted, yet they have been defined in such detail as to
suffice for the moment and to permit us to turn attention, for a brief
space, to some of the properties of the intending invading bacteria. It
is matter of common experience, which each of us has suffered, that
the elaborate mechanisms provided for our protection from bacterial
infection do not always suffice, and now it becomes necessary to explain
why they do not.. In the first place, there are very great differences
between the bacteria which seek to enter the body. Some species are
never very harmful and are readily combated, excluded or destroyed ;
other species often possess only a moderate degree of virulence or poten-
tial power of doing injury and can also, as a rule, be overcome; while
these second species sometimes acquire such highly virulent or invasive
powers that the defenses prove quite inadequate to exclude or combat
them. During the prevalence of great bacterial epidemics it is probable
that this factor, virulence, plays a considerable réle. Of course in
epidemics the bacterial causes are by the exigencies of the situation
more widely diffused than at other times, so that more individuals come
under their influence; but with even such a common bacterium as the
diplococcus which causes pneumonia and the bacillus which produces
influenza, there arise conditions in which severe and often very exten-
sive outbreaks, or localized epidemics, occur which are probably to be
attributed to an accession in virulence of these germs, although the
precise causes leading to the increase may not be discovered.
Now this quality of virulence, which is often evolved so quickly
12 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
and apparently so mysteriously is expressed biologically in various ways
besides in that of greater infective power: virulent bacteria may prove
incapable of being charged with opsonin so that they can not be ingested
by phagocytes ; they may show unusual power to resist plasma or serum
destruction; they may drive away or repel or act negatively in respect
to chemical attraction on the phagocytes; and being thus unopposable
they tend to multiply quickly and with little restraint. and thus still
further to break down and render ineffective the normal defensive
mechanisms, and ultimately to damage seriously the sensitive cells of
the organs. This constitutes disease.
Another power resides in the body that should be regarded, namely,
the power to neutralize or destroy poisons as distinct from parasites;
for the body is exposed to the deleterious action of poisons generated by
living parasites that do not themselves penetrate within the body.
Some of these poisons are generated away from the body, as is the case
with certain food poisons; some by bacteria in the intestinal canal that
do not seek to invade the blood; some by bacteria, like the diphtheria
bacillus, that first kill tissue, usually of the mucous membranes, and
‘then develop in the dead tissue and send the poison into the body.
And besides this every bacterial disease resolves itself ultimately into
a process of poisoning—of intoxication. In typhoid fever, in pneu-
monia, in meningitis and in the multitude of other bacterial invasive
diseases of man and the lower animals, the severe symptoms are caused
by the poisons liberated through disintegration of the invading bacteria
which, however, continue by multiplication to recruit their numbers.
The condition of susceptibility to poisons varies with different races
and species, very much as bacterial susceptibility does. The cold-
blooded animals are indifferent to poisons that are very injurious to.
warm-blooded animals, but not all cold-blooded animals behave alike.
Tetanus toxin is alike innocuous for the frog and the alligator; but by
raising the temperature artificially the frog develops tetanus, but the
alligator does not. Sometimes the effects depend merely upon the
mode of entrance of the poison into the body. Tetanus toxin, diphtheria
toxin and snake venom have no effect on mammals when swallowed
unless the intestinal epithelium has been injured. These poisons can
not pass through the epithelium to reach the blood, where alone they
can exert their action. The toxin of the dysentery bacillus passes
readily in the rabbit from the blood into the intestine, which it injures,
but can not pass from the intestine into the blood. Tetanus toxin can
be injected into the circulation of the hen but does no harm. Injected
into the brain it produces tetanus. Introduced into the blood it
remains there for many weeks, hence the failure to act can not be due
to destruction, but probably is due to inability to pass through the
blood vessels in order to reach the cells of the central nervous system
in a sufficient state of concentration. The physiological state of thi
animal also exerts an influence: certain hibernating species are sus-
RESISTANCE TO INFECTIOUS DISEASE 13
ceptible to tetanus poison in the summer but not during the winter
sleep. There exist, therefore, different- mechanisms for excluding
poisons from the sensitive and reacting cells and among them are
certain quantities of neutralizing, or antitoxic substances, normally
contained in the blood. We know at least one such definite antitoxin,
namely, the diphtheria antitoxin, which exists in minimal quantities in
the blood of man and the horse.
The absence of numerical relation between the mechanism which
destroys bacteria and neutralizes poisons sometimes works sad havoc
for the body. The two capacities may differ naturally or are enhanced
in different degrees by artificial means. The matter is one of great
importance because almost without exception all bacterial diseases are
examples of poisoning. The mechanical obstructions produced by the
bacterial bodies are relatively unimportant. The body is more readily
defended from the invasion of bacteria, with very few exceptions, than
from the effects of their poisons. The capacity to dispose of typhoid
and cholera bacilli is more easily produced than the power to neutralize
or otherwise render innocuous the poisons liberated by the dissolved
bacilli. It is precisely because we have not yet learned how to over-
come this class of bacterial poisons within the body that we have not
mastered the bacterial diseases as a whole. There are, however, certain
bacterial poisons for which adequate antidotes are readily produced,
thus, for example, for the diphtheria, tetanus, botulism and possibly the
dysentery poisons. Here the poisons can be more easily neutralized
than the bacilli can be got rid of, but by neutralizing the poisons we
succeed in arresting the multiplication of the bacteria and often in
curing the disease.
The normal body possesses a mean resistance to bacterial invasion
and to bacterial poisoning which, while somewhat fluctuant, is of high
value except under certain exceptional conditions in which infection
readily develops. We know that certain general states of and influences
exerted on the body are associated with a rise or a fall of this mean
value. But we are not equally informed of the physical basis of this
rise and fall. This particular topic is peculiarly difficult because of
the large numbers of factors which enter into it. We know from
observation that proper clothing, wholesome food, good hygienic sur-
roundings, avoidance of over fatigue and of depressing psychic impres-
sions, and that physical care of the body, all contribute toward main-
taining health as the reverse conditions predispose to establishing dis-
ease. In seeking the physical basis of this difference we must avoid
confusing cause with effect. Good hygienic surroundings may act
chiefly by excluding the sources of infection rather than by enhancing
resistance. Yet there is experimental as well as observational founda-
tion for the belief in these general influences to affect the disposition to
acquire or escape infectious disease. Animals which are made to fast,
to over-exercise, are made anemic, are given excessive quantities of
14 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
alcohol and other poisons, or are exposed to abnormal cold by shaving
of the skin, are more subject to certain infections than animals not so
treated. If, now, it were found that the blood factors governing resist-
ance fluctuated with these influences, became smaller and less con-
spicuous when the influences were bad and larger and more efficient
when the influences were good, we should then have established an
important concrete fact.
But the alexinie activity of the blood varies normally within such
wide limits that only maximal changes could be regarded as significant,
and it appears that it is only as the fatal termination of certain severe
infections are reached—such as experimental anthrax and pneumococcus
infections, for example—that the alexinic power falls greatly or dis-
appears altogether. The determination of phagocytic activity outside
the body has not thus far been carried out in such a manner as to
indicate a functional depression which either precedes immediately or
develops in the course of severe infections; although certain infections
which take a severe course are characterized by a persistent reduction
in the number of leucocytes in the circulating blood. This latter phe-
nomenon must, however, probably be regarded as an effect and not as
‘the cause of the infection. There is, however, known at least one
example where paralysis of the phagocytes leads to a fatal infection
under conditions in which the normal phagocytes are entirely com-
petent to prevent infection. If to a guinea-pig a small dose of opium
be administered and this is followed by the injection of a non-lethal
quantity of a culture of the cholera bacillus, death will ensue because
the sensitiveness of the phagocytes to the chemical stimulus exerted by
the cholera poison has been diminished by the narcotic influence of
the opium.
The mean phagocytic value of the blood can, however, be definitely
raised by certain agencies, that are at the same time and through the
rise in the number of phagocytes produced, useful in warding off and
sometimes even in overcoming infection. The means employed to
bring about an increase of leucocytes, or to establish a hyperleuco-
cytosis, suffice to maintain the high value for short period relatively
only, unless the stimulus is frequently repeated. A cold bath, a sun
bath, the injection into the circulation of a number of simple chemical
substances—peptone, albumose, nucleinic acid, spermin, pilocarpine—
are all followed under physiological conditions by hyperleucocytosis
and by a temporary state of increased resistance to bacterial invasion.
Moreover, in certain experimental infections, at least, there can thus
be aroused a heightened power to overcome established infections—
those caused, for example, by the cholera, meningitis and pneumococcus
germs. Perhaps the most striking example of the protective influence
of hyperleucocytosis is afforded by the experimental infection described
under the name of cholera peritonitis of the guinea-pig. If a fatal
quantity of cholera germs be injected into the peritoneal cavity of a
RESISTANCE TO INFECTIOUS DISEASE 15
guinea-pig, symptoms of poisoning quickly set in and death results in
afew hours. A study of the conditions present in the peritoneal cavity
shows that the bacteria have developed freely, that some have been broken
up and disintegrated, and that very few preserved phagocytes can be
found. Examination of the blood reveals that the number of leucocytes
in the general circulation has been reduced; and all the evidences point
to the conclusion that not only has phagocytosis not taken place, but
that there has been a general destruction of leucocytes produced by the
cholera poison. If, however, there be introduced into the peritoneal
cavity of a guinea-pig twelve to twenty-four hours prior to the inocula-
tion of the cholera bacilli, a small amount of sterile salt solution, or
bouillon, or one of the other chemicals mentioned, which procedure will
bring into the peritoneum a considerable number of leucocytes at the
same time that it causes a rise of leucocytes in the circulating blood,
then the cholera germs are quickly taken up by the phagocytes, multi-
plication is prevented, and the animal escapes severe illness.
The value of hyperleucocytosis as a defensive measure against infec-
tion must, probably, always remain greater than its value as a cure for
established infection. There are several reasons that make this con-
clusion probable: the capacity of the blood is increased in the direction
of destroying bacteria without being augmented at the same time in the
direction of neutralizing bacterial poisons; the organism that is
already severely poisoned by infection reacts less certainly to the chemi-
cal agents that provoke hyperleucocytosis than the uninfected organism.
And yet we may see the operation of the benign influence of hyper-
leucocytosis, associated with an increased passage of alexin-containing
lymph through the vessels, upon certain local infections at least, in the
results of measures that determine an augmented supply of blood to a
diseased part; in the mechanical hypereemias produced through posture
or superheated air; the influence (in part) of tuberculin injections;
and the effects of poultices and embrocations, of counter-irritants, and
of certain of the phenomena of local inflammation.
The facts at our command point to the great potential power of the
normal organism to resist infection and indicate that the normal
body possesses the capacity, on demand, to increase this power beyond
the mean value, chiefly by opposing intending infection by hyper-
leucocytosis and also, probably, by the strengthening of its plasmatic
defensive action through the additional soluble alexin substances
thrown off by the augmented leucocytes. This defensive mechanism
acts in the same manner on all bacterial invaders and is not specially
adapted for any one or group of bacteria. The form of activity is
strictly non-specific.
Let us now ask ourselves if in overcoming infectious disease, which
luckily the organism is frequently able to accomplish, the mechanism
put into operation is similar and only more intense than the one we
have considered for warding off infection? The answer to this question
16 THE POPULAR. SCIENCE MONTHLY
is that recovery from infection consists in the bringing into being of a
new set of phenomena that gradually reinforce the resistance; that
recovery from infection is accomplished through a process of immuniza-
tion. The evidences of this condition of immunization are found in the
appearance in the blood some time between the fourth or fifth to the
tenth day of the disease, and somewhat later than they have appeared
in the spleen and bone marrow, of chemical substances which are
directed in a specific manner to the neutralization of the poisons having
been and still being produced by the bacterial causes of the disease, to
the destruction of the bacteria themselves either outright by the plas-
matic fluid which has now been enriched by a new quantity of inter-
mediary substance of high potency that may bring the bacteria more
readily under the dissolving influence of the complement, or by the
phagocytes to which they are exposed in greater measure through the
production of opsonins of higher strength and stability. As recovery
progresses these immunity substances continue to increase until at the
termination of the disease they are. present in quantities that suffice
often, by a passive transfer to another individual, to protect other ani-
mals more certainly from an infection, or to terminate abruptly an in-
fection already established in them.
When the infectious disease is the expression not of the combined
effects of poison and bacteria but of the poison chiefly which enters the
blood, the bacteria remaining without as in diphtheria, then the blood
changes characterizing the immune state are simpler and consist in the
accumulation there of antitoxins that constitute the most perfect anti-
dote to poisons that are known. ‘The condition of immunity produces
no demonstrable change in the properties of the phagocytes through
which they are better enabled to overcome the poisonous bacteria.
They do become, in course of the immunization, more sensitive to posi-
tive chemotactic stimuli; but it is still an unsettled question whether
they are altered qualitatively by the immunization, or whether the
plasmatic changes do not really react upon them and thus increase
their efficiency.
It must now be patent that between what may be termed the process
of physiological resistance and what is termed the condition of immuni-
zation, a wide distinction exists. The one is non-specific in its action,
the other highly specific in its effects; the one is subject to a limited
augmentation, the other may be carried to a high degree of potency and
perfection; the one often fails to protect the organism in which it is
developed, the other suffices to protect both itself and another organism.
If therefore we were to be asked in what manner can the animal
organism best be reinforced against infection, we should be compelled
to answer by passing safely through the infection itself. This conclu-
sion, which has been reached by purely experimental biological methods
is supported on every side by common observation and experience with
RESISTANCE TO INFECTIOUS DISEASE 17
the acute infectious diseases of which one attack protects from a sub-
sequent attack of the same disease.
It may conduce to clearness if we should enumerate the factors that
have been described and assigned on the one hand to natural resistance,
and on the other hand to acquired resistance or immunity. We can
tabulate the factors in the following manner:
NATURAL OR PHYSIOLOGICAL INCREASED NATURAL OR PHYSIOLOGICAL
RESISTANCE RESISTANCE
complement. complement, probably increased.
Haesaes mtermediary body. ees intermediary body.
opsonin. opsonin.
j agslutinin. agglutinin.
_Phagocyte. Phagocyte—increased (hyperleucocytosis) .
ACQUIRED IMMUNITY
Complement—probably increased.
Intermediary body—specific one produced.
Opsonin—specific, stabile one produced.
Agglutinin—specific one produced.
for exotoxin
Antitoxin + for endotoxin
produced.
Phagocyte—often increased but qualitatively unchanged.
This tabulation exhibits the distinction between the physical basis
of physiological resistance and of the state of immunity. There is
another difference between them; any increase that can be called out
beyond the mean of physiological resistance is accomplished in a few
hours; and having been called out to meet a particular condition of
need of the body and the effect having been exerted, it passes off very
soon. It is rare that the effect of a hyperleucocytosis can be detected
for more than three or four days after it has appeared. The develop-
ment of the state of immunity, on the other hand, is a slow process
relatively and depends upon the setting into motion of certain cell-
functions, through which new substances are produced, which, being
first retained within the cells producing them, eventually are passed
into the blood. Hence it is that these new substances can be detected at
an earlier period of the infection in the spleen than in the blood. But
once they have been produced, the substances endure either for an
indefinite period, or the capacity to produce new ones of the same sort
is retained by the organism often for years. The blood may grow weak
in the typhoid immunity principle in the course of years following an
attack of typhoid fever, or a rabbit immunized with typhoid bacilli may
show after a time a great diminution of the blood agglutinins for
typhoid bacilli; but the typhoid immunity persists in the one, as in the
other minimal quantities of typhoid bacilli will bring out, and without
the original delay, a new production of agglutinin that will restore the
lost amount.
VOL. LXxv.—2.
18 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
The facts on immunity which I have presented to you constitute the
physical basis, also, of all artificial methods which are being pursued
so successfully in preventing certain infections through vaccination,
and in curing them through the use of immune serum products. The
facts also account in an eminently satisfactory manner for the sup-
pression of small-pox by cow-pox vaccination. The “ vaccines”
so-called for bacterial diseases, which are, I_might say, at_ present being
employed chiefly in protecting animals from epidemic infectious dis-
eases to which they are much exposed, consist for the most part of
bacteria either killed outright by heat or chemicals or of bacteria
whose virulence has been diminished by special methods of cultivation
or treatment. In human beings this method of vaccination has been
employed only when large numbers of persons have been exposed to
infections from the zone or focus of which they could not be removed,
or from which, owing to the peculiar circumstances surrounding the
infections, they could not readily or at all be protected by the suppres-
sion of the diseased germs at their sources. Thus it has been found
advantageous in a few instances to employ vaccination against cholera
and bubonic plague, on those especially exposed to these epidemic dis-
eases, and against typhoid fever on troops going in time of war into
heavily infected endemic zones of that disease.
In a few instances this method of vaccination has been successfully
carried out in animals with infectious diseases in which the germs
causing them have not been discovered. Thus it is possible to vaccinate
cattle against the destructive rinderpest of Africa, the Philippines and
other tropical countries, by employing the bile of animals which have
succumbed to the infection, which contains the parasite of the disease
somewhat modified by certain immunity principles contained within it
along with parasites. In fact, this method of conjoint vaccination
with the parasite of the disease and the blood containing immunity
principles is one that offers a considerable field of practical applica-
tion. On the one hand, there is accomplished a passive immunization
of the body that becomes operative immediately and, on the other hand,
a vaccination that after the usual interval leads to the production of a
state of active immunity that rises to a higher level and is far more
enduring than the passive state.
Incidentally we have discovered from this process of mixed or con-
joint vaccination that immune sera prepared for bacteria or other
parasites which are not toxin producers in the manner of the diph-
theria bacillus, but which contain endotoxin, act not especially by
neutralizing toxins, or by destroying outright the bacteria, but by
exercising an efficient protective control over the injury which these
parasites or their poisons tend to inflict on certain sensitive body cells.
For example, if cattle are inoculated on one side of the body with
virulent blood from animals dying of rinderpest, and on the other
side with blood serum taken from animals that have recovered from the
RESISTANCE TO INFECTIOUS DISEASE 19
disease and subsequently have had their immunity intensified by in-
jections of highly virulent blood, the cattle so vaccinated will develop
rinderpest in a mild form and will subsequently on recovery be also
immune; and yet during the process of immunization their blood con-
tains highly virulent parasites so that if a little of it be introduced
into non-protected and healthy cattle, they will be given rinderpest and
will die of it. y
The reaction of the body to the bacterial vaccines injected is out
of proportion to the quantity of culture introduced. Thus two milli-
grams of dead cholera bacilli injected under the skin of human beings
will yield enough of the specific immunity substance for these bacilli to
bring about the destruction of 60,000 or more milligrams of the culture.
There can be, therefore, no direct transformation of the cholera bacilli
into immunity bodies, but they must exert a stimulus on certain cell-
functions through which the immunity principles are produced; and
the quantity of their formation depends not on the weight of crude
bacilli introduced, but on the strength of the stimulus impressed upon
the sensitive cells to which they react in a specific and remarkable
manner.
Is it possible in the course of an established infection to reinforce
the resistance of the body? I have already stated that it is not prac-
ticable to bring out at the height of an infection an efficient heightened
reaction of physiological resistance; but from this it does not follow
that under these conditions a special form of immunity reaction may
not be elicited. The tuberculin reaction, or that part of it which is
specific, may be cited as an example of this kind of reinforcement; and
whatever there is of value in the treatment of infectious diseases by
means of dead cultures of their specific bacteria—“ vaccines ” so-called ©
—must be of the nature of an intensified immunity reaction. What
is sought to be accomplished in the latter case is the formation in cer-
tain uninfected localities—in the subcutaneous tissues, for example—
of immunity principles that afterwards by escaping into the blood
shall assist in the termination of an infectious process situated else-
where in the body. Such local foci of immunity as it is designed to
create in the subcutaneous tissue are not unknown. The pleura can be
given a local immunity to the typhoid bacilli; the subcutaneous tissue
to tetanus toxin, and it is highly probable that the normal resistances
exhibited by our mucous membranes to the pathogenic bacteria they
harbor are examples of such local immunities.
I fear that I have carried you far afield and into somewhat devious
paths of immunity to disease. You will, I know, not complain and hold
it to the detriment of medical science, that these paths have not been
already converted into fine open roads. But you will prefer to recall
how brief is the time since where the paths now are there were only
wood and tangle.
20 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
SOME PRACTICAL ASPECTS OF GYROSTATIC ACTION
By PrRoFESSoR W. S. FRANKLIN
LEHIGH UNIVERSITY
ire Brennan monorail car and the Schlick device for the prevention
of rolling of ships at sea have recently attracted popular attention
to the gyrostat, and gyrostatic action has recently become vitally inter-
esting to a large group of men because an automobile-engine fly-wheel
shows serious gyrostatic reactions when the automobile rounds a curve
rapidly or rises suddenly upon a bump in the road. The following
discussion will therefore be welcomed by many readers. Let no one
imagine that gyrostatic action is mysterious and difficult to analyze;
it is really quite simple? and the discussion of Fig. 10 makes this action
as clear, physically, as the simple inertia reaction of a heavily loaded
wagon or boat. The formula for calculating the numerical value of
the torque reaction of a gyrostat, as given at the end of this paper, is
simple enough for any one to use.
The rotation of a wheel on an axis is called spin, and the axle upon
which the wheel rotates is called the axle of spin. The spin of a
wheel may be completely repre-
sented in both magnitude and
direction by an arrow drawn par-
allel to the axle of spin, pointing
in the direction in which a right-
handed screw would travel if
turned with the spinning wheel,
and having a length which repre-
sents the number of revolutions
per second of the wheel. Thus,
the arrow S,? Fig. 1, represents the spin of the wheel WW.
Let the arrow S’, Fig. 2, represent the spin of a body, imagine a
large turning force to act upon the body for a short time, and let the
arrow S” represent the spin which would be produced by the turning
force if the body had been initially at rest. The actual resultant spin
*When the angular velocity of precession is small as compared with the
velocity of spin and when the gyrostat wheel is symmetrical with respect to
its axis of spin.
*To appreciate the geometrical meaning of the arrows S, AS and T in the
vector diagrams given in this paper, the reader should thrust his hand in the
direction of the arrow head and move the hand as if turning a right-handed screw.
Fic. 1.
GYROSTATIC ACTION 21
of the body will be represented in magnitude and in direction by the
arrow R.2 That is to say, after the large turning force has acted for
a short time the body will be found spinning about F# as an axis, and
the number of revolutions per second will be represented by the length
of R. The geometrical relationship between the arrows S’, 8”, and R
is completely represented in the triangle OMN of Fig. 2, which triangle
is shown by itself in Fig. 3.
A turning force is usually called a torque, thus the turning or
Fig. 2. Fic, 3.
twisting force which is exerted upon a screw driver is a torque. A
torque may be completely represented by an arrow drawn parallel to
the axis of the torque, pointing in the direction in which a right-
handed screw would travel if turned by the torque, and having a length
which represents the magnitude or value F/ of the torque to scale.
Thus the arrow 7 in Fig. 4 represents the torque due to the two
forces FF.
The effect of an unbalanced torque upon a body is to produce a
spin-velocity about the same axis as the torque, the amount pro-
——
Fig, 4.
duced being proportional to the time the torque continues to act and
inversely proportional to what is called the moment of inertia of the
body. (a) The simplest case is where the axis of the torque is parallel
to the axis of already existing spin as shown in Fig. 5, which represents
a wheel and axle set spinning by pulling a cord which is wound around
the axle. In this case the axle of spin remains stationary, and the
magnitude of the spin increases steadily as long as the torque con-
tinues to act. (b) The general case is where the axis of the torque
makes any angle whatever with the axis of the already existing spin.
Thus, let the arrow S, Fig. 6, represent the already existing spin of
’This proposition is entirely correct if by spin we understand that spin-
momentum is meant; the spin-velocity of a body is sometimes greatly compli-
cated by its lack of symmetry, and these complications are ignored in the
present discussion.
22 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
a body, and let the arrow 7 represent a torque acting upon the body.
Then the arrow AS represents the amount of spin produced by T
during a short interval of time, and the diagonal arrow S’ represents
the actual spin of the body after the torque 7’ has acted for a short
interval of time.
(c) The case where the axis of torque is always at right angles to
the axis of spin is the most important case, and this case is exemplified
in the ordinary gyrostat, which is a wheel and axle supported in a
Fie. 5. Fic. 6.
movable frame as shown in Fig. 7. By taking hold of the frame tt is
impossible to exert a torque upon the wheel except about an axis per-
pendicular to OS, friction at pivots being ignored. If the frame be
suspended by a string as shown in Fig. 7 (side view), the pull of the
earth combined with the pull of the string constitutes a torque as indi-
cated by the arrow T in Fig. 7 (top view). The effect of this torque
during a short interval of time is to produce a certain amount of spin,
or spin-momentum, AS about Tas an axis, and the resultant axis of spin
diagram
(top view) top view side view
Fie, 7.
becomes S’ as shown in the diagram Fig. 7. The unbalanced torque
T,, due to the weight of the wheel and frame in Fig. 7, causes the frame
and wheel to sweep round and round in a horizontal plane about the
supporting string as an axis. This kind of motion of an axis of spin
due to a torque which is at each instant at right angles to the axis of
spin is called precession, and the axis PP, Fig. 7, about which the
axis of spin rotates is called the axis of precession.
GYROSTATIC ACTION 23
A familiar form of gyrostat is shown in Fig. 8. It consists of a
spinning wheel mounted in a metal ring which rests on a pivot O.
The pull of the earth on the wheel and ring produces an unbalanced
torque about an axis which is at right angles to the axis of spin, and
this torque causes the axis of spin to sweep around the pivot O as
described in connection with Fig. 7%. Precessional motion is illustrated
pelle ere See
floor
Fic. 8. Fic. 9.
in the simplest kind of way by the ordinary top. Fig. 9 shows a top
spinning about an inclined axis S. The weight of the top together
with the reaction of the floor against the point of the top produces a
torque the axis of which is at right angles to the plane of the paper
eS
v
a— >
acceleration :
backwards
acceleration
forwards
Qj —
side view, ifront \view
Fic. 10.
in Fig 9, and the effect of this torque is to cause the axis of spin to
sweep around the vertical axis PP (the axis of precession).
The above discussion furnishes a sufficient basis for the considera-
tion of the various practical aspects of gyrostatic action, but it is
interesting to see how the precessional motion of the gyrostat in Fig.
24 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
8 (sweeping of axis of spin about a vertical axis through O) brings
about inertia reactions of the various particles of the spinning wheel
which keep the wheel from falling under the pull of gravity; it is only
necessary to show that to produce precessional motion there must act
upon the gyrostat-wheel an unbalanced torque (the torque due to the
pull of gravity upon the overhanging frame and wheel in Fig. 8).
Fig. 10 represents a disk spinning in the direction of the curved
arrows (in the front view), the spin being represented by the straight
arrow S in the side view. Imagine the axle of spin to sweep slowly
Fig, 11. Fic, 12.
around the vertical line CD in the direction of the curved arrows PP.
This sweeping of the axle of spin about the line CD constitutes pre-
cessional motion, and CD is the axis of precession. Consider the
front view of the spinning disk in Fig. 10; every particle in the upper
half of the disk has a component of its velocity towards the right, and
every particle in the lower half of the disk has a component of its
velocity towards the left. After a short interval of time the pre-
cessional motion moves the edge # of the disk forwards and the edge
E’ of the disk backwards in the figure, so that the velocity of every
particle in the upper half of the disk is turned slightly backwards and
the velocity of every particle in the lower half of the disk is turned
slightly forwards, that is to say; every particle in the upper half of the
GYROSTATIC ACTION 25
disk has received a slight backward component of velocity and every
particle in the lower half of the disk has received a slight forward com-
ponent of velocity. Therefore, during the short interval of time,
every particle of the upper half of the disk must have been gaining
velocity backwards and every particle in the lower half of the disk
must have been gaining velocity forwards, so that unbalanced forces
must have been pushing backwards on every particle in the upper half
of the disk and pulling forwards on every particle in the lower half of
the disk, or, in other words, a torque must have been acting about the
line HH’ as an axis as shown by the two arrows FF in the side view.
GyYRosTATIC ACTION OF THE FLY-WHEEL OF THE AUTOMOBILE ENGINE
Figs. 11 and 12 show top views of an automobile, the curved dotted
arrows represent the turning of the automobile around a curve, and the
Fie, 13. Fig. 14.
straight arrows S represent the spin of the fly-wheel shaft. The arrow
S in the vector diagram of Fig. 11 or 12 represents the spin-momentum
of the fly-wheel at a given instant, the arrow S’ represents the spin-
momentum at a later instant, AS represents the increment of spin-
momentum, and the arrow 7 represents the torque which must act
upon the fly-wheel shaft.
To produce this torque the bearing a must push upwards on the
engine shaft and the bearing 6 must push downwards on the engine
26 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
shaft, or, in other words, the engine shaft must push downwards on the
bearing a and pull upwards on the bearing b, so that the gyrostatic
reaction of the fly-wheel causes the outer wheels OO of the automobile
to be pushed against the ground excessively as the automobile turns
round a curve.
Figs. 11 and 12 represent the case in which the top of the spinning
fly-wheel is moving forwards, and Figs. 13 and 14 represent the case
in which the top of the spinning fly-wheel is moving backwards. In
Figs. 13 and 14 the gyrostatic action of the fly-wheel causes the inner
wheels IZ of the automobile to be forced against the ground excessively,
as may be seen by studying the vector diagrams in Figs. 13 and 14.
AS T T AS
a eae : —_
S| /s’ s’\ |S
P :
Fia@. 15. Fie. 16.
Figs. 15 and 16 represent the case in which the fly-wheel shaft
is parallel to the length of the car. In Fig. 15 the car is represented
as turning to the right, the arrow S in the vector diagram represents
the spin-momentum of the fly-wheel at a given instant, S’ represents
the spin-momentum at a later instant, AS represents the increment of
spin-momentum, and 7’ represents the torque which must act upon
the fly-wheel shaft. To produce the torque 7’, the bearing a must push
upwards upon the engine shaft and the bearing b must push downwards
on the engine shaft, or, in other words, the engine shaft must push
downwards on bearing a anid upwards on bearing b. Therefore the
GYROSTATIC ACTION 27
front wheels FF of the automobile are pushed against the ground with
excessive force by the gyrostatic reaction of the fly-wheel in Fig. 15.
When the automobile is turning to the left, as shown in Fig. 16, the
gyrostatic reaction of the fly-wheel causes the rear wheels BB of the
automobile to be pushed against the ground with excessive force.
When an automobile runs over a bump in the road, no gyrostatic
action is produced if the engine shaft is crosswise of the car, but
very severe gyrostatic action may be produced if the engine shaft is
fore and aft, as shown in Fig. 17. In the vector diagram of Fig. 17,
side view
Fig. 17.
S represents the spin-momentum of the fly-wheel at a given instant,
S’ represents the spin-momentum at a later instant, AS represents the
increment of spin-momentum, and the arrow T' represents the torque
which must act upon the fly-wheel shaft. In order to produce the
torque 7’, the bearing a must push the front end of the engine axle
to the left (with reference to the driver), and the bearing } must push
the rear end of the engine axle to the right (with reference to the
driver) ; or, in other words, the front end of the engine axle pushes to
the right against the bearing a, and the rear end of the engine axle
pushes to the left against the bearing 6. Thus, there is a tendency for
the front end of the car to be suddenly thrown to the right, when the
car rises upon the bump, and the supporting springs of the car body
are subjected to a skew action which is apt to break them.
There has been designed and placed upon the market an automobile
in which the engine shaft is vertical. This obviates all gyrostatic
action in the turning of curves, but it does not reduce the severe gyro-
static reactions when the car runs over a bump.
GyRosTATIC ACTION ON BoarpD SHIP
Fig. 18 is a top view of a side-wheel steamer which is represented
as turning to the right as indicated by the curved dotted arrow. The
arrow S in the vector diagram represents the spin-momentum of the
paddle wheels and shaft at a given instant, S’ represents the spin-
momentum at a later instant, AS represents the increment of spin-
28 THE POPULAR
SCIENCE MONTHLY
momentum, and the arrow 7 represents the torque which must act
upon the paddle-wheel shaft.
To produce this torque the bearing a
2 must push upwards on the crank
T
s’
4 5 Dies
S
Fig. 18.
shaft, and the bearing 6 must push
downwards on the crank shaft, or
in other words, the crank shaft must
push downwards on bearing a and
upwards on bearing 0b, so that the
gyrostatic reaction of the paddle
wheels and crank shaft causes the
boat to list, sinking the side OO of
the boat deeper into the water as it
turns round in the direction of the
curved arrow in Fig. 18.
Fig. 19 is a side view of a
boat driven by a steam turbine and
propeller. The most serious gyro-
static action occurs in this case when
the boat is pitching violently in a
rough sea, and Fig. 19 is intended
to represent the bow of the boat as
rising as represented by the curved
dotted arrow. Under these condi-
tions the arrow S in the vector dia-
gram represents the spin-momentum
of the steam turbine and propeller
shaft at a given instant, S’ represents the spin-momentum at a later
Fie, 19.
instant, AS represents the increment of spin-momentum, and the
GYROSTATIC ACTION 29
arrow T represents the torque which must act on the propeller shaft.
This torque is exerted upon the propeller shaft by the bearings as
indicated by the arrows FF” in the top view, Fig. 20. The high
speed and great weight of the rotating parts of a steam turbine
represent a very great spin-momentum (arrows S and S’ in Fig. 19
Fie. 20.
very long) so that the increment of spin-momentum AS which corre-
sponds to a given angular movement of the ship is very considerable,
and the torque JT is great. Therefore the forces FF” in Fig. 20 may
be very great. These forces are transmitted to the bearings of the
propeller shaft through the hull of the vessel from the middle and
forward parts of the vessel, and therefore excessive stresses may be
brought into existence in the hull. It is supposed that the loss of the
Fig, 21.
British torpedo boat Viper several years ago in a rough sea was due to
this action.
Figs. 21 and 22 represent the details of the gyrostatic action of a
high-speed steam engine, such as is used for driving dynamos on board
ship, the shaft of the engine being athwartship. In Fig. 21 the ship is
represented as rolling in the direction of the curved dotted arrow,
and T' in the vector diagram represents the torque which must act upon
the engine shaft. The details of this torque action are shown in Fig.
30 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
22 where the arrows FF in the top view represent the forces with which
the bearings must act upon the engine shaft to produce the torque T.
top view
. 22.
GyrosTatTic ACTION oF A Rotiine DIsk
Fig. 23 represents a penny rolling along a floor. The forces FF
in the side view (the tendency of the penny to fall over) constitute a
torque which is represented by the arrow 7 in the top view. ‘This
torque produces during a short interval of time an increment of spin-
T
Se “SF asf s’
S
i
floor
side view top view
Fic. 238.
momentum AS which, added to the existing spin-momentum S, gives
the resultant spin-momentum 8’ in the direction of which the axis of
the penny is found to be turned. The result is that the penny rolls
along a circular path as represented by the dotted curve in the top view,
Fig. 23. The wheels of a bicycle exhibit a gyrostatic reaction when
GYROSTATIC ACTION 31
the handle bar is turned, and although this gyrostatic action helps to
maintain the equilibrium of the rider, it is very small in its effect as
compared with the linear momentum of the rider and bicycle frame.
Fig. 24 is a top view of an axle
and pair of drive wheels of a locomo-
tive rounding a railway curve. The
arrow S in the vector diagram repre-
sents the spin-momentum of the axle
and drivers at a given instant, S’ rep-
resents the spin-momentum at a later
instant, AS represents the increment
of spin-momentum, and 7’ represents
the torque which must act upon the
axle because of its precession. To
exert this torque the outer rail must AS
push up with an excessive force against
the outer driver, or, in other words, s| Js’
the outer driver must be forced down-
wards against the outer rail with more
force than that which is due to the P
locomotive alone as it is rounding a eer
curve. That is to say, the gyrostatic action of the drivers of a loco-
motive exaggerates the excess of pressure on the outer rail while the
‘locomotive is rounding a curve.
GYROSTATIC ACTION OF THE BOOMERANG
The most familiar type of boomerang is a pair of crossed sticks
twisted very slightly at the ends like the vanes of a windmill. This
type of boomerang, which we will call the propeller-wheel type, is
essentially similar in its action to the boomerang of the native Austral-
ians. The boomerang is thrown through the air with a spinning
motion about an axis at right angles to the plane of the crossed pair
of sticks, and the peculiar flight of the boomerang is due to the forces
exerted upon the boomerang by the air.
Forces are exerted upon the moving boomerang very much as if it
were a disk traveling approximately edgewise through the air and forces
are exerted upon the boomerang by virtue of its propeller-wheel shape
and because of its combined spinning and edgewise motion. The
effects of these two sets of forces will be described separately and their
combined action will then be made use of in explaining the actual
motion of the boomerang.
A disk moving approximately edgewise through the air is in an
unstable condition, if the disk starts to glance to one side or the other
the air exerts a turning force or torque upon it which tends to turn
32 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
it with its side flat against the air. This may be shown by dropping
a thin paper disk through the air or by blowing a blast of air against
a disk which is pivoted about a diameter as an axis. Fig. 25 repre-
S
Fic. 25.
sents a thin metal disk DD which is thrown in the direction of the
arrow V and at the same time set spinning in the direction of the curved
arrow S, the thrower standing at MM. Figs. 26 and 27 are top views
F S
Vv
M — = 50 aon
|
F
top view
Fig, 26.
of the disk. Fig. 26 shows the disk starting to glance to the right
(with reference to the thrower at M), and Fig. 27 shows the disk
starting to glance to the left (with reference to the thrower at M).
This glancing action of the disk causes the air to exert upon the
S F’
H t
iM ae RR ee ee
L
top view
Fie. 27.
disk a torque about a vertical axis in Figs. 26 and 2%, which torque
is represented by the forces FF in Fig. 26 and by the forces F’F” in
Fig. 27. This torque would turn the disk flatwise against the air if
the disk were not spinning, but the effect of the torque on the spinning
GYROSTATIC ACTION 33
disk is to cause precession, the axis of spin of the disk in Figs. 26 and
2% turns towards the vertical, bringing the right-hand side (with
reference to the thrower) of the disk in Fig. 26 upwards and bringing
the left-hand side of the disk in Fig. 27 upwards.
Fig. 28 represents a propeller-wheel boomerang. In the following
discussion the propeller is supposed to be right-handed, that is to say,
if it were set spinning in the direction of the curved arrow S in Fig.
28, it would blow air towards the reader like a desk fan. Fig. 28
represents the boomerang as it leaves the hands of the thrower, who
is supposed to be standing at MM, V being the direction in which the
boomerang is thrown, and the curved arrow S representing the direction
in which the boomerang is set spinning. The upper vane of the
S
M Dees
Cc d a VE Ss ;
M
V-Sr
side view
Fie, 28.
boomerang in Fig. 28 is traveling forwards at a greater velocity than
the lower vane, because the forward velocity of the upper vane is the
velocity of forward motion of the boomerang plus a forward velocity
Sr which is due to the spinning motion of the boomerang, whereas the
forward velocity of the lower vane is the forward velocity of the
boomerang minus Sr. Fig. 29 is a top view of the boomerang as it
leaves the hand of the thrower at M, V is the velocity of forward
motion of the boomerang, and the arrow S represents the spin of the
boomerang. The arrow F' represents the force with which the air
pushes sidewise against the upper vane because of propeller action.
A force pushes sidewise in the same direction on the lower vane be-
cause of propeller action, but the sidewise force on the upper vane
is the greater because of the greater velocity of the upper vane. The
inequality of these forces constitutes a torque upon the boomerang,
and this torque is represented by the arrow T' in Fig. 29. The effect of
VOL. LXxv.—3.
34 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
this torque during a short interval of time is to produce an increment
of spin-momentum AS, and the addition of this increment of spin-
momentum to the previously existing spin-momentum S gives a re-
sultant spin-momentum 8’. That is to say, the effect of the torque
T is to cause the axis of spin to sweep around in the direction of the
curved dotted arrow.
17)
top view
a SEAS,
S’”\ |S
P
Fic. 29.
Fig. 30 shows a view as seen from above of an actual flight of the
boomerang. The boomerang leaves the thrower at M with its plane
approximately vertical, and the effect of the torque T of Fig. 29 is to
cause the axis of spin of the boomerang to sweep about a vertical axis
as represented by the curved dotted arrow in Fig. 29, thus tending to
make the boomerang glance around a circular horizontal path. At the
same time the boomerang acts more or less like a disk as represented
in Figs. 25 and 27, and this action slowly brings the axis of spin of
the boomerang into a vertical position (plane of boomerang horizontal).
As the plane of the boomerang comes into an approximately horizontal
position toward the end of its circular flight, the torque which is pro-
duced by propeller action (see Figs. 28 and 29) produces precessional
motion which tends to raise the forward edge a and lower the backward
edge b of the boomerang, thus causing the boomerang to tend to glance
upwards. This tendency of the boomerang to glance upwards is
helped by the propeller action of the boomerang, that is to say, the
GYROSTATIC ACTION 35
boomerang, spinning in the direction of the arrows SS, Fig. 30,
tends to climb upwards through the air. The result is that the curve
of flight as shown in Fig. 30 is approximately a horizontal circle, the
drooping of the curve of flight which would normally be produced by
Fie. 30.
gravity being counteracted by the tendency of the boomerang to
glance upwards and the tendency of the boomerang to climb upwards
as specified.
THE Device oF Orro SCHLICK FOR THE PREVENTION OF ROLLING OF
Suips AT SEA
Fig. 31 represents a spinning wheel hung upon a vertical axis from
a hinge which permits the axis to swing to and fro in the plane of
the keel of the ship (plane of paper in Fig. 31), the lower end of the
axle being guided between two parallel bars. If the spin-momentum
of the wheel were sufficiently great, all rolling motion of the ship could
be eliminated, and the ship would heel over into a position for which
the average heeling or rolling torque would be equal to zero; thus, the
36 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
spin-momentum produced by an unbalanced torque 7” would be com-
pletely absorbed by the precessional motion of the spinning wheel as
its axis of spin turns in the direction of the curved dotted arrow P’,
and the spin-momentum produced by an unbalanced torque T” would
Fie, 31.
be completely absorbed by the precessional motion of the spinning
wheel as its axis of spin turns in the direction of the curved dotted
arrow P”.
dash-pot
Fie, 32.
To completely hinder the rolling motion of a ship in this way would
require the use of a very large wheel rotating at high speed. Thus
a rolling torque (Z” or 7” in Fig. 31) equivalent to 200 tons placed
10 feet to one side of the axis of the ship and continuing for only one
tenth of a second would represent the whole amount of spin-momentum
GYROSTATIC ACTION 37
contained in a solid steel disk 2 feet thick, 10 feet in diameter and
rotating at a speed of 144 revolutions per minute; and therefore this
amount of rolling torque continued for one tenth of a second would
bring the axle of such a wheel into a horizontal position so that any
further continuation of the torque would cause the ship to roll.
The rolling motion of a ship, however, is largely an oscillatory
motion which is slowly built up by a succession of waves in synchron-
ism with the proper period of rolling motion, and excessive rolling may
therefore be prevented by an action which tends to hinder the oscilla-
tions by friction. A very considerable amount of frictional damping
may be produced by a moderately small gyrostat arranged as shown
in Fig. 32 (plane of paper in Fig. 32 is a vertical plane containing the
keel of the ship). In this case the rolling motion of the ship causes
the pendant wheel and axle to oscillate to and fro in the plane of the
keel, and these oscillations are hindered by the motion of a piston in a
dash-pot as indicated in the figure.
THE BRENNAN MonorRAIL CAR
Before discussing the Brennan gyrostatic mechanism for main-
taining the equilibrium of a monorail car, let us consider the action of
the apparatus shown in Figs. 33 to 36, a gyrostat wheel mounted in a
frame aa which in turn is pivoted in a larger frame BB, the whole
Fie. 33. Fig. 34.
being supported upon two legs, one behind the other, as seen in the
figures. Standing in the position shown in Fig. 33, the framework
is acted upon by the unbalanced pull of the earth which produces a
torque ; the spin-momentum which is continually produced by this torque
is absorbed by a precessional motion P of the gyrostat wheel as it
38 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
turns from the position shown in Fig. 33 to the position shown in
Fig. 34, and the reaction of this precessional motion produces the two
forces FF, Fig. 33, which keep the frame from falling over. When
the gyrostat wheel reaches the position shown in Fig. 34, however, the
precession ceases and the frame-structure falls over. Standing in the
position shown in Fig. 35, the framework is acted upon by the
unbalanced pull of the earth, which produces a torque, the spin-
momentum which is continually produced by this torque is absorbed
by the precessional motion P’ of the gyrostat wheel as it turns from the
position shown in Fig. 35 to the position shown in Fig. 36, and the
reaction of this precessional motion produces the two forces F’F’,
Fig. 35, which keep the frame from falling over. When the gyrostat
Ms
———
Fie. 35. Fic. 36.
wheel reaches the position shown in Fig. 36, however, the precession
ceases and the frame-structure falls over. Suppose the handle h in
Figs. 33 and 34 to be forcibly turned in the direction of the preces-
sional motion P. This hastened precession causes the reactions FF’ to
be more than enough to hold the inclined frame in position, and the
result is to bring the frame into a vertical position, or, if the precession
is hastened sufficiently, to throw the frame-structure over into the
reverse position as shown in Fig. 35, thus starting the reversed preces-
sion P’. This hastened precession is the essential feature of the
Brennan gyrostatic mechanism and it is brought about automatically
as explained in the following discussion.
The essential features of the Brennan mechanism are shown in Fig.
37%. The car body BB’ supports a rocker-axle O which is parallel to the
rail or rope W upon which the car stands. A steel frame FFF is
supported upon the rocker-axle O, and the two gyrostat wheels are
GYROSTATIO ACTION 39
carried in two smaller frames ff and f’f’ which are free to turn about
the precession axles P and P’. ‘The axles of spin of the gyrostat
wheels are ss and s’s’, and these axles project as shown at A and A’.
The two gyrostat wheels spin in the direction of motion of the hands
of a clock as seen from the outer ends of the axles of spin A and A’,
respectively. The precession axles P and P’ are geared together by
sectors of gear wheels G and G’. The frame FFFF is hindered from
turning about the rocker-axis O by the tables H, L, H' and L’; the
tables H and L’ extend backwards from the plane of the paper, and
the tables Z and H’ extend forwards from the plane of the paper.
: ¢-——Tia—; i
AWG
The action of this mechanism is as follows: Suppose side B’ of the
car body to be the heavier. The pull of gravity on this heavier side
produces spin-momentum about the rail W as an axis, and this spin-
momentum is absorbed by the precessional motion of the gyrostat
wheels, causing both ends of the axles of spin A and A’ to move away
from the reader in the figure. The unbalanced car, however, in tend-
ing to tip over (side B’ overloaded), brings the projecting axle A into
contact with the table H, the rolling action of the axle A upon the
table H hastens the precessional motion, and this hastened precession
raises the side B’ and lowers the side B of the car-frame, as explained
40 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
in connection with Figs. 33 to 36. This action continues until side
B is heavier than side B’, when the reversed unbalanced condition of
the car body causes a reversed precessional movement of the gyrostat
wheels. This reversed precession continues steadily and unhastened
so long as the heavy side B is balanced by the contact of the idle wheel
’ with the table L’, that is, until the projecting ends of the axles of
spin A and A’ are brought forwards (in the figure) into the plane of
the paper. Then the continuation of the reversed precession brings the
axle A’ upon the table H’, the reversed precessional motion is then
hastened, and this hastened precession raises the side B and lowers the
side B’ of the car-frame, thus bringing the car-frame into its initial
unbalanced condition (side B’ heavier than side B). The above-de-
scribed action is then repeated, and so on.
The stability of the Brennan car is due to the hastened precession
which is caused by rolling action of one or the other of the projecting
axles of spin upon the tables H and H’, while the axles of spin are
departing from a line at right angles to the length of the car, and to
the steady and unhastened precession, while the axles of spin are
moving towards a line at right angles to the length of the car. The
hastened precession on the one hand quickly alters the condition of
balance of the car so as to limit the departure of the axles of spin from
a line at right angles to the length of the car, and the steady and un-
hastened precession, on the other hand, insures the complete return of
the axles of spin to a line at right angles to the length of the car.
The hastened precession is accomplished with great friction losses
by the rolling axles A and A’ in Fig. 37%, and it is reported that
Brennan is working upon an automatic motor-driven mechanism to
produce the hastened precession without exhausting the energy of the
gyrostat wheels.
Two devices like Fig. 3% with their rocker-axles at right angles to
each other would hold a one-legged body in equilibrium; indeed, such
a double mechanism would make it possible to use a one-wheeled car,
but the wheel would have to have a deep double flange to make it roll
along a rope or rail. Such a one-wheeled car, a sort of hyper-wheel-
barrow car, would be of no value for practical use, and, indeed, most
of us believe that Brennan’s two-wheeled car is nothing more than
a scientific toy.
CALCULATION OF TORQUE-REACTION DUE TO PRECESSION
Let n be the revolutions per second of a spinning wheel, P the
revolutions per second (or the fraction of a revolution per second) of
the axis of spin due to the precession, and K the moment of inertia
of the spinning wheel in pound x feet squared. Then the torque
reaction is equal to 47°nPK poundal-feet or 4r°nPK pound-feet.*
“See Franklin and MacNutt’s “ Elements of Mechanics,” p. 150.
JOSIAH WILLARD GIBBS : 41
JOSIAH WILLARD GIBBS AND HIS RELATION TO
MODERN SCIENCE. III
By FIELDING H. GARRISON, M.D.
ASSISTANT LIBRARIAN, ARMY MEDICAL LIBRARY, WASHINGTON, D. C.
Catalysis, Colloids and Chemical Purity——When chemical change
can be produced in a system by the mere presence of small quantities
of another substance which itself usually remains unchanged at the
end of the process, such an effect is called catalysis and the agent em-
ployed a catalytic agent. Of the varied aspects of catalytic processes
we have different examples in the decomposition of substances by the
presence of finely divided metals like platinum or colloidal nickel, in
the rapid evolution of oxygen from potassium chlorate when a small
quantity of manganese dioxide is present, in the solution of insoluble
chromic chloride through the mere presence of chromous chloride, in
the inversion of cane sugar by acids, in the saponification of fats and
esters, in the synthesis of indigo by oxidation of naphthalin, in the
standard manufacture of sulphuric acid in the leaden chambers and
the later improvements of the method through the presence of platinum
or ferrous oxide, in catatyptic photography without light, in the re-
versible physiologic and therapeutic action of the animal and vegetable
ferments and enzymes, in the synthesis of nuclein during the develop-
ment of the embryo, and in the pathologic effects of poisons, venoms
and the toxins of disease. Many theories of catalytic action have heen
advanced, of which the earliest and most original is that of Leibig.
Liebig supposes catalysis to be due to the fact that the catalytic agent
has power, like that of a tuning fork, to set up sympathetic molecular
vibrations in the substance acted upon, producing chemical change.
This theory has been proscribed by Ostwald because, being a figment
of the mind, it is neither capable of proof nor susceptible of refutation,
leading the subject into a blind alley, from which further scientific
advance is impossible.‘°t It has therefore remained, like Hamlet’s
father, “ quietly inurned,” as a beautiful, imaginative hypothesis which
we can neither prove nor disprove. Of other theories of catalysis
the most important is that of Ostwald himself, summed up in his
famous definition: A catalytic agent is one which modifies the velocity
of a chemical reaction without appearing in its final process. This
statement introduces two new ideas, the notion of infinite swiftness
and infinite slowness in chemical change and the fact that catalytic
change may be brought about by a series of intermediate reactions. It
will be seen that Ostwald’s definition is elastic enough to include as
11 Ostwald, “ Ueber Katalyse,” Leipzig, 1902.
42 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
catalytic agencies such physical forces as light, electricity, extremes of
heat or cold or the action of living tissues, and from this point of
view the explosion of a cartridge or a charge of dynamite by percus-
sion, the decomposition of water by electrolysis and its synthesis by the
electric spark, the effects of light in photography and in healing disease,
the wonderful thermodynamic effects of Henri Moissan’s electric fur-
nace, the occasional changes of food in cold storage, are further exam-
ples or analogues of catalytic action, and this is all we know of its
physical nature. As to a dynamic explanation of how catalysis takes
place, we have not got beyond the familiar jest of the laboratories:
“@Q. What is catalysis? A. Action by contact. @. What is action by
contact? A. Catalytic action.” Gibbs’s treatment of the subject is
interesting as affording a mathematical criterion of what catalysis is
and what it is not. It will be remembered that when the entropy of
an isolated chemical system, say a bar of steel, has attained a maximum
or its free energy a minimum value, the final state of the substance in
question has been called by Gibbs a “ phase of dissipated energy,”
implying that it has become physically and chemically inert, so that its
equilibrium will not be sensibly disturbed by the presence of other
substances or by such small physical agencies as an electric spark. But
when the proportion of the proximate components of the substance in
connection with its pressure and temperature is such that it does not
constitute a phase of dissipated energy, the contact of a very small
body or physical agency may produce energetic changes in its mass
which do not stop short of complete dissipation. This is catalysis, and
Gibbs’s definition of a catalytic agent—one capable of reducing a sub-
stance to a phase of dissipated energy without limitation as to their
relative proportions—is characteristic of the mathematician. A chem-
ical system at constant temperature has several states of equilibrium
corresponding to different minima of its isothermal potentials, and on
the solid diagrams of Gibbs these minima are valleys at the bottoms of
sloping curves. The effect of a catalytic agent on the diagram is to
obliterate the ridge between two depressions representing different
states of equilibrium on the free energy surface. This means that a
system disturbed by a catalytic agent may pass from a higher to a
lower minimum of free energy, but never from a lower to a higher
unless acted upon by external forces of considerable magnitude.
When the lowest minimum of free energy, indicated by the lowest
depression on the diagram, has been attained, the substance can no
more leave the final phase of dissipated energy than an inert body can
be made to go up a hill without the intervention of external forces.
On Gibbs’s showing, the phase of dissipated energy is the criterion of
catalytic action, the condition for which is that the substance acted
upon should not have attained such a phase, while the forces operating
flow, as in other mechanical, thermal, chemical or electric happenings,
from higher to lower potentials. The accuracy of this reasoning is
JOSIAH WILLARD GIBBS 43
borne out by Emil Fischer’s researches in structural chemistry, which
show that the intrinsic stability of chemical systems is usually such
that it can not be disturbed by “intramolecular wobble,” chemical
change being brought about by extramolecular or catalytic influences.
The mathematical treatment of catalysis gives us a deeper insight into
phenomena which no one has as yet succeeded in explaining. “We have
not,” says Bancroft, “the first suggestion of an adequate theory of
catalysis ” so essential to a better understanding of chemistry and of
life itself. A true theory of catalysis will enable us to solve the prob-
lem of the transmutation of the elements, of which we have already
had examples in the substances derived from radium, and the recent
derivation of tellurium from copper by Sir William Ramsay. The
action of animal and vegetable protoplasm is probably catalytic and
the chemist can now make some vegetable substances, such as indigo
or alizarine, more cheaply and purely than the plants themselves do.
Could we substitute inorganic catalyzers for the vegetable enzymes and
ferments in all cases, we might, as Bancroft points out, duplicate every-
thing except the plant itself. Recently Loeb has interpreted the fact
that some eggs can be developed by osmotic pressure alone, while others
require fertilization, by the explanation that, in the former class the
nuclein synthesis, which is necessary for segmentation, is started within
the nucleus as a catalytic process, one of the products of the reac-
tion being the catalyzer itself; while eggs requiring fertilization are
such that the necessary nuclein synthesis must be started by some
external catalytic agency.1°% Again catalysis is the key to the causes
and treatment of infectious diseases, the toxins and antitoxins of which
are probably colloidal catalytic agents. A few drops of such a colloid
as cobra venom will rapidly reduce a living animal body to a definite
phase of dissipated energy, as far as its vital activity (or “free en-
ergy”) is concerned, and such catalysts as colloidal metals, which
Bredig has shown to act exactly like the ferments and enzymes, can
themselves be “ poisoned ” or rendered inert by other substances, just
as toxins, venoms and poisons can be neutralized by antitoxins or other
antidotes. Gibbs did not discuss colloids explicitly, because substances
of such indefinite or irregular formation do not admit of mathematical
treatment as such, but the physics of what we know of their intimate
structure is implicit in his chapters on chemical conditions obtaining
at surfaces of discontinuity. Colloids are semi-solid substances, and
colloidal solutions are “ pseudo-solutions,” being suspensions of minute,
discrete particles of matter which are not true solutions, in that they
obstruct the passage of light, while neither the freezing point nor the
vapor tension of the solvent can be sensibly lowered. Graham thought
of colloids as dynamic phases of matter, possessing internal energy, while
erystalloids are static and inert. The former include reversible colloids
like gelatine which, heated with warm water, will upon cooling solidify
*? Loeb, Science, 1907, N. S., XXVI., 425-37.
44 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
into a “ gel,” and redissolve upon heating into a colloidal solution or
“sol”; and irreversible colloids, which, when heated with warm water,
will coagulate at once into an unchangeable precipitate. Living pro-
toplasm, as Darwin has shown in his experiments upon Drosera and
other plants,1°* acts exactly like a reversible colloid. Dead protoplasm,
such as a coagulated blood clot, is an irreversible colloid consisting of
a fixed network, the meshes of which contain the “sol.” There is no
evidence of internal structure in living protoplasm, and Hardy supposes
that structure in dead protoplasm is produced by submortem or post-
mortem changes associated with coagulation. Whether the phase rule
can be applied to colloids is still an open question bound up with the
complex nature of bodies of which we know so little. But recently
Siedentopf and Zsigismony have shown that colloidal metals, organic
ferments and enzymes are systems in two phases of vast surface tension
consisting of suspensions of ultra-microscopic particles acted upon by
chemical, thermodynamic and electric potentials. Of such suspensions
animal and vegetable bodies are largely made up, protoplasm being a
sort of microscopic emulsion, the physiological action of which seems
‘to be bound up with chemical, thermal, electric and osmotic changes
between its semi-permeable membranes and surfaces of discontinuity
and the various surface tensions and surface energies derived from the
free energy of chemical or electric change. If we conceive of colloidal
solutions as made up in this way, each tiniest particle being an ultra-
microscopic furnace, retort or battery in itself and carrying a definite
charge of electricity, we can understand how Liebig’s theory of sympa-
thetic vibrations might be applicable to colloidal catalysis at least, and
how finely divided metals, serpent venoms or the excretions of micro-
organisms can produce the extraordinary effects they do. In close
connection with the theory of catalysis is the nature of chemical purity
and the fact that chemical changes rarely proceed directly to their final
product, but usually pass through a series of intermediate stages. For
a long time chemists have noticed that absolutely dry or pure sub-
stances will not interact directly upon each other, but the cooperation
of a third substance is necessary for chemical change. Dried chlorine
does not of itself act upon copper and other metals, but the presence
of a little moisture will cause it to act upon them at once. A mixture
of carbonic acid and oxygen is not explosive when thoroughly dry, but
the slightest trace of steam will cause an explosion. The rapid solu-
bility of zine in sulphuric acid depends upon impurities in the former.
Ebullition depends largely upon gaseous impurities in the boiling sub-
stance. Absolutely pure or distilled water has no digestive value, but,
by its absorptive power, acts as an irritant or poison to the lining
membrane of the stomach. Traces of moisture or other impurities
have therefore a marked catalytic effect, a theory of catalysis which
was first advanced as early as 1794 by Mrs. Fulhame in her “ Essay
108 Darwin, “'The Power of Motion in Plants,” passim.
JOSIAH WILLARD GIBBS 45
on Combustion.” Where water is the impurity, thermodynamic
change is supposed to be due to electrolysis: the moisture being the
necessary third ingredient for producing a little Voltaic circuit and
the electric shock precipitating chemical action as in catalysis. The
phase rule, Bancroft reminds us, has taught us to look upon an abso-
lutely pure substance, 100 per cent. strong, as the extreme case of a
two-component system, in which the concentration of the second com-
ponent approaches zero as its limit. Gibbs has shown that in a system
of two phases, one component of which is very small, the chemical
potential of the dilute component is proportional to the logarithm of
its density. As the density of the smaller component becomes less and
less, its potential tends to an infinite value,t°* which means that, at the
limit, when concentration becomes evanescent, “the removal of the
last traces of any impurity would demand infinite expenditure of avail-
able energy.’°> From the view-point of mathematical chemistry there
are many chemical substances that are relatively and approximately
pure, but absolute purity of a chemical nature is, in Whetham’s dictum,
“more often a pious dream than an accomplished fact.”1°°
Ideal Gases and Gas-Mixtures.—It is in the physics of gases that
the application of the molecular theory has proved most successful and
the laws and equations relating to gaseous states are of considerable
accuracy owing to the fact that practically all gases act alike. Al-
though Gibbs made no explicit assumptions as to molecular dynamics,
his treatment of gaseous states agrees so well with the kinetic theory
that Boltzmann thought he must have had the latter constantly before
his mind in framing his fundamental equations.‘°’ ‘These equations
are unique in that Gibbs subjected them to an unusual test of accuracy
by comparing their calculated densities of gas mixtures with converti-
ble components with the actual measurements for nitrogen peroxide.
acetic and formic acids and phosphorus perchloride’®® by Sainte-Claire-
Deville, Horstmann and others. In the case of nitrogen peroxide the
difference between the observed and calculated densities scarcely ex-
ceeded .01 on the average and was not greater than .03 in any case!
The agreement between the theoretical and actual values was equally
striking for the other gases, and these results are among the most
accurate and satisfactory in the history of physical chemistry. Inter-
esting features of this section of Gibbs’s work are his interpretation of
14 Tr. Connect. Acad., III., 194-7.
*6 Larmor, “ Encycl. Britan., ” 10th ed., XXVIII., 169.
78 Whetham, “ The Recent Developments of Physical Science,” Philadelphia,
1904.
*7” Aus vielen Stellen geht deutlich hervor, dass Gibbs auch diese molekular-
theoretische Anschauung fortwiihrend vor Augen hatte, wenn er auch von den
Gleichungen der Molekularmechanik keinen Gebrauch machte.” Boltzmann,
“Vorles. iiber Gastheorie,” Leipzig, 1898, II., 211.
*§ Gibbs, Am. J. Sc., 1879, 3. s., XVII., 277, 371.
3% Tr. Connect. Acad., II., 240.
46 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
Dalton’s law as implying that “every gas is as a vacuum to every
other gas,”™° his anticipation of van’t Hoff’s equation in the form of
Henry’s law for dilute solutions of gases in liquids'** and his genial
discussion of gas-mixtures, known in Germany as,
The Paradox of Gibbs.1\?—If two different gases which can be
separated reversibly by quicklime or other process are allowed to mix,
a certain definite amount of work or available energy will be gained;
but if two gases, which are in every respect identical, are allowed to
mix, they could not be separated by any reversible process and there
would consequently be no gain of available energy in their mixing nor
any dissipation of energy (increase of entropy). But if we suppose two
gases which differ only infinitesimally to mix, the first condition would
still obtain and there would still be a certain gain of available energy.
The question arises, what will happen if we proceed to the limit? Max-
well explained this paradox by saying that our ideas of dissipation of
energy depend upon the extent of our knowledge of the subject. Could
we invoke Maxwell’s demon and borrow his gift of molecular vision,
we should perceive that when two identical gases mix there is in reality
‘a complete dissipation of energy, which the demon’s intelligence might
turn into available energy if he liked; for “it is only to a being in the
intermediate stage who can lay hold of some forms of energy, while
others elude his grasp, that energy appears to be passing inevitably
from the available to the dissipated state.”21* In the reasoning of
energetics, the paradox is explained by saying*** that the more nearly
alike the gases are, the slower will be the process of diffusion, so that
work or available energy might indeed be gained, but only after the
lapse of indefinite or infinite time, if we have such time at our disposal.
Theory of Capillarity, Liquid Films and Interfacial Phenomena.—
There are two important theories of capillary action, that of Laplace,
based upon the assumption that the play of molecular forces in a liquid
is only possible at insensible or ultra-micrometric distances, and that
of Gauss, based upon the doctrine of energy. Gibbs’s exhaustive dis-
cussion of capillarity, which takes up at least one third of his memoir,
is the thermodynamic or chemical completion of the purely dynamic
theory of Gauss. A capillary film or interfacial layer forms a new
“phase” between the two substances on either side of it, and the
mathematical condition for the formation of a new chemical substance
at such an interface or “surface of discontinuity ” is expressible as an
algebraic relation between the surface tensions of the three layers of
substance and the pressure of the three phases,’*® the surface tensions
110 Tbid., 218.
™ Tbid., 194-7, 225-7.
“2 Tbid., 227-9. :
48 Maxwell, “ Encyel. Britan.,’ 9th ed., VII., 220, sub voce “ Diffusion.”
44 Larmor, “ Encycl. Britan.,” 10th ed., XXVIII., 171.
“5 Tr, Connect. Acad., III., 391-416.
JOSIAH WILLARD GIBBS 47
being functions of the temperature and the chemical potentials. The
only stable substance which can be formed between two other phases
will be the one having the least surface tension."* The chemical equi-
librium of solids in contact with liquids, including the delicate mathe-
matical conditions for the formation of crystals in mother liquor, is
treated dynamically as a matter of stresses and strains, and this together
with the theory of interfacial formations and liquid films will embrace
the possible physics of colloid substances. Gibbs gives for the first
time a mathematical discussion of the mode of formation of liquid
films and the conditions for their stability and his dynamic explana-
tion of the black spots on soap films!’ was proved quantitatively in
1887 by Reinold and Riicker’s micrometric data of the relations be-
tween the thickness and surface tension of these films.** The impor-
tance of liquid films in biology is obvious, and this phase of Gibbs’s
theory, which is capable of the widest development, has as yet received
the slightest attention.
Electrochemical Thermodynamics.—One of the most important
features of energetics is Gibbs’s theory of the galvanic cell which shows
the close interrelation existing between chemical, thermal and electric
energy. The earliest pioneer in this field was Lord Kelvin, and, prior
to 1878, physicists had accepted the Joule-Kelvin theory that the electro-
motive force of a galvanic apparatus is the mechanical equivalent of
the total chemical energy liberated per unit strength in unit time. But
this view, which implies that all the electric energy of a chemical cell
is available, did not agree entirely with the experimental data of Boscha,
Raoult and others. It was corrected and modified by Gibbs, who
showed that the electromotive force of the cell is in reality its free
energy per electrochemical equivalent of decomposition,® from which
it follows that neither solidification nor fusion of the metals at the
temperature of liquefaction should cause any abrupt alteration of the
electromotive force. In 1882, six years later, this important theorem
was rediscovered from a different view-point by Helmholtz and bril-
liantly developed as to experimental confirmation.12° The Gibbs Helm-
holtz doctrine enables the physicist to trace out the variations in electro-
motive force due to chemical differences in different cells. In a letter
to Professor Bancroft; now printed in the memorial edition, Gibbs
connects the mathematical part of his theory of the electric cell
with the fundamental principles of physical chemistry, the theories of
van’t Hoff and Arrhenius, Nernst’s osmotic theory of the Voltaic cell
"8 Tbid., 403.
™ Tbid., 479-81.
"8 Phil. Tr., 1887, CLXXVII., 627, 684.
“<The quantities of the different substances combined in connection with
the passage of a unit electricity are called the electrochemical equivalents of
these substances.” Bryan, “ Thermodynamics,” 164.
™® Helmholtz, Sitzungsb. d. Berl. Akad., 1882, 22 et seq.
48 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
and the equations of Ostwald and van der Waals.?22 But perhaps his
most important contributions to the theory of electricity are the two
papers on electrochemical thermodynamics which he sent to the British
Association in 1886 and 1888; Helmholtz, in his well-known formula
for electromotive force, gives a relation such that if a cell be set up,
and the reversible heat measured, the electromotive force need not be
measured, but may be calculated from these data, or vice versa. In
Gibbs’s rendement of the perfect (or reversible) galvanic cell, both the
electromotive force and the reversible heat can be predicted from his
equation without the necessity of setting up any cell at all. “ Pro-
duction of reversible heat,” says Gibbs, “is not anything incidental,
superposed or separable, but belongs to the very essence of the opera-
tion.””??? In discussing the matter in 1887, Sir Oliver Lodge raised the
question whether Professor Gibbs was not regarding a galvanic cell as
“too simply a heat engine” or assuming that the union of the elements
in a cell primarily produces heat and secondarily propels a current.17*
Gibbs replied that “in supposing such a case we do not exceed the
liberty usually allowed in theoretical discussions” and proceeded to
show, in an ingenious demonstration, that Helmholtz’s equation flows
as a natural consequence from his own earlier results.1°* The accuracy
of his reasoning is sustained by such developments of the subject as
the “ Peltier effect,” in which it is demonstrated that the thermoelectric
effect in systems of conductors, in which no chemical action takes place,
is still proportional to the absolute temperature at any junction. In
general the properties of a thermoelectric system are determined by the
entropy function, and the entropy and energy in a thermoelectric net-
work are not, as previously supposed, stored in the conductors, but, as
we see in the electric transmission of motor power from a waterfall
like Niagara to an engine or railway car, actually travel with the
moving charge of electricity itself. In short, “ entropy can be located
in an electric charge.”2?5
Such are a few of the mathematical and physical consequences flow-
ing from the single idea of entropy, and they are sufficient to define the
position of Gibbs in the history of thermodynamics. In the establish-
ment of the dynamical theory of heat, says Larmor, “The name of
Carnot has a place by itself; in the completion of its earlier physical
stage the names of Joule and Clausius and Kelvin stand out by common
consent; it is, perhaps, not too much to say that, by the final adaptation
of its ideas to all reversible natural operations, the name of Gibbs takes
a place alongside theirs.”1?°
21 See Bancroft, J. Phys. Chem., 1903, VII., 416-427.
12“ Report British Association for the Advancement of Science,’ 1886, 388.
¥8 Toc. cit.
4“ Report British Association for the Advancement of Science,” 1888, 343-6.
25 See Bryan, “ Thermodynamics,” Leipzig, 1907, 174, 198.
% Proc. Roy. Soc. Lond., 1905, LXXV., 292.
(To be continued)
A REVOLUTION IN DENTISTRY 49
A REVOLULION IN DENTISTRY
By RICHARD COLE NEWTON, M.D.
AVE the dentists waked up? Some of them have. A new order
of the “ Knights of the Forceps” has been formed, called the
“ Orthodontists” (tooth straighteners). At last accounts there were
sixty of them in America, as compared to 50,000 simple dentists. And
what does it all mean? If I can compress a great deal of information
into a limited space I can, perhaps, explain it and I think that it may
be possible to make it clear why the movement is so important.
Dr. Osler has said that the question of preserving the teeth is more
important than the liquor question. When one reflects that a great
deal of intemperance is caused by dyspepsia, with its mental and phys-
ical deterioration, and that the underlying cause of much of the gen-
erally prevalent dyspepsia is the decayed and defective teeth, which
preclude complete mastication of the food (even if anybody in America
had the time to eat properly), the solid truth of Dr. Osler’s remark
begins to dawn upon us.
Now the dentists, like the doctors, have begun to realize that their
true mission is not “a general repairing business,” but a systematic and
well-considered effort to prevent and forestall the wholesale decay and
loss of human teeth. Perhaps some idea of the very general use of
false teeth may be gathered from the statement that 20,000,000 of them
are exported from America to England every year. When we consider
that probably not more than half of the inhabitants of that country
indulge in the luxury of false teeth, no matter how many “ grinders ”
they may have lost, these figures would seem to indicate that nearly
every one in England suffers from defective or missing teeth. Observa-
tions so far as they have been carried in the United States show the
same deplorable state of affairs.
A great many more or less ingenious explanations have been ad-
vanced from time to time, to account for this, as well as for the fact
that so few Americans have regularly disposed teeth and well-shaped
jaws. Our English friends have made much sport of our “ hatchet
faces,” “lantern jaws” and the nasal tones of our voices. We are told
that such an admixture of races, as is gradually taking place in our
country, is the cause of our poor teeth. Nobody seems to know why it
should be so. In fact, such a result is directly opposite to nature’s
beneficent course in admixtures of different races and species, where
VOL. Lxxv.—4.
50 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
the tendency is to preserve the best and strongest features and eliminate
the weak and faulty ones. J remember an elaborate article in some
magazine, some years ago, which explained the great prevalence of poor
teeth in America by saying, that they are caused by our habit of shaving
our faces, while the orientals have sore and weak eyes because they
shave their heads. The filth in which the latter live was not taken
into account, nor the fact that the American women, who do not shave,
have as bad teeth as the men.
A rather ingenious explanation of the marked disproportion between
the size of the teeth and that of the jaw in many Americans, as for
example, large teeth in small jaws, so that the former are crowded out
of position and overlap one another, is that the big teeth are inherited
from one parent and the small jaws from the other. This sounds plaus-
ible and since no systematic effort has, so far as I know, been made to
find out the truth of the matter, it has been tentatively accepted for
want of a better explanation of an exceedingly common phenomenon.
Recently some good observers, notably Dr. Sim Wallace and Dr.
_ Harry Campbell, of England, have said that the trouble is not hered-
“itary at all, but begins in each person’s babyhood, and that our teeth
are poor and irregular and our jaws contracted because we do not exer-
cise these parts sufficiently from infancy to manhood; especially from
weaning until six years of age, when the permanent teeth begin to
erupt. In support of this statement they point out that the first set
of teeth is practically never irregular, never overlaps and is very seldom
defective. The beautiful lines of a baby’s face are not distorted by
irregular or protruding teeth, nor sunken by reason of the non-support
of sufficiently wide jaws. The teeth of savages, Hottentots and Esqui-
maux are almost invariably excellent, and their jaws and tongues are
wider and stronger than ours. This has been proved by the measure-
ment of thousands of skulls as well as by observations upon the ee
inhabitants of the tropics and the arctic regions.
Dr. Campbell also points out that the frequent occurrence of
adenoids in young children is caused by feeding them chiefly “ pap.”
He calls this the “pap age.” The good old-fashioned plan of chewing
sufficiently hard and dry food to properly exercise and develop the jaws
and teeth, seems to have been abandoned in our effete civilization.
Instead of the honest “ johnny cake” (called in the south “ corn pone ”
or “hoe cake”) upon which such sturdy characters as Andrew Jackson
and Abraham Lincoln were wont to subsist—and, by the way, the
American negro had good teeth and practically escaped tuberculosis so
long as he lived upon simple corn bread and bacon and the vegetables
and fruits from the plantation. I started to say, however, instead of
corn bread and Boston brown bread and rye and “injun” bread, the
breads of our grandfathers, which required mastication and insalivation
A REVOLUTION IN DENTISTRY 51
before they could be swallowed, our children now are fed on “ pre-
viously cooked ” breakfast foods, infant foods and other starchy viands,
which may differ in name and flavor; but agree in two characteristics,
viz., that they pander to lazy housekeeping, by requiring very little
preparation for the table, and, secondly, require little or no mastication,
before swallowing. Wetted with milk or cream they “ slip down ” very
easily, and are landed in a stomach not prepared for a deluge of
unchewed and non-insalivated starchy food. Hence the common cry
of “starch indigestion.” This is not wonderful because the proper
digestion of starchy food must begin in the mouth, and is impossible
without complete mastication. We are told in Science that in feeding
meal to calves, “it must be spread thinly upon the bottom of the
troughs so that it will be eaten slowly and insalivated.” ‘This is only
one instance out of many where man’s commercial instinct has taught
him an invaluable truth in regard to the rearing of stock, that has a
market value, but which it never seems to have occurred to him is just
as important in connection with the rearing of his own children.
So far as the improper development or non-development of our
teeth, jaws, tongues and lips is concerned, the trouble begins with the
nursing bottle from which the infant gets its nourishment too easily
and too rapidly, so that these important structures are all more or less
undeveloped, and this non-development is a continuous performance
up to adult life. Of course removal of adenoids, regulation of the
teeth, boring out the nasal cavities and so on, are resorted to with great
benefit, to obviate defects that should have been prevented by mothers
nursing their babies and then making the children chew their food as
nature intended them to do. If a child will not chew its food, the
despised habit of chewing gum, now known to have prevailed among
the Indians, should be encouraged.
Dr. Robinson, an English writer, calls attention to the development
of the jaws of English boys who were taken out of the streets of London
and sent into the British navy. He says “undoubtedly the most
noticeable improvement in them, next to their superior stature and
healthy appearance, was the total change in the shape and expression
of their faces. On analyzing this, one found that it was to be mainly
accounted for by the increased growth and improved angle of the lower
jaw.” This change was due to the rations of “hard tack” and “ salt
junk ” upon which these lads had subsisted. A very satisfactory diet
from an orthodontological point of view at least. It is plain enough
that ninety per cent. of dental work might have been avoided; just as
ninety per cent. of the sickness and premature death in the world is
needless and could be prevented. The dentists have made the aston-
ishing discovery that they can alter and enlarge the jaws of any child
by simple means and they have found out, moreover, that the teeth
52 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
themselves and their arrangement are the pattern from which the jaw
takes its shape. The teeth in different skulls differ so much, that it is
extremely difficult, if not impossible, to “match” a missing tooth in
one jaw with a tooth from any other one. ‘The natural teeth then
have an individuality in keeping with each particular face, and when
they are in good condition and in their proper position, can not but
add to the beauty, dignity and symmetry of the face. Three people
out of four seem to lack in the proper development of the lower part of
the face by reason of defective and misplaced teeth, and weak and ill-
developed jaws. Hence we see that the “man of destiny,” “the man
with firm jaw, who knows his own mind,” is presumably one who was
made to chew properly in childhood, and was not allowed to wash down
his food half chewed, or unchewed by gulps of liquid.
Before. After.
It is not true, that the teeth must fit into the jaws; the reverse 1s
true, the jaws form themselves around the teeth. The bone grows
around the roots of the teeth and forms a socket like the mortar or
cement around the bricks in a fire-place. This is easily demonstrated ;
a tooth, for example, can be completely turned round or moved from
one place to another, and, as we say, it grows “ fast.” For that matter,
teeth, as is well known, can be extracted, cleaned and put back again,
or teeth from one person’s mouth can be put into the place of an
extracted tooth in another’s mouth and become firmly imbedded and
do good service for years. The part of the jaw-bone that embraces the
~ roots of the teeth is called the alveolar process, and it continues to grow
and harden for some time after the teeth have been erupted, or after
A REVOLUTION IN DENTISTRY 53
they have changed their places in the jaw. Upon this elemental truth
is founded the art of orthodontia. Were the facts not as stated, it
would do no good to alter the positions of teeth, since they would not
retain their new positions after they had been moved into them. The
fact that the jaws can be widened by spreading the teeth, taken in
conjunction with the adaptibility of the “alveolar” process, make the
remarkable results of the orthodontist possible. The size, shape
and strength of the lower jaw, or mandible, depend in great part upon
the work it has to do, and furthermore, the shape of the upper jaw is
determined by that of the lower. The lower permanent teeth are
erupted first, and by their repeated impactions upon their opponents
in the upper jaw, aided by the constant restraining and formmg action
of the tongue and lips gradually force the upper teeth into their proper
After. Before.
places and keep them there. Provided, that the lower jaw and the
tongue and lips are strong and well developed, made so by sufficient
chewing, especially from the years of two to six, in a child’s life. If
the child’s education in chewing, however, has been neglected, the
dentist can and does spread the jaw as already stated, so that it will
have room enough for all the teeth. In other words, orthodontia does
what nature would accomplish unaided were her simple laws of devel-
opment properly observed.
A full set of teeth forms a beautiful arch, no stone of which should
be missing. The shape and span of this arch are greatly determined
by the size and position of the four permanent first molars, “six-year- |
old molars,” the largest and most important teeth in the head. If
these teeth are properly disposed in the jaws, the regulation of the
54 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
remaining teeth is much easier than otherwise. If they are out of
place, they must be brought back to where they belong, because it is
essential that they should be in their proper position and serve as the
guides for the regulation of all the other teeth. Then by measuring
the width of one of the eye teeth and the two front teeth next to it,
a diagram can be drawn which will show the exact shape and size which
the jaw should have. A very simple arrangement of springs and wires,
which need hardly annoy the child at all, will soon spread the jaws and
give the teeth room, so that those that are out of alignment can be
brought into their proper places in the arch.
In this arch, like the arch of a bridge over a stream, every tooth
must bear its proper share of the pressure, and its loss can never be
replaced.. A moment’s reflection will show the folly of extracting teeth
to make room for those out of alignment, and modern dentistry has
Before. After.
proved that such extraction will defeat the object for which it is under-
taken, viz., the restoration of the perfect denture. A man who will
extract a tooth in regulating may be foolishly clinging to the old tradi-
tion, that was spoken of just now, that the unfortunate child had in-
herited large teeth from one parent, and small jaws from the other.
I remember, by the way, in my own boyhood, I seriously thought that
I had by mistake got somebody else’s teeth, because my permanent
teeth were so large and broad, that my jaws could not accommodate
them, and were so crowded that several were extracted to make more
room. Now I know that my “hatchet face” and “lean jaws” might
easily have been prevented had some modern orthodontist, who would
die before he would extract 4 sound tooth, given me the proper advice
and care.
A REVOLUTION IN DENTISTRY 55
A little patient of my own (see photograph) was told by her dentist
that her upper front teeth would have to be extracted, as they protruded
so that she could not close her mouth. On hearing this, I was simply
horrified. I induced the parents to consult a competent orthodontist,
with the result that on meeting the child on the street about three
months afterwards (see photograph), I didn’t recognize her. Here are
two pictures of a dentist’s son “before and after taking” a course of
treatment. His father regulated his teeth.
In orthodontia an inconceivably great advance has been made in
preserving human beauty, health and efficiency. And the people who
have been bewailing nature’s inadequacy and asserting that our race is
gradually deteriorating so that the coming man will be “ edentulous ”
(toothless) are asked to take a back seat. They belong in the same
category with the people in Philadelphia, who objected to opening some
playgrounds to children, because the latter shouted when they played.
Just as if play without shouting could be any good for young children;
even in Philadelphia.
A great and beautiful truth has been taught us by these ortho-
dontists. Every good man, every religious man, and every one who
rejoices in beauty, in symmetry, in efficiency and in the comforting
reflection that nature does not make mistakes—man makes the mis-
takes, and is sometimes blasphemous enough to lay the blame upon
God—ought to rejoice at the clear proof that there was no mistake
made in allotting thirty-two teeth to an adult human being. That the
properly shaped jaw can hold all of these teeth, and that modern ideas
of the fitness of things demand a full complement of teeth in a properly
shaped jaw. That the firm well-rounded chin, the resolute jaw and
symmetrical cheeks, and the appearance of decision, vigor and alertness
so necessary for either male or female beauty of expression, belong by
right to every American man and woman; not to mention the fact that
the “laughing pearls” of perfect teeth can be possessed by any one,
and some one has sinned, either the man or his parents, if the denture
is defective and the jaws ill-developed.
56 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
THE ORIGIN OF THE NERVOUS SYSTEM AND ITS
APPROPRIATION OF EFFECTORS
I. INDEPENDENT EFFECTORS!
5 By G. H. PARKER
PROFESSOR OF ZOOLOGY, HARVARD UNIVERSITY
ilies: physiological unit in the operations of the nervous system is
the reflex. Broadly understood, this consists of the chain of
consequences that begins with the reception of a stimulus on the sur-
face of the animal and, leading through the central nervous organs,
ends in the excitation of a reaction by some such organ as a muscle.
~The term reflex is made to apply nowadays to nervous operations
involving conscious states as well as to those that are carried out uncon-
sciously. In its greatest simplicity the conventional reflex involves at
least two nervous cells or neurones and some form of reacting organ
vg.
‘Fic. 1. TRANSVERSE SECTION OF THE VENTRAL NERVOUS CHAIN AND SURROUND-
ING STRUCTURES OF AN HARTHWORM (modified from Retzius). cm, circular muscle;
ep, epidermis; Im, longitudinal muscle; mc, motor cell-body; mf, motor nerve- Bbers
sc, sensory cell-body; sf, sensory nerve-fiber; vg, ventral ganglion.
such as a muscle-fiber. The first neurone, as exemplified in the
nervous structure of such an animal as the earthworm, is often the
body of a sense-cell on the surface of the animal and the sensory nerve-
fiber to which this cell body gives rise and which leads to the central
nervous organ. The second neurone is a nerve-cell whose body les
within the central nervous organ and whose process, a motor nerve-
fiber, extends from the central organ to the muscle-cells which it con-
The four articles in this series represent four lectures given at the
University of Illinois between March 30 and April 3, 1909.
ORIGIN OF THE NERVOUS SYSTEM 57
trols. The first neurone as it enters the central organ breaks up into
a large number of delicate branches which are in physiological con-
tinuity with similar branches from the second neurone. It is over these
delicate branches that the nerve-impulse passes from one neurone to
the other and it is the structure of this system of branches that has
been a matter of so much discussion within recent years. Anatomically,
then, this simplest form of central nervous organ consists of motor
cell-bodies and fibrillations from these bodies and from sensory neu-
rones. Of course most central organs include additional neurones,
such for instance as association neurones, which connect one part of
the central organ with another and do not participate directly as sen-
sory or motor constituents. The simplest conceivable reflex mech-
anism, however, does not include these, but only the sensory and the
motor neurone as described. Such a chain reaching from the periphery
of the animal through its central nervous organ to and including its
muscles is usually regarded as the primary type of neuromuscular
mechanism.
From a physiological standpoint this simplest type of reflex mech-
anism falls into three parts. The first of these is the sense organ or
receptor, which, as its name implies, receives the external stimulus;
the receptor is also the seat of the production of the nerve-impulse.
The second is the central nervous organ or, as it may be called, the
adjustor, which is concerned with directing the impulse toward the
appropriate end-organ and with modifying it in accordance with the
particular reaction to be obtained. The third and last is the effector
or organ brought into action by the impulse, such as a muscle or gland.
Thus a simple reflex may be said to involve at least three special classes
of mechanisms: receptors, adjustors and effectors. These mechanisms,
however, do not correspond exactly to the three histological elements
already named, for, though the receptive function is an activity limited
entirely to the first neurone in such an animal as the earthworm, and
the effector is the muscle-fiber, the adjustor is a part of the first as well
as of the second neurone and is made up of at least the fine fibrillar
material contributed by these two neurones to the central nervous organ.
The neuromuscular mechanism even in this its simplest type has prob-
ably not sprung into being fully formed, but it has had without doubt
a slow and gradual growth. It is one of the objects of these articles
to trace as far as possible the steps in this growth.
It is to be noted that every reflex mechanism is in the nature of a
physiologically continuous span of living substance which reaches from
the receptive surface on the one hand to the effector organ on the other.
At no point in this span can there be a real interruption, for a physi-
ologically continuous thread of protoplasm must connect the two ex-
tremes. It is, therefore, conceivable that a reflex mechanism might
58 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
exist in the body of a protozoan and in fact there is experimental
evidence to show that in certain infusorians the superficial protoplasm
is somewhat differentiated as a receptive surface and that this proto-
plasm also serves as a conducting organ whereby, for instance, the
activity of certain groups of specialized cilia in these animals is coor-
dinated. These conditions, however, are found within the substance
of a single cell and are so remote from those of a true nervous mech-
anism that, interesting and significant as they are, they had better be
termed neuroid than nervous. They show at best that the protoplasm
of the protozoan harbors operations that may develop in the multi-
cellular animals into reflex proc-
esses rather than that the proto-
_zoans possess these processes, and
that we must look among the
simplest metazoans for the begin-
nings of a true neuromuscular
mechanism.
In making a quest for the
first stages in the development of
the nervous system, it is impor-
tant to keep in mind the relative
significance of the three physio-
logical elements already pointed
out: the receptors, the adjustors
and the effectors. A little reflec-
tion will show that these three
are not likely to prove all of
primary significance.
A receptor or sense organ
alone would be of no service
whatever to an animal; it would
resemble a telephone receiver dis-
Fic. 2. DIaGRAM OF THE CANAL SYSTEM eonnected from the rest of the
OF A CALCAREOUS SPONGE (modified from Been
Haeckel). The lateral inlet pores receive system. In a similar way the
water from the exterior, as shown by the adjustor or central organ is use-
arrows on the sides; the osculum at the :
apex discharges water to the exterior. less without at least some other
element in the reflex apparatus.
The only mechanism sufficient in itself is the effector, which, if it can
be brought into action by direct stimulation, may accomplish something
serviceable to the animal. It is therefore improbable that we shall find
multicellular animals that possess either receptors or adjustors without
effectors, but it is conceivable that primitive metazoans may have ef-
fectors without other parts of the typical neuromuscular mechanism.
In a search for the earliest traces of the neuromuscular mechanism,
ORIGIN OF THE NERVOUS SYSTEM 59
we may turn first to those very primitive metazoans, the sponges. The
body of one of the simpler sponges is a more or less goblet-shaped,
multicellular mass, whose surface is covered with an enormous number
of minute pores; these lead into tubes which in turn communicate with
a relatively large central cavity that opens to the exterior by an aper-
ture of considerable size, the osculum. In a living undisturbed sponge,
water is continually passing into the lateral pores, through the tubes
and central cavity, and out at the osculum. ‘This current is produced
by means of numerous cells, the choanocytes, which are provided with
vibratile lashes and are variously distributed through the internal
chambers and tubes of the sponge. Apparently these choanocytes work
incessantly, and the current generated by them carries food, etc., to
the sponge and removes waste products. Although frequent efforts
have been made to show that nervous structures occur in sponges,
nothing of this nature has been conclusively demonstrated and it is now
generally believed that these animals are without differentiated nervous
organs, either sensory or central. Nevertheless, sponges are capable of
a certain amount of response. Merejkowsky (1878) observed that when
he pricked with a needle the inner face of the osculum of Rinalda, this
aperture quickly closed, not to open again for several minutes. The
same reaction occurs with the lateral pores of many sponges ( Vosmaer
and Pekelharing, 1898). This power of closing the pores seems to be
the only means by which a sponge may check the current which ordi-
narily flows through its canals, for, as already mentioned, the choano-
cytes apparently lash the water incessantly.
When a search is made for the organs concerned with the closing
of the pores and oscula, they are found to consist of rings of elongated
contractile cells or myocytes, which surround these apertures. These
rings of cells form veritable sphincters and their action is often efficient
enough to bring about a complete temporary closure of the aperture.
Whether the pores and oscula open by the counteraction of radial, con-
tractile myocytes or by the simple elasticity of the surrounding tissue
does not seem to have been determined.
Since these sphincters lie very close to the epithelium that bounds
the surfaces of the pores or oscula and in fact probably often form a
part of this very epithelium, and since no nervous mechanism is known
to be connected with them, it seems very probable that they are brought
into action by direct stimulation and that the sponge is a metazoan in
which there are functional effectors unassociated with receptors or
adjustors. Thus the sponge would represent the first stage in the
differentiation of a neuromuscular mechanism, 7. e., one in which the
effector in the form of a primitive muscle-cell is the only element
present. In my opinion it is around these contractile cells that the
nervous organs of the higher metazoans have developed and I therefore
Go. : THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
believe that these effector elements are the most primitive members in
the typical neuromuscular mechanism.
That there is absolutely no trace of nervous activity in sponges is
probably not true, but their extreme inertness shows that this function
is certainly in a most primitive state and corresponds at best probably
only to that sluggish form of reception and transmission that Kraft
(1890) demonstrated for ciliated epithelium and that is probably
characteristic of other epithelia. Taking all in all, the only element of
the neuromuscular mechanism that is really present in sponges is the
effector as represented by the sphincters of the pores and oscula.
If independent effectors occur in sponges, it is not unlikely that they
may be present in the higher animals, and as possible examples of these
the sphincter pupillae of the eye in vertebrates and the heart-muscle
may be considered. The sphincter pupille is a ring of muscle im-
bedded in the iris and surrounding the pupil in the eyes of most verte-
brates. Its contraction would naturally reduce the size of the pupil
and thereby diminish the amount of light that enters the eye. In the
‘higher vertebrates it is well known that this reaction has the character
of a simple reflex in which the retina is the receptor, with the optic
nerve as its transmitting organ, and the stem of the brain is the
adjustor from which the oculomotor nerve transmits peripherally to the
effector, the sphincter pupille. In the lower vertebrates, particularly
in the fishes and amphibians, it has long been known that the sphincter
pupille will react in a characteristic way even in extirpated eyes.
This fact has been explained by those who cling to the idea of a reflex
as due to intraocular nervous connections between the retina and the
sphincter. But Steinach (1892) demonstrated the contraction of the
pupil in the extirpated eyes of lower vertebrates from which the retina
had been removed and moreover he showed that when a minute beam
of light was thrown on a part of the sphincter, that part contracted
first and was followed later by the rest of the muscle, an observation
recently confirmed by Hertel (1907) in the eyes of higher vertebrates,
including man. It therefore seems quite certain that the sphincter
pupille of the vertebrate eye, though usually controlled by nerves, is
a muscle that can be directly stimulated and in this respect is an inde-
pendent effector like the sphincters of the pores in sponges.
A second case of independent muscle action in the higher metazoans
is the heart-muscle. This muscle for a long time past has been
the occasion of much discussion. In the vertebrates it is still an open
question whether the beat of the heart is primarily nervous or muscular
in: its origin and the neurogenic and the myogenic theories of heart
action have had a lengthy history (Engelmann, 1904; Howell, 1906).
To Harvey we owe not only the discovery of the circulation of the blood,
but the first true ideas of the action of the heart, for he showed that
ORIGIN OF THE NERVOUS SYSTEM 61
the active phase of the heart-beat was during contraction, not during
expansion, as had been generally supposed, and that the heart was in
reality a muscular force pump. Harvey seems likewise to have had
the idea, though perhaps not very clearly expressed, that the heart-beat
was dependent upon the heart-muscle and not upon some extra-cardiac
mechanism. In this sense he may be regarded as the founder of the
myogenic theory. Later Willis pointed out that the stomach, intestine,
and heart received nerves from the brain and he believed that the
movements of these parts were controlled by such nerves; he therefore
may be looked upon as the originator of the neurogenic theory. To
account for the fact that the heart would continue to beat for some time
after its removal from the body, it was assumed by the neurogenists
that the branches of the nerves left in the substance of the heart when
this organ was cut from the body were sufficient to maintain the heart-
beat for some time, but Haller opposed this view and declared that the
heart-muscle itself was directly stimulated by the blood that coursed
through it. The older form of the neurogenic theory, however, was
entirely swept away by the discovery of the brothers Weber that the
vagus nerve when stimulated, instead of increasing the heart-beat
brought this organ to a standstill. At about this time Remak de-
scribed nerve ganglia within the substance of the heart and these have
been accepted by the modern neurogenists as the nervous mechanism
for the heart-beat. The fact that it is practically impossible to get
adult, vertebrate heart-muscle free from nerve-cells has left the prob-
lem of the heart-beat in these animals ‘in a situation difficult for ex-
perimental approach. That the heart-muscle in vertebrates is always
a continuous one, the auricles and ventricles being connected by at
least a slender bridge of muscle, favors the myogenic theory, as does
also the fact that the beat can be reversed in that the ventricle can be
made to contract first and the auricle afterwards. In fact the general
proposition, clearly expounded by Gaskell (1900), that the vertebrate
heart is a muscular tube over which a myogenic wave of contraction
proceeds from the posterior to the anterior end, has much in-its favor
and yet there are facts enough to show that the neurogenic interpre-
tation of the action of the adult vertebrate heart is not an impossibility.
The unfavorable conditions that surround the study of the verte-
brate heart have forced investigators to seek evidence concerning the
nature of the heart-beat in other animals and as a result two remark-
ably clear sets of cases have been obtained. The first of these is the
heart of the king-crab, Limulus. The heart of this animal, as Carlson
(1904) has pointed out, possesses the unique feature of a complete ana-
tomical separation of nervous and muscular parts. The heart itself is a
long, segmented, muscular tube situated near the dorsal line of the
animal. On the dorsal face of the heart is a median nerve-cord contain-
62 THK POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
ing ganglion-cells and connected with two parallel lateral nerve-strands
that lie near the sides of the heart. This whole nervous mechanism
Fic. 3. DorsAL VIEW
OF THE HART OF Lim-
ulus (after Carlson).
The anterior end is
uppermost; Im, lateral
nerve-strand; mn, me-
dian nerye-cord.
may be dissected off from the heart, leaving this
organ in other respects intact.
If a vigorous Limulus is opened from the
dorsal side and the heart exposed,.it will be seen
to contract at the rate of about twenty beats
per minute, and this is likely to continue under
the conditions of simple exposure for some twelve
to fifteen hours. If now the median nerve-cord
and the lateral strands are dissected away, the
heart comes to a standstill and never again shows
a natural beat, though a stimulus applied directly
to its substance will cause it to contract. If
instead of removing the nerves, the median and
lateral strands are cut through at any plane,
care being taken not to injure the underlying
heart-muscle, the two regions of the heart thus
established beat independently and coordination
of the heart as a whole is lost. If the nervous
connections are left intact but the muscular heart
is completely cut across in several places, the
whole organ continues to beat in complete co-
ordination. It is quite clear from these observa-
tions that the heart-beat of Limulus is absolutely
dependent upon an extra-cardiac nervous mech-
anism and that this beat is carried out in exact
accordance with the neurogenic theory. Since
the artificial stimulation of a cardiac nerve in
Limulus is followed by tetanus in the region of
the heart under the control of this nerve, the
conclusion is justified that the heart-muscle of
Inmulus is comparable rather with the skeletal
muscles of this animal than with the so-called
organic muscles, for skeletal muscles show tetanus
when thus stimulated.
As Carlson himself remarks, however, the
fact that the heart-beat of Limulus is neuro-
genic does not prove that the heart in other
animals necessarily functions in a like way.
In fact it is comparatively easy to point to
another example in which the evidence for the myogenic beat
is just as strong as that already presented for the neurogenic
beat. This example is the tunicate heart. The tunicate heart, as for
ORIGIN OF THE NERVOUS SYSTEM 63
instance that of Salpa, is a muscular tube over which peristaltic waves
run from end to end. As is well known, the direction of these waves
reverses from moment to moment, running for a short interval toward
the visceral end of the heart, advisceral waves, and then toward the
respiratory end, abvisceral waves. In Salpa africana-mazxima, to take
a single instance, according to Schultze (1901), after 16 abvisceral
waves had passed over the heart in some 20 seconds, a resting period of
Fic. 4. Section or A Salpa (modified from Herdman), showing the positions of
the atrial aperture (a), branchial aperture (0b), digestive tube (d), ganglion (q)
and heart (h).
2 seconds ensued, whereupon 18 advisceral waves occupying 25 seconds
preceded another resting period, etc. When the heart is removed from
the body of a Salpa, it continues to beat with characteristic reversal.
Stimulation of the central nervous ganglion of a normal Salpa has no
effect upon the heart-beat, and though a removal of this organ is fol-
lowed by a reduction in the rate, the same reduction is to be observed
when other parts of the body than the central nervous organ are cut
abv adv.
Fic. 5. Hart or A Salpa (modified from Schultze), showing advisceral waves.
abv, abvisceral end; adv, advisceral end.
out. Small fragments of the heart of Salpa also beat rhythmically
when entirely isolated, a fact recently confirmed by Hunter (1903) on
Molgula, and a most careful search of these fragments has failed to -
reveal nerve-cells or nerve-fibers. It seems therefore clear that the
rhythmic heart-beat of the tunicates is myogenic in origin. This seems
also to be true of the embryonic, vertebrate heart, for His (1891) has
shown that this organ beats at a time when no trace of nervous tissue
can be discovered in it.
64 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
From this general discussion it is quite evident that the cardiac
muscles of different animals act in very different ways and that while
some, like the heart of Limulus, have a neurogenic beat, others like
that of the tunicates have a myogenic beat.
From this rather lengthy digression we may return to the question
raised in the earlier part of this lecture, namely, the possibility of the
existence of physiologically independent muscles. This I believe to
have been demonstrated in part at least in the sphincter pupille of the
lower and perhaps all vertebrates, and wholly so in the tunicate heart
and the embryonic vertebrate heart. The complete freedom of such
muscles from nervous control and their dependence on direct stimula-
tion for normal action is a repetition of a process that, in my opinion,
characterized all primitive muscles such as we now meet with in the
sphincters of sponges. Such muscles as these sphincters I believe to
represent the original and primitive elements around which the other
members of the neuromuscular mechanism, the sense organs and the
central nervous organs, subsequently developed. In my opinion then,
‘effectors in the form of muscles preceded in an evolutionary sense the
receptors and adjustors, and formed the centers around which these
organs developed later.
REFERENCES
Cartson, A. J. The Nervous Origin of the Heart-beat in Limulus, and the
Nervous Nature of Coordination or Conduction in the Heart. Amer. Journ.
Physiol., Vol. 12, pp. 67-74. 1904.
ENGELMANN, T. W. Das Herz. Leipzig, 8vo, 44 pp. 1904.
GASKELL, W. H. The Contraction of Cardiac Muscle. In E. A. Schifer, Text-
book of Physiology, Vol. 2, pp. 169-227. 1900.
Hertet, E. Experimenteller Beitrag zur Kenntnis der Pupillenverengerung
auf Lichtreize. Graefe’s Arch. Ophthalmol., Bd. 65, pp. 107-134. 1907.
His, W., Jr. Die Entwickelung des Herznervensystems bei Wirbelthieren.
Abhandl. Kgl. Sachs. Ges. Wiss., mathem.-phys. Cl., Bd. 18, pp. 1-64,
Taf. 1-4. 1891.
HoweELL, W. H. The Cause of the Heart Beat. Journ. Amer. Med. Assoc.,
Vol. 46, pp. 1665-1670. 1906.
Hunter, G. W. Notes on the Heart Action of Molgula manhattensis (Verrill).
Amer. Journ. Physiol., Vol. 10, pp. 1-27. 1903.
Krart, H. Zur Physiologie des Flimmerepithels bei Wirbelthieren. Arch. ges.
Physiol., Bd. 47, pp. 196-235. 1890.
MEREJKOWSKy, C. Etudes sur les éponges de la Mer Blanche. Mém. Acad.
Imp. Sc., St. Pétersbourg, Sér. 7, Tome 26, No. 7, 51 pp., 3 pls. 1878.
Scuuutzz, L. S. Untersuchungen ueber den Herzschlag der Salpen. Jena.
Zevtschr. Naturwiss., Bd. 35, pp. 221-328, Taf. 9-11. 1901.
SteinacH, E. Untersuchungen zur vergleichenden Physiologie der Iris. Arch.
ges. Physiol., Bd. 52, pp. 495-525. 1892.
VosmagErR, G. C. J., and PEKELHARING, C. A. Observations on Sponges. Verh.
Kon. Akad. Wetensch. Amsterdam, Sec. 2, Deel 6, No. 3, 51 pp., 4 pls. 1898.
THE STUDY OF MEDICINE 65
THE PREPARATION FOR THE STUDY OF MEDICINE
By FREDERIC T. LEWIS, M.D.
HARVARD MEDICAL SCHOOL
Those who intend to study medicine are advised by the Medical Faculty
to pay special attention to the study of Natural History, Chemistry, Physics,
and the French and German languages, while in College.
This sentence of advice is contained in the catalogue of Harvard
University issued in 1874. Thirty-two years later, at the dedication of
the new buildings, it found more vigorous expression in the address of
President Eliot.
Medical students should therefore have studied zoology and botany before
beginning the study of medicine, and should have acquired some skill in the
use of the scalpel and the microscope. It is absurd that anybody should begin
with the human body the practise of dissection or of surgery; and, further-
more, it is wholly irrational that any young man who means to be a physician
should not have mastered the elements of biology, chemistry and physics years
before he enters a medical school. The mental constitution of the physician
is essentially that of the naturalist; and the tastes and capacities of the
naturalist reveal themselves, and, indeed, demand satisfaction long before
twenty-one years of age, which is a good age for entering a medical school.
It is here assumed that these special studies form a part of the
work for a bachelor’s degree in arts or science, which the student has.
obtained before beginning his medical studies. Two groups of com-
petent teachers of medicine dissent from this advice—those who be-
lieve that the bachelor’s degree is unnecessary, since two years of
special college work are sufficient; and those who consider that the
degree should be required, but as a result of studies in literature, art,
history and philosophy, rather than in biological science. Some physi-
cians, therefore, send their sons to college with the advice, “ Study
nothing which bears upon medicine: you will have enough of that
later”; and of those who have followed these directions, some have
succeeded notably, both as practitioners and scientists. Because of this
difference of opinion, an explanation of the relation of certain college
courses to the study of medicine may be helpful to students.?
Zoology.—lt has long been recognized by the public that zoology is
not medicine. When Harvey studied the circulation of the blood,
“he fell mightily in his practice.” “Had anatomists only been as
conversant with the dissection of the lower animals as they are with
1In preparing this account, assistance has been received from Drs. W. B.
Cannon, L. J. Henderson, W. C. Sabine, E. E. Southard and L. W. Williams.
' vol. LXXV.—d.
66 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
that of the human body,” he wrote in 1628, “the matters that have
hitherto kept them in a perplexity of doubt would, in my opinion,
have met them freed from every kind of difficulty.” However, the
public was unwilling to admit that this was a proper occupation for a
physician, and in 1711 Addison wrote:
There are innumerable retainers to physic who, for want of other patients,
amuse themselves with the stifling of cats in an air-pump, cutting up dogs alive,
or impaling of insects on the point of a needle for microscopical observations;
besides those that are employed in the gathering of weeds, and the chase of
butterflies; not to mention the cockle-shell-merchants and spider-catchers.
Huxley admits that he really has never been able to learn exactly
why a physician is expected to know zoology, and writes:
If I had to choose between two physicians—one who did not know whether
a whale is a fish or not, and could not tell gentian from ginger, but did under-
stand the applications of the institutes of medicine to his art; while the other,
like Talleyrand’s doctor, “knew everything, even a little physic ”—with all
my love for breadth of culture, I should assuredly consult the former.
This is a part of Huxley’s argument for excluding comparative
‘anatomy and botany from the curriculum of medical schools. As a
preliminary training for the physician he approved of them, for later
he wrote:
There can be no doubt that the future of pathology and of therapeutics,
and, therefore, of practical medicine, depends upon the extent to which those
who occupy themselves with these subjects are trained in the methods and
impregnated with the fundamental truths of biology.
These fundamental truths are taught in college. Ina general course
in zoology the student should learn what an animal is, and into what
great classes animals are divided. Representatives of these classes
should be studied in the laboratory, and the probable relationship of one
class to another, and of man to other mammals, should be considered.
The biological methods which the student should have learned in
college include dissection and microscopic technic. It requires but
little imagination to compare the work of two students beginning
human dissection—one producing a set of instruments which he has
already used, and proceeding to follow in minute detail structures
similar to those which he has previously studied in the cat or rabbit;
the other attempting to learn the general plan of the body and how to
dissect, while he is supposed to be mastering the minutie of human
anatomy. Practise in the dissection of vertebrates and a general
knowledge of their bones, muscles, nerves, vessels and organs are
essential for good work in human anatomy.
Similarly in microscopic anatomy no student can afford to try to
learn how to handle a microscope while his companions, by its use, are
making rapid progress in the study of human tissues. The student
THE STUDY OF MEDICINE 67
who has learned how to cut and stain sections for microscopic examina-
tion will be at considerable advantage. Some medical schools give
courses in this “ microscopic technic,” but the time is better spent in
studying sections than in preparing them. It has been found by
Professor Waite that the better medical schools afford less time for this
subject than inferior schools. A college course in which the chief
tissues are prepared and studied is therefore recommended.
Embryology, which deals with the development of the body from
the egg-cell to the adult organism, is divisible into two parts. That
which deals with the early stages and chiefly with lower vertebrates and
the invertebrates, has grown up in zoological laboratories. That which
deals with the formation of the organs and the nervous, vascular and
muscular systems in mammals, and with the development of the
membranes in man, has been studied especially in medical schools. It
is this portion of the subject which is an invaluable aid in under-
standing anatomy, histology and pathology, and its study should pre-
cede the medical school work in these subjects. Unless this is possible
in the medical school which the student is to attend, college work in
embryology should be considered. Thus in the Medical Department
of Johns Hopkins University, where the teachers of anatomy are
distinguished for their researches in embryology, no medical school
work in this subject is required; a college course is recommended.
Special courses in the anatomy of the nervous system are given
both in college and in the medical school, though generally from dif-
ferent standpoints. The subject is so intricate that the college work
will be found of considerable assistance.
Occasionally a college announces a course on some one group of
animals, such as the protozoa, insects, or worms, as desirable in prepara-
tion for medicine. ‘The knowledge of these groups obtained from the
general course should be sufficient for a practitioner. The theoretical
and statistical study of variation and heredity has only a general
interest for medical students, and courses in systematic zoology are of
still less importance.
The value of zoological courses as a preparation for anatomy and
histology is shown in the following table, based upon the marks of the
class which entered the Harvard Medical School in 190%. The table
shows the number of men obtaining the grades A to H, A being the
highest (90-100 per cent.), and H failure to pass (less than 50 per
cent.).
ANATOMY HISTOLOGY
Students who have taken in zoology— ABC D EAy.4% ABCD BEAy.¢
More than two courses ............ 04721 69 5 63 00 85
MWOMGCOMESES\ ee sercis oleae olla d. ueeth ae Suelers 0197 3 «63 Sy Oy 89) 2 Oia Ti 7
From one half to two courses ...... 00 8 810 49 3 412 5 2 68
INOMCOUTSCS! 5.5 carte oe seas sas wetiedeles 004447 45 025 2 6 52
68 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
From this table it is seen that the more zoology the student has
taken the better his grade in anatomy and histology. As already
stated, however, the practitioner must not specialize in anatomy, and
the only college courses which it seems wise to recommend to all
candidates for the medical school are as follows: General zoology, dis-
section of vertebrates, practise in the use of the microscope and in
microscopic technic, elementary embryology.
Botany.—The study of plants is clearly less intimately related to
medicine than the study of animals. The peculiar importance of the
bacteria, however, makes a laboratory half-course in the morphology
of plants, with special reference to the fungi, very desirable. This will
give the student a more comprehensive idea of these organisms than
can be obtained in a medical school; it will show their relation to
yeasts, moulds and other low plants, some of which are of medical
importance. At the same time the student will be trained in making
accurate observations of natural phenomena and in reasoning on the
basis of what he has himself observed. This ability, which may be
cultivated both in botanical and zoological courses, is of the utmost
value to the physician.
The study of the flowering plants was once intimately associated
with medicine; and the array of drugs stili used, which are derived
from plants, would seem to make it important. The teacher of pharma-
cology, however, is not seeking students familiar with medicinal fox-
gloves and white poppies, but desires those well trained in chemistry.
The botany of flowering plants is, therefore, not recommended.
Geology.—Geology appeals irresistibly to a “naturalist,” but has —
little value for the physician. The air, soil and water are discussed
in courses on hygiene, and in connection with drainage problems and
water supplies geological knowledge is important. This, however, is
not a sufficient reason for recommending geology.
Chemistry.—The study of chemistry in preparation for the work
of a medical school is of great importance. Accordingly both a con-
siderable amount of theoretical chemistry and not a little laboratory
work are desirable.
General descriptive inorganic chemistry and qualitative analysis
are a necessary introduction to all chemical study, and must come first
in any plan of chemical training; they serve to familiarize the student
with the characteristics of simple chemical processes and substances,
and with the more elementary chemical theories. These courses must
be followed by at least a brief course in organic chemistry, because that
subject, with its unique and highly important theoretical development,
is absolutely essential to an understanding of certain physiological
processes; and it is of such a nature that it can be assimiliated, even
in its most simple form, only after a considerable period of time has
been devoted to its study.
THE STUDY OF MEDICINE 69
Quantitative analysis is important in another way. It gives valu-
able training to the hand and eye, and develops a particular form of
accuracy which is required in biochemical work, and which enables the
student to interpret justly the work of others.
Physical chemistry to-day contains a mass of material of the
highest importance in all branches of biological science. An elementary
acquaintance with it is essential for understanding such subjects as the
physiology of the blood and the functional activity of the kidney and
lung, since it explains the nature of solutions and the conditions
governing the passage of substances through membranes.
Many medical schools require for entrance, work in general chem-
istry and qualitative analysis, and a few call for organic chemistry.
These are essential. A half course in quantitative analysis and a half
course in physical chemistry are desirable.
Physics—Many students who are careful to take courses in biology
and chemistry in preparation for medicine neglect physics entirely, or
think that the elementary work done for admission to college is suffi-
cient. A thorough college course, with laboratory work consisting of
accurate measurements, is necessary for certain branches of medical
practise and for the fundamental study, physiology. Physics is related
to physiology in many ways. In studying muscular contraction the
elements that constitute mechanical work and the action of levers
should be known. For the study of the circulation it is necessary to
understand the principles of hydraulics and the transmission of pres-
sure in fluids; the laws of osmosis (studied in physical chemistry) aid
in interpreting the diffusion of fluids between vessels and tissues. In
considering the constructive and destructive changes in the body, the
principle of the conservation of energy should be kept constantly in
mind. To understand the maintenance of normal temperature and
the changes in fever, some knowledge of the physics of heat is needed.
An understanding of electricity is necessary for explaining the electrical
changes produced in living tissues, and in order to stimulate tissues ex-
perimentally so that their activities may be studied. Electrical stimula-
tion is used in treating certain diseases, and the physiological labora-
tory contains many pieces of electrical apparatus. The importance
of the X-ray in medicine is sufficiently well known. In order to under-
stand vision and the application of lenses to the eye, the principles of
reflection and refraction must be understood. The nature of sound
and its transmission through various media is similarly related to the
physiology of hearing. It is a serious mistake to begin work in a
modern laboratory of physiology before taking a thorough college course
in general physics.
Mathematics—The value of mathematics for medicine is indirect,
since it is required chiefly in preparation for physics. The student
70 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
taking such a course in physics as has been recommended, should have
had algebra, plane geometry and plane trigonometry. These courses
come normally within the province of any good high school program.
For advanced work in physics, solid geometry and higher mathematics
are needed. For the benefit of medical students the mathematical
requirement in certain special courses in physics is made as light as
possible. It may be noted, however, that in the college course for
future medical students outlined by Johns Hopkins University, the
study of mathematics extends through two years.
Psychology.—Although psychology is a college study directly re-
lated to medicine, it appears that no medical school has yet required
it for admission. A course in psychology often begins with a summary
account of the nervous system and sense organs, and proceeds with the
study of the states of consciousness. It discusses sensations and the
nature of pain, and deals with instincts, memory, habits and the will.
It gives the student a good understanding of “treatment by sugges-
tion ” and is a foundation for the study of abnormal minds, especially
‘. of hallucinations, illusions and delusions. Some knowledge of child
development and an insight into sexual instincts, neurasthenia and
psychasthenia are afforded by such a course. It is important for parts
of physiology, pediatrics and internal medicine, and particularly for
neurology and psychiatry. A half-course in psychology is therefore
recommended. |
French and German.—Since much of the progress of medicine is
recorded in French and German publications, it is desirable, and in
several schools it is required, that students should be able to read both
of these languages. A beginning should be made before entering col-
lege. Courses in general literature, with practise in writing and
speaking, will be found more profitable than those which are restricted
to reading scientific prose. The importance of French and German in
medicine is indicated by the number of periodicals in these languages
for which medical libraries subscribe. The figures for the scientific
libraries at the Harvard Medical School and for the Boston Medical
Library, which is used largely by practitioners, are as follows:
SUBSCRIPTIONS FOR PERIODICALS
English French German
Harvard Medical Libraries............... 110 35 109
Boston Medical Library................. 88 67 161
198 102 270
Since this medical literature should be at the command of students
and practitioners, and is indispensable for investigators, it is necessary
to be able to read both French and German.
Other Foreign Languages.—Although important medical articles
THH STUDY OF MEDICINE 71
are published in Italian, and to a less extent in Spanish and other
modern European languages, they are not so numerous as to justify
a study of these languages. Latin is required for admission to certain
medical schools, “in order to enable the student the more rapidly to
master scientific and medical nomenclature.’ The international
anatomical nomenclature is now entirely Latin and many of its terms
are employed as English words. It is, therefore, very desirable that a
student of medicine should have studied Latin as a part of his prepara-
tion for college. Greek is of much less importance, although it has
supplied many barbarous medical terms.
English.—Although some students believe that in an examination
in anatomy they should be marked upon anatomy alone, and not upon
English, this is impossible. Every examiner, as well as every intelligent
patient, will judge of the physician, in part at least, by his manner of
expression. In a lot of examination books which had been marked
in the usual way, there were a few with the grade A, and in none of
these was there an example of strikingly bad English. The first book
of low grade (60 per cent.) which was taken up, contained the fol-
lowing statement:
Voluntary striated muscle, developed differently, than smooth and cardiac,
that coming from mesenchyma, this from somite or segments, has a definite
cell membrane sarcolemma, which gives off fibers, its nucleus is found at the
periphery.
It is useless to assert that clear and well-ordered anatomical knowl-
edge exists in a mind which can not express it.
The study of English literature in college is to be recommended
not only for its utilitarian value, but as a source of recreation and
diversion from specialized scientific studies. There may be a few
medical students who need the advice which Holmes gave to the young
practitioner: “ Do not linger by the enchanted streams of literature,”
but many more should heed the warning—“ Do not let your literary
life become a memory—a reminiscence.” Unfortunately there are
those who enter medicine with nothing on which to found a literary
reminiscence. ‘
Drawing.—The principles of drawing are taught in connection with
courses in the fine arts or in architecture. Accuracy of observation
may be developed in such courses, for no sooner does one begin to
draw or model an object than attention is called to many details other-
wise overlooked. For this reason drawing is required in studying
anatomy, especially microscopic anatomy, in certain medical schools;
and inability to draw seems to many students a justification for defici-
encies in these subjects. To be sure, their professors are often in a
similar predicament. Ruskin says:
72 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
That Professor Tyndall is unable to draw anything as seen from anywhere,
I observe to be a matter of much self-congratulation to him; such inability
serving farther to establish the sense of his proud position as a man of science,
above us poor artists who labor under the disadvantage of being able with some
accuracy to see, and with some fidelity to represent, what we wish to talk about.
If a course in art can develop this ability, it should be considered
by medical students. To perceive accurately is not only a source of
great enjoyment in itself, but to a certain extent it is an aid to the
practising physician. One medical school in the United States recom-
mends drawing for admission, and another provides instruction in
anatomical drawing as an elective course.”
College Physiology and Hygiene-——Some colleges offer courses in
physiology which are dilute presentations of medical school work.
Thus, in one course, the student may be taught something of human
anatomy, physiology, hygiene and medical bacteriology, all of which
may be useful for those who are not intending to study medicine. It
‘ is wholly undesirable for the medical student to take time from other
college work for the sake of such courses.
The Value of Research.—Some teachers believe that the original
investigation of a subject in science, since it compels the student to
think for himself and to depend upon his own observations, is worth
several regular courses as a preparation for medical study. Certain
researches, moreover, are not difficult. A study of the variation in
the number of rays in the daisy, or of spinal anomalies in the sala-
mander, might be made by an undergraduate if specially taught for
this purpose. Such researches, however, are generally at the expense
of fundamental education, and “ researchlings” are not good students
of elementary subjects.
Summary of Recommendations.—In the preceding pages it has been
recommended that the medical student should have studied Latin,
French, German, mathematics, physics and drawing in preparation
for college; and that in college he should elect courses in zoology, botany,
chemistry, physics, psychology, English, French and German, since
these studies will be of direct value in connection with his work in
the medical school. Between two and three years will be required for
the recommended studies, but some time will be free for philosophy,
history and political economy. These subjects are named since they
4 Since this was written, President Eliot has referred to the advantages of
studying drawing in the preparatory schools, as follows: “A university student
who enters on the subject of botany or zoology is really crippled unless he can
draw. He will make much slower progress; and will not have the best means
of recording what he sees. And yet it is only a small percentage of the young
men who now come to Harvard College that have any capacity for drawing.
They have never had any opportunity to acquire any artistic skill.”—Address
to Graduates of the Massachusetts Normal Art School, April, 1909.
THE STUDY OF MEDICINE AG
are the ones not already discussed which were formerly required for
the bachelor’s degree, and which are now considered by some to be an
essential part of a good education. Three full years of college work
which have included such courses as have been recommended, and
which have led to the bachelor’s degree, will be accepted as a good
preparation by any medical school in the United States.
The Value of the Bachelor's Degree.—The value of the bachelor’s
degree for students of medicine is now generally recognized. A few
medical schools require it and many recommend it. Students should,
however, be warned against believing that the degree may be earned
by two years of college work. This low standard, thinly disguised by
the fact that the degree is not given the student until he has spent
two years in the medical school, has been adopted by many colleges
and is sometimes announced with considerable satisfaction, as follows:
The incalculable advantages of such a combination course must commend
themselves at a glance, alike to would-be medical students who realize the value
of an academic degree to the physician, and to candidates for an academic degree
who contemplate a medical career and hesitate before the length of time
demanded by its preparatory work.
Not only should protest be made against reducing the college work
to two years, but much might be said in favor of four years, leading
to the master’s degree. In the Harvard Faculty of Medicine there
are fifteen men who graduated from college since 1890. 'T'wo of these
are doctors of philosophy ; of the remaining thirteen doctors of medicine,
six are masters of arts. The positions held by the six masters of arts
and the seven bachelors of arts, respectively, are as follows:
A.M. A.B.
MORE SS OLS War Wr sete ae hoke ater eet eee ae als 2 —
Assistant) ProfressOTs) o6 6c sewtcstcls Ge se sec bees 4 2
Demonstrators and Instructors ............... — 5
Since this list happens to include few practitioners, it may be noted
that the college classes of *88—’90 supplied the faculty with six members,
all practitioners ; five of the six are masters of arts.
Not long ago, American medical schools received freely students
with no college training. Scattered through the classes there were
some who, without being required to do so, had obtained a college
degree. The success of these men has been so notable that the require-
ments for admission are rapidly becoming more stringent. At Columbia
University the effect of demanding one year of college work has been to
eliminate that stratum of medical students described by Professor Wood
as the submerged tenth. Most of the good schools now require two
* Professor Wood advocates a low entrance requirement in the following
remarkable statement. “The poor man, who has neither time nor money for
long preparation, can enter and compete on an equal footing with the children.
of the rich. . . . If he does not survive the first year, well and good, no great
harm has been done... .”
74 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
years of college work, and the student is tempted to regard this as ample
preparation.* The community meanwhile is seeking not younger but
abler physicians. A shorter preparation than that which was obtained
by many leading practitioners of the present generation is not likely
to make their successors more efficient. ;
The Value of Scientific Preparation—There are some physicians
who believe that the preparation which has here been recommended
produces scientists and not practitioners. It is clear, however, that a
single course in physiology, even a very thorough one, does not make
a physiologist. The professor of embryology who addressed the stu-
dents who had just finished his course as “ fellow embryologists ” was
greeted with a roar of laughter. Some of those who know that scientists
are not produced by the medical school course still assert that it develops
an undesirable type of scientific practitioner. A graduating class has
recently been told that “ At the bedside science is sometimes a hin-
drance.” Scientific knowledge is often contrasted with common sense
and sympathetic humanity, as if they were incompatible and the patient
must choose between them. The medicinal effect of a merry heart,
known since the time of Solomon, has been rediscovered with great eclat,
and the physician whom Holmes described as having a smile “ com-
monly reckoned as being worth five thousand dollars a year to him”
has his successors. The character of a physician is unquestionably of
great importance, yet medicine is not an art of which “ haply we know
somewhat more than we know.” No condemnation is too severe for
a physician who, without adequate knowledge of the medical sciences,
attends his patient with self-confidence and a genial smile.
The college student may well be assured that the way to financial
and professional success in medicine is through long and careful prepa-
ration. In this great pursuit he will not become narrow. He will
develop what Dr. James Jackson long ago described as “a mind
liberalized by scientific studies.” If he loses a certain breadth of cul-
ture because of specialization, still, as Cardinal Newman has said, “ the
advantage of the community is nearly in inverse ratio with his own.”
*A caution against this has recently been published by the dean of the
medical courses at the University of Chicago. He says: “No device for cur-
tailing the amount of his preparation should be sought or advised for students _
who can go ‘the whole road’ (that is, obtain a regular course and medical
degree) within the age limit of twenty-seven or twenty-eight.” The announce-
ment of the University of Chicago contains the italicized statement: “ Every
student should complete a four-years’ college course before entering the Medical
School if his age and other circumstances make it possible for him to do so.”
SOCIAL EVOLUTION 75
DARWINISM IN THE THEORY OF SOCIAL EVOLUTION?*
By FRANKLIN H, GIDDINGS, LL.D.
EVOLUTIONIZING as the life work of Charles Darwin was in
the fields of biology and psychology, one may doubt if his
writings disturbed the intellectual peace anywhere more profoundly
than in the “Sweet Jerusalem ” of pre-Darwinian social philosophy.
Borrowing a shocking thought from the Rev. Thomas Robert Malthus,
Mr. Darwin, in due course of time, gave it back to Malthusians and
Godwinites, to Ricardians and Ruskinites, to Benthamites and Owenites,
with a new and terrific voltage.
Nine years before “ The Origin of Species” was published, Herbert
Spencer, in the concluding chapters of “ Social Statics,” had offered an
explanation of society in terms of a progressive human nature, adapting
itself to changing conditions of life. These chapters are the germ of
that inclusive conception and theory of evolution which were elabo-
rated in the ten volumes of the “ Synthetic Philosophy.” Five years
later, or four years before “'The Origin of Species ” saw the light, Mr.
Spencer, in the first edition of his “ Principles of Psychology,” set forth
an original interpretation of life, including mental and social life, as
a correspondence of internal relations to external relations, initiated
and directed by the external relations. Finally, in April, 1857, Mr.
Spencer published, in The Westminster Review, his epoch-marking
paper on “ Progress: Its Law and Cause,” in which his famous law of
evolution was partially formulated, and evolution was declared to be
the process of the universe and of all that it contains.
Mr. Spencer thus had seen evolution in its whole extent, as adapta-
tion and differentiation. He had not yet mentally grasped the uni-
versal redistribution of energy and matter, wherein every finite agere-
gate of material units, radiating energy into surrounding space, or
absorbing energy therefrom, draws itself together in order-making
coherence, or distributes itself abroad in riotous disintegration. That
universal equilibration, which in fact is the beginning and the end of
evolution, was the aspect of the world which in thought Mr. Spencer
arrived at last of all.
It is not given to any one human intellect to discover all truth, and
there is more in evolution than even Mr. Spencer perceived, either at
the beginning of his great work, or in the fulness of his powers. Intent
upon the broader aspects of cosmic transformation, his mind did not
_ +A lecture in the course on “ Charles Darwin and his Influence on Science,”
delivered at Columbia University, April 16, 1909.
76 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
seize upon certain implications of universal rearrangement. In the
concrete world of living organisms, equilibration becomes the relentless
struggle for existence, in which the weakest go to the wall. Natural
selection follows. It was this intensely concrete aspect that Mr. Darwin
saw, and intellectually mastered.
The distinction here indicated between evolution as a universal
process, comprehensively described by Spencer, and Darwinism, or Mr.
Darwin’s account of one vitally important and concrete phase of that
process, has often been noted, and is usually observed by careful writers.
It is of particular importance in any discussion of social evolution.
To indicate how far our theories of social origins, our philosophies of
history and of human institutions, have become not only evolutionist,
in the Spencerian sense of the word, but also Darwinian, is the purpose
of my lecture this afternoon.
It was not until the publication of “ The Descent of Man,” in 1871,
when controversy over “The Origin of Species” had raged through
twelve years of intellectual tempest, that the full significance of natural
selection for the doctrine of human progress was apprehended by the
scientific world. Mr. Spencer saw it when “The Origin of Species”
appeared. Mr. Darwin himself had perceived that he must offer a
credible explanation of the paradox that a ruthless struggle for existence
yields the peaceable fruits of righteousness. But it was neither Mr.
Spencer, nor Mr. Darwin, who first recognized the specific phase of the
life struggle in which the clue to the mystery might be sought. The
gifted thinker who made that discovery was Walter Bagehot, editor of
the London Economist, whose little book on “ Physics and Politics, or
Thoughts on the Application of the Principles of Natural Selection and
Inheritance to Political Society,’ was published, first as a series of
articles in The Fortnightly Review, beginning in November, 1867.
Mr. Darwin rightly calls these articles “remarkable.” Revised and
put together in book form they made a volume of only two hundred
and twenty-three small pages in large type, but no more original, bril-
liant or, as far as it goes, satisfactory examination of the deeper problems
of social causation has ever been offered from that day until now. It
anticipated much that is most valuable in later exposition.
In the “ Social Statics,” Mr. Spencer had shown that primitive man,
subsisting upon inferior species and contending with them for standing
room and safety, necessarily developed a human nature adapted to the
task of slaughter, cruel, therefore, and unscrupulous; but that triumph-
ant posterity, inheriting a subjugated world, and no longer bound to
kill, might become sympathetic enough to cooperate successfully in
peaceful activities. The exact relation, however, of this process to
group formation or to the collective activity of a cooperating group
when formed, Mr. Spencer at this time certainly did not see. For,
incredible though it may seem, Mr. Spencer did not at this time so much
SOCIAL EVOLUTION vis
as make note of the terrific struggles for control of food-getting oppor-
tunities that occur among individuals or between groups of the same
species, variety or race. Conflict among men of the same cultural
attainments Mr. Spencer thought of only as prompted by surviving
savage instincts, engendered by predatory habits, in the lawless youth
of the race.
It was specifically the phenomena of group solidarity and of col-
lective conflict, in distinction from a merely individual struggle for
existence, which Mr. Bagehot selected for examination, and his mind
penetrated directly to the essential conditions of the problem. He said:
The progress of man requires the cooperation of men for its development.
. . . The first principle of the subject is that man can only make progress in
“ cooperative groups”; I might say tribes and nations, but I use the less com-
mon word because few people would at once see that tribes and nations are
cooperative groups, and that it is their being so which makes their value; that
unless you can make a strong cooperative bond, your society will be conquered
and killed out by some other society which has such a bond; and the second
principle is that the members of such a group should be similar enough to one
another to cooperate easily and readily together. The cooperation in all such
eases depends on a felt union of heart and spirit; and this is only felt when
there is a great degree of real likeness in mind and feeling, however that like-
ness may have been attained.”
Addressing himself to the question how the necessary likeness in mind
and feeling are produced, Mr. Bagehot answers: By one of the most
terrible tyrannies ever known among men, namely, the authority of
customary law; and in accounting for the origin and force of custom,
he develops a theory of the function of imitation which anticipates
much, but by no means all, of the sociological theory of Gabriel Tarde.
Custom, however, tends to create a degree of similarity among social
units, and an unchanging way of life, fatal to further progress. To
reintroduce and to maintain certain possibilities and tendencies toward
variation is, as Bagehot sees the process, one of the chief uses of conflict.
Social evolution thus proceeds through the conflict of antagonistic
tendencies, on the one hand toward uniformity and solidarity; on the
other hand toward variation and individuality. In some groups, one
of these tendencies predominates. Contending together, group with
group, in the struggle for existence, those groups survive in which the
balancing of these tendencies secures the greatest group efficiency. It
is not too much to say that in this interpretation, Mr. Bagehot arrived
at conclusions which to-day we recognize as belonging to the theoretical
core of a scientific sociology.
Mr. Darwin, in those chapters of “ The Descent of Man” in which
he treats of the origin of social instincts and the moral faculties, adopts
in substance the conclusions of Mr. Bagehot, and with his keen sense
for what is essential, lays emphasis upon four facts, namely: (1) the
2“ Physics and Politics,” pp. 212, 213.
78 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
importance of group or tribal cohesion as a factor of success in inter-
tribal struggle, (2) the importance of sympathy as a factor in group
cohesion, (3) the importance of mutual fidelity and unselfish courage,
and (4) the great part played by sensitiveness to praise and blame in
developing both unselfish courage and fidelity. In terms of these four
facts, Mr. Darwin finds an answer to the question, how, within the
conditions fixed by a struggle for existence, social and moral qualities
could tend slowly to advance and to be diffused throughout the world.
That the studies of both Mr. Bagehot and Mr. Darwin left much
still to be said on the subject of group feeling and cooperative solidarity
was shown when, in 1890, Prince Peter Alekseevich Kropotkin pub-
lished in The Nineteenth Century his fascinating articles on “ Mutual
Aid among Animals,” afterwards supplemented by studies of mutual
aid among savages and among barbarians. These articles contained
nothing essentially new in theory, but they contributed to our knowledge
an immense mass of facts demonstrating how great has been the part
played by sympathy and helpfulness in the struggle for existence, and
how inadequate would be any interpretation of natural selection which
accounted for it wholly in terms of superior strength, cruelty and
cunning.
Mr. Darwin never claimed to offer an adequate explanation of the
variations which natural selection preserves or rejects. He sometimes
took them for granted, he sometimes spoke of them as accidental or
fortuitous. He would have been the last to pretend that he had told
us all that we should like to know about the beginnings of sympathy or
of sensitiveness to praise or blame. But, starting from sympathy and
the desire for approval as traits that may actually be observed among
gregarious creatures, and that presumably have somehow had a natural
origin, Darwin and Kropotkin convincingly demonstrate that groups
possessing these qualities have a certain advantage in the struggle
for life.
To account more fully for the origins, in distinction from the nat-
ural selection of the social qualities, was the problem that Mr. John
Fiske attacked in his theory of the effects of prolonged infancy, first
published in the North American Review of October, 1873,° and a year
later in the “ Outlines of Cosmic Philosophy.” Fiske discriminates
between “ gregariousness” and “ sociality,” without, however, suffi-
ciently analyzing the one or the other, or quite defining the difference.
By sociality he seems to mean a relatively high development of sym-
pathy, affection and loyalty to kindred or comrades. He argues that
sociality has its origin in small and permanent family groups. These
are not necessarily monogamous at first. They may be polygamous
or polyandrian, and may broaden out into clans. But they must be
more enduring than matings observed in the merely gregarious herd.
$ Under the title: “ The Progress from Brute to Man.”
SOCIAL HVOLUTION 79
The cause of both definiteness and permanence he finds in the pro-
longation of infancy, necessitating a relatively long-continued parental
care of offspring. The relations so established among near kindred
have conserved and strengthened the feelings of affection and the sense
of solidarity. Mr. Darwin recognized Mr. Fiske’s theory as an impor-
tant contribution to the subject. It must be said in criticism, however,
that Mr. Fiske did not see all the implications of prolonged infancy, or
develop his theory into all its possibilities. Admitting that the pro-
longation of infancy was probably a factor in the evolution of stable
family relationships, and therefore played a part in strengthening the
social sentiments, we must remember that the actual social life and
solidarity of the gregarious group was probably a chief cause of the
prolongation of infancy itself. Demanding, as it did, a relatively keen
exercise of brain and nervous system in communication, imitation and
cooperation, it operated to select for survival those individuals that
varied in the direction of high brain power and its correlated long
infancy. But this is to say that society was a factor in the evolution
of man before man became a factor in the evolution of society, and the
difference is important.
Moreover, Mr. Fiske’s theory no more explained the actual origins
of sympathy and cooperation than Bagehot’s and Darwin’s theories had
done. Neither, for that matter, did Sutherland’s account of “The
Origin and Growth of the Moral Instinct,’”* although Sutherland got
somewhat farther back when he called attention to the reaction of
parental care of offspring upon the evolution of ganglia making up the
sympathetic nervous system.
At this stage the Darwinian interpretation of social origins had
arrived when, in 1894, there was published a work which had an almost
sensational reception. Hailed as a new gospel by minds desiring above
all things to find some solid ground for religious convictions that had
seemingly suffered violence in the course of evolutionist warfare, this
book by scientific critics was treated with scant respect. These critics,
I venture to think, were in error. For, in fact, the “ Social Evolution ”
of Benjamin Kidd raised a profoundly important question, and gave
an answer to it which, while half wrong, was probably half right, and
the half that was right was a real and important contribution to knowl-
edge. Stated in the fewest possible words, Mr. Kidd’s query was this:
Since natural selection saves the few and kills the many, why does
not the great majority of mankind try to curb competition and put an
end to progress? ‘Thus presented, Mr. Kidd’s question is the radical
and fearless form of a question which socialism asks in a form that, by
comparison, is conservative and half-hearted. And Mr. Kidd’s answer,
* Published in 1898, a worthy product of Australian scholarship, which its
author described as largely a detailed expansion of the fourth and fifth chap-
ters of “The Descent of Man.”
80 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
not so much as tainted with socialism, is as fearless as his question.
Progress has no rational sanction. It is irrational and, from the stand-
point of reason, absurd. Man goes on multiplying, competing, fighting
and making progress because he is not rational and has no desire to be.
He lives not by reason, but by faith. He crucifies and kills himself to
improve the race, not because he is scientific, but because he is religious.
Perhaps it was because Mr. Kidd’s thesis was paradoxical, that
theologians found in it something tangible and scientific men did not.
It should be possible now to look back upon it without prejudice. On
the face of it, it is an obvious fallacy, but back of fallacy lies a truth.
The fallacy consists in an unwarranted assumption that individuals
and families marked for extermination in the struggle for existence
are, in their own lifetime, aware of their impending doom. Let us
suppose that, of one hundred families now flourishing, ninety will be-
come extinct in the tenth generation, their places being filled by a
corresponding number of new families branching from the one success-
ful line. This would be natural selection at a rapid rate. Yet to
maintain this rate, only ten families have to drop out in any one gen-
eration, and ten new ones to appear. This means that, at any given
time, a ninety per cent. majority of all persons at the moment living
have an expectation of further life, the termination of which can not
be foreseen. The large majority, therefore, at any given time existing
think of themselves not as the unfit that must perish, but rather as the
fit selected to survive.
This way of stating the problem, however, brings us face to face
with a peculiarly interesting truth, for the apprehension of which we
rightly may give generous credit to Mr. Kidd. Obviously, while no
family stock or race at any time existing can certainly know, or, while
it remains still vigorous, find sufficient ground to believe that it is
doomed to perish, neither can it certainly know that it is indefinitely
to survive. It does live, struggle, plan and achieve not altogether by
knowledge or by reason, but also in part by faith. It hopes, it expects
to endure. It believes in its future.
This faith by which a race, a family, or an individual lives, is not
anti-rational, nor yet super-rational. It is rather sub-rational or proto-
rational. It is deeper, more elemental than reason—a fact of instinct
and feeling. It is faith in the possibilities of life, born of actual sur-
vival in the struggle for existence. The question, therefore, which Mr.
Kidd should have asked, and which we, reviewing his work, must ask
in his stead, is this: May we identify our elemental faith in the possi-
bilities of life with the tremendous social phenomenon of religion,
which, in all the ages of man’s progress, has been one of his supreme
interests? Shall we perhaps find that, when reduced to its lowest
terms, to its essential principle, religion is not, as has been supposed, a
belief in gods, or in a supernatural, in any way conceived, but is rather
SOCIAL HVOLUTION 81
that primordial faith in the possibilities of life which was born, and
generation after generation is re-born, of success in the struggle for
existence; which may gather about itself all manner of supplementary
beliefs, including a belief in spirits and in gods, but which will persist
as the deepest and strongest motive of life after science has stripped
away from it all its mystical and theological accretions? I hope to
show that such is the fact. So believing, I accept as a positive contri-
bution to the theory of human evolution Mr. Kidd’s proposition that
religion, a thing deeper and more elemental than reason, has been a
chief factor in social evolution.
The mention of socialism, when referring to the theories of Benja-
min Kidd, may serve to remind us of two further contributions to the
Darwinian theory of society still to be mentioned. The Marxian social-
ist who has taken trouble to read Mr. William Hurrell Mallock’s Ameri-
can lectures on socialism,’ will not be disposed to admit that Mr. Mal-
lock is a competent student of social phenomena. Before passing
judgment, however, he should examine Mr. Mallock’s “ Aristocracy and
Evolution,” a suggestive and really important work, published in 1898.
In this book Mr. Mallock rises above his habit of literary trifling, and
digs somewhat below his prejudices, to examine not only fairly, but
also cogently, and with illumination, the phenomenon of personal abil-
ity as a factor of social achievement. Distinguishing between a struggle
for existence merely, and a struggle for domination, he contends that
progress in any legitimate sense of the word is attributable to the
struggle for domination. No one, I think, can go far in sociological
study without seeing that this is a significant distinction for purposes
of historical interpretation.
One need not, however, draw the conclusion that democracy is neces-
sarily antagonistic to progress, as Mr. Mallock does. He says:
The human race progresses because and when the strongest human powers
and the highest human faculties lead it; such powers and faculties are embodied
in and monopolized by a minority of exceptional men; these men enable the
majority to progress, only on condition that the majority submit themselves
to their control.®
No student of social evolution would be less likely to dispute these
propositions than Mr. Francis Galton, who, in fact, in his studies of
natural inheritance and hereditary genius, has done more than any
other investigator to establish them on a broad inductive basis. And
after Mr. Galton, no investigator has made more valuable studies in this
field than Mr. Karl Pearson, and no one more unreservedly than he
accepts the conclusion that superiority is necessary to social advance and
that personal superiority is a fact of heredity. Yet Mr. Pearson con-
*Delivered in 1906; published 1907 as “A Critical Examination of
Socialism.”
°“ Aristocracy and Evolution,” p. 379.
82 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
tends that to add artificial advantage to natural superiority is fatal,
because superiority can not be maintained unless the herd, as well as
the superior individual, is carefully looked after and improved. The
superiority that achieves leadership and domination is usually the
power to do some particular thing exceptionally well. It is extreme
individuation, and it often is purchased at the cost of race vitality. It
is as necessary to maintain the one as to develop the other. Mr. Pear-
son therefore finds the socialistic program not incompatible with con-
tinuing progress by selection and inheritance.”
“To ‘wage war against natural inequality’ is clearly a reductio ad
absurdum of the socialistic doctrine. So far as I understand the views of the
more active socialists of to-day, they fully recognize that the better posts, the
more lucrative and comfortable berths, must always go to the more efficient and
more productive workers, and that it is for the welfare of society that it should
be so. Socialists, however, propose to limit within healthy bounds the rewards
of natural superiority and the advantages of artificial inequality. The victory
of the more capable, or the more fortunate, must not involve such a defeat of
the less capable, or the less fortunate, that social stability is endangered by
the misery produced. At the present time a failure of the harvest in Russia
and America simultaneously, or a war with a first-class European power, would
probably break up our social system altogether. We should be crushed in the
extra-group struggle for existence, because we have given too much play to
intra-group competition, because we have proceeded on the assumption that it
is better to have a few prize cattle among innumerable lean kine than a
decently-bred and properly-fed herd with no expectations at Smithfield.”
From this too brief account of the applications thus far made of
Darwinian theory to the problems presented by social relationships,
including human institutions, we may turn to the question of further
scientific possibilities in this direction. It will have been noted that
the theories reviewed are not as they now stand entirely consistent with
one another, and that none of them carries explanation back to the
actual beginnings and causes of group formation. Perhaps if we could
more adequately account, in terms of the struggle for existence, for
actual social origins, and for successive stages of social evolution, the
various fragments of theory which we now possess would fall into
orderly correlation.
Possibly also the most promising starting point for any new at-
tempt to achieve these ends may be found in a careful scrutiny of what
is involved in the struggle for existence itself. Close readers of “The
Origin of Species” know that although Mr. Darwin, when employing
the phrase “a struggle for existence,” usually meant by it a struggle
for subsistence, he uses it also to mean a struggle with the physical con-
ditions of life, to which an organism that would survive must be or
7™“< The Chances of Death,’ Vol. I., pp. 112, 113. In view of the apprehen-
sions just now so freely expressed in England, it is, I think, worth while to
quote the exact words in which Mr. Pearson more than ten years ago summar-
ized his argument:
SOCIAL HVOLUTION 83
must become adapted. “Two canine animals in a time of dearth,” he
remarks, “ may truly be said to struggle with each other which shall get
food and live. But a plant on the edge of a desert is said to struggle
for life against the drought, though more properly it should be said to
be dependent on the moisture.”* Also, “climate plays an important
part in determining the average numbers of a species, and periodical
seasons of extreme cold or drought seem to be the most effective of all
checks.”® Yet further, “when we reach the Arctic regions, or snow
capped summits, or absolute deserts, the struggle for life is almost ex-
clusively with the elements.”2° Again, Mr. Darwin often means, not
a struggle for food or against the elements, but a struggle to avoid being
converted into food. “ Very frequently,” he writes, “it is not the ob-
taining of food, but the serving as prey to other animals, which de-
termines the average numbers of a species.”11_ And some of his most
fascinating pages deal with the variations, such as protective markings,
colorings and habits, which are helpful in the mere struggle for safety.
Once more, in those paragraphs in “The Descent of Man” already
referred to, in which Mr. Darwin recognizes the utility of group soli-
darity, he, by implication, takes account of a struggle on the part of
associating individuals to adjust their interests and their activities to
one another in such wise that group life may be maintained.
If, then, it is legitimate to use the term, “struggle for existence,”
“jn a large and metaphorical sense,” as Mr. Darwin says his prac-
tise is,1* the struggle itself obviously consists of four distinct and
specific struggles, namely: (1) the struggle for safety; (2) the struggle
for subsistence; (3) the struggle for adaptation by every organism to
the objective conditions of its life, and, (4) the struggle for adjustment,
by group-living individuals to one another.
And this large use of the term is legitimate in fact. Mr. Darwin’s
only mistake was in calling it “metaphorical.” For, as Karl Pearson
has pointed out, “the true measure of natural selection is a selective
death rate,’** and any circumstance, whether it be danger, or scarcity
of food, or non-adaptation to physical conditions, or mal-adjustment of
associating individuals to one another, which affects the selective death
rate, is a factor in the struggle for existence.
If so much be granted, a number of difficult questions get a real
illumination. What are the true relations of esthetic and economic,
of ethical and social phenomena to one another, and to life in its wide
inclusiveness? What, especially, is the precise point of departure of
8“ The Origin of Species,” p. 78. .
®Tbid., p. 84.
” [bid., p. 85.
“Ibid., p. 84.
2 Ibid., p. 78.
*%* Essay on “ Reproductive Selection” in “ The Chances of Death and Other
Studies in Evolution,” Vol. I., p. 63.
84 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
social evolution from all that precedes it and prepares for it? And
what is the precise discrimination needful of things social from things
merely organic or psychological? ‘The modes and the phases of the
struggle for existence suggest intelligible answers.
Quite obviously the struggle for safety is the shaping cause of our
esthetic life, the life of sensitiveness and of appreciation. On this
point Mr. Darwin’s data and conclusions are exhaustive. Instant re-
action, if the organism is unconscious, discrimination if it is conscious,
and due estimate of light and shade, of color and form, of sound and of
pressure, in all their objective degrees and proportions, dissonances and
harmonies—these are the readiness and the responsiveness requisite for
safety from each instant of life to the next. Obviously, moreover, the
esthetic life, so understood, is elemental and precedent. For an organ-
ism must in fact survive from moment to moment before it can have
further need or power, even to eat.
The struggle for subsistence initiates and broadens into the eco-
nomic life. The struggle for adaptation becomes the ethical life. For
adaptation, in its beginnings a mere taking on or perfecting of useful
characters, develops, in time, into self-control, self-direction and self-
shaping.
Between adaptation and adjustment, no distinction whatever has
been made by a majority of evolutionist writers. Spencer uses the
word “adjustment” to include all that biologists and psychologists
commonly mean by adaptation.. Yet the two things are not at all the
same. The struggles which they involve are not identical struggles,
and, for the purposes of sociological theory, the distinction is of funda-
mental importance.
Adaptation—which, as it goes on, widens into and includes the
ethical life, at first is a mere conforming of the organism through
variation, selection and inheritance, to the physical conditions under
which it happens to live; that is to say, to altitude, temperature, light
or darkness, dryness or moisture, enemies, food supply, and so on.
Through adaptation, and because non-adaptation means extinction, the
individuals of any given species congregated and dwelling in any given
region where adequate food supplies are found become increasingly
alike, and the first two conditions of social life, as Mr. Bagehot rightly
explained it, namely, grouping and substantial resemblance, are pro-
vided. But, since they are alike, individuals of the same variety or
race, so brought together in one habitat, necessarily want the same
things, and in like ways try to get them. They may compete in obtain-
ing those things which each is able to get by his own efforts, or they
may combine their efforts to obtain those things that no one could get
unaided. In either case their interests and activities sooner or later
must fall into adjustment. And, since any failure of adjustment may
be as fatal as non-adaptation or starvation, there will be a struggle, at
SOCIAL HVOLUTION 85
first perhaps unconscious, but in course of time becoming conscious, to
maintain adjustment and to perfect it. This struggle for adjustment
is the beginning of social life and is the differentiating mark of all true
social phenomena.
Or, to put the matter in slightly different words, while the struggle
for safety develops the esthetic life, and the struggle for subsistence
becomes the economic life, and the struggle for adaptation broadens into
the ethical life, the struggle of resembling creatures to adjust their
similar adaptations to one another, is the beginning and the continuing
process of the social life.
Through success in all these struggles, and not in any one alone,
there results a survival of the fit, that is, of those organisms that are so
equipped with proper parts and habits that they on the whole fit into
and conform to all the essential conditions of life provided by the
environment in which they are forced or elect to dwell.
Holding their own in such unremitting and remorseless contests,
those among them in whom consciousness has awakened, inevitably come
to feel a certain sense of vital adequacy, a will and power to live, and
an assurance of unexhausted opportunity. There is born in them a
faith, inarticulate at first but effective, in the possibilities of life.
Impelled by this faith and equipped with social instinct, man, out-
stripping all other creatures, presses forward into the wider conflicts of
a collective struggle for existence.
Here a word must be said about the subjective aspect of society,
which, in its objective aspect, as we have seen, is merely the struggle
and process of adjustment. What is the relation of adjustment to
sympathy and to understanding, to communication and to concerted
purpose, to the evolution of a social constraint through which the com-
munity controls and shapes the individual, to cooperation and to social
organization ?
These questions are not really so difficult as some others. We have
seen that adjustment arises because like creatures want the same things
and in like ways try to get them. Now, wanting the same things, and
trying in like ways to get them, are essentially psychological phenomena,
and under analysis they resolve into one elementary phenomenon in
particular, namely, like response to the same, or to similar, or to com-
mon stimulation. Responding in like ways to the same, or to common
stimulation, associating individuals, acting upon one another also by
suggestion and example, and imitating one another in a thousand ways,
have identical feelings and develop identical or closely resembling ideas.
Sympathy and understanding, as the psychologist explains, are by-
products of all these things. Sympathy and understanding, supple-
mented by communication, and backed up by the enormous mass of
common feelings and ideas, find expression in those common and usual
86 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
ways of doing things, those norms and elements of custom which Pro-
fessor Sumner has so admirably named “ the folkways.”
Folkways, customs, mores, enforced by collective instinct and feel-
ing, constrain the individual. They become that “ most terrible of all
tyrannies known to man,” of which Mr. Bagehot wrote. But that
tyranny, as Bagehot demonstrated, perfects the group in the unity of
essential likeness, and in the consciousness of likeness, and holds it
together in the bonds of solidarity. Conscious of the usefulness of
solidarity, the group, as it becomes self-conscious, endeavors by definite
policies so far to prescribe individual conduct as to control and limit
variation from type. Society thus becomes a type-conforming group of
associates, endeavoring, by self-instituted discipline, to maintain, as a
type, its distinctive characteristics.
To observe the successive stages, and the complications of man’s
collective struggle for existence, is to examine the evolution of tribal
society and to follow the history of civilization—a large undertaking.
The few words that I have to offer upon these subjects at the present
time will refer only to some of the relations that seem to hold between
very general influences, on the one hand, and some of the larger results,
on the other.
Group safety is the first consideration. It is attained through unity
of action, a prerequisite of which is the sense of solidarity. To the
making of solidarity, everything that we are in the habit of calling
conventionality contributes. Not only the fundamentally important
conventions of language, but also those of manners, of costume and
of ceremonial have here an essential function.
Doubtless it is at this initial stage of the collective struggle, when
life is a day by day hazard, and man’s overmastering emotion is dread,
that religion acquires its first intellectual coefficient.. Since Edward B.
Tylor developed his theory of a primitive animism, much new light has
been thrown upon the earliest religious notions of the race. The new
discoveries have not convinced us that animism was, indeed, the actual
beginning of religion, much less have they proven that the ghost theory
of Spencer’s exposition was. On the contrary, research apparently has
demonstrated that religion, before it was spiritistic or even animistic,
was quite impersonal. It was a recognition and an ever-present dread
of external power, conceived merely as strength or might. Mana, or
Manitou, was not the Great Spirit of the missionary’s imagination; it
was merely The Great Big, The Great Mighty, The Great Dreadful,
and the earlier way of establishing working relations with external
might lay not through sacrifice or prayer, but through the ingenious
trickery of the black art, that is to say, of magic.
But was even magic the very first mode of worship? Speaking for
myself only, I doubt it. In the folkways and folklore of every people
SOCIAL HVOLUTION 87
we find, deep down in the stratum, the arts of augery, of divination, of
fortune telling. In these, I suspect, we discover the earliest religious
ideas and practises, as distinguished from religious feeling or faith.
Before man thought of fooling, or tricking, or bribing, or importuning
the powers that control his fate, he tried simply to find out what they
were likely to do to him. He tried to learn whether and how far he was
safe, to foresee his fate.
It has been in view of such considerations as these, and especially
because of the strong probability that religion was impersonal before
it became animistic, that I have thought it legitimate to identify re-
ligion in its ultimate essence or principle, with that elementary and
primordial faith in the possibilities of life which springs from success
in the struggle for existence.
Collective economic effort takes at first the form of a group ex-
ploitation of various natural sources of subsistence. Hach horde be-
comes identified with a particular region or hunting-ground, and some-
times with a particular kind of food. The notion arises that the
human group and its food, plant or animal, had a common origin and
are now kindred. Magic is developed as the means relied on to pre-
serve and to increase the food supply. This idea and resulting practise
constitute totemism, which differentiates primitive communities into
economic groups and into kinship divisions.
Within each group, the adaptation of individuals to prevailing life
conditions is furthered by the folkways, imposing upon every person a
common morality, and, through initiation ceremonies, or other formid-
able disciplines, developing in him some power of self-control. From
experiences of discipline received and imparted, and of self-mastery,
springs a crude theory of personal power or agency. Here, probably,
is the true origin of animism as a theory of causation, and from this
point religion tends to become animistic.
The ever-recurring conflicts between group and group call forth
leadership, establish the simpler forms of personal government and
mark out the elementary social distinctions. It is now that ideas of
spirits separable from material bodies, and, as ghosts surviving bodily
death, begin to take shape. Religion becomes spiritistic. The habit
of making obeisance to the powerful or the clever, and of propitiating
them, which has grown up step by step with leadership and personal
government, is transferred to the realm of shades. Ghosts must be
looked after and prayed to, or they might do mischief. Remembered,
fed and honored, the kindred ghosts of a community are friendly, pro-
tecting powers. Religion becomes the bond of the living with the dead.
Through all these struggles, adaptations and adjustments, the fit that
survive become in a degree socialized, and in the degree that they become
social they become better assured of further survival. By the integra-
tion of smal] hordes of kindred into tribes, and the combination of
88 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
tribes into federations, ethnic society is evolved. The ghosts of tribal
chieftains are supposed to be more powerful and important than ordi-
nary ghosts; they enjoy, therefore, extraordinary honor and attention.
They become gods. Religion becomes theistic.
The struggle for existence has now been won. The collective
struggle for advantage begins. From every side confederated tribes of
barbarian men press toward those regions that offer exceptional oppor-
tunities ; such regions in early days were the shores and back country
_ of the Caspian Sea, the valleys of the Euphrates and the Nile. This
is the struggle for situation. Bringing together in one habitat a motley
multitude of tribes, and fragments of shattered tribes, it grinds the
tribal system to destruction. It assembles and mingles the human ele-
ments for an evolution of civil society.
When the struggle for place and opportunity has been won, and
command of territory has been achieved, every energy is enlisted in the
economic struggle for abundance. 'The new social order is not yet es-
tablished. Miscellaneous men jostle each other, as in a mining camp.
Each lives among his fellows on sufferance, or toleration. Society is
merely approbational, and its interests are purely materialistic. The
deities are gods of crops and generation.
This state of things, of course, can not last. The struggle for abun-
dance begets the struggle for efficiency. Ideas and standards of effici-
ency appear. The efficient find each other out. They like each other
and each other’s ways. They dislike the inefficient, and begin in all
possible ways to make life unpleasant for them. Efficiency and the
habits that make therefor are identified with righteousness. The gods
are credited with righteous impulses, and a desire to have men do right.
Society has become congenial, and religion ethical.
The supreme struggle remains—the struggle for supremacy. To
conquer, to dominate, to exploit—this alone can satisfy the state that
has become strong enough to impose its yoke upon environing peoples.
Armies are mustered and drilled, coercive rule and regimentation
transform the domestic order. Society becomes despotic, and, since the ~
gods of the conquerors must be worshipped by the conquered, religion
becomes authoritative.
To show how despotic society breaks down, how in such frontier
outposts as were the islands and shores of the Algean Sea, intellect at
last becomes dynamic, and political habit revolutionary, and how, under
the hammering of these forces, society becomes contractual or consti-
tutional, and religion rationalistic, would be to tell an enthralling
story, for which no time remains. In one favored place, the Athenian
city state, society became for a brief time idealistic, that is to say, its
bonds were those of a common purpose, or ideal, and religion became
non-theological. After two thousand years of arrest and slow recovery,
SOCIAL EVOLUTION 89
the cosmopolitan society of the western world is, possibly, once more
approximating the Athenian model.
And the goal is what? If it be true, indeed, that through the ages
an increasing purpose runs, is it made manifest in something that we
may legitimately call progress? For progress, rightly defined, is more
than evolution. It is race survival with individuation, or it is increas-
ing individual power, capacity and happiness not entailing race ex-
termination. Have we made sure of this? We hate to think ill of
ourselves. Yet the question recurs: Has the survival of the fit become,
at length, a survival of the best?
90 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
DARWIN’S INFLUENCE UPON PHILOSOPHY
By Proressor JOHN DEWEY
COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY
I
( Roose the publication of the “ Origin of Species” marked an epoch
in the development of the natural sciences is well known to the
layman. That the combination of the very words origin and species
embodied an intellectual revolt and introduced a new intellectual
temper is easily overlooked by the expert. The conceptions that had
reigned in the philosophy of nature and knowledge for two thousand
years, the conceptions that had become the familiar furniture of the
mind, rested on the assumption of the superiority of the fixed and
final; they rested upon treating change and origin as signs of defect
and unreality. In laying hands upon the sacred ark of absolute
permanency, in treating the forms that had been regarded as types of
fixity and perfection as originating and passing away, the “ Origin
of Species ” introduced a mode of thinking that in the end was bound
to transform the logic of knowledge, and hence the treatment of
morals, politics and religion.
No wonder then that the publication of Darwin’s book, a half
century ago, precipitated a crisis. The true nature of the controversy
is easily concealed ‘from us, however, by the theological clamor that
attended it. The vivid and popular features of the anti-Darwinian row ~
tended to leave the impression that the issue was between science on
one side and theology on the other. Such was not the case—the issue
lay primarily within science itself, as Darwin himself early recognized.
The theological outcry he discounted from the start, hardly noticing
it save as it bore upon the “ feelings of his female relatives.” But for
two decades before final publication he contemplated the possibility of
being put down by his scientific peers as a fool or as crazy; and he
set, as the measure of his success, the degree in which he should affect
three men of science: Lyell in geology, Hooker in botany and Huxley
in zoology.
Religious considerations lent fervor to the controversy, but they
did not provoke it. Intellectually, religious emotions are not creative
but conservative. They attach themselves readily to the current
view of the world and consecrate it. They steep and dye intellectual
fabrics in the seething vat of emotions; they do not form their warp
DARWIN'S INFLUENCE UPON PHILOSOPHY gI
and woof. There is not, I think, an instance of any large idea about
the world being independently generated by religion. However much
the ideas that rose up like armed men against Darwinism owed their
intensity to religious associations, their origin and meaning are to be
sought elsewhere.
II
Few words in our language foreshorten intellectual history as does
the word species. The Greeks in initiating the intellectual life of
Europe, were impressed by characteristic traits of the life of plants
and animals; so impressed indeed that they made these traits the
key to defining nature and to explaining mind and society. And
truly life is so wonderful that a seemingly successful reading of its
mystery might well lead men to believe that the key to the secrets of
heaven and earth was in their hands. The Greek rendering of this
mystery, the Greek formulation of the aim and standard of knowledge,
was in the course of time embodied in the word species and controlled
philosophy for two thousand years. To understand the intellectual
face-about expressed in the phrase “ Origin of Species,” we must, then,
understand the long dominant idea against which it was a protest.
Consider how men were impressed by the facts of life. Their eyes
fell upon certain things slight in bulk, and frail in structure. To every
appearance, these perceived things were inert and passive. Suddenly,
under certain circumstances, these things—henceforth known as seeds
or eggs or germs—begin to change, to change rapidly in size, form
and qualities. Rapid and extensive changes occur, however, in many
things—as when wood is touched by fire. But the changes in the
living thing are orderly; they are cumulative; they tend constantly in
one direction; they do not, like other changes, destroy or consume, or
pass fruitless into wandering flux; they realize and fulfil. Hach
successive stage, no matter how unlike its predecessor, preserves its
net effect and also prepares the way for a fuller activity on the part of
its successor. In living beings changes do not happen as they seem
to elsewhere, any which way; the earlier changes are regulated in view
of later results. This progressive organization does not cease till
there is achieved a true final term, a reAds, a completed, perfected end.
This final form exercises in turn a plenitude of functions, not the
least noteworthy of which is production of germs like those from
which it took its own origin, germs capable of the same cycle of self-
fulfilling activity.
But the whole miraculous tale is not yet told. The same drama is
enacted to the same destiny in countless myriads of individuals so
sundered in time, so severed in space, that they have no opportunity for
mutual consultation and no means of interaction. As an old writer
92 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
quaintly said, “things of the same kind go through the same formali-
ties ”—celebrate, as it were, the same ceremonial rites.
This formal activity which operates throughout a series of changes
and holds them to a single course; that subordinates their aimless flux
to its own perfect manifestation ; which, leaping the boundaries of space
and time, keeps individuals in spite of their being distant in space and
remote in time to a uniform type of structure and function: this prin-
ciple seemed to give insight into the very nature of reality itself. Too it
Aristotle gave the name, «dos. This term the scholastics translated
as species.
The force of this term was deepened by its application to everything
in the universe that observes order in flux and manifests constancy
through change. From the casual drift of daily weather, through the
uneven recurrence of seasons and unequal return of seed time and har-
vest, up to the majestic sweep of the heavens—the image of eternity in
time—and from this to the unchanging pure and contemplative intelli-
gence beyond nature lies one unbroken fulfilment of ends. Nature, as
a whole, is a progressive realization of purpose strictly comparable to
the realization of purpose in any single plant or animal.
The conception of ¢fdos, species, the fixed form and final cause, was
the central principle of knowledge as well as of nature. Upon it
rested the logic of science. Change as change is mere flux and lapse;
it insults intelligence. Genuinely to know is to grasp a permanent
end that realizes itself through changes, holding them thereby within
the metes and bounds of fixed truth. Completely to know is to re-
late all special forms to their one single end and good: pure contem-
plative intelligence. Since, however, the scene of nature which directly
confronts us is in change, nature as directly and practically experienced
can not satisfy the conditions of knowledge. Human experience is also
in flux, and hence the instrumentalities of sense-perception and of in-
ference based upon observation are condemned in advance. Science is
compelled to aim at realities lying behind and beyond the processes of
nature, and to carry on its search for these realities by means of
rational forms transcending ordinary modes of perception and inference.
There are, indeed, but two alternative courses. We must either
find the appropriate objects and organs of knowledge in the mutual
interactions of changing things; or else, to escape the infection of
change, we must seek them in some transcendent and supernal region.
The human mind, deliberately as it were, exhausted the logic of the
changeless, the final and the transcendent, before it essayed adventure
on the pathless wastes of generation and transformation. We dispose
all too easily of the efforts of the schoolmen to interpret nature and
mind in terms of real essences, hidden forms and occult faculties, for-
getful of the seriousness and dignity of the ideas that lay behind. We
DARWIN'S INFLUENCE UPON PHILOSOPHY 93
dispose of them by laughing at the famous gentleman who accounted
for the fact that opium put people to sleep on the ground it had a
dormitive faculty. But the doctrine, held in our own day, that
knowledge of the plant that yields the poppy consists in referring the
peculiarities of an individual to a type, to a universal form, a doctrine
so firmly established that any other method of knowing was conceived
to be unphilosophical and unscientific, was a survival of precisely the
same logic. This identity of conception in the scholastic and anti-
Darwinian theory may well suggest greater sympathy for what has
become unfamiliar and greater humility regarding the further un-
familiarities that history has in store.
Darwin was not, of course, the first to question the classic philoso-
phy of nature and of knowledge. The beginnings of the revolution are
in the physical science of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.
When Galileo said: “ It is my opinion that the earth is very noble and
admirable by reason of so many and so different alterations and gen-
erations which are incessantly made therein,” he expressed the changed
temper that was coming over the world; the transfer of interest from
the permanent to the changing. When Descartes said: “The nature
of physical things is much more easily conceived when they are beheld
coming gradually into existence, than when they are only considered as
produced at once in a finished and perfect state,’ the modern world
became self-conscious of the logic that was henceforth to control it,
the logic of which Darwin’s “ Origin of Species ” is the latest scientific
achievement. Without the methods of Copernicus, Kepler, Galileo
and their successors in astronomy, physics and chemistry, Darwin
would have been helpless in the organic sciences. But prior to Darwin
the impact of the new scientific method upon life, mind and politics,
had been arrested for the most part, because between these ideal or
moral interests and the inorganic world there intervened the kingdom
of plants and animals. The gates of the garden of life were barred to
the new ideas while only through this garden was there access to mind
and politics. The influence of Darwin upon philosophy resides in his
having freed the new logic for application to mind and morals by con-
quering the phenomena of life. When he said of species what Galileo
had said of the earth, e pur se muove, he emancipated once for all
genetic and experimental ideas as an organon of asking questions and
looking for explanations in philosophy.
Tit
The exact bearings upon philosophy of the new logical outlook
are, of course, as yet, uncertain and inchoate. We live in the twilight
of intellectual transition. One must add the rashness of the prophet to
the stubbornness of the partisan to venture a systematic exposition of
94 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
the influence upon philosophy of the Darwinian method. At best, we
can but inquire as to its general bearing—the effect upon mental
temper and complexion, upon that body of half-conscious, half in-
stinctive intellectual aversions and preferences which determine, after
all, our more deliberate intellectual enterprises. In this vaguer inquiry
there happens to exist as a kind of touchstone one problem of great
historic significance that has also been much discussed in Darwinian
literature. I refer to the old problem of design versus chance, mind
versus matter, as the causal explanation, first and final, of things.
As we have already seen, the classic notion of species carried with it
the idea of purpose. In all living forms, a specific type is present
directing the earlier stages of growth to the realization of its own per-
fection. Since this purposive regulative principle is not visible to the
senses, it follows that it must be an ideal or rational force. Since,
however, the perfect form is gradually approximated through the sen-
sible changes, it also follows that in and through a sensible realm a
rational ideal force is working out its own ultimate manifestation.
These two inferences were extended to nature: (a) She does nothing
in vain; but all for an ulterior purpose. (6) Within natural sensible
events there is therefore contained a spiritual causal force, which as
spiritual escapes perception, but is apprehended by an enlightened
reason. (c) The manifestation of this principle brings about a sub-
ordination of matter and sense to its own realization, and this ultimate
fulfilment is the goal of nature and of man. The design argument
thus operated in two directions. Purposefulness accounted for the in-
telligibility of nature and the possibility of science, while the absolute
or cosmic character of this purposefulness gave sanction and worth to
the moral and religious endeavors of man. Science was underpinned
and morals authorized by one and the same principle, and their mutual
agreement was eternally guaranteed.
This philosophy remained, in spite of sceptical and polemic out-
bursts, the official and the regnant philosophy of Europe for over two
thousand years. The expulsion of fixed first and final causes from
astronomy, physics and chemistry had indeed given the doctrine
something of a shock. But, on the other hand, increased acquaintance
with the details of plant and animal life made a counterbalance and
perhaps even strengthened the argument from design. The mar-
vellous adaptations of organisms to their environment, of organs to
the organism, of unlike parts of a complex organ—like the eye—to
the organ itself; the foreshadowing by lower forms of the higher; the
preparation in earlier stages of growth for organs that only later had
their functioning—these things were increasingly recognized with the
progress of botany, zoology, paleontology and embryology. Together
they added such prestige to the design argument that by the late
DARWIN'S INFLUENCE UPON PHILOSOPHY 95
eighteenth century it was, as proved by the sciences of organic life, the
central point of theistic and idealistic philosophy.
The Darwinian principle of natural selection cut straight under
this philosophy. If all organic adaptations are due simply to constant
variation and the elimination of those variations that are harmful in the
struggle for existence which is brought about by excessive reproduction,
there is no call for a prior intelligent causal force to plan and preordain
them. Hostile critics charged Darwin with materialism and with
making chance the cause of the universe.
Some naturalists, like Asa Gray, favored the Darwinian principle
and attempted to reconcile it with design. Gray held to what may be
called design on the instalment plan. If we conceive the “stream of
variations ” to be itself intended, we may suppose that each successive
variation was designed from the first to be selected. In that case,
variation, struggle and selection simply define the mechanism of
“secondary causes” through which the “ first cause” acts; and the
doctrine of design is none the worse off because we know more of its
modus operandi.
Darwin could not accept this mediating proposal. He admits or
rather he asserts that it is “impossible to conceive this immense and
wonderful universe including man with his capacity of looking far
backwards and far into futurity as the result of blind chance or neces-
sity.” But nevertheless he holds that since variations are in useless
as well as useful directions, and since the latter are sifted out simply
by the stress of the conditions of struggle for existence, the design
argument as applied to living beings is unjustifiable; and its lack of
support there deprives it of scientific value as applied to nature in gen-
eral. If the variations of the pigeon, which under artificial selection
give the pouter pigeon, are not preordained for the sake of the breeder,
by what logic do we argue that variations resulting in natural species
are pre-designed ??
IV
So much for some of the more obvious facts of the discussion of
design versus chance as causal principles of nature and of life as
a whole. We brought up this discussion, you recall, as a crucial in-
stance. What does our touchstone indicate as to the bearing of Dar-
winian ideas upon philosophy? In the first place, the new logic out-
laws, flanks, dismisses—what you will—one type of problems and
substitutes for it another type. Philosophy forswears inquiry after
absolute origins and absolute finalities in order to explore specific values
and the specific conditions that generate them.
1“ Life and Letters,” Vol. I., p. 282; cf. 285.
2° Life and Letters,” Vol. II., pp. 146, 170, 245; Vol. I., 283-84. See also
the closing portion of his “ Variations of Animals and Plants under Domes-
tication.”
96 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
Darwin concluded that the impossibility of assigning the world to
chance as a whole and to design in its parts indicated the insolubility
of the question. Two radically different reasons, however, may be
given as to why a problem is insoluble. One reason is that the prob-
lem is too high for intelligence; the other is that the question in its
very asking makes assumptions that render the question meaningless.
The latter alternative is unerringly pointed to in the celebrated case
of design versus chance. Once admit that the sole verifiable or fruit-
ful object of knowledge is the particular set of changes that generate
the object of study, together with the consequences that further flow
from it, and no intelligible question can be asked about what, by as-
sumption, lies outside. To assert—as is often asserted—that specific
values of particular truths, social bonds and forms of beauty, if they
can be shown to be generated by concretely knowable conditions, are
meaningless and in vain; to assert that they are justified only when
they and their particular causes and effects have all at once been
gathered up into some inclusive first cause and some exhaustive final
goal, is intellectual atavism. Such argumentation is reversion to the
logic that explained the extinction of fire by water through the formal
essence of aqueousness and the quenching of thirst by water through
the final cause of aqueousness. Whether used in the case of the special
event or in that of life as a whole, such logic only abstracts some as-
pect of the existing course of events in order to reduplicate it as a
petrified eternal principle by which to explain the very changes of which
it is the formalization.
When Henry Sidgwick casually remarked in a letter that as he grew
older his interest in what or who made the world was altered into in-
terest in what kind of a world it is anyway, his voicing of a common
experience of our own day illustrates also the nature of that intellectual
transformation effected by the Darwinian logic. Interest shifts from
the wholesale essence back of special changes to the question of how
these special changes serve and defeat concrete purposes; shifts from an
intelligence that shaped things once for all to the particular intelligences
which things are even now shaping; shifts from an ultimate goal of
good to the direct increments of justice and happiness that intelligent
administration of existent conditions may beget and that present care-
lessness or stupidity will destroy or forego.
In the second place, the classic type of logic inevitably set philoso-
ophy upon proving that life must really have certain qualities and
values—no matter how experience presents the matter—because of
some remote cause and eventual goal, while the logic of the new
science frees philosophy from this apologetic habit and temper. The
duty of wholesale justification inevitably accompanies all thinking that
makes the meaning of special occurrences depend upon something that
DARWIN'S INFLUENCE UPON PHILOSOPHY 97
lies once and for all behind them. The habit of derogating from
present meanings and uses prevents our looking the facts of experience
in the face; it prevents serious acknowledgment of the evils they pre-
sent and serious concern with the goods they promise but do not yet
fulfil. It turns thought to the business of finding a wholesale trans-
cendent remedy for the one and guarantee for the other. One is re-
minded of the way many moralists and theologians greeted Herbert
Spencer’s recognition of an unknowable energy from which welled up
the phenomenal physical processes without and the conscious operations
without. Merely because Spencer labeled his unknowable energy
“God,” this faded piece of metaphysical goods. was greeted as an
important and grateful concession to the reality of the spiritual realm.
Were it not for the deep hold of the habit of seeking justification for
ideal values in the remote and transcendent, surely this reference of
them to an unknowable absolute would be despised in behalf of the daily
demonstrations of experience that knowable energies are daily gener-
ating about us precious values.
The displacing of this wholesale type of philosophy will doubtless
not arrive by sheer logical disproof, but rather by growing recognition
of its futility. Were it a thousand times true that opium produces
sleep because of its dormitive energy, the inducing of sleep in the tired
and the recovery to waking life of the poisoned, would not be thereby
one least step forwarded. And were it a thousand times dialectic-
ally demonstrated that life as a whole is regulated by a transcendent
principle to a final inclusive goal, truth and error, health and disease,
good and evil, hope and fear in the concrete would remain none the
less just what and where they now are. ‘To improve our education, to
ameliorate our manners, to advance our politics, we must have recourse
to specific conditions of generation.
Finally, the new logic introduces responsibility into the intellectual
life. To idealize and rationalize the universe at large is after all a
confession of inability to master the courses of things that specifically
concern us. As long as mankind suffered from this impotency, nat-
urally it shifted a burden of responsibility which it could not carry
over to the more competent shoulders of the transcendent cause. But
if insight into specific conditions of value and into specific consequences
of ideas is possible, philosophy must in time become a method of lo-
cating and interpreting the more serious of the conflicts that occur in
life, and a method of projecting ways for dealing with them: a method
of moral and political diagnosis and prognosis.
The claim to formulate a priori the legislative constitution of the
universe is by its nature a claim that may lead into elaborate dialectic
developments. But it is also one which removes these very conclusions
from subjection to experimental test, for, by definition, these results
VOL. LX¥Xv.—7.
98 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
make no differences in the detailed course of events. But a philosophy
that humbles its pretensions to the work of projecting hypotheses for
the education and conduct of mind, individual and social, is thereby
subjected to test by the way in which the ideas it propounds work out
in practise. In having modesty forced upon it, philosophy also ac-
quires responsibility.
Doubtless I may seem to have violated the implied promise of my
earlier remarks and to have turned both prophet and partisan. But
in anticipating the direction of the transformations in philosophy to be
wrought by the Darwinian genetic and experimental logic, I do not
profess to speak for any changes save those wrought in those who yield
themselves consciously or unconsciously to this logic. No one can
fairly deny that at present there are evident two effects of the Darwin-
ian mode of thinking. On the one hand, there are making many sin-
cere and vital efforts to revise our traditional philosophic conceptions
in accordance with its demands. On the other hand, there is as defi-
nitely a recrudescence of absolutistic philosophies ; an assertion of a type
of philosophic knowing distinct from that of the sciences, which opens
to us another kind of reality from that to which the sciences give ac-
cess; an appeal through experience to something that radically trans-
cends experiences. This reaction affects popular creeds and religious
movements as well as technical philosophies. In other words, the very
conquest of the biological sciences by the new ideas has led many to
effect a more explicit and rigid separation of philosophy from science.
Old ideas give way slowly; for they are more than abstract logical
forms and categories. They are habits, predispositions, deeply en-
grained attitudes of aversion and preference. Moreover, the convic-
tion persists—though history shows it to be a hallucination—that all
the questions that the human mind has asked are questions that can be
answered in terms of the alternatives that the questions themselves
present. But in fact intellectual progress usually occurs through sheer
abandonment of such questions, together with both of the alterna-
tives they assume—an abandonment that results from decreasing
vitality and interest in their point of view. We do not solve them: we
get over them. Old questions are solved by disappearing, evaporating,
_ while new questions corresponding to the changed attitude of endeavor
and preference take their place. Doubtless the greatest dissolvent of
old questions, the greatest precipitant of new methods, new intentions,
new problems, is the one effected by the scientific revolution completed
in the “ Origin of Species.”
THE PROGRESS
OF SCIENCE 99
THE PROGRESS OF SCIENCE
THE COLLEGE AND THE STUDENT
At this commencement season uni-
versity presidents and others are likely
to make addresses to academic audi-
ences and the problems of the college
and of the college student are likely
to be subjects for comment in the daily
papers and the monthly magazines.
This year two addresses have attracted
special attention. Some rather inci-
dental remarks of President Wilson,
of Princeton University, are of in-
trinsic interest, and the Phi Beta
Kappa address of President Lowell, of
Harvard University, preceding his in-
augural address, gives the first indi-
cation of his attitude toward questions
concerning which his influence and re-
sponsibility are very great.
It is somewhat curious that the
president of Princeton appears to be
more modern in his point of view than
the president of Harvard. President
Wilson is reported as saying:
I believe in athletics. I believe in
all those things which relax energy
that the faculties may be at their best
when the energies are not relaxed, but
only so far do I believe in these diver-
sions. When the lad leaves school he
should cease to be an athlete. The
modern world is an exacting one, and
the things it exacts are mostly intel-
lectual.
A danger surrounding our modern
education is the danger of wealth. I
am sorry for the lad who is going to
inherit money. I fear that the kind of
men who are to share in shaping the
future are not largely exemplified in
schools and colleges.
So far as the colleges go, the side-
shows have swallowed up the circus,
and we in the main tent do not know
what is going on. And I do not know
that I want to continue under those
conditions as ringmaster. There are
more honest occupations than teaching
if you can not teach.
This is characteristically well put,
but the point of view is unexpected.
It was supposed that the officers of
Princeton were comparatively well sat-
isfied with their rich boys, their pro-
fessional athletics and their precep- -
torial system. It seems that on this
occasion the president of Princeton is
too iconoclastic and too pessimistic.
The rich boys and the college boys will
surely do more than the average in
“ shaping the future,” even though this
may be accomplished by a kind of
monopoly control. The boy need not
cease to be an athlete when he leaves
the preparatory school; the trouble in
our colleges is not that there are too
many athletes, but too few, and those
few over-trained and over-exploited.
The college boy can do athletic stunts
better than any one else can and better
than he can do anything else; so there
is much to be said for letting him do
them. Satan can find worse mischief
for idle hands.
When Mr. Wilson says that the
things which the modern world exacts
are mostly intellectual, he presumably
refers to the kinds of things the Prince-
ton preceptors try to teach. But what
the world wants is men who will do the
right thing at the right time. The boy
who is to be a scholar in after life
should be a scholar in college. But
the average boy gains more from run-
ning the college paper or fraternity
house than by writing Latin verses or
even reading the innocuous literature
prescribed by the College Entrance Ex-
amination Board. Certainly both col-
lege students and college teachers could
be more usefully employed than they
are at present; but it is odd that the
president of Princeton should rub
this in.
Mr. Lowell had undertaken to give
the Phi Beta Kappa at Columbia before
he was elected to the presidency of
SCIENCE MONTHLY
THE POPULAR
Ioo
bt bh
“HOUNASLLIG WO ALISUMAINQ GHG JO NVI
THE PROGRESS
Harvard. He was reported in the daily
papers to have spoken in favor of in-
ter-collegiate athletics and against the
elective system. This would indeed be
a cry of “le roi est mort,’ and ex-
plain why one seventh of the members
of the Harvard corporation did not
vote with the majority in the presi-
dential election. As a matter of fact,
Mr. Lowell spoke with skill and with
caution. He did, however, argue that
the elective system interferes with
competition in college studies, and that
the cooperative competition of athletic
games should be applied to the work
of the class room. But he did not tell
how he thought that this could be
accomplished. His main argument was
from the competition in the English
universities. He said: “The result is
that by the Isis and the Cam there is
probably more hard study done in sub-
jects not of a professional character
than in any other universities in the
world.” This is scarcely correct. The
“poll” men at Oxford and Cambridge
do even less work for their degrees
than the average students at Harvard
and Princeton. The men in the honor
courses are doing professional work of
much the same character as is done in
the Harvard graduate and professional
schools and with much the same re-
wards in the way of fellowships and
positions. The greater direct competi-
tion in examinations which does obtain |
in the English universities is not neces-
sarily an advantage. Indeed the ar-
rangement of men in the order of merit
in the mathematical tripos has just
now been abandoned at Cambridge on
the ground that it led to “ cramming.”
Scholarship is more highly esteemed in
England and in Germany (where there |
is no class-room competition in the
universities) than here. Probably as
time goes on there will be an equaliza-
tion due to greater respect for the
scholar here and to relatively higher
regard for other forms of accomplish-
ment there. Mr. Lowell said: “ Uni-
versities stand for the eternal worth
of thought, for the preeminence of the
OF SCIENCE Iol
prophet and the seer.” But the coun-
try can not support 80,000,000 prophets
and seers.
To one hearer Mr. Lowell’s address
seemed somewhat naive, and left an
impression of uncertainty as to how he
would confront the complicated prob-
lems which the latter-day university
president is expected to manage.
THE NEW BUILDINGS OF THE
UNIVERSITY OF PITTSBURGH
In January, 1908, the University of
Pittsburgh acquired a new location,
consisting of 43 acres near the en-
trance to Schenley Park and within a
short distance of the Carnegie Insti-
tute. The ground is partially rising
and partially level, permitting an ef-
fective grouping of the buildings.
Under the direction of Professor War-
ren P. Laird, an architects’ competi-
tion was hela in which sixty-six de-
signs were submitted. The group plan
accepted was that of Palmer & Horn-
bostel, a reproduction of which is here
shown. The style of architecture is
Grecian and is well adapted to the
natural features of the ground. The
location of the several departments of
the university is determined and for
the most part the exact buildings which
will be erected.
The first building of the group, the
School of Mines, is completed and has
just been dedicated. Its cost is ap-
proximately $200,000. The second
building, costing an equal sum, is in
process of erection and will be ready
for occupancy in September. The state
appropriation provided by the last
legislature permits the erection of an-
other building, which will belong to
the medical group. The architects are
working upon the plans for this build-
ing, the erection of which will be com-
menced on July 1, permitting the med-
ical department to begin its work in
the new location in 1910.
As rapidly as buildings can be pro-
vided the other departments, law, den-
tistry and pharmacy will be transferred
to the new location. The university
102
THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
THE SCHOOL OF MINES BUILDING OF THE UNIVERSITY OF PITTSBURGH,
the first to be erected on the new site.
comprises the following departments:
college, graduate, observatory, summer
school, Saturday and evening classes,
engineering, mining, medicine, den-
tistry, law and pharmacy.
The students in the regular classes
during the past year have numbered
1,129, Those taking special work were
114, making a total of 1,243. The
region in which the university 1s now
located is remarxable because of the
large number of fine buildings housing
various educational and other institu-
tions of the city. It bids fair to be-
come one of the famous centers of the
country.
The former buildings of the college
and engineering school have been sold
and the proceeds placed in the perma-
|nent fund of the university. During
the past year nearly $300,000 have been
raised by popular subscription. The
first charter of the university was
granted in 1787. The present year
/marks practically the first consolida-
| tion of the several departments under
| the absolute ownership and control of
the university.
THE PERCY SLADEN MEMORIAL
FUND
In 1904 Mrs. Percy Sladen endowed
with £20,000 a trust fund for the
furtherance of research in the natural
sciences in memory of her husband,
who had died four years previously.
The trustees of this fund, who are
themselves men of science, are allowed
THE PROGRESS
OF SCIENCE
103
PERCY
wide discretion in its administration,
but have adopted the policy of assisting
expeditions. The first of these has
been a zoological exploration of the
Indian Ocean under the leadership of
Mr. J. Stanley Gardiner, the results of
which are now published in the Trans-
actions of the Linnean Society of Lon-
don. They fill a volume of 419 pages,
the different groups of animals being
worked over by leading specialists.
The trustees of the fund are now sup-
porting an anthropological expedition
to Melanesia under the leadership of
SLADEN.
Dr. W. H. R. Rivers, and a third ex-
-pedition will be sent to study the
botany of West Africa, under Professor
H. H. W. Pearson.
The volume containing the account
| of the expedition to the Indian Ocean
is prefaced by an introduction on the
life and work of Sladen by Mr. Henry
Bury, with a portrait here reproduced
from the painting by Mr. H. T. Wells,
in the possession of the Linnean So-
ciety. Born in 1849, Sladen was edu-
cated at a public school where little or
no attention was paid to science and
104
he did not attend a university. He
became interested in science through
the local scientific society and museum
at Halifax, and received his training
through them and through his own
work. He accomplished scientific work
of accuracy and importance, but was
an amateur in the sense that he held
no scientific position. Darwin is the
most notable instance of the great con-
tributions to science made in Great
Britain by those having hereditary
wealth and devoting their lives to sci-
entific work, but he is only one of.a
large class, including men of great
eminence, such as the two last presi-
dents of the Royal Society, Lord Ray-
leigh and Sir William Huggins, and
many others, such as Sladen, whose
work may not be widely known, but
is of a high class. It is to be hoped,
though scarcely to be expected, that
these traditions will be maintained in
Great Britain and adopted here, as the
number of our wealthy families in-
creases.
Sladen concerned himself in the main
with scientific work on the starfishes.
In the course of twenty years he pub-
lished thirty-five papers, the most ex-
tensive being the report on the Aster-
oidea collected by the Challenger which
describes 184 new species. In an early
paper he described an extraordinary
form from a single specimen since lost
which he placed in a new family inter-
mediate between the Ophiurids and the
Asterids. Another discovery of evolu-
tionary interest was of certain “ cribri-
form” organs in a family of starfishes.
The function of these organs is not
known; they appear in one family only
with no indication as to how they may
have been evolved, their number is
fixed for each species, though it varies
greatly within the family.
Though Sladen’s scientific work was
THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
narrowly limited, he was a man of
public spirit and wide accomplish-
ments. He knew Persian as well as
European literatures and was an ex-
pert collector and student of old books
and manuscripts. He was zoological
secretary of the Linnean Society and
secretary of several committees of the
British Association. His biographer
says of him: “ Cheerful, humorous and
of a remarkably even temper, Sladen
presented to his many friends a sin-
gularly lovable nature, in which un-
selfishness, sincerity and a generous
appreciation of the work of others
were some of the leading character-
istics.”
SCIENTIFIC ITEMS
WE record with regret the deaths of
Dr. Georg von Neumayer, the eminent
German meteorologist; of Dr. Wilhelm
Engelmann, professor of physiology at
Berlin, and of Dr. F. G. Yeo, F.R.S.,
the physiologist.
Amone those who will have received
an honorary degree from Cambridge
University on the occasion of the Dar-
win centenary are three Americans:
Professor Jacques Loeb, of the Uni-
versity of California; Dr. Charles D.
Walcott, secretary of the Smithsonian
Institution, and Professor E. B. Wil-
son, of Columbia University.
Dr. Ina Remsen, president of the
Johns Hopkins University, has been
elected president of the Society for
Chemical Industry.—Dr. E. F. Nichols,
professor of experimental physics at
Columbia University, has been elected
president of Dartmouth College.—Mr.
Lazarus Fletcher, F.R.S., the keeper
of the department of mineralogy since
1880, has been appointed to the post
of director of the natural history de-
‘partments of the British Museum.
S32 See ee ee
: = .
ese
, The Harpswell Laboratory,
The Progress of Science ;
be
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Moet es 53 fae
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5
S|
| The Popular Science Monthly |
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CONTENTS OF MAY NUMBER
The Type of the Panama Canal. C. E. GRUNSKY.
Tariff Revision :
- From the Mngutacare? sStandpoint. A. B, FAR-
QUHAR,-H, E, MILEs.
From the Importer’s Standpoint. FRANcis E. HAm-
ILTON.
From the Consumer’s Standpoint. JESSE E. ORTON.
A Permanent Tariff Bureau. SkyMOUR E, Loomis.
Josiah Willard Gibbs and his Relation to Modern Science,
Dr. FIELDING H. GARRISON.
On a Very Prevalent Abuse of HERRIOT Professor
WILLIAM JAMES.
The Closing of a Famous iAetronioiaieal Problem. Pro-
- fessor W, W. CAMPBELL.
Max Morsg,
The Research Work of the Carnegie Institution ;
Lieutenant Shackleton’s Antarctic Expedition ,
~‘Twe Great French Naturalists 4 Scientific Items,
CONTENTS OF JUNE NUMBER
The Tides and their Causes. ROLLIN ARTHUR HARRIS,
Facts concerning the Determination and Inheritance of
Sex. Professor H. E. JORDAN.
Josiah Willard;Gibbs and his relation to Modern Science,
Dr, FIELDING H, GARRISON.
Suggestions from Two Cases of Cerebral Surgery with- |
out Anesthetics, Professor GEORGE TRUMBULL
LADD,
Hysteria as an Asset, Dr. PEARCE BAILEY,
Notes on Certain Philosophies of the Day. Professor
ALEXANDER F, CHAMBERLAIN.
Formative Influences. Professor G. J. PEARCE,
Training College Teachers. Dr. W. B. PITKIN.
Okefinokee Swamp. RoLanp M, HARPER.
The Progress of Science :
Scientific and Educational Meetings; Justus vor
Liebig ; Scientific Items. f
Index to Yolume LXXTYV.
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CONTENTS
' The Future of Astronomy. Professor Epwarp ©. Pickerinc . . . . 105
P The Future of Mathematics. Professor G. A. MintpR ... .. .117
' The ‘Druid Stones” of Brittany. Professor J.S. Kinestey . . . 124
The Origin of the Nervous System and its os pang of Effector. :
Professor G. H. PARKER .. . os, wo her era Alen
The Variational Factor in Handwriting. we Hee E. Done. Pears 77
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THE FUTURE OF ASTRONOMY?
By Proressor EDWARD C. PICKERING
HARVARD COLLEGE OBSERVATORY
[ is claimed by astronomers that their science is not only the oldest,
but that it is the most highly developed of the sciences. Indeed it
d be so, since no other seience has ever received such support from
alty, from the state and from the private individual. However this
ay be, there is no doubt that in recent years astronomers have had
ed to them greater opportunities for carrying on large pieces of
ience. One might expect that the practical results of a science like
ysics would appeal to the man who has made a vast fortune through
Ney
1e of its applications. The telephone, the electric transmission of
~:
nense financial returns derived from the most abstruse principles of
sics. Yet there are scarcely any physical laboratories devoted to
ch, or endowed with independent funds for this object, except
supported by the government. The endowment of astronomical
servatories devoted to research, and not including that given for
teaching, is estimated to amount to half a million dollars annually.
ral of the larger observatories have an annual income of fifty
usand dollars.
I once asked the wisest man I know, what was the reason for this
ence. He said that it was probably because astronomy appealed
imagination. A practical man, who has spent all his life in his
106 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
distances and grandeur of the problems of astronomy, and the very
remoteness and difficulty of studying the stars attract him.
My object in calling your attention to this matter is the hope that
what I have to say of the organization of astronomy may prove of use
to those interested in other branches of science, and that it may lead to
placing them on the footing they should hold. My arguments apply
with almost equal force to physics, to chemistry, and in fact to almost
every branch of physical or natural science, in which knowledge may be
advanced by observation or experiment.
The practical value of astronomy in the past is easily established.
Without it, international commerce on a large scale would have been
impossible. Without the aid of astronomy, accurate boundaries of
large tracts of land could not have been defined and standard time
would have been impossible. The work of the early astronomers was
eminently practical, and appealed at once to every one. This work has
now been finished. We can compute the positions of the stars for years,
almost for centuries, with all the accuracy needed for navigation, for
determining time or for approximate boundaries of countries. The
investigations now in progress at the greatest observatories have little,
if any, value in dollars and cents. They appeal, however, to the far
higher sense, the desire of the intellectual human being to determine
the laws of nature, the construction of the material universe, and the
properties of the heavenly bodies of which those known to exist far out-
number those that can be seen.
Three great advances have been made in astronomy. First, the
invention of the telescope, with which we commonly associate the name
of Galileo, from the wonderful results he obtained with it. At that
time there was practically no science in America, and for more than
two centuries we failed to add materially to this invention. Half a
century ago the genius of the members of one family, Alvan Clark and
his two sons, placed America in the front rank not only in the con-
struction, but in the possession, of the largest and most perfect tele-
scopes ever made. It is not easy to secure the world’s record in any
subject. The Clarks constructed successively, the 18-inch lens for
Chicago, the 26-inch for Washington, the 30-inch for Pulkowa, the
36-inch for Lick and the 40-inch for Yerkes. Each in turn was the
largest yet made, and each time the Clarks were called upon to surpass
the world’s record, which they themselves had already established.
Have we at length reached the limit in size? If we include reflectors,
no, since we have mirrors of 60 inches aperture at Mt. Wilson and
Cambridge, and a still larger one of 100 inches has been undertaken.
It is more than doubtful, however, whether a further increase in size
is a great advantage. Much more depends on other conditions, espe-
cially those of climate, the kind of work to be done and, more than all,
THE FUTURE OF ASTRONOMY 107
the man behind the gun. The case is not unlike that of a battleship.
Would a ship a thousand feet long always sink one of five hundred feet?
It seems as if we had nearly reached the limit of size of telescopes, and
as if we must hope for the next improvement in some other direction.
The second great advance in astronomy originated in America, and
was in an entirely different direction, the application of photography
to the study of the stars. The first photographic image of a star was
obtained in 1850, by George P. Bond, with the assistance of Mr. J. A.
Whipple, at the Harvard College Observatory. A daguerreotype plate
was placed at the focus of the 15-inch equatorial, at that time one of
the two largest refracting telescopes in the world. An image of a Lyre
was thus obtained, and for this Mr. Bond received a gold medal at the
first international exhibition, that at the Crystal Palace, in London, in
1851. In 185%, Mr. Bond, then Professor Bond, director of the Har-
vard Observatory, again took up the matter with collodion wet plates,
and in three masterly papers showed the advantages of photography in
many ways. The lack of sensitiveness of the wet plate was perhaps the
only reason why its use progressed but slowly. Quarter of a century
later, with the introduction of the dry plate and the gelatine film, a
new start was made. These photographic plates were very sensitive,
were easily handled, and indefinitely long exposures could be made with
them. As a result, photography has superseded visual observations, in
many departments of astronomy, and is now carrying them far beyond
the limits that would have been deemed possible a few years ago.
The third great advance in astronomy is in photographing the
spectra of the stars. The first photograph showing the lines in a stellar
spectrum was obtained by Dr. Henry Draper, of New York, in 1872.
Sir William Huggins in 1863 had obtained an image of the spectrum
of Sirius, on a photographic plate, but no lines were visible in it. In
1876 he again took up the subject, and, by an early publication, preceded
Dr. Draper. When we consider the attention the photography of stellar
spectra is receiving at the present time, in nearly all the great observa-
tories in the world, it may well be regarded as the third great advance
in astronomy.
What will be the fourth advance, and how will it be brought about ?
To answer this question we must consider the various ways in which
astronomy, and for that matter any other science, may be advanced.
First, by educating astronomers. There are many observatories
where excellent instruction in astronomy is given, either to the general
student or to one who wishes to make it his profession. At almost any
active observatory a student would be received as a volunteer assistant.
Unfortunately, few young men can afford to accept an unpaid position,
and the establishment of a number of fellowships each offering a small
salary sufficient to support the student would enable him to acquire the
108 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
necessary knowledge to fill a permanent position. The number of these
scholarships should not be large, lest more students should undertake
the work than would be required to fill the permanent paying positions
in astronomy, as they become vacant.
In Europe, a favorite method of aiding science is to offer a prize
for the best. memoir on a specified subject. On theoretical grounds this
is extremely objectionable. Since the papers presented are anonymous
and confidential, no one but the judges know how great is the effort
wasted in duplication. The larger the prize, the greater the injury to
science, since the greater will be the energy diverted from untried fields.
It would be much wiser to invite applications, select the man most likely
to produce a useful memoir, and award the prize to him if he achieved
success.
The award of a medal, if of great intrinsic value, would be an
unwise expenditure. The Victoria Cross is an example of a successful
foundation, highly prized, but of small intrinsic value. If made of
gold, it would carry no greater honor, and would be more liable to be
stolen, melted down or pawned.
Honorary membership in a famous society, or honorary degrees, have
great value if wisely awarded. Both are highly prized, form an excel-
lent stimulus to continued work, and as they are both priceless, and
without price, they in no way diminish the capacity for work. I re-
cently had occasion to compare the progress in various sciences of
different countries, and found that the number of persons elected as
foreign associates of the seven great national societies of the world was
an excellent test. Eighty-seven persons were members of two or more
of these societies. Only six are residents of the United States, while an
equal number come from Saxony, which has only a twentieth of the
population. Of the six residents here, only three were born in the
United States. Not a single mathematician, or doctor, from this
country appears on the list. Only in astronomy are we well repre-
sented. Out of a total of ten astronomers, four come from England,
and three from the United States. Comparing the results for the last
one hundred and fifty years, we find an extraordinary growth for the
German races, an equally surprising diminution for the French and
other Latin races, while the proportion of Englishmen has remained
unchanged.
A popular method of expending money, both by countries and by
individuals, is in sending expeditions to observe solar eclipses. These
appeal both to donors and recipients. ‘The former believe that they are
making a great contribution to science, while the latter enjoy a long
voyage to a distant country, and in case of clouds they are not expected
to make any scientific return. If the sky is clear at the time of the
eclipse, the newspapers of the next day report that great results have
THE FUTURE OF ASTRONOMY 109
been secured, and after that nothing further is ever heard. Exceptions
should be made of the English Eclipse Committee and the Lick Observa-
tory, which, by long continued study and observation, are gradually
solving the difficult problems which can be reached in this way only.
The gift of a large telescope to a university is of very doubtful
value, unless it is accompanied, first, by a sum much greater than its
cost, necessary to keep it employed in useful work, and secondly, to
require that it shall be erected, not on the university grounds, but in
some region, probably mountainous or desert, where results of real
value can be obtained.
Having thus considered, among others, some of the ways in which
astronomy is not likely to be much advanced, we proceed to those which
will secure the greatest scientific return for the outlay. One of the
best of these is to create a fund to be used in advancing research, sub-
ject only to the condition that results of the greatest possible value to
science shall be secured. One advantage of this method is that excel-
lent results may be obtained at once from a sum, either large or small.
Whatever is at first given may later be increased indefinitely, if the
results justify it. One of the wisest as well as the greatest of donors
has said: “ Find the particular man,” but unfortunately, this plan has
been actually tried only with some of the smaller funds. Any one who
will read the list of researches aided by the Rumford Fund, the
Elizabeth Thompson Fund or the Bruce Fund of 1890 will see that
_the returns are out of all proportion to the money expended. The
trustees of such a fund as is here proposed should not regard themselves
as patrons conferring a favor on those to whom grants are made, but
as men seeking for the means of securing large scientific returns for
the money entrusted to them. An astronomer who would aid them in
this work, by properly expending a grant, would confer rather than
receive a favor. They should search for astronomical bargains, and
should try to purchase results where the money could be expended to
the best advantage. They should make it their business to learn of the
work of every astronomer engaged in original research. A young man
who presented a paper of unusual importance at a scientific meeting,
or published it in an astronomical journal, would receive a letter in-
viting him to submit plans to the trustees, if he desired aid in extending
his work. In many cases, it would be found that, after working for
years under most unfavorable conditions, he had developed a method of
great value and had applied it to a few stars, but must now stop for
want of means. A small appropriation would enable him to employ an
assistant who, in a short time, could do equally good work. The appli-
cation of this method to a hundred or a thousand stars would then be
only a matter of time and money.
The American Astronomical Society met last August at a summer
IIo THE POPULAR. SCIENCE MONTHLY
resort on Lake Erie. About thirty astronomers read papers, and in a
large portion of the cases the appropriation of a few hundred dollars
would have permitted a great extension in these researches. A sad
case is that of a brilliant student who may graduate at a college, take a
doctor’s degree in astronomy, and perhaps pass a year or two in study
at a foreign observatory. He then returns to this country, enthusiastic
and full of ideas, and considers himself fortunate in securing a position
as astronomer in a little country college. He now finds himself over-
whelmed with work as a teacher, without time or appliances for original
work. What is worse, no one sympathizes with him in his aspirations,
and after a few years he abandons hope and settles down to the dull
routine of lectures, recitations and examinations. A little encourage-
ment at the right time, aid by offering to pay for an assistant, for a
suitable instrument, or for publishing results, and perhaps a word to
the president of his college if the man showed real genius, might make
a great astronomer, instead of a poor teacher. For several years, a
small fund, yielding a few hundred dollars annually, has been disbursed
at Harvard in this way, with very encouraging results.
A second method of aiding astronomy is through the large observa-
tories. These institutions, if properly managed, have after years of
careful study and trial developed elaborate systems of solving the great
problems of the celestial universe. They are like great factories, which
by taking elaborate precautions to save waste at every point, and by
improving in every detail both processes and products, are at length
obtaining results on a large scale with a perfection and economy far
greater than is possible by individuals, or smaller institutions. The
expenses of such an observatory are very large, and it has no pecuniary
return, since astronomical products are not salable. A great portion of
the original endowment has been spent on the plant, expensive buildings
and instruments. Current expenditures, like library expenses, heating,
lighting, ete., are independent of the output. It is like a man swim-
ming up stream. He may struggle desperately, and yet make no
progress. . Any gain in power effects a real advance. This is the con-
dition of nearly all the larger observatories. Their income is mainly
used for current expenses, which would be nearly the same whatever
their output. A relatively small increase in income can thus be spent
to great advantage. The principal instruments are rarely used to their
full capacities, and the methods employed could be greatly extended
without any addition to the executive or other similar expenses. A man
superintending the work of several assistants can often have their num-
ber doubled, and his output increased in nearly the same proportion,
with no additional expense except the moderate one of their salaries.
A single observatory could thus easily do double the work that could be
accomplished if its resources were divided between two of half the size.
THE FUTURE OF ASTRONOMY III
A third, and perhaps the best, method of making a real advance in
astronomy is by securing the united work of the leading astronomers of
the world. The best example of this is the work undertaken in 1870
by the Astronomische Gesellschaft, the great astronomical society of
the world. The sky was divided into zones, and astronomers were in-
vited to measure the positions of all the stars in these zones. The
observation of two of the northern and two of the southern zones were
undertaken by American observatories. The zone from + 1° to + 5°
was undertaken by the Chicago Observatory, but was abandoned owing
to the great fire of 1871, and the work was assumed and carried to com-
pletion by the Dudley Observatory at Albany. The zone from + 50°
to + 55° was undertaken by Harvard. An observer and corps of
assistants worked on this problem for a quarter of a century. The
completed results now fill seven quarto volumes of our annals. Of the
southern zones, that from —14° to —18° was undertaken by the
Naval Observatory at Washington, and is now finished. The zone from
—10° to —14° was undertaken at Harvard, and a second observer
and corps of assistants have been working on it for twenty years. It is
now nearly completed, and we hope to begin its publication this year.
The other zones were taken by European astronomers. As a result of
the whole, we have the precise positions of nearly a hundred and fifty
thousand stars, which serve as a basis for the places of all the objects
in the sky.
Another example of cooperative work is a plan proposed by the
writer in 1906, at the celebration of the two-hundredth anniversary of
the birth of Franklin. It was proposed, first to find the best place
in the world for an astronomical observatory, which would probably be
in South Africa, to erect there a telescope of the largest size, a reflector
of seven feet aperture. This instrument should be kept at work through-
out every clear night, taking photographs according to a plan recom-
mended by an international committee of astronomers. The resulting
plates should not be regarded as belonging to a single institution, but
should be at the service of whoever could make the best use of them.
Copies of any, or all, would be furnished at cost to any one who wished
for them. As an example of their use, suppose that an astronomer at
a little German University should discover a law regulating the stars
in clusters. Perhaps he has only a small telescope, near the smoke
and haze of a large city, and has no means of securing the photographs
he needs. He would apply to the committee, and they would vote that
ten photographs of twenty clusters, each with an exposure of an hour,
should be taken with the large telescope. This would occupy about a
tenth part of the time of the telescope for a year. After making copies,
the photographs would be sent to the astronomer who would perhaps
spend ten years in studying and measuring them. The committee
112 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
would have funds at their disposal to furnish him, if necessary, with
suitable measuring instruments, assistants for reducing the results, and
means for publication. They would thus obtain the services of the
most skilful living astronomers, each in his own special line of work,
and the latter would obtain in their own homes material for study, the
best that the world could supply. Undoubtedly, by such a combination
if properly organized, results could be obtained far better than is now
possible by the best individual work, and at a relatively small expense.
Many years of preparation will evidently be needed to carry out such a
plan, and to save time we have taken the first step and have sent a
skilful and experienced observer to South Africa to study its climate
and compare it with the experience he has gained during the last
twenty years from a similar study of the climate of South America and
the western portion of the United States.
The next question to be considered is in what direction we may ex-
pect the greatest advance in astronomy will be made. Fortunate in-
deed would be the astronomer who could answer this question cor-
rectly. When Ptolemy made the first catalogue of the stars, he little
expected that his observations would have any value nearly two thou-
sand years later. The alchemists had no reason to doubt that their re-
sults were as important as those of the chemists. The astrologers were
respected as much as the astronomers. Although there is a certain
amount of fashion in astronomy, yet perhaps the best test is the judg-
ment of those who have devoted their lives to that science. Thirty
years ago the field was narrow. It was the era of big telescopes.
Every astronomer wanted a larger telescope than his neighbors, with
which to measure double stars. If he could not get such an instrument,
he measured the positions of the stars with a transit circle. Then came
astrophysics, including photography, spectroscopy and photometry.
The study of the motion of the stars along the line of sight, by means
of photographs of their spectra, is now the favorite investigation at
nearly all the great observatories of the world. The study of the sur-
faces of the planets, while the favorite subject with the public, next to
the destruction of the earth by a comet, does not seem to appeal to
astronomers. Undoubtedly, the only way to advance our knowledge in
this direction is by the most powerful instruments, mounted in the best
possible locations. Great astronomers are very conservative, and any
sensational story in the newspapers is likely to have but little support
from them. Instead of aiding, it greatly injures real progress in
science.
There is no doubt that, during the next half century, much time and
energy will be devoted to the study of the fixed stars. The study of
their motions as indicated by their change in position was pursued with
great care by the older astronomers. The apparent motions were so
THE FUTURE OF ASTRONOMY si ae
small that a long series of years was required and, in general, for want
of early observations of the precise positions of the faint stars, this work
was confined mainly to the bright stars. Photography is yearly adding
a vast amount of material available for this study, but the minuteness
of the quantities to be measured renders an accurate determination of
their laws very difficult. Moreover, we can thus only determine the
motions at right angles to the line of sight, the motion towards us or
from us being entirely insensible in this way. Then came the discovery
of the change in the spectrum when a body was in motion, but still this
change was so small that visual observations of it proved of but little
value. Attaching a carefully constructed spectroscope to one of the
great telescopes of the world, photographing the spectrum of a star,
and measuring it with the greatest care, provided a tool of wonderful
efficiency. The motion, which sometimes amounts to several hundreds
of miles a second could thus be measured to within a fraction of a mile.
The discovery that the motion was variable, owing to the star’s revolv-
ing around a great dark planet sometimes larger than the star, added
greatly not only to the interest of these researches, but also to the labor
involved. Instead of a single measure for each star, in the case of the
so-called spectroscopic binaries, we must make enough measures to de-
termine the dimensions of the orbit, its form and the period of
revolution. ;
What has been said of the motions of the stars applies also, in gen-
eral, to the determination of their distances. A vast amount of labor
has been expended on this problem. When at length the distance of a
single star was finally determined, the quantity to be measured was so
small as to be nearly concealed by the unavoidable errors of measure-
ment. The parallax, or one half of the change in the apparent position
of the stars as the earth moves around the sun, has its largest value for
the nearest stars. No case has yet been found in which this quantity is
as large as a foot rule seen at a distance of fifty miles, and for com-
paratively few stars is it certainly appreciable. An extraordinary degree
of precision has been attained in recent measures of this quantity, but
for a really satisfactory solution of this problem, we must probably
devise some new method, like the use of the spectroscope for deter-
mining motions. ‘Two or three illustrations of the kind of methods
which might be used to solve this problem may be of interest. There are
certain indications of the presence of a selective absorbing medium in
space. That is, a medium like red glass, for instance, which would cut
off the blue light more than the red light. Such a medium would
render the blue end of the spectrum of a distant star much fainter, as
compared with the red end, than in the case of a near star. A measure
of the relative intensity of the two rays would serve to measure the dis-
tance, or thickness of the absorbing medium. The effect would be the
114 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
same for all stars of the same class of spectrum. It could be tested by
the stars forming a cluster, like the Pleiades, which are doubtless all at
nearly the same distance from us. The spectra of stars of the tenth
magnitude, or fainter, can be photographed well enough to be measured
in this way, so that the relative distances of nearly a million stars could
be thus determined.
Another method which would have a more limited application, would
depend on the velocity of light. It has been maintained that the veloc-
ity of light in space is not the same for different colors. Certain stars,
called Algol stars, vary in light at regular intervals when partially
eclipsed by the interposition of a large dark satellite. Recent observa-
tions of these eclipses, through glass of different colors, show variations
in the time of obscuration. Apparently, some of the rays reach the
earth sooner than others, although all leave the star at the same time.
As the entire time may amount to several centuries, an excessively
small difference in velocity would be recognizable. A more delicate
test would be to measure the: intensity. of different-portiens of the
spectrum at a time when the light is changing most rapidly. The effect
should be opposite according as the light is increasing or diminishing.
It should also show itself in the measures of all spectroscopic binaries.
A third method of great promise depends on a remarkable investiga-
tion carried on in the physical laboratory of the Case School of Applied
Science. According to the undulatory theory of light, all space is filled
with a medium called ether, like air, but as much more tenuous than
air as air is more tenuous than the densest metals. As the earth is
moving through space at the rate of several miles a second, we should
expect to feel a breeze as we rush through the ether, like that of the
air when in an automobile we are moving with but one thousandth
part of this velocity. The problem is one of the greatest delicacy, but
a former officer of the Case School, one of the most eminent of living
physicists, devised a method of solving it. The extraordinary result
was reached that no breeze was perceptible. This result appeared
to be so improbable that it has been tested again and again, but every
time, the more delicate the instrument employed, the more certainly
is the law established. If we could determine our motion with refer-
ence to the ether, we should have a fixed line of reference to which
all other motions could be referred. This would give us a line of ever-
increasing length from which to measure stellar distances.
Still another method depends on the motion of the sun in space.
There is some evidence that this motion is not straight, but along a
curved line. We see the stars, not as they are now, but as they were
when the light left them. In the case of the distant stars this may have
occurred centuries ago. Accordingly, if we measure the motion of the
sun from them, and from near stars, a comparison with its actual mo-
THE FUTURE OF ASTRONOMY 05
tion will give us a clue to their distances. Unfortunately, all the stars
appear to have large motions whose law we do not know, and therefore
we have no definite starting point unless we can refer all to the ether
which may be assumed to be at rest.
If the views expressed to you this morning are correct, we may ex-
pect that the future of astronomy will take the following form: There
will be at least one very large observatory employing one or two hun-
dred assistants, and maintaining three stations. Two of these will be
observing stations, one in the western part of the United States, not far
from latitude + 30°, the other similarly situated in the southern hem-
isphere, probably in South Africa, in latitude — 30°. The locations
will be selected wholly from their climatic conditions. They will be
moderately high, from five to ten thousand feet, and in desert regions.
The altitude will prevent extreme heat, and clouds or rain will be rare.
The range of temperature and unsteadiness of the air will be dimin-
ished by placing them on hills a few hundred feet above the surround-
ing country. The equipment and work of the two stations will be
substantially the same. Each will have telescopes and other instruments
of the largest size, which will be kept at work throughout the whole of
every clear night. The observers will do but little work in the day-
time, except perhaps on the sun, and will not undertake much of the
computation or reductions. This last work will be carried on at a third
station, which will be near a large city where the cost of living and of
intellectual labor is low. The photographs will be measured and
stored at this station, and all the results will be prepared for publica-
tion, and printed there. The work of all three stations will be care-
fully organized so as to obtain the greatest result for a given expendi-
ture. Every inducement will be offered to visiting astronomers who
wish to do serious work at either of the stations and also to students
who intend to make astronomy their profession. In the case of photo-
graphic investigations it will be best to send the photographs so that
astronomers desiring them can work at home. The work of the young
astronomers throughout the world will be watched carefully and large
appropriations made to them if it appears that they can spend them to
advantage. Similar aid will be rendered to astronomers engaged in
teaching, and to any one, professional or amateur, capable of doing
work of the highest grade. As a fundamental condition for success,
no restrictions will be made that will interfere with the greatest scien-
tific efficiency, and no personal or local prejudices that will restrict the
work.
These plans may seem to you visionary, and too Utopian for the
twentieth century. But they may be nearer fulfilment than we antici-
pate. The true astronomer of to-day is eminently a practical man.
He does not accept plans of a sensational character. The same qualities
116 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTELY
are needed in directing a great observatory successfully, as in managing
a railroad, or factory. Any one can propose a gigantic expenditure,
but to prove to a shrewd man of affairs that it is feasible and advisable
is a very different matter. It is much more difficult to give away money
wisely than to earn it. Many men have made great fortunes, but few
have learned how to expend money wisely in advancing science, or to
give it away judiciously. Many persons have given large sums to
astronomy, and some day we shall find the man with broad views who
will decide to have the advice and aid of the astronomers of the world,
in his plans for promoting science, and who will thus expend his
money, as he made it, taking the greatest care that not one dollar is
wasted. Again, let us consider the next great advance, which perhaps
will be a method of determining the distances of the stars. Many of
us are working on this problem, the solution of which may come to some
one any day. The present field is a wide one, the prospects are now
very bright, and we may look forward to as great an advance in the
twentieth century, as in the nineteenth. May a portion of this come
to the Case School and, with your support, may its enviable record, in
the past, be surpassed by its future achievements.
THE FUTURE OF MATHEMATICS 117
THE FUTURE OF MATHEMATICS
By Prornssor G. A. MILLER
UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS
ROFESSOR A. VOSS, of the University of Munich, recently made
the following statement: “ Our entire present civilization, as far
as it depends upon the intellectual penetration and utilization of nature,
has its real foundation in the mathematical sciences.”4 He adds that
this truth finds expression in the ever-increasing appreciation of the
educational value of mathematics, notwithstanding the fact that it is
the most unpopular of all the sciences. This unpopularity is natural
since “ unpopularity is an essential feature of a real science,” because
such a science can be comprehended only through tireless and continued
efforts.
An intelligent expression as regards the future of mathematics must
be based not only upon the past and present state of this science, but
also upon its real essence. One of those elements which mathematics
has in common with some of the other sciences, but which are more
prominent in mathematics than in any of the others, is the tendency
to use thought in the most economical manner. When one considers
the extent to which efforts to simplify methods, theorems and formulas
direct mathematical endeavor, one must admit that the statement
“Mathematics is the science of saving thought” expresses a great
truth, even if it is too sweeping to serve as a definition.
That mathematics is the science which is preeminently devoted to
the discovery and mapping of routes along which thought may ascend
securely and with the greatest ease, is supported by the fact that it
has the oldest and the most extensive symbolical language. In the
introduction to his classic history of mathematics, Moritz Cantor asks,
“Why has mathematics, since the remotest times, found support,
simplification and advancement by means of word symbols, whether
these are number symbols or other mathematical symbols?” Although
the oldest of these word symbols are probably relics of a very ancient
picture language, yet it is of great interest that in mathematics the
picture language was retained and used side by side with an alphabetic
and syllabic language, while the latter displaced the former elsewhere.
Even those who have mastered only the elements of algebra and the
1'Voss, “Ueber das Wesen der Mathematik.” Rede gehalten om 11. Marz,
1908, in der oeffentlichen Sitzung der k. bayerischen Akademie der Wissen-
schaften; Teubner, 1908, p. 4.
118 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
differential calculus are in position to appreciate the value of mathe-
matical symbols for the purpose of centralizing and intensifying
thought.
It is true that some of the roads which mathematical thought has
made through great difficulties have been practically abandoned and
that the popularity of many of the others has changed from time to
time. Among the former we may class the results of investigations
recorded at the beginning of the oldest extensive mathematical work
that has been deciphered, viz., the formulas relating to unit fractions
which are found in the nearly four thousand-years-old work of
Ahmes. A subject which appears to have been placed at the very
beginning of advanced mathematical instruction four thousand years
ago is now entirely abandoned in our courses, except when the history
of the development of the science is under consideration. While
mathematics presents a number of other roads which are now of interest
only to the historian, yet there are also many which have been known
for centuries and which have been pursued with profit and pleasure
by great minds in all the civilized nations. The latter class includes
all the longer ones leading gradually to points of view from which the
connection between many natural phenomena may be clearly discerned.
The intellectual heights reached by means of a long series of con-
nected mathematical theorems do not always reveal their greatest lesson
to the first explorers. For instance, the large body of facts relating
to conic sections, developed by Apollonius and other Greek geometers,
became a much greater glory to the human mind through the discovery,
nearly two thousand years later, that the bodies of the solar system de-
scribe conic sections. Such experiences in the past tend to justify the
fact that a large number of men are devoting their lives to the discovery
of abstract results irrespective of applications, and they tend to explain
why the largest prize (about twenty-five thousand dollars) ever offered
for a mathematical theorem is being offered for a theorem in number
theory, which is not expected to have any application to subjects out-
side of pure mathematics.
There seems to be a general impression abroad to the effect that
mathematics and the ancient languages constituted the main parts of
the curriculums of our colleges and universities a century or two ago.
As regards mathematics this is quite contrary to fact, as may be
seen from a few historical data. Less than two centuries ago the
students in Harvard College began the study of arithmetic in their
senior year. In fact, no knowledge of any mathematics was required
to enter Harvard before 1803, and it was not until 1816 that the whole
of arithmetic was required for entrance. In other American institu-
tions the mathematical situation was generally worse, and in Hurope
the improvements were not very much earlier. It is during compara-
THH FUTURE OF MATHEMATICS 119
tively recent years that mathematics has made most of its gains towards
being recognized as a fundamental science, and the study of advanced
mathematics in our universities had a still later origin.
The rapid recent advances in various fields of mathematics have
given rise to a very optimistic spirit as to the future. Although we
still hold in high esteem the brilliant discoveries of the Greeks, we
are inclined to give much more thought and attention to recent work,
as may be seen from the references in the extensive German and French
mathematical encyclopedias which are in the process of being published.
The history of mathematics furnishes many instances of the vanishing
of apparently insurmountable barriers. We need only recall the barrier
created by the Greek custom of confining oneself to the rule and circle
in the most acceptable geometric constructions, and the very formidable
barrier furnished by the imaginary, and even by the negative and the
irrational roots of a quadratic equation.
Those who fixed their attention upon these barriers in the past
have naturally been led to think that the days of important advances
in mathematics were about ended and that it only remained to fill in
details. Such predictions had few supporters when new methods led
over these barrier and turned them into steps to richer mathematical
domains. As this process has been repeated so often it has gradually
reduced the number of those to whom the future of mathematics looked
dark. In fact, Poincaré, in his address? before the Fourth Inter-
national Congress of Mathematicians, which was held at Rome, in April,
1908, said that all those who held these views are dead.
These facts seem to justify a very hopeful spirit as regards future
progress, but it is necessary to examine them with great care in order
to deduce from them any helpful suggestions as to the probable nature
of this progress. Such prognostications clearly demand a mind that
can deal with big problems as well as a thorough acquaintance with the
past and the present developments in mathematics, to insure that the
results obtained by a kind of extrapolation may be worthy of confidence.
It is doubtful whether any living mathematician would be more gen-
erally regarded as qualified to make reliable predictions along this line
than Poincaré, of Paris. The address to which we referred in the
preceding paragraph was devoted to this subject and we proceed to
give some of the main results.
The objects of mathematical thought are so numerous that we can-
not expect to exhaust them. This appears the more evident since the
mathematician creates new concepts from the elements which are
presented to him by nature. Hence there must be a choice of subject
matter, but who is to do the choosing? Some are inclined to think
that the mathematician should confine himself to those problems which
? Bulletin des Sciences Mathématiques, Vol. 32 (1908), p. 168.
120 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
may be set for him by the physicist or the engineer. If he had done
this in the past he would not have created the instruments necessary to
solve such problems, and hence it is unreasonable to make such re-
strictions as to the future.
If the physicists of the eighteenth century had abandoned the study
of electricity because it seemed to serve no useful end, we should not
have had the many useful applications of electricity during the nine-
teenth century. Similarly, if the mathematician had abandoned the
study of negative and imaginary numbers because they seemed to
point only to impossibilities, we should not have had the many power-
ful instruments of thought which enable us to cope more successfully
with many problems of nature. Just as the physicist is largely guided
in his work by those facts which seem to point to general laws, so
the mathematician is guided in his work by the desire to discover ex-
tensive relations and laws having a wide range of application. Millions
of isolated facts present themselves to the investigator, some of which
are of striking interest to the initiated, but they are of practically no
value in the development of mathematics except that they may some-
times serve as an exercise in secondary instruction.
At a first thought the statement that “ Mathematics is the art of
giving the same name to different things” may appear to be entirely
contrary to fact, but from a certain standpoint this statement conveys
a very fundamental truth. It should be borne in mind that these dif-
ferent things must have in common the property to which this com-
mon name refers, and that it is the duty of the mathematician to
discover and exhibit this common property. By way of illustration
we may recall the use of x for various unknowns in algebra and the
(1, 1) correspondence between the two series of operators. When the
language has been properly chosen it is often surprising to find that
the demonstrations, as regards a known object, apply immediately to
a large number of new objects without even a change of name.
Just as the boundaries between the elementary subjects of mathe-
matics—arithmetic, algebra and geometry—vanish when the knowledge
of these subjects is sufficiently extended, so the boundaries between
subjects in pure and applied mathematics are disappearing, and it is
xactly in these bordered lands, or in this common territory of two or
more subjects, where the greatest recent progress has been made and
where the greatest future activity may be expected. The work in this
common territory is made possible by observing similarity of form where
there is dissimilarity of matter, or by observing some other common
properties which admit mathematical treatment.
In Poincaré’s address some of these general observations were illus-
trated by numerous examples chosen from various fields of higher
mathematics. On the contrary, we shall confine our illustrative ex-
THE FUTURE OF MATHEMATICS 121
amples to elementary subjects. Our first effort will be directed towards
exhibiting some territory which is common to each of the four subjects
—arithemtic, geometry, algebra and trigonometry. By observing com-
mon properties we shall not only see a bond connecting these funda-
mental subjects, but we shall also be led to general methods which
make it unnecessary to study the same properties in different forms.
The thing to be emphasized is that these four elementary subjects have
in common fundamental notions which not only connect them, but
also establish contact between them and many other subjects. Such a
fundamental notion is a group of order 8, known as the octic group.
Some of the properties of this group may be easily seen by considering
the possible movements of space which transform a square into itself.
The period or order of a movement represents the number of times
the movement must be made in order to arrive at the identity, or at
the original position. It is clear that the eight movements of the
square include two of period four, five of period two, and the identity
A profound study of these eight movements would disclose many in-
teresting facts. For instance, it would be seen that only two of them
(the square of these of period four and the identity) are commutative
with each one of others, while each one of the remaining six is com-
mutative with only four of the possible eight movements. Although
a profound study of this group of eight movements would be necessary
to exhibit the fundamental rdle which it plays in the various subjects,
it is not necessary to enter deeply into its properties in order to see
that it is common to the four subjects mentioned above.
At a first thought it might appear as if these eight movements had
nothing in common with trigonometry, but a very fundamental con-
nection may be seen as follows: If the vertex of the angle A is the
center of a square and the initial line of A coincides with a line of
symmetry of the square, the operations of taking the complement and
the supplement of A correspond to movements transforming the square
into itself. Hence the eight angles which may be obtained from a given
angle by a repetition of finding supplement and complement may be
placed in a (1, 1) correspondence with the eight movements of the
square. As these eight angles play such a fundamental réle in ele-
mentary trigonometry, it has been suggested that our ordinary school
trigonometry might appropriately be called the trigonometry of the
octic group, or the trigonometry of the group of movements of the
square.
Although the eight operations of the octic group do not occupy such
an important place in elementary arithmetic as in geometry and trig-
onometry, yet these operations serve to explain some facts which pre-
sent themselves in the most elementary arithmetic processes. For
instance, the operations of subtracting from 2 and dividing 2 lead, in
VOL. LXXv.—9.
122 THH POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
general, to eight distinct numbers. Starting with 5, these eight num-
bers are
5, 15; 5; = Fh iss %, YES ele
No new number is obtained by dividing 2 by any of these numbers or
by subtracting any of them from 2. The proof of the fact that the
eight operations by means of which each one of these eight numbers
may be derived from any one of them have the same properties
in relation to each other as the eight movements of the square is not
difficult, but it involves details which may be omitted in a popular
exposition.
An instance where the octic group plays an important role in alge-
bra is furnished by the three-valued function zy + zw, which is funda-
mental in the theory of the general equation of the fourth degree. On
account of the existence of this function the solution of the general
equation of the fourth degree may be made to depend upon the solu-
tion of the general equation of the third degree. This function is
transformed into itself by eight substitutions, and we may arrange its
letters separately on the vertices of a square in such a way that the
eight substitutions transforming the function into itself correspond to
the eight movements which transform the square into itself. Such an
arrangement exhibits the intimate relations between this function and
the movements of a square, and the preceding examples illustrate the
fact that the octic group finds application in each of the elementary
subjects—arithmetic, algebra, geometry and trigonometry, and that it
forms a part of the domain common to all of these disciplines.
In a similar manner other groups could be traced through these
elementary subjects of mathematics and it could be shown that the
theory of these groups may be used to clarify many fundamental points
and to exhibit deep-seated contact. If the common domains will fur-
nish the most active fields of future investigations in accord with the
predictions of Poincaré, and if we may expect the greatest future
progress to be based upon the modeling of the less advanced science
upon the one which has made the more progress, it is reasonable to
expect that a subject like group theory will grow in favor, and that
some of the elements of this subject will become a part of the ordinary
courses in secondary mathematics. In support of this view we may
quote a recent statement by Professor Bryan, President of the Mathe-
matical Association, which is as follows: “I believe Professor Perry
will get some very good material for applications out of the theory of
groups, when explorers have first made their discoveries, and when the
colonists have been over it and surveyed it, and discovered means for
cultivating it. We do not know anything about its practical appli-
cations now.’
5 The Mathematical Gazette, January, 1909, p. 17.
THE FUTURE OF MATHEMATICS 123
The future of mathematics appears bright, both for the investigator
and for the teacher. When a country which has such an enlight-
ened educational system as France increased the amount of time de-
voted to secondary mathematics so recently as 1902 and again in 1906,
it furnishes one of the strongest possible encouragements to the teacher
who may have been troubled by the thought that the educational value
of mathematics was not being as fully appreciated as in earlier years.
Naturally we may expect that there will be local changes of view as
regards the value of mathematics as an educational subject, and these
changes will not always be for the better, but the civilized world, as a
whole, is learning to appreciate more and more the fundamental im-
portance of early mathematical training, so that we should not be too
much perturbed by local steps backwards, but we should move ahead
with the assurance that we are engaged in a work of the highest peda-
gogical importance.
The boundless confidence in the importance of early and extensive
mathematical training shoyld, however, not blind us to the need of
changes and new adaptations. As an important function of mathe-
matical training is the furnishing of the most useful and the most
powerful tools of thought, it is evident that the choice of these tools
will vary with the advancement of general knowledge. All admit that
the concept of a derivative is one of the most useful elementary tools
of thought, and in a number of countries this concept has been intro-
duced into secondary mathematics and used with success. At the last
International Mathematical Congress, held at Rome, M. Borel, of
Paris, reported that the notion of derivative had been introduced into
French secondary education in 1902 and that it had led to satisfactory
results. At the same meeting M. Beke, of Budapest, stated that this
notion, together with the notion of function and graph, had been intro-
duced into the courses of secondary education in Hungary.
At the recent joint conference of the Mathematical Association and
the Federated Association of London Non-Primary Teachers, the chair-
man remarked: “I have always thought that a mathematician was a
man who when he wants to find anything out, uses his brains for that
purpose, whereas a physicist, when he wants to find out anything, re-
sorts to experiment.” Although this statement is not to be construed
literally, yet it does involve a great partial truth and it calls attention
to elements which insure mathematical appreciation as long as there
is scientific thought. “It is the mind that sees as well as the eye,”
and the mind sees some of the greatest truths most clearly by means of
mathematical symbolism. In fact, mathematical symbols serve both
as a telescope and also as a microscope for mental vision, and as long
as such vision is demanded the teacher of mathematics will be ap-
preciated.
124 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
THE ° DRUID. STONES? BO BRED TAN
By Prorrssor J. 8S. KINGSLEY
TUFTS COLLEGE
Ses writer makes no pretense of being an archeologist, but finding
few accounts of the wonderful megalithic monuments of Brittany
in English, he has written this account of his visit to them as thread on
which to string a few pictures. Those huge stones erected by human
hands—no one knows by whom or why or when—which are called mega-
lithic monuments, occur throughout western Europe, from the “ Huns’
beds” east of the Zuider Zee, through Britain, France and Spain and
into northern Africa, across the Strait of Gibraltar, but nowhere are
they as numerous or striking as in Brittany. The tourist is familiar
with that strange circle of standing stones at Stonehenge and, to a less
extent with “ Kit’s Coty House” in Kent and the circle at Avebury,
but Morbihan is far out of the usual track and hence is seen by compar-
atively few of our people.
The department of Morbihan lies on the southern shore of Brittany,
three hundred miles in a straight line west of Paris, and considerably
farther as the trains run. The part of it where these megaliths abound
is, perhaps, twenty miles, east and west, and ten north and south. It
contains no large cities—Vannes, the capital, has not twenty-five thou-
sand inhabitants —it has no churches or art galleries starred in Bade-
ker; its sole attractions are its delightful inhabitants who still adhere
to their ancient costumes, and the monuments.
Archeologists divide these standing stones into different categories,
according to the way they are arranged, and each kind has its name
derived from either the Keltic or the French. There are menhirs
(Keltic, long stones) which stand upright in the soil, usually upon the
smaller end. Menhirs may be isolated, scattered here and there through
the region, or they may be arranged in lines or rows (alignments)
stretching across the fields. In certain places the menhirs form square
or semicircular enclosures called cromlechs (Keltic, curved stones).
Again, the megaliths have been built into chambers, the walls com-
posed of upright stones placed close together, and roofed in by one or
more large blocks of stone. These are the dolmens* (table stones), the
enlarged chamber being usually reached by a narrower passage, though
occasionally the entrance is in one side of the chamber. In some cases
*In England the dolmens are frequently called cromlechs.
“DRUID STONES” OF BRITTANY 1215
instead of a true dolmen there is a narrow passage alone, an allée
couverte. Various subdivisions of these types are recognized, but they
may be ignored here.
It was to see these megaliths that we took the all-day journey (really
only 148 miles) across Brittany. It was early morning when we left the
wonderful rock of St. Michel’s Mount and the omelettes of the now
reconciled Poulards, with whose quarrels all travelers are familiar.
Half an hour by tram took us to Pontorson. Why do places like Pon-
torson exist? Our two hours were one continual struggle with station
agent, hack drivers and porters, all of whom were insistent that we
should drive out to Mt. St. Michel. “One france a person” but we
knew their ways; half way there would be a demand for a pourboire
which would make the original fare look like twenty cents. Besides, we
had just come from the Mount, and why should we go back? At Dol
another wait, this time long enough to get an early lunch, before we
could get a cross-country train for Rennes. Up to that day Rennes had
been associated in our minds with the Dreyfus trial of a few years ago.
Two hours here were sufficient to assure us that Badeker did not
slander the town when he wrote that with its 75,000 inhabitants, “ its
spacious modern streets are generally dull, lifeless and deserted.”
Next a wait of an hour at Redon before taking the last train of the
day—the Nantes-l’Orient express for Auray, which we reached just in
time for dinner at the most comfortable and hospitable Pavilion hotel.
Qne may go in various ways from the railway to the monuments,
but there is a best way—hby carriage. There is the route from Vannes,
taking a boat down through the sea of Morbihan to Locmariaquer. It
is a picturesque route through a land-locked arm of the sea, studded with
islands, like a miniature Casco Bay. But it is not to be depended upon,
as the sailing of the steamers varies with the tides. It is cheaper to
take the train from Auray to Carnac station on the little road to Quib-
eron, and then the little tram to Carnac village and to Erdeven. This
brings one within easy walking distance of the principal alignments ;
but to reach the other monuments a carriage is convenient ; even neces-
sary, if one is to see the important menhirs, dolmens, etc., of Locmaria-
quer. Besides, the foot traveler will have to have a guide, otherwise he
will waste much time and probably will miss much that he ought to
see. Badeker’s map is on too small a scale to be of much assistance.
The total drive from Auray to all of the standing stones is about
thirty-five miles, but by cutting out some which apparently were repe-
titions of others, we made our round trip about twenty-five miles. The
country traversed is best described in the terms of physical geography
as a peneplain and the shore to the south as a drowned coast. It is
nearly level, with no hills rising markedly above the rest of the country.
We saw the first of the monuments about six miles out of Auray and
126 THH POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
our first glimpse was rather disappointing. A couple of hundred feet
to the left of the road was the first dolmen, a dozen stones, about five
feet high, standing upright in a pasture, and roofed in by two large
stones lying across them. It recalled a child’s house on a large scale,
built out of the lichen-covered stones of the field. By its side stood a
square stone monument announcing that this dolmen of Keriaval is the
property of the French Republic, and that any one injuring it in any
way will be prosecuted. It may be said that by each group in the entire
district is a similar stone. On the other side of the road are three dol-
mens, close together, standing scarcely above the surrounding soil but
excavated inside so that one may stand upright in the interior.
It would serve no useful purpose to give our itinerary in detail, but
a clearer idea of these strange structures may be given by a general
description of the monuments as a whole, specifymg here and there
those of more particular interest from size or other features.
Possibly the most striking of all are the alignments. Certainly
they are the most difficult to explain. Of these there are several groups,
each distinct from its fellows, and yet the whole series being in the
same belt. Many of the stones have tumbled down and some have been
utilized in building walls and houses. Thus the little church of St.
Cornély at Carnac is built entirely of menhirs, broken up into blocks
of convenient size, while the curious crown that surmounts its west
portal was carved out of a single menhir. le Rouzic, whom I shall
often quote, says that the series of alignments once extended from a
point to the west of the village of Carnac, five miles east to the Orac’h
River, while other series occur further west, near Erdeven.
Fic. 1. Doztmen or KéRIAVAL, half way between Auray and Carnac.
DRULDYSTONES ” OF BEITTANY 1247
Fic. 2. INTERIOR OF THE DOLMEN OF KERIONED, across the road from Kériaval.
We visited the three alignments near Carnac—Ménec to the west,
Kermario in the middle and Kerlescan to the east. Of these Ménec
is the most extensive and the best preserved, but the menhirs in the
others are larger. That these alignments are distinct from each other
and are not parts of a single one is shown by several facts. They are
separated by considerable intervals, the gap betweei Ménec and Ker-
mario being a thousand feet; between Kermario and Kerlescan over a
quarter of a mile. Again, the rows in the different alignments run in
different directions—Meénec N. 70° E., Kermario N. 57° E., and Ker-
lescan 8. 85° EH. In each alignment the rows begin with enormous
stones at the west end and gradually taper down to merely good-sized
rocks at the easterly ends. Then Ménec and Kerlescan begin at the
128 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
Fie. 3. PANORAMA OF THE ALIGNMENT OF ME@NEC, near Carnac, from the westerly
end. The cromlech is just behind the position of the camera, but could not be
included in the view on account of a house and farm buildings. The alignment of
western ends with a cromlech, and LeRouzic is confident that there
was originally a cromlech at the western end of Kermario, but that it
has disappeared.
The alignment of Ménec may be taken as typical. It lies in an
undulating pasture, with farm buildings here and there, and is crossed
at about the middle by a country road. Through this field, from the
slight elevation at the west, down through the hollow of the road, and
disappearing over the rise at the east, stretch eleven rows of menhirs,
the rows being approximately parallel and about thirty feet apart, and
the whole a little over three hundred feet wide while in length they ex-
tend 3,800 feet, or over two thirds of a mile. Some of the menhirs have
tumbled down; here and there we note one built into the walls sepa-
rating the fields but still occupying its original position. In all there
are 1,099 stones still standing in Ménec. At the eastern end they are
small, rising but two or three feet above the soil, but at the western end
are the giants, three or four feet in diameter and thirteen feet high.
The cromlech of Ménec consists of 70 stones, about five feet high on
the average, which sweep in a semicircle around the farm buildings at
the west end of the alignment, the chord of the curve including only
the southern half of the lines proper.
Only dry facts need be given concerning the other alignments we
saw. In Kermario there are 982 menhirs in ten rows, extending over
“DRUID -‘STONES” OF BRITTANY 129
Kermario is behind the woods at the farther end of the lines. At the extreme right
of the view is the Mont St. Michel, a sepulchral monument or galgal, entirely arti-
ficial (see p. 1384).
an area about 320 by 3,700 feet. The largest menhir, which has fallen,
is 21 feet in total length, while the smallest stands but a foot and a half
above the ground. In Kerlescan the cromlech of 39 stones is quad-
rangular in outline with rounded corners, while the alignment proper
consists of 540 menhirs in thirteen rows in an area 2,700 feet long with
an interruption of 600 feet where the little village of Kerlescan is
situated. The largest of the stones is thirteen feet in height, the small-
est only two feet above the surface of the ground.
While dolmens and isolated menhirs occur all around Carnac, the
most striking of them are on the next peninsula to the east, near the
little village of Locmariaquer. Here one must leave the road and go into
the fields to see the monuments. Suddenly a one-armed man sprang up
beside the carriage and led the way among farm outhouses, gardens and
across vegetable patches, to the most remarkable of all these remains,
which continually bring up the question, How could they have been
erected? Largest of all is the gigantic menhir, “ menhir groach,” in the
village itself, now fallen and broken into five pieces. According to Le
Rouzic, who has measured it carefully and who has taken the specific
gravity of the stone, it was originally 68 feet in length and weighed
382 tons. Le Rouzic also says that the time and cause of its fall are
unknown, and cites a drawing of 1727 to show that at that time it was
in its present condition. On the other hand, I have seen a little pam-
130 THH POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
Fic. 4. ALIGNMENT OF KERMARIO.
phlet which states that it was struck by lightning, overthrown and
broken in the sixteenth century. There is apparently little doubt that
once this immense stone stood vertically, but the engineering problem
of its erection is not easily solved. One can hardly believe, with Le
Rouzic, that the lever and inclined plane were sufficient; yet what
other mechanical aids could have been available?
Fic. 5. MENHIR GROACH OR GRAND MBENHIR, LOCMARIAQUER.
DEOL SLONES ~ OF BRITTANY 131
At Locmariaquer is also the largest of the dolmens, the “ dolmen
des marchands.” I regret that I took no measurements of its size, espe-
cially since none are given in the works at hand. I can only depend
upon my memory, aided by pictures, for my estimates. At its southern
end is a passage about four feet wide and high enough for a tall man to
stand erect. This is walled by vertical slabs of stone and roofed in with
the same material. The passage leads to a larger chamber which is at
least seven feet wide and high by possibly ten or twelve in length.
The end opposite the entrance is formed of a single stone, shaped like
Fie. 6. DoLMEN DES MARCHANDS, LOCMARIAQUER.
the smaller end of an egg and remarkable from the fact that its surface
is covered with groups of parallel curved lines, a feature found but
rarely in this region. Smaller stones, about six feet high, make up the
sides of the chamber, while at the opening of the passage into the
chamber are a pair of seven-foot stones, like door posts. The roof is
supported on these three larger stones, like an enormous three-legged
table. The table top is an immense block of granite, about ten feet
wide, fifteen feet long and four feet in thickness. The problem of put-
ting this roof in position is not so difficult as that of the erection of the
giant menhir just described. We may imagine the ancient workers fill-
ing all around the vertical stones of the dolmen with soil and then slid-
ing or rolling the covering stone into position. But even this calls for
an expenditure of an enormous amount of human strength.
Near this “table of the merchants” is another dolmen, “ inané
rétual,” less perfect and less easily studied than its fellow, since it has
132 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
not been excavated. Its covering stone, however, is larger, or was before
one end was broken off. Judging from the size of a man in a picture
which I bought it was forty feet in length, eight in breadth and two
or three in thickness.
Some of the other dolmens in the vicinity are nearly as large as
these, and some vary by having lateral chambers given off, either from
the main chamber or from the passage. None, however, are their
equals in the size of the roofing stones, but in most instances the roof
is formed of several stones. I recall measuring one roughly as it lay
across the dolmen at Locmariaquer—as between eleven and twelve feet
in length.
The rock of which these monuments are formed is the common
granite of the region. The blocks were probably weathered out from
the underlying bed rock by the elements and needed no quarrying on
the part of the unknown engineers.
Speculations as to the time at which these monuments were erected,
the people who put them in position and the purposes for which they
were intended are numerous in the literature of the subject, some of
them as fantastic and absurd as those which ascribe the antiquities of
I'ic. 7. Dotmen or Mant ReruAL, LocmarzAgunrR, foreshortened so as to include ~
all of the roofing stones.
Yucatan to the followers of St. Thomas of apostolic times. Usually
they are attributed to that mysterious people, the “ Druids,” whoever
they may have been. Certain it is that they long antedated the con-
quest of Gaul by the Romans, while the relics found in connection with.
some of them would seem to indicate that they may date back to the
second stone age, the neolithic period of the archeologist.
_DEUID SEONES” OF BRITTANY 133
Human interments often occurred at the isolated menhirs and asso-
ciated with these are found only simple pottery and instruments formed
solely of stone and bone. Not a trace of bronze or iron, except where
it was clearly of a later and intrusive character. Arrow and spear
points, ceremonial stones, etc., closely resembling those of our American
Indians, would point far back in the history of western Europe. Yet
this is not conclusive, for these objects occur only in connection with —
human interments and one must make allowance for the well-known
conservatism of the priestly class. Among other peoples the objects
buried with the dead retained the primitive character long after the race
had developed other forms in its daily life. So it may have been here.
The fact that these burials were accompanied only by objects of the
stone age is not conclusive proof that the people were ignorant of bronze
or even of iron.
It is an interesting fact that the passages leading to the chambers
of the dolmens are invariably so placed that the openings lie between
the points of the rising and the setting of the sun at the summer solstice,
possibly indicating that the builders were to a certain extent sun wor-
shippers. From certain: considerations of orientation the English
astronomer, Lockyer, has figured out the date of the building of Stone-
henge as about 1680 B.c., with a limit of probable error of two centuries
either way. If his arguments be valid, there is a probability that the
monuments of Carnac and Locmariaquer are at least as old.
With such a throwing back of the age of these monuments there is
more and more uncertainty as to who built them. The “ Druids,” who
just appear on the pages of written history, were Keltish, but what
evidence have we that Kelts dwelt in Brittany or Great Britain a thou-
sand or fifteen hundred years before Christ? We know that other races
dwelt in these regions before the immigrant Kelt. Did the Kelt erect
these stones or did he find them where they still stand when he came?
and did he simply adapt his religious rites to them? Who can say?
We are on a little more certain ground when we come to the pur-
poses of the standing stones, or at least of some of them. As implied
above, the isolated menhirs, usually placed on some spot a little above
the surrounding country, have, in many cases, been found to stand near —
some burial, and hence it is probable that they are funeral monuments.
Some may also have been boundary stones. The dolmens are also mor-
tuary in character. Apparently every dolmen and allée couverte was
formerly buried with earth or rocks, the whole forming a large mound
—a tumulus or galgal. With the ages the earth in many cases has been
removed, either by man or by the elements, leaving the strange “ tables ”
as we see them. In other cases the tumulus still persists and many of
these have been explored by modern archeologists, all revealing, in the
interior, either a dolmen, an allée couverte, or smaller cairns of stones,
134 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
Fic. 8. DOLMEN OF KERVERESSE, LOCMARIAQUER.
each with human bones, frequently mingled with those of the horse
and cow.
The way in which one tumulus near Carnac has been explored is
interesting. This forms a large mound, over 260 feet long, oval in out-
line, rising fifty or sixty feet above the surrounding plain, and locally
known as Mont St. Michel. On one end of the level summit is a small
chapel of St. Michel while on the space in front is an interesting cross
of fifteenth century workmanship. As open cuttings would have been
expensive (and even impossible in the neighborhood of the chapel), the
tumulus has been explored by driving small tunnels through it in every
direction. These have later been walled up and roofed in with stone,
so that, by the aid of a candle, one may visit all the points of interest
in the interior, just as one would explore one of our Indiana or Ken-
tucky caves, seeing all the features found—in this case two dolmens and
numerous cairns—as nearly as possible in their original condition.
It would be a tedious task to enumerate, even by name, all of the
objects found in these explorations, which were begun in 1862 by the
Société Polymathique of Vannes, continued, for the fifteen years ending
with his death in 1881, by the Scotchman, James Miln, and since that
time by Le Rouzic. The material collected by Miln forms a small but
very important museum which he bequeathed to the Commune of
Carnac, and which must be visited in order to have a full knowledge of
these strange megaliths. Le Rouzic, the present curator, is enthusi-
astic in his field, gladly welcoming the student, and spending much
time in explaining his treasures.
In the first place these plainly show that, whether the orientation
_DEUID STONES” OF BRITTANY 135
of the dolmens has any significance or not, the tumuli were mortuary in
character. Sometimes the body was buried while still in the flesh; in
other instances cremation had occurred. At times there were isolated
interments ; at others the bones are found in large numbers, as if there
were collective burials. Along with the human bones occur those of
the horse and cow, while burnt clay vases, necklaces of pierced stones
and stone implements—celts, arrow and spear points, etc.—accompany
the remains. Some of the vessels were apparently new, while others
show signs of culinary use. Many of the stone implements have a per-
fection of surface and edge that would imply that they were never used
but were merely votive offerings, ceremonial in character. It is inter-
esting to note that even to this day the peasants of Morbihan prize the
arrow and spear points as talismans and call them “ men-garun ”’—
thunder stones.
But what are the alignments? Here we are in the region of specu-
lation—pure guessing. One may pass by with mere mention the view
that they, with the cromlech at the end, are gigantic phallic symbols.
Le Rouzic thinks them funereal without being sepulchral in character.
He thinks that they might have been connected with the religious rites.
The spaces between the rows would afford passages for the faithful
assembled for the celebration of the ceremonies, possibly in connection
with the collective burials in the tumuli, while the cromlech was the
place set apart for the priests.
Whether we can ever arrive at an exact interpretation of these
monuments or not, whether we ever know when or by whom they were
erected, whether we solve the problems involved in the handling of these
immense stones; these thousands of rocks—originally 15,000 or 20,000
in number—scattered over the plains of Morbihan will form one of the
most striking of the monuments of antiquity. Possibly we shall get
nothing better or more definite, certainly nothing more poetical, than
the medieval legend of Saint Cornély which I paraphrase from the
version given by Le Rouzic.
Saint Cornély was Pope of Rome, from which place he was driven
by the pagan soldiers, who pursued him as he fled before them, accom-
panied by two cows which bore his baggage and belongings when he was
tired. One evening he arrived at the village of Moustoir (two miles
north of Carnac). Here he fain would have stopped, but hearing a
young girl there abusing her mother, he could not stay. So he went on
until he came to a little hill (Mont St. Michel) where he had a view
in all directions. In front was was the sea, behind the soldiers in
martial array. Further flight was impossible. What could he do?
He stretched forth his hand and immediately the soldiers, rank and file
as they stood, were changed to stone. Hence it is that one sees the
long lines of standing stones to the north of the village of Carnac, and
136 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
hence it is that the village church is dedicated to St. Cornély. Pil-
grims of all countries flocked to Carnac to invoke the aid of the saint
for their ailing beasts, and he, mindful of the aid his cows had given
him in his flight, granted their requests. To this day ghosts may be
seen at night wandering among the lines of stones, the “soldiers of
St. Cornély,” while the image of the saint and his cows are carved on
the front of the church. The query at once arises, have we here a sur-
vival from the old worship of Mithras?
THE ORIGIN OF THE NERVOUS SYSTEM E37
THE ORIGIN OF THE NERVOUS SYSTEM AND ITS
APPROPRIATION OF EFFECTORS
II. RECEPTOR-EFFECTOR SYSTEMS
Bx G. H. PARKER
PROFESSOR OF ZOOLOGY, HARVARD UNIVERSITY
HE second step in the development of the neuromuscular mech-
anism is represented by the receptor-effector system, a condition
fairly realized in such ceelenterates as the sea-anemones and the jelly-
fishes and probably recurring in the digestive tubes of the higher meta-
zoans. As an introductory example we may turn to the sea-anemones.
Most sea-anemones (Fig.
1) are cylindrical animals
attached to some firm object
by their aboral disks and
carrying on their oral disks
a ring of tentacles surround-
ing the mouth. This aper-
ture leads inward through
a short gullet to a large,
somewhat divided, diges-
tive cavity, the gastro-vas-
cular space, which extends
throughout the whole in-
terior of the animal even
to the tips of its tentacles
and is the only cavity with-
in the sea-anemone. The
body of the animal is made
up of walls of extreme thin- Fig. 1. LonGITupINAL SECTION OF A SHA-
ness; these walls consist of “NEMONE (ftrston); 9» gue: fur, esto
two layers of cells, an outer
one next the sea water, the ectoderm, and an inner one next the gastro-
vascular space, the entoderm. These two layers are separated by a
tough, non-cellular sheet, the supporting lamella.
Unlike sponges, sea-anemones are very responsive to changes in
their environment. If a fully expanded Metridium is disturbed by
mechanical agitation, it will quickly retract its oral disk, discharge
through its mouth the water contained in its gastrovascular cavity, and
VOL. Lxxv.—10.
138 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
finally cover its tentacles and mouth by puckering in the oral edge of
its column. In this contracted state it may remain hours at a time,
and when it eventually expands it does so by relaxing its muscles and
refilling its body with sea water. A beam of strong sunlight, if thrown
upon an expanded Metridiwm several feet under water, will usually call
forth the same contraction as mechanical stimulation does.
When the exterior of a Metridiwm is tested locally, its receptiveness
for certain stimuli is found to be quite diverse. The animal makes no
movements when dissolved food-substances are cau-
tiously discharged upon the external surface of its
column, though this very area is sensitive to mechan-
ical stimulation. Precisely the reverse is true of the
lips; these organs are easily stimulated by dissolved
food-products, but no reaction occurs even when they
are punctured by a needle. Both mechanical and
chemical stimulation, however, are effective on the
tentacles and vigorous responses can be called forth
from even distant parts of the body by the application
of either of these forms of stimuli to the tentacles.
Since these reactions, as just intimated, often involve
responses in very different parts of the animal from
those to which the stimulus is applied, it follows that
Fic. 2. EcroDERM
FROM THE THN-
TACLH OF A SHA-
ANEMONE (Metri-
dium); e, epithelial
layer; m, muscular
layer; mn, Mnervous
layer; s, supporting
lamella.
we are dealing with a process justly regarded as nerv-
ous, for transmission in this case is not accompanied
with any observable motion. The surface of a sea-
anemone may then be pictured as a true receptor sur-
face partly differentiated in different regions for par-
ticular classes of stimuli, but not so far specialized
that it can be described as made up of sense organs.
An examination of the structure of the ectoderm (Fig. 2) will do
much to make clear the mechanism by which the reactions of sea-ane-
mones are carried out. The ectoderm of these animals is a modified
epithelium in which three definite layers can be distinguished. The
outermost of these forms more than half the thickness of the total layer
and is a true columnar epithelium. It contains, in addition to ordi-
nary epithelial cells, gland-cells and nettle-cells, and, what is of more
importance to us, sense-cells. These sense-cells are long, narrow bodies
whose distal ends are armed with a sensory bristle which, under ordinary
conditions, projects into the surrounding sea water and whose proximal
ends run out into finely branched, nervous processes which intermingle
with similar processes from other cells. The complex made by the
interweaving of immense numbers of these processes constitutes the
second layer of the ectoderm, the nervous layer, and this layer often
contains in addition to the large amount of fibrillar material derived
THE ORIGIN OF THE NERVOUS SYSTEM 139
from the sense-cells, numerous multipolar ganglion-cells whose processes
add to the fibrillar material already mentioned. A careful study of this
fibrillar material has recently been made with the result that a true
nervous network has been demonstrated in hydroids (Wolff, 1904;
Hadzi, 1909), siphonophores (Schaeppi, 1904) and sea-anemones
(Wolff, 1904; Groselj, 1909). In the sea-anemones in particular this
network appears to be a perfectly continuous and diffuse one, notwith-
standing Havet’s previous declaration (1901) to the contrary. The
third layer is composed of parallel muscle-fibers that rest against the
supporting lamella on one side and are in contact with the nervous net-
work on the other side. The muscle-cells of this layer are much elon-
gated, spindle-shaped cells. These three layers, the epithelial layer, the
nervous layer and the muscular layer, constitute the structural elements
in the ectodermic neuromuscular mechanism of a sea-anemone.
The nervous type of ectoderm just described covers practically the
whole surface of a sea-anemone and has been designated as a diffuse
nervous system in contrast to a centralized one. The fact that the
nervous layer is more fully developed on the oral disk than elsewhere
has given anatomical grounds for the assumption that this portion is a
central nervous organ, but, as will be shown later, the physiological
evidence in favor of this opinion is so slight that the designation of the
nervous system as a diffuse one is more consistent with facts.
From the standpoint of our original analysis, it is quite plain that
in the sea-anemones we are dealing with at least two elements of the
typical neuromuscular mechanism, namely, receptors as represented by
the sense-cells, and effectors as seen in the muscle-fibers. Whether the
fibrillar material that intervenes between these two structures represents
an adjustor or central apparatus will be discussed after the action of
this nervous mechanism has been more fully described.
The feeding habits of the sea-anemones throw considerable light on
the physiology of their nervous structures. If particles of meat are
dropped on the tentacles of an expanded Metridiwm, they become en-
tangled in the mucus on these organs and are quickly delivered to the
mouth, where they are swallowed. If fragments. of clean filter-paper
soaked in sea water are similarly dropped on the tentacles, they are
usually discharged from the edge of the oral disk without having been
brought to the mouth. Thus the animal appears to discriminate be-
tween what is good for food and what is not. If, however, pieces of
filter-paper soaked with meat juice are put on the tentacles, they are
usually swallowed as though the sea-anemone had been deceived. On
the basis of these simple experiments a still more striking combination
can be devised. If a sea-anemone is provided alternately with pieces
of meat and pieces of filter-paper soaked in meat juice it will in the
beginning swallow in sequence both materials, but after ten or a dozen
140 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
trials it will regularly swallow the meat but usually discard the filter-
paper. Thus it would appear that the sea-anemone had detected the
deception practised on it in the beginning and had learned to circum-
vent the experimenter. But further observations show how erroneous
this interpretation is. If the experiment just described is performed
on a limited group of tentacles on one side of the oral disk and, after
the animal has arrived at the stage of discriminating between meat and
paper, the experiment is repeated on another and distant group of ten-
tacles, it is found that these tentacles and the part of the mouth next
them will accept both meat and paper as the first group did and the
same process as was used on this group must be repeated on the second
group in order to bring it to the stage of discrimination. Thus it is
clear that, however we may regard these acts, Metridiwm shows no
marked power of making the experience of one part of its body serve
another; in other words, it shows no decided evidence of a central
neryous organ.
This conclusion is in substantial accord with the recent results
obtained by Fleure and Walton (1907) from experiments on Actinia
except that they believe that the repeated trials on the tentacles of one
side of the circle had in this form a slight influence on those of the
other. This influence, however, was so slight that they declared that
experience of this kind certainly did not become the possession of the
animal as a whole. | ;
Not only is there in these reactions absence of any strong evidence
in favor of well-marked central nervous functions in anemones, but it
is very doubtful if we are justified in regarding the local reaction just
described as a true discrimination. Jennings (1905) has suggested
that sea-anemones possess sensations of hunger and that as the experi-
ment proceeds the animal’s hunger diminishes and it finally discards
when less hungry what it at first accepted. But Allabach (1905) has
shown that the same so-called discrimination is arrived at if the sea-
anemone is not allowed to swallow anything, but is robbed of meat and
paper alike by having these materials picked out of its gullet just as
they are about to be swallowed. In fact it seems quite clear that this
process of apparent discrimination is in no sense due to centralized
nervous functions, but is merely the result of exhaustion. At the
beginning of. each experiment the receptors are stimulated by the strong
juices of the meat and the weaker juice of the paper. As they run
down in efficiency, they come to a stage where they no longer react to
the weaker stimulus of the paper and respond only to the meat. At
this stage apparent discrimination takes place.
Not only do these experiments show no evidence of central nervous
functions, but they indicate a decided looseness of nervous articulation.
The activity of one side of the body of the sea-anemone has very little,
THE ORIGIN OF THE NERVOUS SYSTEM I4I
if any, influence on the other side. Moreover, the fact of intimate local
relations between nerve and muscle, as seen in the anatomy of these
animals, supports the idea of neuromuscular independence instead of
centralized relations. This is well exemplified in the reactions of the
tentacles. If a tentacle of Metridium is stimulated by food, it turns
and twists irregularly and then points toward the mouth. If the same
tentacle is cut off and held filled with water so that its original relations
in the animal as a whole can be kept in mind, it will be found to react to
food as it formerly did, in that it will finally turn toward that side which
was originally next the mouth.
Hence we may conclude that
the tentacle has within itself
all that is necessary by way of
neuromuscular mechanism for
its characteristic reactions and
is not dependent for these on
such other parts of the sea-ane-
mone as have been regarded as
central nervous organs. Phys-
iologically as well as anatomic-
ally the sea-anemone seems to
possess a diffuse rather than a
centralized nervous system, and
its neuromuscular mechanism
consists of receptors and effect-
ors connected by a nervous net
which is composed partly of the
nervous processes of the receptor
sells and partly of similar proc-
esses from ganglion cells.
The type of neuromuscular
mechanism found inthesea-ane- ---
mones probably also recurs in
the digestive tube of vertebrates. —
This view is supported not only
by the action of the intestine,
but also by its structure (Fig. Fic. 3. LONGITUDINAL SECTION oF THH IN-
3) : Omitting for the moment TESTINAL WALL OF A VERTEBRATE, showing the
h hervous and muscular constituents; ap, Auer-
the outer serous layer and the bach’s plexus; em, circular muscles; lm, longi-
inner mucous layer of the intes- tudinal muscles; m, mucous layer; mp, Meiss-
A Ks . ner’s plexus; s, serous layer.
tine, both of which have little or
nothing directly to do with its neuromuscular mechanism, there are left
the outer or longitudinal muscular layer, followed internally by a
nervous layer, Auerbach’s plexus, which in turn is followed by the cir-
142 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
cular muscles on which rests a second nervous layer, Meissner’s plexus.
Each plexus, so far as is known, is a true nervous net as intimately
related to the adjacent muscle fibers as is the case of the sea-anemones.
In fact one of the muscle layers and the adjacent plexus in the intestine
reproduce very accurately all the essentials of the neuromuscular mech-
anism of a sea-anemone except the epithelial sense-cells.
Not only is there this anatomical similarity between the neuro-
muscular mechanisms of the sea-anemone and of the vertebrate intes-
tine, but there is also a physiological similarity as seen in the movements
of the digestive tube. The essentials of these movements are well
exemplified in the small intestine. In this part of the digestive tube
the characteristic movements are segmentation and peristalsis. Seg-
mentation consists in a series of temporary, ring-like constrictions in
the intestinal wall that come and go in such a way that the enlarged
region of the tube between any two constrictions is the site of the
constriction next to appear, and so on. As a result of segmentation, the
food is most thoroughly churned and mixed. Peristalsis is a wave-like
movement whereby the food is carried posteriorly through the intestine.
Usually these two movements go on together in such a way that the
peristalsis is combined with segmentation in that the latter becomes
somewhat unsymmetrical and cuts each food mass into two unequal
parts the larger of which is on the posterior side of the constriction.
Hence the food is not only churned but is at the same time moved pos-
teriorly through the intestine.
The small intestine receives nerve-fibers from two extraneous
sources, the vagus and the splanchnic nerves, and it might be supposed
that these were essential for the movements of the intestine. But as
Cannon (1906) has demonstrated, both sets of nerves may be cut, and
yet after recovery from the immediate effects of the operation seg-
mentation and peristalsis will be found to go on in the digestive tube
in an essentially natural manner. It is thus clear that the vertebrate
intestine, like the tentacle of a sea-anemone, contains a complete neuro-
muscular mechanism within its own wall, and though there is no histo-
logical evidence of the presence of receptors reaching from the mucous
surfaces of the intestine to the nervous nets within, yet there are sound
physiological grounds for assuming the presence of such organs. I
that case the type of neuromuscular mechanism in the intestine would 4
be practically identical with that in the sea-anemone. .
A second example of a receptor-effector system in ccelenterates is
seen in the jellyfishes. In these animals as contrasted with the sea-
anemones, locomotion is a well-developed activity, and it is the neuro-
muscular mechanism concerned with this function that must be con-
sidered. The structures involved in locomotion are well exemplified
in Aurelia (Fig. 4). This common jellyfish possesses on the edge of
THE ORIGIN OF THE NERVOUS SYSTEM 143
its bell eight clusters of sense-organs. ach cluster contains an ocellus,
two sensory pits that are probably concerned with the chemical sense,
and a sense-club which may be a pressure organ. ‘The sensory portions
of all these organs are modified ectoderm and from these portions nerve-
fibers pass out as radiating bundles to the ectoderm of the subumbrellar
surface. Here they merge into a nervous net which overlies the ecto-
dermic musculature as in the
sea-anemones. This muscula-
ture forms a circular sheet con-
centrically disposed with refer-
ence to the symmetry of the
jellyfish. When the bell of an
Aurelia is pulsing, the move-
ment is carried out by the more
or less general contraction of
this circular band of muscle,
which is brought back to its
original position on relaxation
by the elasticity of the gelat-
inous mass of the bell. The
locomotor muscle, then, is a
gigantic sphincter that works Fig. 4. Aurelia, subumbrellar surface; s, clus-
i : ; ter of sense-organs.
against an elastic resistance.
The significance of the various parts of the neuromuscular mechan-
ism in such an animal as Aurelia can be determined by experiment. If
the eight sense-bodies are removed, the animal will no longer pulse
spontaneously, though its muscles may be made to contract by direct
stimulation. If all but one sense-body are removed, the bell will pulse
with regularity and by artificially stimulating the single remaining body
a wave of muscular contraction can be sent over it. It is therefore
evident that the sense-bodies act like extremely delicate triggers and
thus touch off the contractile mechanism. In this respect, then, the
jellyfish is more highly developed than the sea-anemone, for the latter
possesses no such specialized and delicate receptors.
The wave of contraction that passes over a bell when one of its
sense-bodies is stimulated, may be either a purely muscular phenomenon
or may be the result of nervous transmission through the nervous net
whereby one region after another of the musculature is brought into
action. The fact that this wave is not checked when the bell is cut
even in a most irregular way provided the subumbrellar epithelium is
still continuous, favors the nervous rather than the muscular interpreta-
tion. But stronger evidence on the nervous side than this has come
from an entirely different direction. Mayer (1906) has shown that the
subumbrellar epithelium of Cassiopea after removal will readily regen-
144 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
erate, and that in regeneration the nervous net forms earlier than the
muscles. By taking jellyfishes at the appropriate stage in regeneration,
it was found that a stimulus applied to one side of a regenerated area
was followed by a muscular response on the other side of this area with-
out any observable movement in the area itself. Hence transmission
through the regenerated region must have been by nervous means,
doubtless by the nervous net.
In jellyfishes the nervous net will transmit apparently in any direc-
tion and in this respect it is in strong contrast with the central nervous
organs of the higher metazoans, where, especially
in the vertebrates, a polarized condition generally
prevails. Thus in the spinal nerves of vertebrates,
Fic.5. Nuvromuscu. 1 18 easy to send impulses through from a dorsal
LaR CELL (black) in root to a ventral one, but impossible to send them
pee columnar in the reverse direction. Apparently the cord
contains some structure on its path of conduction
that is valve-like and allows impulses to pass in one direction only.
Such a condition does not exist in the nervous net of the jellyfishes.
The neuromuscular organs of the ccelenterates have been considered
by so many investigators as the most 5 4
1
primitive in the animal kingdom that
it is not inappropriate to consider at PU RRREeeL
this place the relations of some of the
older views on this subject to those
expressed in these articles.
The discovery by Kleinenberg
(1872) of the so-called neuromuscular Ween ne
cells (Fig. 5) in Hydra led this investi- = —=a
gator to the belief that these cells rep- = Fic.6. DirrHRENTIATION oF NEU-
resented a complete neuromuscular ap- ROMUSCULAR CONSTITUENTS FROM AN
‘ INDIFFERENT EPITHELIUM. The up-
paratus in that each cell-body could be per figure represents an indifferent
regarded as a receptor and its fibrous condition containing three cells which
Z subsequently (lower figure) differ-
portion as an effector. By growth and entiate into a sense-cell (1), a gan-
cell division, according to Kleinenberg, Stion-cell (2), and an epithelial
muscle-cell (3).
separate receptors and effectors would
be differentiated simultaneously from such single cells.
The simultaneous differentiation of nervous and muscular Siewenr
(Fig. 6) was also accepted by the brothers Hertwig (1878), but in
their opinion the two types of tissue did not arise from a common cell
as claimed by Kleinenberg, but from separate cells which became simul-
taneously differentiated, some to form nerve-cells (sense- and ganglion-
cells) and others to form muscle-cells. This view has come to be com-
monly accepted by the majority of investigators.
The independent origin of the nervous system and its secondary
blobhp yo lClg) (2/0
1 2 3
THE ORIGIN OF THE NERVOUS SYSTEM 145
connection with the musculature has been advocated by Claus (1878)
and by Chun (1880), but a nervous system without effectors is, as
Samassa (1892) and Schaeppi (1904) declare, scarcely conceivable.
The opinion about the origin of nervous and muscular tissues as
expressed in these articles is opposed to the various theories stated in
the preceding paragraphs in that muscular tissue is regarded as: the
ancestral tissue and nervous tissue is supposed to have formed sec-
ondarily and as a means of bringing muscular tissue into action with
greater certainty than direct stimulation would do. According to this
view the primitive state of the neuromuscular mechanism is to be seen
in such animals as sponges, which possess muscles but no true nervous
organs; and the neuromuscular or, better, epithelial-muscular cells of
the ccelenterates represent these primitive effectors to which have been
added a diffuse system of receptors as seen in the sea-anemones or a
specialized system as in the jellyfishes. In both instances the receptors
and effectors are related through a nervous net.
REFERENCES
ALLABACH, L. F.
1905. Some Points regarding the Behavior of Metridium. Biol. Bull., vol.
10, pp. 35-43.
Cannon, W. B.
1906. The Motor Activities of the Stomach and Small Intestine after
Splanchnie and Vagus Section. Amer. Journ. Physiol., vol. 17, pp.
429-442.
Cuoun, C.
1880. Die Ctenophoren des Golfes von Neapel. Fauna und Flora des Golfes
von Neapel, Monogr. 1, xviii + 313 pp., 18 Taf.
CLAus, C.
1878. Studien iiber Polypen und Quallen der Adria. Denkschr. Akad.
Wissensch., Wien, Bd. 38, pp. 1-64, Taf. 1-11.
Frevure, H. J., and C. L. WALron.
1907. Notes on the Habits of some Sea Anemones. Zool. Anz., vol. 31,
pp. 212-220.
GROSELJ, P.
1909. Untersuchungen tiber das Nervensystem der Aktinien. Arbeit. Zool.
Inst., Wien, Tom. 17, pp. 269-308, Taf. 1.
Hanzi, J.
1909. Ueber das Nervensystem von Hydra. Arbeit. Zool. Inst., Wien, Tom.
17, pp. 225-268, Taf. 1-2.
HAveET, J.
1901. Contribution a l’étude du Systéme nerveux des Actinies. La Cellule,
tome 18, pp. 385-419, pls. 1-6.
Hertwie, O., und R. HEeRtTwIe.
1878. Das Nervensystem und die Sinnesorgane der Medusen. Leipzig, 4o,
x -+ 186 pp., 10 Taf.
JENNINGS, H. 8.
1905. Modifiability in Behavior. I. Behavior of Sea Anemones. Journ.
Exp. Zool., vol. 2, pp. 447-472.
146 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
KLEINENBERG, N.
1872. Hydra. Eine anatomisch-entwicklungsgeschichtliche Untersuchung.
Leipzig, 40, vi-++ 90 pp., 4 Taf.
Mayer, A. G.
1906. Rhythmical Pulsations in Seyphomedusae. Publ. Carnegie Inst.,
Washington, no. 47, 62 pp.
Parker, G. H.
1896. The Reactions of Metridium to Food and other Substances. Bull.
Mus. Comp. Zool., vol. 29, pp. 107-119.
SamMassa, P.
1892. Zur Histologie der Ctenophoren. Arch. mik. Anat., Bd. 40, pp. 157-
243, Taf. 8-12.
ScHaerppl, T.
1904. Ueber den Zusammenhang von Muskel und Nerv bei den Siphono-
phoren. Mitth. Naturwiss. Ges. Winterthur, Jahrg. 1903-04, pp.
140-167.
SHERRINGTON, C. S.
1906. The Integrative Action of the Nervous System. New York, 8vo,
xvi + 411 pp.
Wotrr, M.
1904. Das Nervensystem der polypoiden Hydrozoa und Scyphozoa. Zeitschr.
allg. Physiol., Bd. 3, pp. 191-281, Taf. 5-9.
VARIATIONAL FACTOR IN HANDWRITING 147
THE VARIATIONAL FACTOR IN HANDWRITING
By JUNE E. DOWNEY
UNIVERSITY OF WYOMING
ANDWRITING, bearing as it does the cachet of individuality,
has always interested those to whom things human make their
intimate appeal. Curious observations relative to it have long been
current, the existence, for instance, of national as well as family and
personal chirographies; the perversions of it that take form as mirror-
writing or even—it is said—as inverted writing; the whimsy shown
by the bizarre characters, by the tendency to irrelevant and extravagant
flourishes in the writing of those suffering from certain forms of
mental disorder. Attention has been called to the similarity existing
between a man’s handwriting and the manner in which he walks or
gesticulates. It has been claimed that age and sex and profession leave
their impress upon writing, that the pencraft of the painter mirrors
minutely the grace and distinction that marks the sweep of his brush
across the canvas. Carried out boldly such speculations venture even
the claim that the handwriting of any individual would be found to
resemble the characteristic tracings shown by his pulse and respiration
and fatigue curves. Nor is the interest in the variational aspect of
handwriting restricted to recording the diversities in penmanship from
individual to individual; it is also engaged in noting variations from
day to day in the handwriting of any given person under the influence
of fatigue or emotion or disease. But, however numerous, such observa-
tions and however legitimate the speculations they engender, it remains
for the physiologist and the psychologist, with the aid perhaps of the
sociologist, to compass the scientific study of the variational factor in
handwriting.
The ground, however, has been broken. As has frequently been the
case in the history of research, the claims of a pseudo-science, at once
provocative and suggestive, have stimulated inquiry. In this case,
graphology, the art that would find in handwriting revelations of
intelligence and character, has been the direct cause of a series of
investigations. On the other hand, modern psychological theory with
its increasing emphasis upon behavior, upon the motor aspects of life,
could not long ignore the opportunity for study presented by this most
complicated and subtle act of individual expression.
Two lines of investigation have accordingly been inaugurated by the
148 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
psychologist; the one interested in the functional significance of the
act of writing as the expression of individuality; the other interested
in a minute analysis of this motor series, seeking to determine the
laws of expression that govern this particular act. In both investiga-
tions methods of research are being worked out with the ingenuity so
characteristic of scientists of to-day. Hach investigation as it
progresses will be found to encroach upon the other. From the two
will come the future science of handwriting. A résumé of the work
that has already been done has perhaps its value at the present time.
First of all it may be profitable to consider the investigations that
have sought to determine under scientific control whether or not the
graphologists have made good their claims. It is to France that we
owe, not only the most carefully wrought-out system of graphology,
but also the most carefully thought-out control of that art. In an
investigation covering many months, Alfred Binet, the director of the
psychological laboratory at the Sorbonne, planned and executed a series
of carefully controlled experiments designed to test the ability of the
graphologists to determine from handwriting the sex, the age, the
intelligence and the character of the writer. Binet, who guarded care-
fully against all sources of error, so planned his experiments as to be
able to state in figures the percentage of error in the interpretations
of the graphologists and thus render possible a comparison of the
graphologists’ successes with those that might reasonably be expected
if chance alone determined the outcome. The results showed unmis-
takably that the graphologist was able to determine with but a small
percentage of error the sex of the writer and also, but with less cer-
tainty, the intelligence of the writer. The interpretation of age and
character offered still greater difficulties. 'To render the tests perfectly
definite and to avoid the error that might arise from the personal
equation in estimation of intelligence and character, Binet in his tests
upon them made use, on the one hand, of the handwriting of men
famous in literature and science and, on the other hand, of specimens
of the handwriting of great criminals, whose biographies were matter
of legal record.
- Binet’s investigation, apart from his general conclusions, brought
out some interesting facts. He found, for instance, that there existed
not only very great differences in the skill with which different
geraphologists made their interpretations, but also that there were those
uninitiated in the art whose readings at times even the professional
graphologist might envy. An observation akin, in a way, to the
common experience that some people remember and recognize hand-
writings, as others do faces, with extraordinary facility and accuracy.
Minute differences have for them undoubtedly a value not experienced
by others. Binet found, moreover, that the professional’s skill in
VARIATIONAL FACTOR IN HANDWRITING 149
diagnosis far outran his ability to ground his judgment on definite
graphic signs. His reading was the translation into words of a
general impression, somewhat similar, we may assume, to that received
by the skilled reader of the human countenance. Moreover, in at
least one instance, and that in the case of a non-professional, the judg-
ments, based on intuitions, that is, non-reasoned-out Impressions, were
achieved in a state of passivity that we are familiar with as character-
istic of automatic activities of different sorts.
Accepting these results, the investigation is obviously only well
initiated, for one is next anxious to press home the question that asks
the cause of such differences. It is not enough, for instance, to know
that Binet’s graphologists were able under highly favorable conditions
to distinguish in ninety per cent. of the tests the sex of the writer;
it is not enough to know that, to a certain extent, they were able to
base their judgments upon the presence or absence of certain graphic
signs; one would also know in detail what determines each sign of sex,
whether at the last they are due, as Binet himself asks, to profound
physiological or psychological causes, or, rather, are the outcome of the
social environment so different in the case of the two sexes.
We are here brought face to face with the old question that has
confronted all investigators of sex-differences. It is evident, however,
that the question of the social environment is, in this instance, a con-
trolling one not merely in the discussion of the revelation of sex in
handwriting, but also in that of the revelation of intelligence; for
there exists a peculiar environment for talent as well as for sex.
Indeed, it appears that the investigation of handwriting must be socio-
psychological in nature. Unconscious imitation, social suggestibility
doubtless play an important, if not all-important, part in determining
writing characteristics. On the whole, therefore, it is not surprising
that the experts were more successful in distinguishing marked differ-
ences in intelligence than in determining the nature of the individual
superiority. They perceived the class characteristic, as it were.
The overlapping of the writer’s environments, social and pro-
fessional, must further complicate the matter. The cases cited by
Binet of writing that gave evidence of reversion of signs: the writing,
for instance, of a young woman scientist that the graphologists unani-
mously judged to emanate from a man, or the handwriting of a man
like Renan that the graphologists marked as coming from a man of
inferior mental ability are of particular interest in this connection.
Such cases would probably repay a detailed investigation not only of
the psychology of the individual, but also of his environmental history.
It is, perhaps, because character, within certain limits, does not
produce segregation of classes that the experts showed little accuracy
in their judgments of moral qualities from handwriting. Their failure,
150 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
for instance, to find in the handwriting of a young woman murderer,
who was of some social position, evidence of more than feminine in-
stability and coquetry is instructive; for the case was an aggravated
one of the murder, by poisoning, of three innocent victims—husband,
grandmother and brother—for the sake of trifling gain.
A further control of these experiments, an attempt to diminish the
masking effect of class-imitativeness, might be achieved by international
work, by tests involving the discovery of similar graphic signs in the
writing of individuals separated by race and training. A repetition of
Binet’s test as to the possibility of distinguishing sex-differences might
be of value in this country where sex-segregation in education is much
less pronounced than it is in France.
Other sociological aspects of handwriting might no doubt be in-
vestigated. The variation in individual chirography due to the nature
of the letter written, be it of social import or a business note; the
change in penmanship that comes with the change of the relation of
the writer to the one addressed—all such observations, vague as they
are at present, merit consideration. Most suggestive of all is the shift
in style that comes when the writer addresses his own eye alone, yield-
ing himself to the fervor of composition or the mental dissipation of
being “off parade.” But observations under such conditions must at
best be made stealthily. A hint at the possibility of the intrusion of
one’s mental privacy and, conscience or vanity on the alert again, one’s
writing hastens to resume its conventional legibility.
The revelations of the autograph as a mental photograph, a graphic
representation of social relationships, have never been fully appreciated
by the sociologist, although the world at large has always accepted a
famous man’s autograph as secondary in interest to his photograph
alone. The pretense, the dignity, the reserve, the finesse with which
one faces the world finds copy in the ostentation, the simplicity, or the
ambiguity with which one signs one’s name. Indifferent though one
may be in penmanship in general, there is something intimate and
personal in the autograph that arrests one’s interest, so that in the
somewhat fantastic world of images, of symbols, it often happens that
one adopts a mental picture of his own autograph as the official repre-
sentative of himself in the counsels of thought.
In any case it is evident that there is a psychology as well as a
sociology of handwriting. 'Tremendously complicated as the problem
of diagnosis of individual traits from those tiny strokes of the pen
appears, it is yet a legitimate problem of science; for the more progress
psychology makes, the more evident it becomes that there is not a
mode of expression which is not rooted to its finest detail in the com-
plex psycho-physical organism. Meanwhile, it is fortunate that the
task of identifying graphic signs should not be left wholly to the
VARIATIONAL FACTOR IN HANDWRITING 151
intuitions of the graphologist. Experimental work that seeks to induce
variation in writing through a control of outer conditions must in time
correlate certain definite variations in conditions with variation in
such aspects of writing as size, speed, accuracy in alignment, inequality
of control and the like.
The experimental investigations, spoken of above, have attacked the
problem at this point. Abandoning any attempt to deal with the more
complicated aspects of chirography as an expression of individuality,
they have confined themselves to an accurate analysis of such factors
as speed of movement and its variations; the length and significance of
writing-pauses ; measurement of pressure and its variations ; comparison
of the accuracy of control for right and left hand; elimination of visual
control; minute analysis of finger, wrist and arm movements involved
in handwriting, with an assignment to each of its réle. Such an
investigation, so far as it confines itself to mere analysis, is obviously
but a part of the general investigation of voluntary action. But the
discovery of methods of accurately registering minute variations in
writing speed, pressure, amplitude and musculature is necessarily pre-
liminary to an accurate determination of the correlation between par-
ticular psychic traits and their expression graphically.
An illustration of what may be expected from the perfecting of the
technique of registration of speed, pressure and amplitude of writing
is to be found in the report of a piece of work carried out some years
ago in a German laboratory, where it was discovered that increased dif-
ficulty in mental work showed itself in written expression by increased
pressure or by decrease in the size of the written characters. The
former way of meeting the difficulty seemed to be characteristic of men;
the latter, characteristic of women.
Variation in the amplitude of written characters involves doubtless
many important considerations relative to the facilitation and inhibi-
tion of movement. Writing with attention preoccupied or distracted
results variously in the enlargement or dwarfing of characters, an
alternative result that seems to depend upon deep-seated tendencies
of the individual. If, as facts apparently show, the individual who is
the more automatic in his activities responds to distraction with an
increase in the size of characters used; while one less automatic, one
whose attention—though sometimes in a maimed condition—is always
at the helm, gives evidence of the mental difficulty by a decrease in
amplitude, a decrease that bears witness to the inhibition at work,
then a very simple test is at hand by means of which individuals may
be grouped under the two types that have been labeled, somewhat
ambiguously, motor and sensory. If it should be shown further that
this difference cuts through all the mental activities of the human
being, progress would have been made in the difficult matter of the
classification of mental types.
152 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
Whatever more extended observations may show, the writer of this
paper has found it a very simple matter to pick out individuals who
will make good subjects for muscle-reading—an experiment that suc-
ceeds best with those whose movements are most automatic—by a
preliminary test in which the subject, blindfolded, is required to write
his name rapidly in sequence while counting aloud by a given interval,
say by 13’s. The writing of those individuals who would serve best
in the proposed test shows a progressive enlargement and, moreover,
characteristic pen-lapses.
The question may then be raised whether such difference in mental
type reveals itself in normal handwriting, and an affirmative answer
seems not presumptuous, although a detailed study of handwriting
from this standpoint has not, so far as the writer knows, been instituted
experimentally. It should be noted, however, that in the thought
process which accompanies writing during composition, momentary dis-
tractions occur frequently, for thought, even in the case of rapid
penmen, is apt to run ahead of the writing. Who does not number
among his correspondents those whose final letters trail off into an
indistinguishable scrawl; and others who end with a flourish that marks
well the motor abandon? Characteristic revelations, no doubt,
although interpretation as yet must be exceedingly diffident.
It is interesting to note in this connection the interpretation
graphologists put upon the size of writing as indicative of individual
traits. Distinction, power, frankness, honesty are held to reveal them-
selves by magnified writing either throughout writing as a whole or
at the termination of words. Minute writing throughout or at the
close of words is held to indicate, in the case of superior intelligence,
artifice or preoccupation with metaphysical or other minutiz; in the
case of inferior minds, miserliness. Usually, the graphologists em-
phasize legibility of terminal letters as highly indicative of frankness ;
while, on the other hand, the tendency to terminate letters in filiform
fashion as evidence of a veiling of self. Mere exhibition of documents
from persons of known characteristics seems, it must be said, inade-
quate proof of such propositions. Variations from the normal in the
handwriting of any individual would under defined conditions be of
more value for general interpretative purposes than would variation
from one person to another. Nor can facile analogies appear worthy
of serious attention until the causal relation between certain tempera-
mental traits and the facilitation or inhibition of movement is better
understood.
The attempt to study handwriting in the light of psychological
analyses already in progress bids fair to help analysis, as well as to
increase our knowledge of the psychology of handwriting. The rela-
tion of the inner word to the outer visible one has long interested
VARIATIONAL FACTOR IN HAXDWERITING 153
psychologists and pathologists, particularly in connection with the
investigation of agraphia, that is, loss or impairment of the power
to write. But the interest in such difficulties has centered largely in
the fact that study of them might contribute to the physiological
problem of the localization of cerebral function. If more than this,
the interest has usually limited itself to an analysis of the situation in
sensory terms; the details of the resulting expression have been but
little studied. The growing interest in the psychology of lapses, both
linguistic and graphic, and the development of a technique for such
study is of great promise. In the case of the graphic lapse there is
need not merely of the tabulation of what kind of errors are made,
but also a reproduction of the writing in which the errors are found.
Will such writing show characteristic variations in amplitude, pressure,
and the like?
Even apart from the question as to the effect of a “hitch” in the
process upon the appearance of writing, we may ask whether the general
appearance and characteristics of writing are affected by the type of
thought-process normal for any given individual. An intensive study
of imagery types has always recognized, although with considerable
divergence of opinion as to details, the varieties of the word-image.
The word mentally seen or heard, spoken or written, has been found to
play an important part in the complex thought-processes that underlie
the consciousness of meaning and the possibility of its expression. The
question of significance here is how far one sort of verbal imagery is
potent in initiating the written word of any individual and whether any
difference in written gesture marks off the individual who habitually
indulges himself in visual imagery from the man who is more motor
in type or more dependent upon auditory images.
Back even of this question lies the more deep-cutting one of the
significance to the whole mental life of the predominance of the sensa-
tions, perceptions and images of a ruling sense. At what point and to
what extent in the process of learning to write does the visual-motor
coordination fall under the ruling sense and what effect has such
subordination upon the general appearance and character of the result-
ing chirography? One feels certain that the handwriting of the
man visually inclined must differ from that of the man preoccupied
with motor details, but is unable to specify the difference. Yet the
problem does not remain insoluble, for there are simple methods of
determining the part played by each sense in control of the writing of
any individual. Accompanying sensations such as those of sight and
sound may be eliminated from the situation and the effect noted; or
conflict with visual or auditory or motor images may be introduced and
the results recorded. The investigation of the varieties of writing-
control with the relation of each to writing-appearance offers a tempting
field for work. But here speculation must wait upon the facts.
154 THE PQPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
In such an investigation, however, that peculiar perversion of
writing known as mirror-writing, because legible only when seen in a
mirror or in transparency, may be utilized experimentally. The fact,
on the one hand, that many left-handed children write in such a fashion
from the first; and, on the other hand, that right-side paralytics,
forced to the use of the left hand often resort spontaneously to such a
form in their written communications has brought it about that the
investigation of mirror-writing has been in the past largely turned over
to those whose interests were either pedagogical or pathological, and
has led to the conclusion that mirror-writing is either the normal
writing for the left hand of all individuals or the normal writing for
the left hand of the left-handed only. An examination of the evidence
cited in support of these propositions or a discussion of the explanations
that are used to ground them is not now in place. What is of interest
is the insistence upon the need of further experimental work on in-
duced mirror-writing with the hope of getting more light upon the
relation here involved between the written characters and their visual
significance. For the first question that arises is this: How can mirror-
writing prove visually satisfactory, however “motorly ” comfortable?
And the answer to this question involves the whole problem of the
relation of visual and motor control. It is probable that artificially
induced mirror-writing is a simple device for determining to what
extent the divorce between motor and visual control has resulted in
the case of any one individual.
But the relation of handwriting to emotional temperament, as well
as its relation to imagery types, merits consideration. Variation in
expression under emotional disturbance has long been a special sub-
ject of experiment. Little attempt, however, has been made to compare
the results so obtained with the appearance of writing under emotional
tension. To be sure, the graphologists cite a tendency to elevate
progressively the line of writing as an evidence of mental exaltation, of
joy or ambition, while a fall in the alignment is indicative of the de-
pressive emotions, self-distrust, sadness, melancholy. Again, a strongly
marked tendency toward centrifugal or centripetal movements is held
to indicate, on the one hand, ardor, simplicity, activity, uprightness,
and, on the other hand, slowness, lack of spontaneity, egoism. These
observations, if confirmed, need to be brought into definite correlation
with the results obtained in experimental work; and in this connection
the graphologists do appeal to the experimental interpretation of
movements of expansion and of flexion.
Again, the observation seems in point that variations from the
normal in the handwriting of any individual are, under defined condi-
tions, of more value for general interpretative purposes than is varia-
tion from one individual to another. Some attempts to induce arti-
VARIATIONAL FACTOR IN HANDWRITING 155
ficially, by means of hypnotic suggestion or provisional deceit, changes
in the mood or even in the personality of a given reagent have indeed
been tried in France. The results, although striking and interesting
are somewhat general in nature nor is the method beyond criticism.
The dependence of style of writing upon suggestion has already been
spoken of in emphasizing the role social suggestion plays in determining
writing-types. Experimental work may investigate the influence of this
factor. An incident in which a friend of the present writer, in signing
the latter’s name to a lecture-ticket, unconsciously imitated the writer’s
signature shows how extensively suggestion may operate. Reports of
the character of writing during hypnosis offer material for study. De-
tailed reports as to the characteristic appearance of such writing are,
however, wanting.
Professor Janet, of the Collége de France, urges, and with reason,
that experimental graphology should begin with studies in pathological
graphology, studies on the effect upon handwriting of diseases of
motility and sensibility, or of specific diseases, such as those of respira-
tion and of circulation. From the more pronounced modifications of
handwriting transitions may then be made to its more delicate in-
flections.
This recourse to pathology bids fair to prove increasingly fruitful.
Physicians have long been aware of profound modifications of hand-
writing through disease and have utilized such modifications in
diagnosis. Considerable material has been collected and published
by them in connection with their discussions of insanity, hysteria,
epilepsy, paralysis and the like. Their interest has been, however,
often practical rather than theoretical, and it is only with the increas-
ing interest in the specific problem of handwriting that the full value
of their documents becomes evident. Moreover, the failure to record
in a particular instance specimens of the normal as well as of the
perverted writing is often regrettable. Experimental work upon
pathological writing has, however, already been resorted to in the
attempt to determine the changes in writing induced by the use of
alcohol and various other drugs.
A highly interesting case of pathological writing is that known as
automatic writing, writing of which the writer is either not conscious
at all or else conscious only of the movement and its result without
feeling in any way responsible for the act. In connection with such
automatic writing one would like to have not only an analysis of the
mental state, but also detailed information of the variation from the
normal in terms of speed, amplitude, alignment and pressure of writing.
It is worth noting that Professor Janet has published examples of
mediumistic writing, and that Dr. Prince, in his recent book on “ The
Dissociation of Personality,” has reproduced the handwriting of a
secondary personality.
156 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
Much work to-day still needs to be done in the collection, according
to well-formulated plans, of material for the study of handwriting.
In the matter of family resemblances in chirography, for instance, there
is scarcely any material at hand, a fact not surprising since such work
of collection must needs run over years. An instructive series of
family autographs would be one showing handwriting at different
periods of development. Any resemblance here in the handwriting at
the same period of life of individuals differing considerably in age
would testify directly to hereditary motor tendencies of some fineness,
since suggestibility as a contributing cause would be ruled out.
Doubtless the day is far in the future when we shall be able to
solve such historic enigmas as Mary, Queen of Scots, by an appeal as
Tarde, the French sociologist, suggests, to her handwriting; or be
proficient enough in the art of interpretation to proffer our services, as
other enthusiasts predict, to the benevolent advocates of scientific
match-making; but such suggestions carry with them a faith in the
interpretation of this finest, subtlest of movements which time will
perhaps justify. Nor will a scientific interpretation of individual
chirography come merely to gratify an idle curiosity or a secret malice.
It will be of immense value. All the arts remedial and educative will
have need of it. Physician and educator, criminologist and sociologist,
will make their appeal to it. Strange, if in time these tiny written
gestures should be found to be all-revealing; if in them should be
found the most intimate expression of the dramatic instinct.
JANH LATHROP STANFORD 157
JANE LATHROP STANFORD
A Eutoey?
By Presipent DAVID STARR JORDAN
STANFORD UNIVDRSITY
ih AM to tell you to-day the story of a noble life, of one of the bravest,
wisest, most patient, most courageous and most devout of all the
women who have ever lived. I want to give to those of the university
to whom its founders are but a memory some lasting picture of the
woman who saved the university, which she and her honored husband
founded in faith and hope, and who thus made possible the education
you are receiving. I want to make my story as impersonal as I can,
as though I spoke not for myself but for all of you, men and women of
Stanford, with all gratitude towards the many who have helped in the
great work, and with all charity towards those whose interests or whose
conscientious convictions ranged them on the other side. If I am suc-
cessful, you will see more clearly than ever before the lone, sad figure of
the mother of the university, strong in her trust in God and in her
loyalty to her husband’s purposes, happy only in the belief that in
carrying out her husband’s plans for training the youth of California
in virtue and usefulness she was acting the part to which she was as-
signed.
We have often said that Stanford University belongs to the Stan-
ford students. It was the free gift of the founders, man and woman
that were, to the students, the men and women that were to be. It is
your university, yours and yours only, as once it was theirs.
But we must not interpret this gift too narrowly. It is not yours,
you students of to-day, to have or to hold in any exclusive way. The
university belongs to all the students, those who have been here, some
ten thousand in all, those who are here to-day, seventeen hundred more
or less, and those who are to come. Before these we count as nothing, for
the students to come will number for each century about a hundred
thousand. And there are many of these centuries, for the world is still
very young, and a university once firmly rooted is as nearly eternal as
human civilization itself can be. The university stands for the highest
thought and wisest action possible for man, and the need of a univer-
sity must endure so long as man exists; and that will be for a very long
time. Man is bounded by the limits of space, but the race once estab-
lished on this planet of ours, we see no limit of time, no prospect of a
*Founder’s Day address at Stanford University, March 9, 1909.
158 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
twilight of gods in which the darkness shall fall on the world because
universities are no longer needed. ‘The center of gravity of Stanford
University, of its student body, and of its influence on civilization, is
hundreds of years, thousands of years ahead.
To the students of to-day, the professors of to-day, and the trustees
of to-day, the university to-day belongs, but not as a personal posses-
sion; only as a sacred trust. It is our first duty to see that its good
name and its good work are kept untarnished and unimpaired. It is for
the students to see that no custom of idleness or of dissipation, no fashion
of cynicism or of disloyalty ever becomes hardened into a tradition at
Stanford University. It is for the professors to strengthen them in
this decision, and to point out the best that men have ever thought or
done, to lead the way to gentle breeding and the enthusiasm of noble
thought. Now, as ever, “the university must welcome every ray of
varied genius to its hospitable halls,” that their combined influences
may “set the heart of the youth in flame.” It is for the Board of
Trustees and for the university executive to act as the balance wheel,
guarding jealously the funds of the institution, that the generous pres-
ent may not starve the future, and to see that no neglect or perversity of
student or teacher shall work any permanent harm to the university
whole. For the university must ever be infinitely greater than the sum
of all its parts. For its largest part is never present for our measure-
ment, and this part we can not measure is the sum of all its future in-
fluence.
This university was founded on love in a sense which is true of no
other. Its corner-stone was love—love of a boy extended to the love
of the children of humanity. It was continued through love—the love
of a noble woman for her husband; the faith of both in love’s ideals—
and as an embodiment of the power of love Stanford University stands
to-day.
It is fitting that these statements should not stand as mere words.
I wish that in your hearts they may become realities. Not many of you
as students have seen Mrs. Stanford. The last of the freshmen classes
which she knew shall graduate as seniors a few weeks hence. None of
you have known Leland Stanford, broad-minded, stout-hearted, shrewd,
kindly, and full of hope, a man of action ripened into a philosopher.
Our university has now reached its eighteenth year. During the first
two years of its history, it was the hopeful experiment of Leland Stan-
ford. The next six years its story was that of the heart throbs of Jane
Lathrop Stanford, and the ten years following, with all their vicissi-
tudes, have been years of calmness and certainty, for the final outcome
is no longer open to question.
It is my purpose this evening to tell a little of the story of the six
dark years, the years from eighteen ninety-three to eighteen ninety-
nine, those days in which the future of a university hung by a single
JANE LATHROP STANFORD 159
thread, but that thread the greatest thing in the world, the love of a
good woman. If for an instant in all these years this good woman
had wavered in her purposes, if for a moment she had yielded to fear or
even to the pressure of worldly wisdom, you and I would not have been
here to-day. The strain, the agony, was all hers, and hers the final vic-
tory. And so any account of these years must take the form of eulogy.
Kulogy, in its old Greek meaning is speaking well, and my every word
to-day must be a word of praise. It is proper, too, that I should speak
these words, and even that I should give this history from my own
standpoint, because there were few besides myself who knew the facts
in those days. Most of these facts even it is well for all of us to for-
get. For the rest, the facts in issue will appear only as needed for the
background, before which we may see the figure of Mrs. Stanford.
I first saw the Governor and Mrs. Stanford at Bloomington, Indi-
ana, in March, 1891. At that time, Governor Stanford, under the
advice of Andrew D. White, the President of Cornell, asked me to come
to California to take charge of the new institution which he was soon
to open. He told me the story of their son, of their buried hopes, of
their days and nights of sorrow, and of how he had once awakened
from a troubled night with these words on his lips: “ The children of
California shall be my children.” He told me the extent of his prop-
-erty and of his purposes in its use. He hoped to build a university of
the highest order, one which should give the best of teaching in all its
departments, one which should be the center of invention and research,
giving to each student the secret of success in life. No cost was to
be spared, no pains to be avoided, in bringing this university to the
highest possible effectiveness.
In all this Mrs. Stanford was most deeply interested, supporting his
purposes, guarding his strength, alert at every point, and always in the
fullest sympathy.
Mr. Stanford explained that thus far only buildings and land had
been given, but that practically the whole of the common estate would
go in time to the university, when the founders had passed away. If
he should himself survive, the gift would be his and hers jointly, though
the final giving would be left to him. If the wife should survive, the
property would be hers, and in her hands would lie the final joy of
giving. Mr. Stanford gave his reason for not turning over the prop-
erty at once, for this might leave his wife no controlling part in the
future. It was not his wish that she should sit idly by while others
should create the university. So long as she lived, it was his wish that
the building of the university should be her work.
This attitude of chivalry in all this needs this word of explanation,
for it shaped the whole future history of the university endowment. It
was the source of some of the embarrassments which followed, and per-
haps as well of the final success.
160 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
The university was opened on the first day of October, 1891, a clear,
bright, golden, California day, typical of California October, and full
of good omen, as all days in California are likely to be. There were
on the opening day 465 students, with only 15 instructors, and the first
duty of the president was to telegraph for more teachers, laying tribute
on many institutions in the east and in the west.
Two years followed, with their varied adventures, which I need not
relate to-day. It was on the twenty-second of June, 1893, that the
university community was startled by the sudden death of Leland
Stanford.
It is not my purpose now to praise the founder of the university.
One single incident at his funeral is firmly fixed in my memory. The
clergyman, Horatio Stebbins, in his stately fashion told a story of the
Greeks doing honor to a dead hero; then, turning to the pall-bearers,
stalwart railway men, he said: “Gentle up your strength a little, for
*tis aman ye bear.” A man, in all high senses, in that noblest of words,
a man! was Leland Stanford.
After the founder’s death, the estate fell into the hands of the
courts. The will was in probate, the debts of the estate had to be paid,
the various ramifications of business had to be disentangled, and mean-
while came on the fierce panic of 1893. All university matters stopped
for the summer. Salaries could not be paid until it was found out by
the courts by whom and to whom salaries were due. All incomes
from business ceased. There was no such thing as income visible to
any one, least of all to the great corporations.
After Governor Stanford’s death, Mrs. Stanford kept to her rooms
for a week or two. She had much to plan and much to consider.
From every point of view of. worldly wisdom, it was best to close the
university until the estate was settled and in her hands, its debts paid
and the panic over. Her own fortune was in the estate itself. Outside
of her jewels, she had practically nothing of her own save the com-
munity estate, and this could not be hers until the payment of all
debts and legacies had been completed. These debts and legacies
amounted as a whole to eight millions of dollars. In normal times,
there was hardly money enough in California to pay this amount; but
these were not normal times, and there was no money in California to
pay anything.
After these two weeks, Mrs. Stanford called me to her house to say
that the die was cast. She was going ahead with the university. She
would let us have whatever money she could get. We must come down
to bed rock on expenses, but with the help of the Lord and the memory
of her husband, the university would go ahead and fulfil its mission.
It was no easy task to do this, as one incident will show. There
could be no regularity in the payment of salaries. In the eyes of the
law the university professors were Mrs. Stanford’s personal servants.
JANH LATHROP STANFORD 161
As such, it was finally arranged that they receive a special allowance
from the estate. This allowance as household servants paid their sal-
aries, and a registration tax of twenty dollars per year on each student
had to cover all other expenses. But these two sources of income did
not come at once, and the great farms run as experiment stations were
centers of loss and not of income.
A single incident will make this condition vivid.
At one time in August, 1893, Mrs. Stanford received from Judge
Coffey’s court the sum of $500 to be paid to her household servants.
It was paid in a bag of twenty-five twenty dollar gold pieces. Mrs.
Stanford called me in and said her household servants could wait;
there might be some professors in need, and I might divide the money
among them. I put the money under my pillow, and did not sleep
that night. Money was no common thing with us then. Next morn-
ing, on Sunday, I set out to give ten professors fifty dollars apiece. I
found not one who could give change for a twenty dollar gold piece, and
so I made it forty dollars and sixty dollars.
The same afternoon after I had gone the rounds $13,000 was brought
down from the city for us other household servants. This sum was dis-
tributed, and then Mrs. Stanford sent word that as we had some money
now perhaps we could spare her the $500. I drew a check for the sum
against a long-vanished bank account, and covered the amount in the
morning with the aid of some of my associates.
This incident again will explain why for six years the professors
were paid by personal checks of the president, and why these were not
always issued regularly, nor for the full amounts. We were all strug-
gling together to be able to issue them at all. There was no certainty
ahead of us. Most of the property was of such a character that it
could not be divided, but must go in blocks of millions, if it went at all,
and no one with millions at his disposal seemed inclined to invest it
anywhere. The estate held a one fourth interest in the Southern Pa-
cific System, and of all its many ramifications. Kept together, it could
maintain itself, but if any division were made the smaller part might be
subject to the process known as “ freezing out.”
I pass by many minor incidents of struggle and economy. The
farms had to be abruptly closed, and then to be made to yield an in-
come. This required wise management and rigid economy at the same
time, but for all this Mrs. Stanford proved adequate. She learned her
lessons as she went along, and came to take a wholesome pleasure in
the Spartan simplicity of her life. If all else failed, there were the
jewels to fall back upon; and she steadily refused to consider the
advice (almost unanimous) of her counsel to close the university or
most of its departments until some more favorable time. In 1895 she
invited the pioneer class, then graduating, to a reception in her city
home, one reason being that it was the last class that could ever gradu-
162 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
ate. We had nothing to run on, save the precarious servant allow-
ance, then fixed at $12,500 per month, and liable to be cut to nothing
at any day. Our expenses for 1893 had been nearly $18,000 per
month. Sometimes we could sell a few horses from the stock farm, but
it was never clear that the stock farm belonged to the university and
not to the Stanford estate, and every dollar we gained this way piled
up the possibilities of litigation. All these days were brightened by
the steady support of her friends and advisers, Samuel F. Leib, Timothy
Hopkins and Russell Wilson. Mr. Hopkins furnished the Library of
Biology and paid unasked many minor expenses, his left hand not
taking receipts for what his right hand was doing. No one can tell
how much the university owes to these men, who in the darkest days
planned to make the future possible. Very much too the university
owed to the fraternal devotion of Mrs. Stanford’s brother, Mr. Charles
G. Lathrop, who cared for with sympathetic hand the scanty receipts
and scanty fragments of these harassed days. The warm sympathy
of Thomas Welton Stanford came from across the seas. His gift of
the Library Building came as a shadow of a great rock in a weary land.
At last, adjustment of one kind after another being made, there
was a glimpse of daylight, when we were thrust without warning into
still darker night.
The government suit for fifteen millions was brought for the pur-
pose of tying up everything in the Stanford estate until the debts of
the Central Pacific Railway were paid. It was not claimed that the
university owed anything, or that the Stanford estate owed anything,
or that the railway owed anything, on which payment was due, and as a
matter of fact the Southern Pacific Company paid in full every dollar
it owed to the government as soon as it became due, and with full in-
terest. There was never any reason to suppose that it would not do so,
and never any reason to suppose that it could not afford to pay this
debt, for the power to control the line from Ogden to San Francisco,
called the Central Pacific, was in itself an enormous asset, worth the
value of this debt. Failure to pay this debt would have meant loss of
control of the most valuable single factor in the great railroad system.
The claim of the United States was secured by a second mortgage
on the Central Pacific. It was supposed that it would be sold to satisfy
the first mortgage, and that it would realize no more than this sum,
leaving, as a railway manager cynically expressed it, nothing but “ two
streaks of rust and the right of way.” The government proposed, by
a sort of injunction, to hold up the Stanford property, which would
then be seized, in case the Southern Pacific Railway system should at
some future time be found in debt. There was no warrant in law or
in good policy for this suit. One United States judge spoke of it as
“the crime of the century.” It is not easy to work out the motives,
JANE LATHROP STANFORD 163
political or personal or what not, which inspired it. Fortunately, just
now it makes no difference.
The hardest feature of the matter lay in the attitude of those
jointly interested in the ownership of the Southern Pacific System.
These men declined to give any assistance in the struggle for justice
and for the endowment of the university. All were financially con-
cerned in the final outcome, but they left her to make the fight alone
and at her own cost.
It should be said that none of the present owners or managers of
the Southern Pacific were in any way concerned in this matter. It is
also fair to say that this attitude was only the business man’s point of
view. It seemed impossible to save the estate and the university to-
gether. All receipts of the railroads (there were no profits) were
needed to continue its operations, and the outlays of the university
seemed to the other owners of the railway system to involve a danger-
ous policy. On the other hand, to Mrs. Stanford the estate existed
solely for the benefit of the university. ‘To save the estate on these
terms was to her like throwing over the passengers to lighten the ship.
And as matters turned out, the university, the estate and the railway
were all saved alike.
Perhaps we can get at the nature of this suit from a couple of let-
ters written at the time. JI find on our files a letter sent in November,
1894, to President Eliot of Harvard. In this letter I said:
I recognize of course that public sentiment can not be formed without a
basis of knowledge. The peculiar conditions in which this university finds itself
are not easily stated to the public. There are internal reasons why we can not
well take the country into confidence. Some of these reasons are connected with
the relations of the Stanford heirs. Others arise from our relations to our
future partner, in whose power we are, until the government suit is disposed of,
that is, until the settlement of the estate.
The grounds of the government suit, in brief, are these. The Central Pacific
Railroad was regarded as an impossibility by most of the people of California.
Its builders exhausted their funds and their credit and tried in vain to get help
from every quarter, even after receiving large donations of land then worthless.
The U. S. government came to their aid, whether wisely or not, ... it does not
matter at present. The road when finished bore a first mortgage, covering all
that it is now worth. The government took a second mortgage upon it as
security for the payment of the debt due for the bonds it had advanced in aid
of the corporation. ...
There is a law in California, by which the original stockholders in a cor-
poration are personally liable for its debts, if suit be begun within three years
after the organization of the corporation. This law was intended to check
“ wild-cat ” speculations.
It is claimed that under this law the estates of Stanford and Huntington
are still liable for the amount of the second mortgage, to come due in a few
years. It is claimed that the three-years’ limitation does not hold against the
government. This question of liability had not been raised when the estates of
the two remaining partners were distributed, and its enforcement would be
possible as against the Stanford estate alone, as Mr. Huntington, being alive,
164 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
ean withdraw his interests to Mexico, should the suit against Mr. Stanford be
successful. Meanwhile, by the way, the question is tested for him at the expense
of the Stanford estate, the railroad interests of which are in his hands as
president of the road....
It is believed by all jurists whom we have consulted, that the government
has no case. The limitation of three years being an integral part of the statute
in question, must hold against the government as against others. Furthermore,
the aid extended by the government was not a debt incurred in business of the
corporation.
However this may be, the courts will decide justly. Our anxiety is that
they may decide speedily.
As to the various criticisms which you mention, permit me a word. In all
personal matters, Mr. Stanford was perfectly truthful and just. Except in
matters pertaining to the division of the earnings and bonds of the Central
Pacific and the fact that its affairs were not made public, I have never heard
his railroad career seriously criticized. In California, he had a very wide fol-
lowing among the best men, men who liked and respected him, not on account
of his wealth and railroad connections, but rather in spite of them. In all the
railroad war through which this state is passing, no responsible person has
uttered a slur against Mr. Stanford or against the university.
It is not true that Mr. Stanford pretended to give the university a dollar
more than he gave. He gave the three farms, formerly valued at $5,000,000, in
these times worth much less; all the movable stock upon them, about $1,000,000
more; the university buildings costing $1,250,000; and by will $2,500,000 in
cash. It was agreed by Mr. and Mrs. Stanford that each should be the residuary
legatee of the other, and that whichever should survive should devote the rest
of his or her life and estate to the university. The Stanford estate is therefore
the university's endowment. Not in law but in fact the estate is the university.
It was Mr. Stanford’s feeling, and I was fully aware of it, that should his wife
survive him, she should be free to endow the university and to control it as he
had done. No one has ever struggled more loyally to do so than Mrs, Stanford.
Since her husband died we have not received a dollar of his money, but the
university has gone on without check or hindrance, though at times she has
been forced to give up luxuries and to limit her expenses in every conceivable
way. Asa matter of fact, she has each year given me a personal bond for all
she thinks that she can raise from the farms and from her own small personal
property. Her devotion to the work is absolute and she is giving her life to it.
When she loses, she will die.
The lands are unsalable only because the deed of gift prohibits their sale.
In Mr. Stanford’s lifetime they were conducted as parks. When they came into
our hands, their products fell short by $10,000 to $20,000 per month of meeting
the pay-rolls. This year under Mrs. Stanford’s direction, they have yielded
upwards of $150,000 above expenses. The sale of colts is a source of revenue
now that the reputation of the Palo Alto stud is made.
No cash has ever been set aside in advance, for very simple reasons. I could
not ask for it. Mr. Stanford was not expecting sudden death, financial panics,
nor an attack from the government. He paid in cash all salaries and all bills,
placed no limits on me, and on his sudden death left no debts against the uni-
versity. There are now no debts left against his estate, which is appraised at
$17,000,000, except the government claim which acts as an injunction tying
everything up. It is not true that Mr. Stanford tried to “rear a personal
monument by a good use of ill-gotten money.” No one ever gave money in a
more generous spirit, and there have not been many great givers who placed so
JANE LATHROP STANFORD 165
few restrictions on their gifts. Personal vanity does not give without restric-
tions in its own interest. He claimed that no man in California was the poorer
for his wealth, which was true. It never occurred to him that it was “ ill-
gotten” or needed any apology.
I know better than any one else, except his wife, can, how genuine Mr.
Stanford’s interest was. He treated me, and through me, the university, with
perfect truthfulness and justice. For my part and that of the faculty, we have
tried to make the fund in our possession, count every dollar for a dollar to the
best advancement of higher education.
As to the public at large, in time they will judge us by our fruits, if we
are allowed to live to bear fruitage.
To a loyal friend of Governor Stanford, Senator Hoar of Massa-
chusetts, I wrote this on June 20, 1894:
You will pardon me for writing to you to express my very great pleasure
and that of Mrs. Stanford in the stand you have taken in defence of Senator
Stanford’s memory and in the effort you have made toward the protection of
the university from the evil effects of prolonged litigation in which its endow-
ment would be at stake.
You who knew Senator Stanford well know that the recent attack of Mr.
Geary on his motives was without foundation in fact. The feeling of revenge
at any real or supposed slight on the part of the legislature in connection with
the State University, had nothing to do with his actions. He was not a man
to cherish that kind of feelings. The sole basis that accusation had was this:
Mr. Stanford acted for a few days as a member of the State Board of Regents.
He was very much surprised to find that this board ignored the recommenda-
tions of the president of the university, and in general were disposed to treat
the university chairs as personal “spoils.” This led Mr. Stanford to doubt
whether, if he should endow a university for California, it would be wise to
place it in the hands of a political board of regents. These conditions in the
State Board have now changed for the better. Mr. Stanford always spoke most
kindly of the State University. He frequently consulted with its professors and
it was a great pleasure for him to know that the new institution has in every
way helped the old one. The friendly rivalry has been most salutary to both.
Instead of 450 college students in one school as in 1890, there are now 1,700
students in the two, besides the professional classes.
As a matter of fact, Mr. and Mrs. Stanford founded the university with
the sole purpose of putting their fortune to the best use of their country.
I know Mr. Stanford’s motives in this regard as well as one man can know the
motives of another, and I know that no feeling of revenge and no selfish feeling
entered into these motives.
The university has now safely passed every other serious difficulty. Mrs.
Stanford has no other purpose in life than that of carrying out every detail of
her husband’s purposes. Her devotion has shown itself in maintaining the work
of the university unimpaired during this period of hard times, while the estates
are in probate, and therefore not available for university purposes.
It would, I believe, be a great national calamity if this great fund were
lost to higher education. It would be almost as great a calamity if it were
exposed to the delay and loss of prolonged litigation.
I assure you that the great majority of the self-respecting people of Cali-
fornia are very grateful to you for what you have done towards the protection
of the university endowment.
166 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
The story of the passing of the great suit is known to all the old
students of the university.
It was brought to trial in San Francisco in the United States Dis-
trict Court, and the university side of the question had the strong sup-
port of the great jurist, John Garber.
The decision of Judge Ross was against the claim of the govern-
ment. It was appealed and came before Judges Morrow, Gilbert and
Hawley, who again found no merit in the government contention. It
was appealed to the Supreme Court of the United States, and here our
case seemed hopeless. The Supreme Court moves slowly, and our life-
blood was ebbing fast. It takes money to run a university, and our
money was almost gone. To delay the matter was to destroy us, and
no one but ourselves had any interest in pushing along the decision.
Finally Mrs. Stanford went to Washington to appeal to President
Cleveland. She told him our story, and beseeched him to use his in-
fluence for a speedy settlement. Once for all, let us know the future
and we will stand by it. At last, President Cleveland saw his duty,
and through his influence the Stanford case was placed on the calendar
of the United States Supreme Court for speedy trial. Joseph Choate,
whose name every Stanford man should hold in grateful memory,
supplemented the work of John Garber. The case came to trial, and
by a unanimous decision, the work of Justice Harlan, Stanford Uni-
versity was again free!
The boys celebrated the victory as Stanford boys can. The United
States Postoffice on the campus, a wooden shack now removed, was
painted cardinal red, to its great improvement in appearance, and once
for all and forever the future of the university was assured.
This was the end of the dark days, but not of the days that were
difficult. There were still eight millions of dollars to be paid. There
was still the uncertainty as to whether Mrs. Stanford could survive
to pay it, and the estate must come into her hands before she could give
it to the university. She made many attempts to facilitate this trans-
fer. At one time, we have the pathetic figure of the good woman going
to the Queen’s Jubilee in London, with all her own possessions, half a
million of dollars worth of jewels, in a suit case carried in her hand.
She hoped to sell these to advantage, when all the world was gathered
in London. But the market was not good, and three fourths of them
she brought back to California again.
And this seems the appropriate place for the story of the jewel
fund. It is told in an address made at the foundation of the Library
Building, and again and finally in a resolution of the Board of Trustees.
On May 15, 1905, I said:
There was once a man—a real man, vigorous, wealthy and powerful. He
loved his wife greatly, for she, wise, loyal, devoted, was worthy of such love.
And because among all the crystals in all the world the diamond is the hardest
JANH LATHROP STANFORD 167
and sparkles the brightest, and because the ruby is most charming, and the
emerald gentlest—the man bought gifts of these all for his wife.
As the years passed a great sorrow came to them; their only child died in
the glory of his youth. In their loneliness there came to these two the longing
to help other children, to use their wealth and power to aid the youth of future
generations to better and stronger life. They lived in California and they loved
California; and because California loved them, as she loves all her children,
this man said, “The children of California shall be my children.” To make this
true in very fact he built for them a beautiful “ Castle in Spain,” with cloisters
and towers, and “red tiled roofs against the azure sky ”—for “skies are bluest
in the heart of Spain.” This castle, the Castle of Hope, which they called the
university, they dedicated to all who might enter its gates, and it became to
them the fulfilment of the dream of years—a dream of love and hope, of faith
in God and good will toward men.
In the course of time the man died. The power he bore vanished; his
wealth passed to other hands; the work he had begun seemed likely to fail. But
the woman rose from her second great sorrow and set herself bravely to the
task of completing the work as her husband had planned it. “The children of
California shall be my children”—that thought once spoken could never be
unsaid. The doors of the castle once opened could never be closed. To those
who helped her in these days she said: “ We may lose the farms, the railways,
the bonds, but still the jewels remain. The university can be kept alive by these
till the skies clear and the money which was destined for the future shall come
into the future’s hands. The university shall be kept open. When there is no
other way, there are still the jewels.”
Because there always remained this last resource, the woman never knew
defeat. No one can who strives for no selfish end. “ God’s errands never fail,”
and her errand was one of good will and mercy. And when the days were
darkest, the time came when it seemed the jewels must be sold. Across the sea
to the great city this sorrowful, heroic woman journeyed alone with the bag of
jewels in her hand that she might sell them to the money changers that flocked
to the Queen’s Jubilee. Sad, pathetic mission, fruitless, in the end, but full of
all promise for the future of the university, founded in faith and hope and love
—the trinity, St. Paul says, of things that abide.
But the jewels were not sold, save only a few of them, and these served a
useful purpose in beginning anew the work of building the university. Better
times came. The money of the estate, freed from litigation, became available
for its destined use. The jewels found their way back to California to be held
in reserve against another time of need.
A noble church was erected—one of the noblest in the land, a fitting part
of the beautiful dream castle, the university. It needed to make it perfect the
warmth of ornamentation, the glory of the old masters, who wrought “ when art
was still religion.” To this end the jewels were dedicated. It was an appro-
priate use, but the need again passed. Other resources were found to adorn the
church—to fill its windows with beautiful pictures, to spread upon its walls
exquisite mosaics like those of St. Mark, rivaling even the precious stones of
Venice.
In the course of time the woman died also. She had the satisfaction of
seeing the buildings of the university completed, the cherished plans of her
husband, to which she had devoted anxious years, fully carried out. Death
came to her in a foreign land, but in a message written before her departure
to be read at the laying of the corner-stone of the great library, she made known
168 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
the final destiny of the jewels. She directed that they should be sold and their
value made a permanent endowment of the library of the university.
And so the jewels have at least come to be the enduring possession of all
the university—of all who may tread these fields or enter these corridors. In
the memory of the earlier students they stand for the Quadrangle, whose doors
they kept open, and for the adornment of the church, which shall be to all
generations of students a source of joy and rest, a refining and uplifting influ-
ence. To the students who are to come in future days the message of the jewels
will be read in the books they study within these walls and the waves of their
influence spreading out shall touch the uttermost parts of the earth.
They say there is a language of precious stones, but I know that they speak
in diverse tongues. Some diamonds tell strange tales, but not these diamonds.
In the language of the jewels of Stanford may be read the lessons of faith, of
hope and good will. They tell how Stanford was founded in love of the things
that abide.
It was resolved by the Board of Trustees on May 29, 1908, as
follows:
WHEREAS, it was a cherished plan of Mrs. Jane L. Stanford that all jewels
left by her should be sold after her death, and that the proceeds (estimated by
her at more than five hundred thousand dollars) should be invested as a perma-
nent fund, of which the income should be used exclusively for the purchase of
books for the Library of the Leland Stanford Junior University; and
WHEREAS, the pressing financial needs of the university compelled her
temporarily to forego said plan, and to sell many of said jewels in her lifetime
in order to raise money to maintain the university; and
WHEREAS, by communication delivered to this board at its meeting, held
February 22, 1905, Mrs. Stanford declared:
“In view of the facts and of my interest in the future development of the
University Library, I now request the trustees to establish and maintain a
library fund, and upon the sale of said jewels, after my departure from this
life, I desire that the proceeds therefrom be paid into such fund and be pre-
served intact, and invested in bonds or real estate as a part of the capital of
the endowment, and that the income therefrom be used exclusively for the
purchase of books and other publications. I desire that the fund be known and
designated as the “ Jewel Fund.” I have created and selected a Library Com-
mittee of the Board of Trustees, under supervision of which all such purchases
should be made.”
Now, THEREFORE, in order to carry out said plan of Mrs. Stanford and to
establish and maintain an adequate library fund, and to perform the promise
made by this board to her, it is
Resolved, that a fund of five hundred thousand dollars, to be known and
designated as the “ Jewel Fund” is hereby created and established, which fund
shall be preserved intact, and shall be separately invested and kept invested in
bonds or real estate by the Board of Trustees, and the income of said fund shall
be used exclusively in the purchase of books and other publications for the
Library of the Leland Stanford Junior University, under the supervision and
direction of the Library Committee of this Board of Trustees.
It was in these dark days that I was asked by President Cleveland
through Mr. Charles S. Hamlin, to go to Bering Sea to help settle the
fur seal disputes.
Before I started, in 1896, Mrs. Stanford said: “ Now that our af-
JANE LATHROP STANFORD 169
fairs are looking so much better, do you not think that I might afford
to bring back my housekeeper?” Her servants then were her secretary,
her Chinese cook, and an old man, a servant of other days, who served
as butler, without salary.
It was in these days, too, that Mrs. Stanford, going to Washington
to settle up the household affairs of the mansion occupied, while Mr.
Stanford was senator, took four hundred dollars with her, lived in the
private car owned by the Governor, attended to the packing of her
goods, and the rental of her house to a senator from New York, and
brought back $340 of the amount, which she turned over to me, to be
used for the university. I have given this and other details private
and personal, but full of meaning as showing her devotion to the uni-
versity, and her utter unselfishness in carrying out the plans made by
herself and her husband for the welfare of the men and women of the
coming generations of California and of the world. While matters in-
side the faculty and the details of instruction were left to those sup-
posed to be experts in these lines, for this was her husband’s wish, she
had always before her his purposes. “ What would Mr. Stanford do
under these conditions?” was always her first question; and in almost
every instance this question led to a wise decision.
To outside suggestions as to this or that, she used to reply: “T will
never concern myself with the religion, the politics or the love affairs
of any professor im Stanford University.” And this resolution she
religiously kept.
With the passing of the government suit, conditions looked brighter.
The payment of the eight millions went on very slowly, because the
railway holdings could not be broken and must be sold as a whole if at
all. The taxes on properties yielding no income became an intolerable
burden. Besides, it was apparent that the original enabling act under
which the Board of Trustees was organized contained grave defects,
which might invalidate the actions of this Board. For this reason,
mainly, the Board of Trustees existed in name only, Mrs. Stanford
being in fact the sole trustee.
In 1899 the railroad holdings were sold, to good advantage, thanks
to the good offices of a well-known German banker whose name I am
glad to speak, James Speyer, and the estate at once passed out of debt.
Finally, piece by piece, it passed into Mrs. Stanford’s hands, and each
piece was at once deeded to the Board of Trustees. The Board of
Trustees was legalized by a change in the State Constitution. The
university was by the same means relieved of part of the burden of its
taxes. At the earliest possible moment, Mrs. Stanford again and in
full transferred the whole estate to the board, reserving for herself a
relatively small sum “ to play with” as she said, but in fact to give her
occupation and means to carry out in her own way other plans of
strengthening the university and of helping mankind. The Board of
170 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
Trustees was then organized as a working body. Mrs. Stanford became
its president, and this history passes over into the bright days of the
dawn of the twentieth century.
Mrs. Stanford then left the university for a trip around the world
by way of Australia and Ceylon. This was not that she wanted to see
the world, or to be absent from her beloved Palo Alto, but that she
wished to give to the Board of Trustees absolute freedom in taking up
their great responsibilities. She wished them to handle the accumu-
lated funds on their own initiative, without suggestion from herself.
The rest of the story can be told by others, for it is an open record.
The whole may be summed up in these words of Mrs. Stanford in a
letter written to me September 3, 1898:
Every dollar I can rightfully call mine is sacredly laid on the altar of my
love for the university, and thus it ever shall be.
That all this may seem more real, I venture to quote a few para-
graphs from personal letters of Mrs. Stanford written in the dark days
from 1893 to 1899. ;
On November 24, 1895, Mrs. Stanford wrote from the university:
It has been my policy to say as little about my financial affairs to the
outside world as possible, but I feel sure that I am doing myself and our blessed
work injustice by allowing the impression among all classes to feel certain
there is plenty of money, at my command, the future is assured, the battle
fought and won. ...I only ask righteous justice. I ask not for myself, but
that I may be able to discharge my duty and loyalty to the one who trusted me,
and loved me, and loves me still. I am so poor myself that I can not this year
give to any charity; not even do | give this festive season to any of my family.
I do not tell you this, kind friend, in a complaining way, for when one has
pleasant surroundings, all we want to eat and wear, added to this have those in
their lives we can count on as friends, it would be sinful to complain. I repeat
it only that you my friend may know, I ask only justice, to the dear ones gone
from earth life and the living one left.
I am willing you should speak plainly to any one who may question as to
the university or myself. I have many devoted and true loyal friends in Wash-
ington, and I am sure did they know I was kept from my rights, they would
speak their sentiments openly, and when it was known a public sentiment was
in my favor and against their unfairness, it would cause a different course to
be pursued toward me. I shall henceforth speak plainly, and I desire you to
do so. You will meet our good President, Mr. Cleveland, my good and true
friend Secretary Carlisle, Mr. John Foster and many others, and you... can
do our blessed work good and God will bless the act, and bring fruit to bear
from the seeds sown. I have kept myself and my affairs in the background.
It has been an inspiration from the source from which all good comes, from my
Father God—I trust Him to lead me all along the rest of the journey of life.
He has led me thus far through the deep waters, and joy will come, for He
never deserts the widow, the childless, the orphan. I have His promise “ blessed
are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.”
On the same day she said:
Everything is going on smoothly as far as I know at the university. The
JANE LATHROP STANFORD 171
boys are wild over the game to be played. I hope they will win because my
boys will be happy if they win.
On July 20, 1896, she wrote to a candidate for a professorship :
The university still is restricted and limited in its ambitions and its aims,
because of my inability to increase the number of students or the number of
professors. The gift of $2,500,000 in bonds which I have by the grace of God
been enabled to give to the trustees for the present and future maintenance of
the university brings in a monthly income of $10,000, while the actual expenses
for the faculty and the president and the necessary matters bring the sum total
of expenses: per month to $19,000. This $9,000 I am obliged to furnish myself,
through the strictest economy and the husbanding of resources; consequently
I am not increasing expenses but on the contrary shall retrench in the future.
On December 28, 1895, she said:
I must confess to a feeling of great pride in our entire body of students,
both male and female, and I think we are all in a way under obligations to
them for their uniformly good conduct, and a desire, as my dear husband once
expressed it, to be ladies and gentlemen.
On July 29, 1895, she wrote:
I send a precious letter from Mr. Andrew White for you to read. I read it
with a heart running over with various emotions. Mr. Stanford esteemed him
so highly I could not but feel.like asking God to let my loved ones in heaven
know the contents of this letter. I prize this letter beyond my ability to
express. It lifted my soul from its heaviness. My heart is one unceasing
prayer to the Allwise, All Merciful one, that all will be well for the future of
the good work under your care. When the end of our troubles is over, all
(these letters) will be placed in your hands for future reading by our students,
a story for them when I have passed into peace.
Soon after, she wrote:
I return herewith Mr. Choate’s kind letter. God bless him, for he was a
friend indeed.
After the decision of Judge Ross (July 6, 1895), she wrote:
I dare not let my soul rejoice over the future. It. must be more sure than
it is now. I hope and pray that the final decision will be as sure as the first.
It means more to me than you or the world have dreamed. It means an unsul-
lied, untarnished name as a blessed heritage to the university. My husband |
often used to say: “A good name is better than riches.” God can not but be
touched by my constant pleading, and this first decision by Judge Ross makes
me humble that I.so unworthy should have received the smallest attention.
From Paris, August 30, 1897, she wrote:
I wish the rest of my responsibilities caused me as little care as does the
internal working of the good work. I am only anxious to furnish you the funds
to pay the needs required. I could live on bread and water to do this, my part,
and would feel that God and my loved ones in the life beyond this smiled on the
efforts to ensure the future of my dear husband’s work to better humanity.
Again, in 189%, she writes to her trusted solicitor, Russell Wilson:
I stand almost alone in this blessed work left to my care, and I want and
172 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
need the president’s support and his helpfulness in this work as far as he can
support me. There are plenty who are interested in the affairs of the estate
with me, but few in the university.
In July, 1898, she said:
If I am able to keep the university in the condition it is now, I shall be
more than thankful. $15,000 a month is a great expenditure, and exhausts my
ingenuity and resources to such an extent that had I not the university so close
to my heart I would relieve myself of this enormous burden and take rest and
recreation for the next year. But I prefer to see the good work going on in
its present condition, and I am not promising myself anything further for the
future until the skies are brighter than they are now.
On December 14, 1900, she repeats:
I could lay down my life for the university. Not for any pride in its
perpetuating the names of our dear son and ourselves, its founders, but for
the sincere hope I cherish in its sending forth to the world grand men and
women who will aid in developing the best there is to be found in human nature.
These extracts, largely from business letters, will show better than
any words of mine her spirit and her faith. These must justify and
make live the words I used on February 28, 1905, the date of Mrs.
Stanford’s sudden death in Honolulu.
The sudden death of Mrs. Stanford has come as a great shock to all of us.
She has been so brave and strong that we hoped for her return well rested, and
that her last look on earth might be on her beloved Palo Alto. But it was a
joy to her to have been spared so long; to have lived to see the work of her
husband’s life and hers firmly and fully established.
Hers has been a life of the most perfect devotion both to her own and her
husband’s ideals. If in the years we knew her she ever had a selfish feeling, no
‘one ever detected it. All her thoughts were of the university and of the way
to make it effective for wisdom and righteousness.
No one outside of the university can understand the difficulties in her way
in the final establishment of the university, and her patient deeds of self-
sacrifice can be known only to those who saw them from day to day. Some day
the world may understand a part of this. It will then know her for the wisest,
as well as the most generous, friend of learning in our time. 1t will know her
as the most loyal and most devoted of wives. What she did was always the
best she could do. Wise, devoted, steadfast, prudent, patient and just—every
good word we can use was hers by right. The men and women of the university
feel the loss not alone of the most generous of helpers, but of the nearest of
friends.
To these words spoken when the shock of the death of the mother
of the university first came to her children, I added later a single
thought as to Mrs. Stanford’s conception of the future development of
the university.
It should be above all other things, sound and good, using its forces not
for mental development alone, but for physical, moral and spiritual growth and
strength. It should make not only scholars, but men and women, alert, fearless,
wise, God-fearing, skilled in “team work” and eager to “get into the game,”
whatever the struggle into which they may be thrown. To this end she would
JANE LATHROP STANFORD 73
have the university not large but choice. There should be no more students
than could be well taken care of, no more departments than could be placed in
master hands, no teachers to whom the students could not look up as to men
whose work and life should be an inspiration to them. The buildings should
be beautiful, for to see beautiful things in a tand of beauty is one of the greatest
elements in the refinement of clean men and women. Great libraries and great
collections the university should have, but libraries and collections should be
chosen for their fitness in the training of men. And with all the activities of
athletics, of scholarly research, of the applications of science to engineering, the
spirit of “self-devotion and of self-restraint,” by which lives have been “ made
beautiful and sweet” through all the centuries should rise above all else,
dominating the lower aspirations and activities as the great church towers
above the red tiles of the lower buildings. But for all this, the Church should
exist for men—for the actual men who enter its actual doors—not men for the
Church. For this reason, any special alliance with any of the historic churches
of Christendom is forever forbidden.
We do not yet see all these things. Rome was not built in a day, nor
Stanford in-a century. But as the old pioneers returning now behold in solid
stone the dream-castles of their college days, so shall you, Stanford men and
women, find here as you come back to future reunions, the university of your
dreams, the university of great libraries and noble teachers, the university of
the perfect democracy of literature and science, “of selt-devotion and of self-
restraint,” the university in which earnest men and women find the best possible
preparation for work in life, the university which sends out men who will make
the future of the republic worthy of the glories of its past, the university of
the plans and hopes of Leland Stanford, the university of the faith and work
and prayer of Jane Lathrop Stanford.
L174 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
LIFE FROM THE BIOLOGIST’S STANDPOINT?
By Proressor WILLIAM H. RITTER
MARINE BIOLOGICAL STATION OF SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA
qe data of biology are living plants and animals. These are what
nature presents. To these we must always go in order to make
a beginning at any investigation. Is one interested in ganglionic cells,
or germ cells, or liver secretions, or degenerate organs? He must
find some kind of animal that has, or produces, or can yield such things.
In making a successful quest for “ material,” it always turns out that
a particular individual plant or animal, one or more, furnishes it.
One may not be able to tell exactly what he means by an individual tree
or man, but he must have one before he can study it or any part of it.
Definitions of natural objects come at the end, rather than at the begin-
ning, of our knowledge of them.
We biologists frequently speak of the principle of life, or the germs
of life, and of many other particular manifestations of organisms, as
though they were something really existent independently of particular
organisms. Such questions as: Which came first, or is more funda-
mental, the chick or the egg; structure or function; life or organiza-
tion? are frequently asked with more or less seriousness. Herbert
Spencer devotes considerable space to the inquiry as to whether life or
organization appeared first. He writes:
It may be argued that on the hypothesis of Evolution, Life necessarily
comes before organisation. On this hypothesis, organic matter in a state of
homogeneous aggregation must precede organic matter in a state of heterogeneous
aggregation. But since the passing from a structureless state to a structural
state is itself a vital proeess, it follows that vital activity must have existed -
while there was yet no structure: structure could not else arise. That function
takes precedence of structure seems also implied in the definition of Life.
He continues: ®
If Life is shown by inner actions so adjusted as to balance outer actions
1 During the academic year 1908-9 the program of the Philosophical Union
of the University of California consisted of a series of discussions led by
speakers representing various departments of biology and framed in a spirit
compatible with the broad aims of such an association. This was the con-
cluding paper of the year.
Wir denken heute durchweg more biologico. .. .
... dass die Biologie selbst heute noch im Zustand des girenden Werdens,
der tastenden Unsicherheit sich befindet, also fiir eine Grundlegung der sichersten
aller Wissenschaften, der formel Logik, noch keine Hignung besitzt, begeht der
Pragmatismus denselben Circulus vitiosus dem auch Hume nicht zu entrinnen
vermochte. . . —Ludwig Stein.
LIFH FROM THE BIOLOGIST’S STANDPOINT 175
...; then may we not say that the actions to be formed must come before that
which forms them . . . that the continuous change which is the basis of func-
tion, must come before the structure that brings function into shape? ?
Greatly to Mr. Spencer’s credit he tells us in another connection (p.
197), that “in truth this question is not determinable by any evidence
now accessible.” We must go a long way beyond this position and
recognize that not only is the question not determinable “by any evi-
dence now accessible,” but that there is not the slightest indication that
such evidence ever will be accessible. What we have to see is that all
such discussions are utterly futile for science; indeed, that they have
no legitimate place in inductive science.
Has anybody ever seen an egg that was not produced by some
organism; some function without structure, or vice versa; some life
without organization, or organization independent of life? Surely not.
Then equally surely you can make no assumption that involves the
disjunction of either member of one of these couples from the other,
without attempting to transcend experience—without becoming in so
far an a priorist pure and simple.
Now you may perhaps have the privilege of being an a priorist pure
and simple, if you want it, but in case you choose thus you can not have
a seat in the temple of physical science for one instant. On the basis
of experience science can project itself far in advance of experience, but
only on that basis can it thus project itself.
So much for the data, the starting places of biology. They are
individual animals and plants, living in nature. It is wholesome for
any domain of science to stop now and then and ask what its original
data are. Such inquiry not only yields enlightenment, interesting and
useful of itself, but it is further illuminating as to the way a science
deals, and must deal, with its raw material—its “ givens.”
Notice the procedure in a special case. Observe how oceanography
proceeds in studying the Pacific Ocean.. Of what is that vast sea com-
posed? First of all of water, H,O0. No doubt about that. Dis-
solved in this are various mineral salts, chlorides of sodium and
magnesium, particularly, and the gases O, N and CO,. These with
perhaps a few other elements and the ocean is chemically accounted
for. Yet how far have we gone toward a knowledge of the Pacific
Ocean when we have found that it is thus constituted? Even though
we should have ascertained the total quantity of water, salts and gases
in the entire Pacific, we should have scarcely made a beginning on the
oceanography of this body of water. Its form and boundaries; its
connections with other oceans; the character of its bottom; its islands,
continental and oceanic; its currents; its tides; the up-welling waters
on its eastern margins; its temperature in general, and in particular
parts, and dozens of other matters, are quite over and beyond anything
2“ Principles of Biology,” Vol. I., p. 210.
176 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
that strict chemical knowledge can reach. Oceanography as now
understood is quite impossible without chemistry, but it by no means
follows that chemistry is the whole of oceanography. Physics is as
essential as chemistry; and geology and astronomy are in turn as
essential as physics:
So with the other inorganic sciences. Spectroscopy, a department
of chemistry, has been largely the making of modern stellar astronomy.
Yet is not such a problem as that of the variable stars, something over
and above spectroscopy? Is it conceivable that spectroscopy alone
would ever have discovered variable stars, and formulated the many
interesting questions about them that astronomy is now asking?
Do not the same principles of constitution, and study of constitu-
tion, hold when we enter the domain of living objects? They surely
do. Organisms have their own special qualities and so present their
own problems, exactly as do oceans. and.stars. Biology depends. upon,
but at the same time transcends, chemistry and physics, in exactly the
same way that astronomy rests upon but transcends chemistry and
physics. We are here on the threshold of one of the oldest, in many
of its aspects one of the most familiar scientific and philosophic puz-
zles; namely, that of the relation of a whole to the elements which
compose it.
Alas for the proneness of humankind to go all awry with itself and
nature from not duly heeding the commonest, most familiar things!
Hear: this dialogue that comes to us across a stretch of two thousand
years : |
Socrates—“ Suppose one were to ask you a question about the first syllable
in the name Socrates, and say ‘ Theetetus, tell me what SO is,’ what would
you answer?”
Theetetus—‘ That it is S and O.”
S.—‘ Well, have you not there the reasoned statement of the syllable?”
T.— Yes, certainly.”
S.—“ Proceed then and give me in the same way the reasoned statement
of 8.”
7T.—< But how can one give the elements of an element? For indeed,
Socrates, S is one of the,voiceless letters, a mere sound, as.it were a whistling
of the tongue. ... ?
S.—< But stay, I wonder if we are right in laying it down that while the
element is not knowable the combination is?.. .”
7T.—“ That would be strange beyond all reason, Socrates. .
S.— Perhaps we ought to have taken the combination to be not the sum
of the elements, but a single form resulting from them, with an individual shape
of its own, and differing from the elements.”
T.— Certainly, very possibly this view is more correct than the other... .
S.—“ Then let the combination be, as we now put it, a single form, alike in
letters and in everything else, resulting from the conjunction of harmonious
elements in each case.” °
5“ The Theetetus and Philebus of Plato,” translated by H. F. Carlill, in
“New Classical Libary.”
”
bed
.
2”
LIFE FROM THE BIOLOGIST’S STANDPOINT i
As long as the mind of the interpreter 1s human, the whole truth of
a complex natural object or proposition can never be ascertained from
knowledge of its components alone. Or varying this statement, you
can never give a full account of any whole in terms of its elements.
In spite of the ocean and the stars as illustrating the truth thus
formulated, the statement sounds dogmatic. We must examine it
farther.
The presumption that biological phenomena may be adequately
treated in terms of chemistry and physics takes care of itself so far as
strict science is concerned, since its utter futility becomes apparent
almost immediately it is put to rigid experimental test. For one thing,
it results in constant effort to extend generalizations far beyond where
later study will permit them to stand. It leads inevitably to a forcing
of evidence, which process sooner or later comes to grief.
One:aspect. of this forcing is almost certain betrayal into an illegiti-
mate use of the analogical mode of reasoning. For instance, an analogy
is often drawn between the so-called reversed actions in chemistry, and
what is spoken of as a return of certain animals—certain worms—to
the egg state. As a matter of fact the earlier speaker who drew this
analogy might have used the “ second-childhood ” of the old man as well
as the supposed second egg state of the worm. One has as much in
common as the other with the chemical process for which correspond-
ence was claimed.
You must not understand by this that I condemn, wholly, com-
parison and analogy in reasoning. On the contrary, I attach great
importance to these, as would become clear were this discussion to be
carried into regions where it is not possible for it to go now. In so
far as there is resemblance between reversed chemical action and grow-
ing old, the fact is illuminating, and to have discovered it is good.
My criticism is directed not against pointing out the resemblance, but
against not pointing out the difference at the same time, thus leaving
the inference that one process accounts for or explains the other.
It is in its wider bearings, its bearings beyond strict specialties
in science, that the influence of the theory of physical-chemical ade-
quacy in the treatment of life phenomena is most unfortunate. Only
when regarded from this larger standpoint does its withering effect
on the scientific spirit and method generally, and on man’s attitude
toward nature, become apparent.
The subject is, according to my view, so vital that I must ask you
to look into it more closely. This we can not do without running a
little into what these walls are accustomed to hear about under the
term theory of knowledge, or epistemology. Most of us would agree
that we have to use both our senses and our minds in science. Most
would agree too that that workman is the most efficient who uses his
instruments the most intelligently—who is not a mere rule-of-thumb
178 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
workman. How then do our minds and our senses work while we do
science? Are there general principles of operation, to know which
would enable us to use them more smoothly, more surely, more pro-
ductively? Let us watch them while they work at some problem of
chemistry, say. To be as objective as possible we will use common
table salt. We began with a general acquaintance with the article.
How do we become thus acquainted? Surely in no other way than
by examining it. We touch our tongues to it, it dissolves readily and
has a characteristic taste. Examining this dissolving propensity
minutely, we find that in distilled water at a definite temperature, a
definite quantity will be taken up. Its solubility is thus determined.
The moment we handle it in considerable amount we note that it
is rather heavy. In water it sinks quickly. This property we ex-
amine more closely and find that a specific gravity characterizes it.
In a pulverized state it is pure white. If, however, we let it
evaporate slowly, we get cubical crystals, not white but transparent.
We may suppose now. we have examined all the physical.-properties
of salt. But surely our knowledge is not yet complete. We know
nothing of its composition. Before beginning on this chemical exten-
sion of our knowledge, let us take due note of the fact that table salt
is a definite thing to us; we can use it in a hundred ways and rely
implicitly upon it, on the basis of this physical knowledge alone. We
do not have to know whether it is simple or compound in order to get
its benefits as salt. Physical knowledge of it we must have before we
can use it in any way. -Chemical knowledge, understanding by this
knowledge of constituents, we need not have.
But since we started out to know salt through and through, we must
become salt chemists. We must decompose the substance, if it turns
out to be compound, and examine its constituents as carefully as we
examined the substance itself. To make the story short we get sodium
and chlorine. But we must not so shorten the story as.to fail to see
what we do in examining these constituents. What is it that we do?
We proceed exactly as we did in examining the salt. We determine
their physical properties. The sodium is opaque, and bright metallic
in color. Ordinarily it is amorphous and waxy. Instead of dissolving
in water as does the salt, it decomposes water. Instead of sinking
quickly, it floats. It melts at 95°.6 C., while 776° of heat are required
to melt salt.
The chlorine, a gas at any temperature we can readily command,
is greenish-yellow in color. Its odor is characteristically disagreeable,
and it irritates our noses and throats. Like the salt it is soluble in
water, but while the salt is more soluble in hot water than cold, chlorine
is more soluble in cold water. It is heavier than air, though much
lighter than water.
What is the net result of our examination of the constituents of
LIFE FROM THE BIOLOGIST’S STANDPOINT 179
salt? First and foremost an interesting lot of entirely new knowl-
edge. Our understanding of salt has been broadened and deepened.
Salt is a much more complex thing to us now than it was before. In-
stead of simplifying salt by reducing it to its elements, we have greatly
complicated it. But notice this particularly: The new knowledge has
not enhanced by one jot our knowledge of the physical properties of
salt. There is nothing whatever in the properties of the sodium or
the chlorine that gives us any clue to the properties of the salt. We
might, so far as the best cunning in observation we now possess
promises anything, examine the sodium and the chlorine till doomsday
and never suspect that together they might produce salt, unless we
happened to put them together and note that salt actually did result.
This is a threadbare, school-book story. Why revamp it here?
Because it is part, though an essential part, of a much larger story,
the whole of which is rarely if ever told. Before we can reach the
heart of the matter we must stop a moment with another fact so
familiar as likewise to seem’stale. Our physical examination of the
salt, the sodium and the chlorine, were applications of the general
principle that the first step in all knowledge of external objects is the
determination of their physical qualities. The familiar expression
is, “we know an object only by its properties, or qualities.” Let
us take this statement from its pigeon-hole of mere habit, and look
at it reflectively. Does it mean that there are no natural objects
in all the universe about which we can get knowledge in no way other
than through their physical properties? Those of you who say “ yes,
that is what it means,” I agree with, and with you might go on at once
with the discussion. But some will, I suspect, hesitate to reply thus.
To you who hesitate, I say that if there be objects which we may
know by other means than through their physical properties, they
must be namable, otherwise you could not claim for them a place in
the physical world; so I demand that you mention examples. You
will probably name the atoms of the chemist and the ether of space.
You are then, in so far as concerns the atoms, committed to the con-
ception of propertyless atoms, are you not? I ask you to tell me then
exactly what it was that John Dalton and the other founders of modern
chemistry actually did. Certainly there were atomic theories of the
constitution of matter long before these men lived. Democritus and
Newton, to say nothing of others, made much of such atoms. Why
did the pre-Daltonian atoms signify nothing, or almost nothing for
physical science? Because they were propertyless atoms. ‘To attach
to these old purely speculative, and hence scientifically useless atoms,
one property of the particular substance to which they belong, was
exactly what these chemists did. The property so attached was that
of combining with other substances in definite ways.
Analyze the atomic theory of modern chemistry and you will find
180 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
that all that makes it significant for chemical practise is expressible
in this way: If any two substances unite with each other chemically,
they do so in such a manner that there are no particles of them so
small as not to follow the same law of combination that holds for the
substances in bulk.
Atoms in modern chemistry are small bodies imagined to constitute
visible substances, and they are imagined for the purpose of incar-
nating, if you will, the observed trait that substances have of combining
with one another according to known rules. As to most of the other
properties of atoms, their shape, color, hardness, etc., if atoms are
conceived to be anything else than little particles of the substances,
science knows no more to-day than did Newton and Democritus.
The purpose of this little excursion into: the atomic doctrine, that
border-land of physical science, is to bring home something of the
mighty power there is in the properties of things, and in sense experi-
ence. It is not too much to say that the modern science of chemistry
was born then and there, when one property that substances have, viz.,.
that of definite combination with other substances, was attached to
the hitherto purely speculative, more or less mystical atoms of those
substances.
I ask you now to recall what was said about the way we deal with
the salt, sodium and chlorine. Substantially the statement was that
we have to treat them all on exactly the same basis, so far as the process
of knowing is concerned. That is, we have to treat each one on the
basis of its own properties. We can not touch sodium with our
knowledge of the properties of chlorine, nor vice versa. Similarly,
we can not touch sodium with our knowledge of the properties of salt,
nor salt with our knowledge of the properties of sodium, except,
mark you, as we may say that one property of sodium is its power
to unite with chlorine to produce salt. My familiar expression for
this is that the external world and our minds are so constituted, are
so articulated with each other, that every object in that world must be
treated on its own merits. Now notice that since these substances
must be treated, each on its own merits, and since the sodium and
chlorine have the power of combining with each other in such a re-
markable way that they wholly lose their original properties, at least
temporarily, and merge into another substance, salt, with properties
wholly its own, we must recognize that the properties .of substances
manifest something of transitoriness and relativity.
Thus are we led to the notion which I have ventured to speak of as
the standardization of reality. The expression is suggested by the
chemist’s process of standardizing solutions; the process, that is, of
using a solution of known composition and concentration as a unit
of value to which to refer various reactions and processes. ‘The mean-
ing is that whatever criterion of reality you apply to any natural object,
LIFE FROM THE BIOLOGIST’S STANDPOINT 181
that same criterion you must apply to all other natural objects, no
matter whether some of these be constituents of others, or stand in
some other relation to one another.
Making the statement specific for the case of objects that are com-
posed of other objects or substances, it runs thus: Whatever criterion
of reality you apply as the test of the elements of a complex body or
substance, exactly that same criterion you must apply as a test of
the reality of the complex body itself.
It follows from this, that with the question of a fundamental
essence or substance behind properties, we are, as students of objective
nature, in no wise concerned. As to whether there is or is not a real
essence of sodium, or of salt, to which the sensible properties of these
substances adhere, is no affair of ours. Physical science can not even
raise the question of an absolute reality or realities behind the objects
with which it deals. :
Now let us carry these considerations of the nature of objects and
of minds, and the relation existing between them, up into the realm
of objects that we call hving. The formulary will run thus: In
whatever sense you predicate reality, or fundamentality, or ultimateness
to the germ or any part of an organism, in exactly the same sense you
must predicate reality, or fundamentality, or ultimateness to the com-
pleted and whole organism.
If you have been accustomed to look upon living nature with the
eonception that somewhere deeply hidden in the plants and animals
you daily meet there is something more real than the organisms them-
selves, something possessed of a potency wholly unique and mysterious
as contrasted with that possessed by the visible beings; or, if you have
regarded living beings as ejects of your own consciousness—if, I say,
you have been wont to thus regard organisms, grasp fully this concep-
tion of reality and of measuring reality and you will find, I believe,
that it will transform your world. It will increase your interest in
every developed organism as contrasted with your interest in its germ,
or any portion of the organism physical or psychical in almost direct
proportion as the sensible complexity of the organism as a whole
exceeds the sensible complexity of the germ or any part of the
organism.
Here is the epistemological necessity for the conception of an
“organism as a whole,” the biological compulsion of which we speak
later. The point is simply this: Every object in nature has some
nature of tts own. That is just what makes it belong to nature. Con-
sequently there must be something about it which can not be fully
accounted for by referring it to something else in nature. For if you
could thus dispose of every natural object, nature would consume
itself in explanation. You would have the case of the Kilkenny
182 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
cats psychologized. We come here, I imagine, upon what virile truth
there is in the “ Ding an Sich,” the “ Thing in Itself.”
I can not restrain my interest from going where I believe reality
to be. Contrariwise, I can not send it where I believe reality is not.
Interest and attention, like natural forces generally, take the direction
of least resistance; and the places of greatest belief in reality are those
of least resistance for attention. With this psychological basis to go
on, illustration will carry us forward more surely and steadily than
further argument.
The very heart of that school of biology known as materialistic,
or mechanistic, is its effort to interpret living beings by ascribing to
invisible substances or bodies, located somewhere within the germ-
cells and other cells of the body, reality and essentiality of a sort quite
unique as contrasted with the visible substances, and the organisms
themselves. Hxamine the program of this school attentively and you
will see that it proposes to “explain” or “express” those parts of
animate nature about which we know most, observationally, in terms
of those parts about which we know least, observationally. It is un-
doubtedly a quasi-inductive, semi-mystical program.
The chemical materialist conceives certain compounds, never well-
known ones mark you, enzymes for example, to be thus supremely
endowed. The biological materialist on the other hand, ascribes this
exalted réle to imaginary, invisible living bodies hidden deep within
the germ and other cells. Biology of the last three decades has be-
stowed mighty powers upon such bodies under the designation “ de-
terminants.” Only those familiar with the technical literature of the
science during this time can have any notion of the influence these
bodies have had. What have been, and what are the effects of such
conceptions on biological theory and practise? I mention only a few
of these.
Nothing is more characteristic of the biological thought in highest
repute to-day than its disposition to look down upon all those kinds
of research not aimed at the elements of organisms—at “ ultimate
problems,” as the expression goes. Most of those who labor in the
biological vineyard but are not elementalists of some sort, will
appreciate what I mean, for they will have personally felt the ban
placed upon them by the dominant school. A few years ago one of
our best known American zoologists, speaking from a position of
national preferment in his science, reviewed comprehensively the
present range of zoology, and did not hesitate to pass upon the labors
of description and classification of animals as hardly worth while.
In other words, he pronounced as not worth doing, the very things
which an examination of the nature of the knowledge-getting process
shows to be absolutely fundamental steps toward an understanding of
living nature.
LIFE FROM THE BIOLOGIST’S STANDPOINT 183
This zoologist, it is hardly necessary to say, is an elementalist at
heart. Plants and animals, as nature presents them, are for him real
in a way. ‘They are of course what our naked, crass senses come in
contact with, but the real essence of them, the thing we want to get
at, lies far away in the germ-cells, in the chromosomes, in protoplasm.
There is reality. There is the pole-star by which our compass should
be set, according to his views.
The consistent elementalist can not care much for description and
classification, for these depend in the first instance on “ mere qualities,”
while he is concerned with essences. The elementalist’s problems, like
the pure intellectualist’s, are always ultimate problems. or both any-
thing this side of the absolute is only appearance.
There is prevalent among many influential biologists, unfortunately
for practical ends, a tendency to esteem what are called “gross”
anatomy and physiology as of no great scientific value. To the ele-
mentalist this is bound to be so. The structures and the activities of
your bodies, as the anatomist and physiologist of the ordinary kind
sees them, are not their fundamentally real structures and activities.
These are deep hidden in the uttermost recesses of your members.
They are “ probably ” your proteid compounds, especially your enzymes.
One of the best characterization-marks of elementalist biology
is the expression “nothing but.” What is the human brain? It is
“nothing but” a vast multitude of ganglionic cells (9,200,000,000:
in the cortex alone), if the answer comes from a cellular elementalist ;
or it is “nothing but” a still greater number of chromosomes, if the
elementalist be of the consistently orthodox chromosomal persuasion.
And what are the so-called emotions of the human breast? In
last analysis they are “nothing but” chemical substances in unstable
equilibrium, or in some other state.
Ernst Mach, that prince of modern elementalists, quotes Litchen-
berg approvingly as follows: “ We should say It thinks, just as we say
It lightens. It is going too far to say cogito if we translate cogito by
I think. The assumption, or postulation, of the ego is a mere practical
necessity.” What sort of necessity, if not practical necessity, do these
people believe in? Seemingly it is theoretical or impractical necessity,
or both.
The answer to those who hold such views is obvious: If you want
to call yourself “It” why, go ahead. But I propose to call myself
“1” and no power in heaven or on earth can compel me to call my-
self “It.” I may not be able fully to define my “I.” Surely I am
not, for full definition comes at the end and not at the beginning of
experiential knowledge. But however incomplete my definition be,.
here lam. “The proof of the pudding is the eating.”
Why do the elementalists pin their faith to the invisible constituents
of things rather than to the things themselves? Can it be that they
184 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
deliberately deceive themselves as to the place where reality is located ?
Surely this can not be so. Some misguiding agent or agents there
must be, and they must be subtle, otherwise they could not succeed
as well as they do with so many earnest people.
Let us see if we can detect any of these subtle misleaders. In
order to walk sure footed, we must remain on the platform of ob-
jectivity. Let us go back to salt and its elements. If the properties
of salt are not derived from the sodium and the chlorine, where do they
come from? Does something wholly extraneous to the elements while
they exist apart, come in at the instant of their union that bestows
upon the salt its peculiar properties? In other words, is there a
mystical somewhat in chemical affinity? Those of you who know
anything of the history of biological theory will recognize that this
brings us to the threshold of the vitalistic school. If the completed
organism does not lie as potency and promise in the germ and its
natural environment, then where does it abide? If the qualities of
the organism are not thus derived, then indeed is there something in
man not derived from nature, just as a time-honored school of philos-
ophy asserts. But for biology this would be vitalism, and vitalism
means a walled city with the gates locked and the keys lost beyond
recovery.
Have we reached a city surrounded by such a wall? A wonderful
city indeed we have come to, for in truth is tt an eternal city. By
no means, though, are its gates locked against us. We may enter
with perfect freedom and wander through its streets and palaces as
long as we live, even to the latest generations of those who follow us,
always there to find that which is more interesting, more beautiful,
more marvelous.
Being primarily a man of science and only incidentally an artist,
I am privileged to be a bad artist, so may intepret my metaphor.
What I mean is, that while we can not see how the properties of
the salt are potentially in the chlorine and the sodium; and how the
qualities of the man are potentially in the germ-cells, we still have no
grounds for supposing they are not there. If our knowledge of the
chemical elements and of the germs were full enough, we should see
how they produce the results which flow from them. Now here is the
crucial point—if our knowledge were full enough we should see. But
how full would “full enough” be? So far as the knowledge we now
have enables us to answer, only unlimited knowledge would be full
enough. If we are privileged to suppose we shall sometime be pos-
sessed of infinite knowledge; shall be, in other words, infinite beings,
then but not till then, shall we understand how chlorine and sodium
produce common salt, how the germ-cells produce a common man.*
+ Readers acquainted with Hume’s teachings about the relation of cause and
LIFE FROM THE BIOLOGIST’S STANDPOINT 185
Nature is through and through infinite in her forms and processes, so
it seems from the experiential knowledge thus far gained.
In just what ways science is being driven to the conclusion that
nature is thus constituted is too long and hard a story to tell here.
We can only glance at a few of its specially striking features. The
atomic theory of modern chemistry contains several of these. By
modern chemistry is meant chemistry since Dalton, Lavoisier and
Avogadro; and especially since Lorentz and the electron idea came
into it.
The special thing about the atomic theory that I call your atten-
tion to in this connection is the conception of change of valence of
atoms now being discussed by some of the foremost chemists. Ac-
cording to this conception, the same atom may have different com-
bining values under different circumstances. Do you not see without
further comment what this suggests as to unrevealed potentialities of
atoms? If the known facts of carbon-chemistry are such as to drive
the chemist to suppose the atom of carbon changes from bivalency to
quadrivalency and vice versa, what.sober chemist will venture to place
any limitation on the possibilities for further change of like nature
not only in this but in other atoms?
Since we know absolutely nothing about the relation of the atoms
in living substance, would it not be a reasonable hypothesis to say that
the nature of that marvelous process called metabolism is due to just
the fact that the atoms of carbon, nitrogen, hydrogen, oxygen, etc., are
undergoing perpetual change of valence? I see no reason why we
may not legitimately imagine even consciousness due to such a process.
Were such a hypothesis to be seriously taken, it would seem to follow
that consciousness would have its roots wherever metabolism is going
on. What an excellent starting point this would make for dealing
with the perennial puzzle of how it is that the “mind influences the
body”! The mind would then be part of the body.®
Another fruitful idea recently introduced into chemistry, and sig-
nificant for the present point, is what is known as mass action. The
essence of this, as my colleague Professor F. W. Cottrell expresses it,
effect will recognize that at this point I part company with the keen-minded
Scotchman. It is not necessary, however, to go into the matter here.
* Since preparing this essay my attention has been called to the writings of
Henri Bergson. From what I gather by reading a number of reviews of his
works and from a glance through his “ Matiére et Mémoire,’ it seems certain
that many of my positions are close akin to his, though our starting points
have been so very different. Among other things, this suggestion as to the
chemical foundation of consciousness would seem to fall in admirably with the
views held not only by M. Bergson but also by Avenarius, that not the brain
alone but the whole body is the seat of conscious life. (See “ Subjectivism and
Realism in Modern Philosophy,” by Norman Smith, The Philosophical Review,
Vol. 17, 1908, p. 138.)
186 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
is that the more opportunity for chemical action the particles of a
substance have, the more they act; that is, the particles improve their
opportunity, so to speak.
See again how pregnant of meaning this is for the potentialities of
atoms. It means that they have capacities to act that are revealed
only when conditions for them to act are presented. This reminds one
strongly of the unused energies of men that Professor James has
recently written about so luminously.
The one other phase of science to which allusion will be made under
this head, belongs to the biological realm. It is the conception of the
“organism as a whole” that for a number of years has been working
its way into biology by sheer force of its own weight. The facts are
such as to compel admission even though they are wholly inexplicable
on the basis of current elementalist doctrines, and so are frequently
ignored or scouted by biologists of that school.
An expression which, though extreme, still rightly presents the
idea comes from the German botanist de Bary. He said “ Die Pflanze
bildet Zellen, nicht die Zelle bildet Pflanzen” (The plant produces
cells, not the cells produce the plant). This is an over statement but
is true in so far as it expresses the unescapable fact that the whole
organism at any given moment, as well as its elements, is concerned
in determining what it shall be in the next succeeding moment. A
more exact expression of a particular phase of the idea is due to our
foremost American student of the cell, Professor E. B. Wilson. He
writes: “ We-can not comprehend the form of cleavage (cell-division)
without reference to the end-result.”
Let us look at an instance of the working of this principle in the
realm of political organization, where it is more openly displayed.
The original thirteen colonies of our pre-national period, united into
a compact under what was known as the articles of confederation. A
corner stone of the union was that each state should keep inviolate its
original powers and privileges. Under the governmental fiction of
this compact, the Congress, it has been said, could recommend every-
thing but could enforce nothing. The experiment was naturally a
failure. After a period of “Strang und Gang” our nation with the
federal constitution as its basis was founded.
Now recall some of the striking things that happened in this
transition time. First of all, the hitherto individual, sovereign states
had to give up some of both their powers and their possessions. The
“western lands” claimed by the states, had been one of the most
serious obstacles in the way of a closer union. First New York, then
Virginia, yielded their claims to congress for certain guarantees to
them in return. The other states followed. Afterward the congress
erected new states in the territory thus acquired, and the old states
modified their organic laws to conform to the new conditions. Shall
LIFE FROM THE BIOLOGIST’S STANDPOINT 187
we say that the new creation, the United States, contained some-
thing underived from the original states and their conditions? Shall.
we deny that our republic was contained potentially in the thirteen
original states? Surely not. But the processes of gestation and
parturition by which the nation came forth profoundly modified the
elements, the states. Only a wisdom practically infinite could have
foreseen exactly what those modifications would be.°
Growth and organization everywhere in living nature work inward
as well as outward. The processes turn back upon themselves and
produce changes in the contributing elements. What the new creation
will be, what modifications the elements will undergo, one can see
beforehand partly, but never fully. Only infinite wisdom could see
altogether. Notice under what conditions one’s wisdom would enable
him to predict the future absolutely. Would not these two conditions
be essential: That his knowledge of the past should be absolute, and
that the course of events, that is the laws of nature, should be absolutely
trustworthy ?
Observation with our senses, of law-abiding operations, performed
' by objects cognizable only through their own properties, is one way of
6 The criticism has been made that in using the origin of the United States
as an illustration of the centripetal action of the developmental process, I am
resorting to the analogical mode of reasoning, the very thing I have objected
to in another connection. Attention must be called to the fact that it was not
the use but the illegitimate use of this method to which objection was made.
I am not pretending that the reciprocating action as it takes place in either
the animal body or the nation explains the process im the other. My point is
that in both cases the developmental process manifests this peculiarity. There
is a common element in the two developments. That is all I am insisting
‘on. But this must be taken in connection with the principle insisted on with
equal emphasis elsewhere, that each natural object has its own qualities and
properties. The man and the nation have something in common as to their
mode of development, but they also have something of difference. To ascertain
the differences and the traits-m-eommon all along the line is exactly what the
business of developmental biology is.
Those biologists whose creed is that explanation of nature consists in
reducing her to a few simple principles will make wry faces if nothing worse
at this. But until such biologists can be more successful than they have been
so far, in preventing organic chemists from finding new compounds day by
day, and in suppressing systematic botanists and zoologists who persist in
hunting up new kinds of plants and animals, and new characteristics and
varieties of old ones, I see no prospect of these wry faces changing to expres-
sions of good cheer.
It may be unfortunate that the living world is so complex, was not con-
structed on “a few simple principles.” But one thing seems well established:
Nature can not be made simple by treating her on the theory that she ought to
be so when as a matter of fact she is not. To say that a few principles can be
found that are common to very wide domains of nature, and to deny that there
are numberless other principles not so widely prevalent are very different
propos-tions.
188 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
describing our knowledge of nature. But we should fall wofully short
were we to be satisfied with such an account of it. We can reach the
kernel of a more adequate account by way of that indispensable aid
to scientific discovery known as hypothesis-making.
A few, only a few, men of science have proposed to eliminate
hypotheses from science altogether. The best known of these elimi-
nators is Wilhelm Ostwald. In the place of the hypothesis Ostwald
would install what he calls the protothesis. And what is that? It
is a “ vorlaufige Annahme.” There you have it! A protothesis is a
taking of something by running on ahead. Ostwald wants to get rid
of hypotheses altogether and rely wholly on “ Arbeit,” on work, to make
conquests in science. But see what his proposal comes to, taking his
own words. He is going to do part of to-morrow’s work to-day, even
at this very instant. The mind forecasts. It outstrips its past and
present experiences. That is the vital fact, and why quibble about
how it shall be named ?
All generalization is hypothesis, says M. Poincaré. Think about
it and you will see the eminent Frenchman is right. Think about it
further and you will see you can not move ahead in real science one
inch without generalization. But for it you might possibly have co-
ordinated experiences which by courtesy might be called knowledge.
But such knowledge would be wholly without motive, and what rational
being would care a snap for such knowledge!
We must not fail to notice how radically at variance this way of
interpreting the mind’s work is from Kant’s way of interpreting it.
Kantians speak of that which the “ mind itself puts into nature.” If
something is really put into nature, that something must have been
previously outside of nature. You can not put water into a dish that
is already in the dish. What is that outside something? Where is the
outside source whence it comes? Ask the unfortunate mortals of
whom Laura Bridgman was an instance, who are deprived from tender
infancy of their sense organs, whether they know of some source of
knowledge wholly outside nature. These cases furnish indubitable
evidence, so far as they go, that consciousness has no content till sense
perception gives it some.
No, the mind does not put something into nature that was pre-
viously outside it. This however, it does do: It takes something from
ane part of nature and puts it into another part. We must allow that
the mind really does put something into any particular situation that
was not in that situation before. But that is quite different from
allowing that it puts something into nature as a whole that was not
before somewhere in nature as a whole. This brings us back to our
standardized, or tested, or relative reality.
If we ask how or by virtue of what quality or force the mind does
this running ahead, this transferring of something from one part of
LIFE FROM THE BIOLOGIST’S STANDPOINT 189
nature to another, no answer is forthcoming any more than there is
to the question as to how or by virtue of what quality or force it senses
at all; or to the question as to how or by virtue of what quality the
properties of salt are produced by the sodium and the chlorine. It
may be galling to find that we must accept many things as by free
grace, so to speak; but this does not alter the fact.
It is the penalty we pay for belonging to nature at all. If one is
galled by the fact and so tries to escape it, the course open to him is that
taken by the oriental occultist who sees the natural order as a clog to the
nobler but invisible real order and hence as a thing to be got rid of as
soon as possible.
At a few places in this discussion it has seemed as though the course
we were on would drag our physical science back to the primal
chaos of mere sensations and facts from which it seems to have come.
In truth, though, now that we can look at the whole situation as from
a hilltop, how thoroughly familiar, how reassuring, how in accord
with the best, most fruitful endeavor of all the ages of human history
it is seen to be. “Nur in der Erfahrung ist Wahrheit” (only in
experience is truth), said Kant. Modify this to the extent of making
it say “ Ohne Erfahrung ist keine Wahrheit” (without experience is
no truth), and can any but a sophisticated mind doubt its truthfulness ?
If nature is as true to herself and to man as she seems; if the body
of evidence gathered by centuries of laborious science to the effect that
law and order do prevail throughout the universe; and if the universe
is as inexhaustible in variety and power as experience indicates, then
how securely we stand on the truth that struggled to expression. in
Saint Paul’s prophetic words: “ Faith is the substance of things not
seen”! ;
There seems to be no question about what experience alone can
do since there is no such thing so far as we can see. Nor is there any
question about what faith alone can do since there is no such thing.
Experience appears to exist because of or through faith, and faith to
exist because of or through experience. So far as production has
reference to the fact that something exists now that did not exist
previously, experience and faith must, it would seem, be said to be
generative inter se. We have no ground whatever for saying that
‘either preceded the other in time. Even the simplest sensation, the
starting point of experience, can not be conceived in any intelligible
terminology that does not recognize it as belonging to some organ-
ism. What sane person would talk of a sensation absolutely inde-
pendent of an organism? But an organism of the simplest imagin-
able sort’ must still have some measure of fidelity, of faithfulness to
7™This remark need not be interpreted to mean that the simplest conceivable
organisms actually did begin in time. For my part, I am of opinion that biol-
ogy has reached the point where the suggestions of such cosmically-minded men
190 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
itself; must have, for example, some measure of persistence or con-
stancy in time. I am unable to imagine an organism existing but for
a single instant.
The moment a living being appeared on earth that could respond
more than once in the same way to the same stimulus, at that moment
appeared simultaneously the germs of all human knowledge and faith.
The moment a human being comes to know that his experiential knowl-
edge must be incomplete knowledge, from the very conditions of its
being knowledge at all, at that moment does he touch the highest level
of knowledge and faith attainable by living beings. Agnosticism, mere
disclaimer of absolute knowledge, can not be the loftiest attainable
mental attitude. This must consist in knowing, partly at least, how
and why your highest knowledge is limited and seemingly must ever
remain so.
In conclusion, life from the biologist’s standpoint is the sum total
of the phenomena exhibited by myriads of natural objects called living
‘because they present these phenomena. ‘To understand any organism
it must be studied as a whole and in all its relations. Taking man
-as a type, his life must be studied throughout the whole cycle of its
existence on earth and in its relations to all other lives and things.
Not only must the germ-cells, the chromosomes and all the rest be
‘subjected to investigation as to their forms, vital activities and chemico-
physical composition, but the whole gamut of his experiences, physical,
intellectual and spiritual, must be likewise searched out, so far as it is
possible for human minds to search.
No biologist can do much by working at the whole of biology thus
viewed. But—and here is one of the centers of our position—he can
toil in his particular corner with a mind full-illumined by the recogni-
tion that someone else must do the things he can not do because all
must be done. He does not need to suppose the thing he is not doing
is hardly worth doing.
of science as Lord Kelvin and Professor Arrhenius, that life like matter and
force is eternal, must be taken hold of seriously as the best working hypothesis
that can be made on the basis of the biological data available. This hypothesis
will surely involve enormous difficulties, but some of the most difficult, one can
foresee, will at least have the merit of being open to observational inquiry.
Among the great difficulties will be that by “life” we must understand
“organisms.” We have no observational ground for postulating “ organic
substance” as anything else than the substance of which living beings are
constituted.
This being so, the hypothesis would have to face at once the question, How
numerous must the primal, eternally existent organisms be conceived to have
been? But I am not adopting the hypothesis, not now, at any rate. I merely
want to point out what seems a clearly possible alternative for the hypothesis
of an actual beginning of life in time, which hypothesis seems to be growing less
and less fruitful with the advance of experiential knowledge.
JOSIAH WILLARD GIBBS IgI
JOSIAH WILLARD GIBBS AND HIS RELATION TO
MODERN SCIENCE. IV
By FIELDING H. GARRISON, M.D.
ASSISTANT LIBRARIAN, ARMY MEDICAL LIBRARY, WASHINGTON, D. C.
The third stage of thermodynamics has for its point of departure
Maxwell’s observation that the second law is not a mathematical but
an empirical or statistical truth, and his prediction that any attempt
to deduce it from dynamic principles, such as Hamilton’s principle,
without introducing some element of probability, is foredoomed to
failure.'2* ‘‘ We have reason to believe of the second law,” says Max-
well, “that though true, its truth is not of the same order as that of
the first law,’ being an empirical generalization from the facts of
nature in the first instance, while the molecular theory shows it to be
“of the nature of a strong probability which, though it falls short of
certainty by less than any assignable quantity, is not an absolute cer-
tainty.” This statement of Maxwell’s not only resumes the knowledge
of his time, but has not been improved upon by later investigators,
whose work shows that the-truth of the second law is certain to the
limit of human probability only. The theory of probabilities itself is
exact as far as human observation goes. In 6,000 throws of dice, a
particular facet will not necessarily turn up 1,000 times, but the prob-
ability of its doing so will be more nearly one sixth, the greater the
number of throws. In the vital statistics of a great city the data of
births, deaths, illegitimacy, etc., will be more nearly the same from
week to week, the greater the population of the city; even the intro-
duction of new dynamic factors, as seasonal change, epidemics, vaccina-
tion, antitoxin, etc., may alter particular effects but will not change
the general tendency towards uniformity. Maxwell has observed that
everything irregular, even the motion of a bit of paper falling to the
ground, tends, in the long run, to become regular, and this is the
rationale of testing the second law with respect to gases. In the kinetic
theory of gases, the first scientific statement of which is due to Clausius,
we assume a gas to be an assemblage of elastic spheres or molecules,
flying in straight lines in all directions, with swift haphazard collisions
and repulsions, like so many billiard balls. These, by Maxwell’s cal-
culations, will, if enclosed and left to themselves, gradually tend to an
ultimate steady condition of perfectly equalized and permanently dis-
tributed velocities (7. e., uniform temperature or thermal equilibrium)
called “ Maxwell’s state.” “This possible form of the final partition of
1217 Nature, 1877-8, XVII., 280.
Oe THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
energies,” Maxwell claims, “is also the only form.” At this point the
work of Boltzmann becomes of central importance, especially on account
of its profound influence on the later works of Gibbs. In Boltzmann’s
application of probabilities to Maxwell’s problem, the starting point or
initial stage of any sequence of events is called a “ highly improbable
one,” because its certainty decreases the more the events proceed to
some final or “most probable” state. For example, the blowing up
of the Maine is to us a moral or mathematical certainty, but it may
not be so zons hence, while its predisposing or exciting causes are even
now “ highly improbable ” in that we know nothing positive about them.
When a gas is brought into a new physical state, its initial stage is,
in Boltzmann’s argument, a highly improbable one from which the
system of molecules will continually hasten towards successive states
of greater probability until it finally attaims the most probable one,
or Maxwell’s state of equilibrated partition of energy and thermal equi-
librium. Maxwell’s law of final distribution of velocities as determined
by Boltzmann’s probability coefficient is, therefore, a sufficient condi-
tion for thermal equilibrium, and Boltzmann found that the entropy
of any state of gas molecules is proportional to the logarithm of the
probability of its occurrence; or as Larmor puts it, the principle that
the trend of an isolated system is towards states for which the entropy
continually increases is analogous to the principle that the general
trend of a system of molecules is through a succession of states whose
intrinsic probability of occurrence continually increases. As a measure
of the degree of variation of the gas molecules from Maxwell’s state,
Boltzmann introduces a function H such that, as the distribution of
molecular velocities constantly tends toward the most probable dis-
tribution, H varies with the time and is found to be constantly diminish-
ing in value. The necessary condition for thermal equilibrium is,
therefore, that H should irreversibly attain a minimum value. Thus
Boltzmann’s “ minimum theorem ” becomes, like the Clausius doctrine
of maximum entropy, a theorem of extreme probability,’*® or to quote
the aphorism of Gibbs which Boltzmann chose as a motto for his
Gastheorie: “The impossibility of an uncompensated decrease of
entropy seems to be reduced to an improbability.’?*° Applying similar
reasoning to the material universe, Boltzmann finds that the following
assumptions are possible: either the whole universe is in a highly im-
probable (7. ¢., initial) state, or, as the facts of physical astronomy
would seem to indicate, the part of it known to us is in a state of
thermal equilibrium, with certain districts, such as the earth we live
5 “Tt can never be proved from the equations of motions alone, that the
minimum function H must always decrease. It can only be deduced from the
laws of probability, that if the initial state is not specially arranged for a cer-
tain purpose, but haphazard governs freely the probability that H decreases is
always greater than it increases.” Boltzmann, Nature, 1894-5, LI., 414.
12 Ty Connect. Acad., IIJ., 229.
JOSIAH WILLARD GIBBS 193
on, noticeably removed from this condition. The probability of the
latter state of affairs is smaller, the further such a state is removed from
thermal equilibrium, but it can be made as great as we please to assume
the universe to be great. But there is necessary and sufficient prob-
ability that our earth as we know it is in its present state. By the
second Jaw (irreversible increase of entropy in natural processes) there
is still greater probability that it tends to a final state of thermal equi-
librium or death; and since the universe itself is so great, there is
sufficient probability that other worlds than ours may deviate from
thermal equilibrium. As a graphic exposition of this theory, which
shows the vast scope of the second law of thermodynamics, a curve can
be plotted with the variables H and the time as coordinates, to visualize
what takes place in the universe. The H curve is shaped like a suc-
cession of inverted trees, the summits of which represent “ the worlds:
where visible motion and life exist.”1°° Physicists have found that
the Maxwell-Boltzmann distribution of velocities is satisfactory for
gases whose molecules move independently and at random; but when
the molecules are supposed to be subject to one another’s influence, it
does not account for certain facts of nature such as the measured
specific heats of gases or individual peculiarities of their spectra. In
monatomic gases like argon, helium and mercury, the ratio of the
specific heats will account for the three degrees of molecular freedom
ascribed to them by the mathematical theory, but in the case of dia-
tomic gases, like hydrogen or oxygen, the theory calls for six degrees.
of freedom, while experiment will account for only five. Boltzmann
met these objections with frank or ironical admissions as to the ultimate
inadequacy of all human hypotheses,**t and although his theory is to
some extent invalidated by facts like the above,’*? his subtle handling
of molecular thermodynamics. gives the physicist deeper insight into
10“ Almost all these trees are extremely low, and have branches very nearly
horizontal. Here H has nearly the minimum value. Only very few trees are
higher, and have branches inclined to the axis of abscisse, and the improbability
of such a tree increases enormously with its height.” Boltzmann, Nature,
1894-5, LI., 581.
131“ Neither the theory of Gases nor any other physical theory can be quite
a congruent account of facts, and I can not hope with Mr. Burbury that Mr.
Bryan will be able to deduce all the phenomena of spectroscopy from the electro-
magnetic theory of light. Certainly, therefore, Hertz is right when he says:
‘The rigour of science requires that we distinguish well the undraped figure of
Nature itself from the gay-coloured vesture with which we clothe it at our
pleasure.’ But I think the predilection for nudity would be carried too far if
we were to forego every hypothesis. Only we must not demand too much from
hypotheses.” Boltzmann, [bid., 413.
‘* The principal opponent of the Maxwell-Boltzmann partition of energies
was Lord Kelvin in his “ Nineteenth Century Clouds over the Dynamical Theory
of Heat and Light.” When asked what he had against it, he replied point-blank:
“T don’t think there is a single thing about it that is right” (Science, Jan. 3,
1908, p. 6).
- 194 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
such unusual phases of matter as radiation in rarefied gases, where the
system has no temperature at all, because its internal motions have
not settled down to a definite average. Helmholtz’s dynamic proof of
the second law assumes the existence of cyclic systems with reversible
circular motions, like those of the gyroscope or the governor of a
steam engine, in other words it assumes matter to be made of rotational
or gyrostatic stresses in the ether. Guibbs’s “ Elementary Principles of
Statical Mechanics” (1903)? is based upon no assumptions whateyer
except that the systems involved are mechanical, obeying the equations
of motion of Lagrange and Hamilton. “One is building on insecure
foundations,” he says, “who rests his work on hypotheses concerning
the constitution of matter,” and his statistics deal, not with the behavior
of gas molecules in isolated systems, but with large averages of vast
ensembles of systems of the same kind (solid, liquid or gas), “ differing
in the configurations and velocities which they have at any given
instant, and differing not merely infinitesimally, but it may be so as to
embrace every conceivable combination of configuration and veloci-
ties.” The problem is, given the distribution of these ensembles in
phase (1. ¢., in regard to configuration and velocities) at some one time,
to find their distribution at any required time. ‘To solve this problem
Gibbs establishes a fundamental equation of statistical mechanics, which
gives the rate of change of the systems in regard to distribution in
phase. A particular case of this equation gives the condition for sta-
tistical equilibrium or permanent distribution in phase. Integration
of the equation in the general case gives certain constants relating to
the extent, density and probability of distribution of the systems in
phase, which Gibbs interprets as the principles of conservation of
“extension in phase,” of “density in phase,” and of “ probability in
phase.” Boltzmann found that when the gas molecules have more than
two degrees of freedom, the equations can not be integrated and further
progress is impossible. He got around this difficulty by using Jacobi’s
“method of the last multiplier,” which integrates the equations of mo-
tion. Gibbs found that the principle of “ conservation of extension-in-
phase,” supplies such a Jacobian multiplier, “if we have the skill or
good fortune (he says) to perceive that the multiplier will make the
first member of the equation an exact differential.” Boltzmann’s prob-
ability coefficient is used as the index of the canonical distribution of
ensembles, and when the exponent of this coefficient is zero, the latter
becomes unity, producing a distribution in phase called “micro-
canonical,” in which all the systems in the ensemble have the same
energy, as in Maxwell’s “state.” After demonstrating the possibility
of irreversible phenomena in the various ensembles, and after a careful
study of their behavior when isolated, subjected to external forces or to
133 ¢ Yale Bicentennial Publications,” 1903. Translated into German by
Ernst Zermelo, Leipzig, 1905.
JOSIAH WILLARD GIBBS 195
the spheres of one another’s influence, Gibbs finds that the processes of
statistical mechanics are to all human perception analogous to those of
thermodynamics, the familiar formule of which appear, as Bumstead
puts it, “almost spontaneously, as it seems from the consideration of
purely mechanical systems.” The differential equation relating to
average values in the ensemble is found to correspond with the funda-
mental equation of thermodynamics; the modulus of distribution of
ensembles turns out to be analogous to the temperature, while the
average index of probability in phase is the analogue of the entropy
with reversed sign, and being a minus quantity, is found to decrease
just as entropy increases. Most of the objections filed against Gibbs’s
statistical demonstration, turn upon the fact that it is difficult, perhaps
impossible, to apply the reversible dynamics of ideal, frictionless systems
to the spontaneous irreversible phenomena of nature without making
some physical assumptions. “ Entropy,” Burbury objects,1** “ may,
for all that appears, either increase or diminish in a system which is
dynamically reversible. This then can not be strictly applied to an
irreversible process.” Gibbs has met these objections fairly. “ Our
mathematical fictions,’”’**® he says, to quote Burbury’s paraphrase of his
argument, “ give us no information whether the distribution of phases
is towards uniformity or away from it. Our experience with the real
world, however, teaches us that it is towards uniformity.” All actual
mechanical systems are, as Gibbs pointed out long before, in reality
thermodynamic,*° and it seems odd that the critics who rejected Boltz-
mann’s proof, because it did not agree with the facts of nature, should
now, for a logical quibble, take exception to Gibbs’s because it does. It.
has been predicted that future truth in physical science will often be
found in the sixth place of decimals, for not everything in nature works
out according to specifications. We can, if we choose, regard mathe-
matics as a metaphysical diversion or employ it practically as a means
of interpreting the physical facts of nature, empirically ascertained by
man. In these matters, says Gibbs elsewhere, “ Nature herself takes —
us by the hand and leads us along by easy steps as a mother teaches
her child to walk,’*%* and he would have agreed with Langley that
man may put questions to nature if he will, but is in no position to
dictate her answers to them.**® Nature seems trés femme in this re-
spect, especially in regard to mathematical fictions, that is, ideal or lim-
iting cases devised by the finite mind of man.'*® Like any other human
4 Phil. Mag., 1904, 6. s., VIII., 44.
85 [bid,, 45.
86 Tr, Connect. Acad., III., 108.
*7 Proc. Am. Ass. Adv. Sc., 1886, Salem, 1887, XXXV., 62.
#8“ Tet us read Bacon again, and agree with him that we understand only
what we have observed.” S. P. Langley, Science, 1902, XV., p. 927.
7 ** Physical chemistry is not yet a quantitative science; it is a pseudo-
quantitative science. There are all the outward signs of a quantitative science.
196 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
instrument of precision, our mathematical methods are but an approxi-
mation to the subtler aspects of nature, and it is only by eternal vigi-
lance in regard to sources of human error that workers in physical sci-
ence have put aside personal equation and infallibility and thus avoided
what Rowland calls the “ discontinuity ” of the ordinary legal or culti-
vated mind.*#° “ Gibbs*has not sought to give a mechanical explana-
tion of heat,” says Professor Bumstead, “but has limited his task to
demonstrating that such an explanation is possible. And this achieve-
ment forms a fitting culmination of his life’s work.”?*
’ The naturalist Haeckel has explicitly denied the doctrine of uni-
versal increase of entropy’*? because, pointing as it does to the ultimate
thermal death of different worlds, it conflicts with his monistie con-
ception of the universe as a perpetuum mobile, consisting of infinite
substance in eternal motion, without beginning and without end. Yet
the cosmogony of Kant and Laplace, which Haeckel accepts, points to
the same conclusion as well as to formative periods in the history of
the solar and sidereal systems, in which entropy decreases, and energy,
instead of dissipating, tends, after a maximum of degradation, to con-
centrate. Even possibilities of this kind put the second law on a lower
plane of probability than the first as far as man is concerned, unless it
be that the irreversible processes of nature are in reality cyclic, in which
case we should have Nietzsche’s “eternal return” of all things. But
as Bumstead has so admirably said, “ It is nearer the truth to base the
doctrine of entropy upon the finite character of our perceptions than
upon infinity of time.”
In connection with the validity of the second law arises the impor-
tant question of the extent of its application to animate nature and
whether it is capable of reversal in vital processes. “The first law
(conservation of energy) has been proven,” says Ostwald, “with an
exactness of 1:1,000 even for physiological combustion (including
mechanical and psychical work performed).” The second law, whether
in the Clausius form of increase of entropy, the Kelvin form of dissi-
We have formulas and tables; we make use of thermodynamics and the differ-
ential caleulus; but this is for the most part a vain show. Long before we
reach the point where the formula is to be tested experimentally we slip in a
simplifying assumption: that the concentration of one component may be
considered as a constant; that the heat of dilution is zero; that the solute
may be treated in all cases as though it were an indifferent gas; that the
concentration of the dissociated portion of a salt may be substituted for the
total concentration; ete., ete. The result is that our calculations apply at
best only to limiting or ideal cases, where an error in deducing the formula
may be masked by errors in observation. Helmholtz did not do this, but
Helmholtz is considered old-fashioned.” W. D. Bancroft, J. Phys. Chem., 1899,
Iil., 604.
1400 FH. A. Rowland, Am. J. Sc., 1899, 4. s., VIII., 409.
41 Bumstead, Am. J. Sc., 1903, 4. s., XLI., 199.
12 Faeckel, ““ The Riddle of The Universe,” New York, 1900, 246-248.
JOSIAH WILLARD GIBBS 197
pation of available energy, or the Gibbs-Helmholtz form of decrease
of free energy, is assumed by recent physiologists to be characteristic
of all spontaneous or metabolic processes, but both Helmholtz'** and
Kelvin'** have doubted whether it is either necessary or sufficient for
their production, while Maxwell'*® and Boltzmann‘*® have asserted,
what Gibbs’s statistical researches seem to prove, that it is sometimes
possible for entropy to decrease, that is for small isolated temporary
violations of the second law to occur in any real body. Has animal
or vegetable protoplasm ever the power ascribed to Maxwell’s demon of
reversing the thermodynamic order of nature, and directing physico-
chemical forces? Such a demon, according to Lord Kelvin, might,
through his superior intelligence or motor activity, render one half of
a bar of metal glowing hot, while the other half remained icy cold.
We have something analogous to this in certain diseases, as gangrene,
aphasia, various forms of paralysis, the curious vasomotor and trophic
disorders of the nervous system. Are these phenomena then of a
thermodynamic nature? The animal body, Lord Kelvin thought, does
not act- like a thermodynamic engine, but “in a manner more nearly
analogous to that of an electric motor working in virtue of energy
supplied to it by a voltaic battery.” Here, as Gibbs has shown in his
theory of the chemical cells, the electromotive force would be identical
with the free energy upon which the surface energies of the body must
ultimately depend. Beyond these speculations we know nothing.
Gibbs himself avowed his express disinclination to “ explain the mys-
teries of nature,’ while Lord Kelvin, although affirming that physicists
are bound “by the everlasting law of honor,” to explain everything
material upon physical principles, mystified friends and opponents
alike by falling back upon a “ vital principle ” with “ creative power ”
behind it as the causa causans of biological happenings. But the busi-
ness of physics is with the material facts of the universe, and the invo-
cation of creative power explains nothing and is subversive of deter-
minism, or the relation of cause and effect in science. It may be that
“man was born too late to ascertain final causes”: he can only inter-
pret the physical facts of his experience as he finds them and with the
means at his disposal. An interesting attempt to explain the relation
of life and mind to matter is found in the energetische Weltanschauung
“8 Helmholtz, J. f. Math., v. 100, 137. Auerback, ‘‘ Kanon der Physik.,”
414.
™ Kelvin, “Pop. Lect.,” II., 199, 463, 464. See, also, the discussion in
Science, 1903, N. S., XVIII., 138-146.
46 Maxwell, Nature, 1877-8, XVII., 280.
™“° Der grosse Meister, dem auch diese Zeilen huldigen michten, hat einst
den Gedanken ausgesprochen, dass es in der Welt vielleicht Stellen giebt, wo die
Entropie nicht wichst, sondern zunimmt,’” O. Chwolson. Boltzmann,
“ Festschr.,” 1904, 33.
198 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
or energetic philosophy of Ostwald, which confessedly derives'*’ from
the thermodynamic argument of Gibbs, but should not be confused
with the latter. Gibbs was concerned only with applying the laws of
mechanics to physical chemistry. Compared with the case of nature,
he says, thermodynamic systems are “of an ideal simplicity.” To
Ostwald, however, mind and matter are but forms of energy, which is
the only thing eternal and immortal. “ We can deal with measurable
things, never with the unknown heart of nature,” says Ostwald, yet his
basic principle, energy, is to all intents and purposes identical with
the eternal infinite substance of Spinoza, Goethe and Haeckel, “sive
Deus, sive Natura naturans, sive Anima mundi appelletur.” Matter,
in Ostwald’s scheme, is a group of energies in space; thought becomes
a mode of energy involving evolution of heat, and “the problem of
the connection hetween body and spirit belongs to the same series as
the connection between chemical and electrical energy, which is treated
in the theory of voltaic chains.”*48 Falling in love, listening to a
Beethoven symphony, identifying oneself with nature, are to Ostwald
instances of dissipation of energy like any other.1*® Philosophy of this
kind does not clear up the mystery of the relation of mind and matter.
Descartes assumed that mind and matter exist apart as parallels, hay-
ing no causal connection with each other. Spinoza held that neither
can exist apart; indeed, he sometimes asserts their practical identity
as different modes of the same eternal substance. But however inti-
mately they may be associated, no scientist or philosopher has yet .
proven, whether in the body of man or in the origin of the universe,
that one is either the cause or the effect of the other.
Assuming matter in mass to be ultimately made up of rotational,
vortical or gyrostatic stresses or of energies, whether kinetic or poten-
tial, we encounter the formidable objection of Boltzmann, that it seems
illogical, not to say unmechanical, to postulate motion as the primary
idea with the moving thing as the derived one. Motion of what? we
have a right to ask, since Ostwald disdains the ether of the physicists.*®°
Matter, in the words of Sir Oliver Lodge, may be physically resolved
7“ Wir wollen daher den Versuch wagen, eine Weltansicht ohne die
Benutzung des Begriffs der Materie ausschliesslich aus energetischem Material
aufzubauen ... In der fiir die neuere Chemie grundlegenden Abhandlung von
Willard Gibbs ist sogar dies Postulat praktisch in weitestem Umfange durch-
gefiihrt worden, allerdings ohne dass es ausdriicklich aufgestellt worden wiire.”
W. Ostwald, “ Vorles. tiber Naturphilosophie,” 165.
“4S Monist, 1907.
“mW. Ostwald, “ Individuality and Immortality,” 44~46.
#0“ What the atom of each element is, whether it is a movement or a thing,
or a vortex, or a point having inertia, all these questions are surrounded by
profound darkness. I dare not use any less pedantic word than entity to
designate the ether, for it would be an exaggeration of our knowledge to speak
of it as a body, or even a substance,’ Lord Salisbury, “Rep. Brit. Ass. Ady.
Sce.,” 1894, 8.
JOSIAH WILLARD GIBBS 199
“perhaps, into electricity, and that into some hitherto unimagined
mode of motion of the ether,” but no dynamic theory of the ether can
resolve the ether into nothing. Assuming thought to be a mode of
energy, the metaphysical argument that mind is at the bottom of
motion seems more likely, in the last analysis, than that motion should
be the cause of mind, for we can not conceive of a thing moving unless
something moves it. Mind seems almost like an assemblage or com-
plex of causes in itself, and is probably related to the brain as music
to the violin. Destroy the violin and there will be an end of its music,
but it needs other coefficients than the violin itself to get music out
of it. Ostwald has himself admitted the force of Leibnitz’s argument,
that no mechanical explanation of cerebral action will ever account for
the genesis of thought or the nature of consciousness :- “ Nihil in intel-
lectu quod non prius in sensu, nisi intellectus ipse.” Individual think-
ing may be the result of physico-chemical differences of structure or
substance in the brain, but apart from the evidence of mind in the
evolution and structure of the universe, different aspects of mind, as
ideas, sensations and sentiments, seem to have an individual life of
their own so far as man is concerned, and are “things” in the sense
that, like external forces, they have profoundly influenced and deter-
mined the actions of individuals and of entire races. Human thought
as a function of the human brain may disappear with man himself, but
this does not annul the possibility of mind existing in manifold ways
elsewhere in the universe. ‘The electric waves of wireless telegraphy
undoubtedly existed as motions in the air before man discovered and
labeled them and may continue to exist and be apprehended in other
spheres of thought when man is gone.
Man’s capacity for error in these matters is determined by his
anthropomorphic tendencies and by the fact that his intelligence is
finite. Of the possibly infinite number of attributes of eternal sub-
stance postulated by Spinoza, the human mind can apprehend only two
—thought and extension, and even here thought and sensation are the
fundamental facts, while “all else is an inference and is probably
essentially unlike what it appears to our senses.” It seems impossible
to break down the fact that there is no absolute causal connection
between the two primary categories of Spinoza, who has anticipated
most of modern psychology. For this reason such subjects as spirit-
ualism, phrenology, faith-healing, telepathy have remained in the
limbo of pseudo-science, although each has undoubtedly a shadowy
reason for existence. It is as fair as any other hypothesis, then, to
assume that man, in his higher mental or psychical activities, may,
‘under certain conditions, be “freed from the galling yoke of space and
time,” or, in other words, released from the thraldom of the second
law. Yet such an assumption, even if made by a Kelvin, would be, in
our present state of knowledge, an expression of individual personal
ZOO THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
belief, a lterary or humane analogy, a leaning in the direction of the
“ fair humanities of old religion,” but not a scientific fact. To fix our
ideas for the material world we may accept the expanded statement of
the second law which Ostwald gave in his Ingersoll lecture in 1906 :1°4
“Every known physical fact leads to the conclusion that diffusion or
a homogeneous distribution of energy is the general aim of all happen-
ings. . . . A partial concentration may be brought in a system, but
only at the expense of greater dissipation, and the sum total is always
an increase in dissipation.”*°? Through the labors of Joule and Kel-
vin, Maxwell and Boltzmann, Gibbs and Helmholtz, Carnot’s simple
generalization about heat engines has been elevated to the dignity of
an irrevocable law of nature, a principle of scientific determinism,
giving one of the most complete and satisfactory answers that man can
furnish to the great-question: How does any event in the material
universe come to pass? In Darwin’s picture of nature the quiet woods
and waters, so calm and peaceful on the surface, are in reality centers
of “strange and cruel life,” the struggle and turmoil of creatures con-
tinually preying upon each other, even trees and plants and the tiniest
particles of animate bodies taking part in a definite, never-ending war
for existence. But the stern law of life, whereby the strong war down
the weak, loses all moral or human significance when seen as due, in
the last analysis, to an inevitable tendency to dissipation of energy or
as the resultant of a play of complex forces, which, through some prin-
ciple of “least action,” must inexorably flow from higher to lower
potentials. As Spinoza pointed out long ago, Nature could not change
these laws which flow from its very being, without ceasing to be itself,
and the conclusion of physics and biology that Nature is never on the
side of the weak becomes, as far as man is related to the material uni-
verse, identical with Spinoza’s denial of final causes.
Apart from his work in mathematical physics, Gibbs made several
important contributions to pure mathematics, notably in his theory of
“ dyadics,” a variety of the multiple or matricular algebras which Ben-
jamin Peirce classified as “linear associative.” The tendency of his
mind was always toward broad, general views and the simplifications
that go with such an outlook, and here mention should be made of his
charming address on multiple algebra and his innovation of vector
analysis, a calculus designed to give the student of physics a clearer
41 W. Ostwald, “ Individuality and Immortality,’ Boston, 1906, 42.
»2 As a fundamental formula for all material happenings, analogous to the
“world-formula ” of Laplace, J G. Vogt proposes the following (Polit. Anthrop.
Rev., Leipzig, 1907-8, VI., 573): If Pe represent the positive or dissipational
potential (emissives Potential) and Pr the negative or concentrational potential
(rezeptives Potential) of any given set of forces, then Pe-+ Pr=0O or
i d Pe + if "ad Pr=o. This is, however, only another restatement of
Newton’s Third Law of Motion, that action and reaction are equal and in
opposite directions.
JOSIAH WILLARD GIBBS 201
insight into such space relations as strains, twists, spins and rotational
or irrotational movements in general. Maxwell, who once declared that
he had been striving all his hfe to be freed from the yoke of the Carte-
sian coordinates, had already found such an instrument in the Hamil-
tonian quaternions, the application of which he brilliantly demon-
strated in his great treatise on electricity and magnetism. Quater-
nions are elegant, consistent, concise and uniquely adapted to Huclidean
space, but physicists have latterly found them artificial and unnatural
to their science, because the square of the quaternionic vector becomes
a negative quantity.°? The Gibbsian vectors obviate this difficulty,
and while seemingly uncouth, furnish a mode of attack more simple
and direct and adaptable to space of any dimensions. Their capacity
for interpreting space relations was amply tested by Gibbs in his five
papers on the electromagnetic theory of light and his application of
vectors to the calculation of orbits, since incorporated in recent German
treatises on astronomy. The fact that vectors tend to displace the
quaternionic analysis of Sir Wiliam Rowan Hamilton involved our
author in a lengthy controversy with Hamilton’s best interpreter, the
ingenious and versatile Tait,1°+ who looked upon Gibbs as “ one of the
retarders of quaternionic progress,” defining his system as “a sort of
hermaphrodite monster compounded of the notations of Hamilton and
Grassmann.” But Gibbs did not regard his method as strictly orig-
inal; he was only concerned with its application in the task of teaching
students; and when, after testing it by twenty years’ experience in the
class-room, he reluctantly consented to the publication of his lectures
in full, the task was confided to one of his pupils, our author declining,
with a characteristic touch of conscience, to have the work appear under
his name or even to read the proof. In the controversy with Tait there
is, aS in most controversies, an amusing element of human nature.
The name of Hamilton is undoubtedly one of the most illustrious in
the history of science, and Tait and his adherents seemed to regard it
as an impertinence and a desecration of his memory that any other
#3“ T have the highest admiration for the notion of a quaternion; but...
as I consider the full moon far more beautiful than any moonlit view, so I
regard the notion of a quaternion as far more beautiful than any of its appli-
cations. . . . I compare a quaternion formula to a pocket-map—a capital thing
to put in one’s pocket, but which for use must be unfolded: The formula, to
be understood, must be translated into coordinates,” Arthur Cayley, Proc. Roy.
Soc. Hdinb., 1892-5, XX., 271. At the Southport meeting of the British Asso-
ciation in 1903, Professor Larmor, while admitting the extreme usefulness of
the different methods of vector analysis, argued that their slow progress in
physics was due to the lack of uniformity in definitions and notations, requir-
ing that each system must be mastered separately before it can be applied.
To which Professor Boltzmann not inaptly replied that the confusion might
have been avoided, if Hamilton had adopted the notations of Grassmann in the
first instance.
% Nature, 1891-3, passim.
202 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
system than quaternions should be proposed. “The ideas which
flashed into the mind of Hamilton at the classic Brougham Bridge”
became the occasion of a joined battle between the perfervid clan-
loyalty of the Celt and the cool individualism of the Saxon; on one side,
“The broad Scots tongue that flatters, scolds defies,
The thick Scots wit that fells you like a mace,”
and on the other, the overconscientious, ethical arguments of a super-
sensitive spirit, obviously nettled at certain rough pleasantries which
were understood but not appreciated. In 1893 Heaviside, an English
vectorist, reports “confusion in the quaternionic citadel: alarms and
excursions and hurling of stones and pouring of water upon the invad-
ing hosts.”*** The vectorists were denounced as a “ clique” and ridi-
culed especially for their lack of elegance, their alleged intellectual
dishonesty and the fact that their pupils were “spoon-fed” upon
mathematico-physical pap. But some of the notations held up to ridi-
cule turned out to be things like Poisson’s theorem or the difficult
hydrodynamic problem “ given the spin in a case of liquid motion to
find the motion,’ which Helmholtz solved with one of his strokes of
genius, and which Gibbs showed could be understood and interpreted
by the average student without genius by a simple application of vecto-
rial methods. The real point at issue in the controversy, the funda-
mental difference in the ideals of European and American education,
les here. Both have their relative advantages and defects, but the
object of one has been to bring the best to the highest development,
while the other is concerned with increasing the efficiency of the aver-
age man. One has been exclusive, aiming at the survival of the fittest ;
the other is democratic and inclusive, and aims, in Huxley’s words, to
make the greatest number fit to survive. The merits of the case are
well summed up in Gibbs’s final statement: “The notions which we
use in vector analysis are those which he who reads between the lines
will meet on every page of the greatest masters of analysis, or of those
who have probed deepest the secrets of nature, the only diffrence being
that the vector analyst, having regard for the weakness of the human
intellect, does as the early painters who wrote beneath their pictures
‘This is a tree.” ‘This is a horse.’ 725° This view is in perfect accord
with the recent trend of mathematical teaching, Huropean or Amer-
ican, which is to emphasize the meaning and interpretation of equa-
tions and formule rather than their demonstrations or manipulation ;
in short, to substitute visualizing methods, the art of thinking straight
and seeing clear, for what is conventional and scholastic. A Harvard
professor is said to have told his students that the demonstration of a
theorem is no evidence that it is understood, but the intelligent use of
it is; and the object of such teaching as Gibbs’s was to enable the
85 Thid., 1892-8, KLVIL., 534.
6 Thid., 464.
JOSIAH WILLARD GIBBS 203
student to see physical phenomena with the “ clarity of vision ” which
Tait himself thought characteristic of the truly mathematical mind, and
of which a good criterion is afforded in Helmholtz’s unforgetable state-
ment about Michael Faraday: “With wonderful sagacity and intel-
lectual precision, Faraday performed on his brain the work of a great
mathematician without using a single mathematical formula.”1>”
At Yale Gibbs was esteemed an ideal teacher of physics, cordial,
quick, helpful, willing to devote unlimited time to assist plodders and
giving his students ample opportunity to learn “ what may be regarded
as known, what is guessed at, what a proof is and how far it goes.”
Of the qualities that make for distinction of mind and character he
had the impersonal gift, “le don d’étre né essentiellement imper-
sonnel,” which Renan thought highest of all, and which, fortunately
for the advance of real knowledge, has been characteristic of most of
the great leaders of science. He could build no wall of personal ego-
tism between himself and the external facts, and “few could come in
contact with this serene and impartial mind without feeling profoundly
its influence in all his future studies of nature.”1°5 We know little of
his life beyond the fact that he was a man of stoic fiber, who lived and
worked alone. The countenance in the portraits expresses the Puritan
austerity with lines that tell of mental stress and struggles with illness,
but the man himself was “ unassuming in manner, genial and kindly
in his intercourse with his fellow men.” “In the minds of those who
knew him,” concludes his biographer, “the greatness of his intellectual
achievements will never overshadow the beauty and dignity of his
lie.g=2°
American contributions to physics, from Franklin to Michelson,
have been characterized by originality of invention and experiment.
The work of Gibbs has a place apart as that of a mathematical theorist
whose ideas have found wide application in the main current of modern
thought, and his true position is best described in his own often-quoted
estimate of his great predecessor, Clausius. “ Such work as that of
Clausius,” he says, “is not measured by counting titles or pages. His
true monument lies not on the shelves of libraries, but in the thoughts
of men and the history of more than one science.”’*® The general
scientific reputation of Gibbs is of this kind, while in his chosen field
of activity, the austere region of physics in which Newton and La-
grange, Hamilton and Jacobi are the leaders, his is assuredly the most
distinguished American name.
*" Helmholtz, Faraday Lecture, 1881.
** Bumstead, Am. J. Se., 1908, 4. s., XLI., 201.
1° Bumstead, loc. cit.
~ 7 Gibbs, Proc. Am. Acad. Arts and Sc., 1889, N. S., XVI., 465.
204
THE POPULAR
SCIENCE MONTHLY
THE PROGRESS OF SCIENCE
THE DEATH OF SIMON NEWCOMB
WE have not had in America a great
period of scientific productivity such
as formed part of the Victorian era in
Great Britain or followed the renais-
sance of the universities in Germany.
Perhaps only in one science have we
been in the position of leaders. In
astronomy, thanks it may be to the
endowment of observatories where re-
search was not crowded by elementary
teaching, we have done our share, or
more than our share, for the advance-
ment of science. Our great astronomer,
who gave distinction to science in
America, is now dead, and we mourn
the loss of one whose place can not be
filled.
Simon Newcomb was born on March
12, 1835, in a village of Nova Scotia,
but was of New England descent from
five generations of Simon Newcombs, as
well as on the side of his mother. In
his “‘ Reminiscences of an Astronomer,”
published six years ago, there is an
interesting account of his early life.
His father was a school teacher who
moved from village to village in ac-
cordance with the custom of the time.
The child was apt at figures and had
done arithmetic through cube root at
the age of six and a half. He read
with avidity the few books that came
within reach, especially those concerned
with science, but had no regular school-
ing or education in the ordinary sense.
At the age of fourteen he was appren-
ticed as a boy of all work to an ir-
regular practitioner in the hope that
he might pick up some knowledge of
medicine. This result not following,
he ran away, worked his passage to
Massachusetts in a sailing boat and
found himself teaching in a country
school in Maryland at the age of eight-
een. A couple of years later, he became
acquainted with Secretary Henry of
the Smithsonian Institution, it may be
through borrowing from the institution
a copy of Laplace’s “ Mechanique Cel-
este,” a knowledge of which he regarded
as necessary for a computer. Such a
position he soon afterwards obtained
on the “ Nautical Almanac,” then con-
ducted at Cambridge. He was at the
same time able to enter Harvard Uni-
versity, where he studied under Pro-
fessor Peirce and read in earnest the
works of Laplace and La Grange.
Henceforth Newcomb’s scientific ca-
reer is a long record of sound and
brilliant achievement. Beginning with
work on the orbits of the asteroids he
extended it to Uranus and Neptune
and to other planets and to the moon.
The mathematical genius required for
work of this kind is of the highest
type; many would regard Laplace as
the greatest intellect that the world
has produced, and in America he has
had worthy successors in Newcomb and
in Hill.
In 1861 Newcomb was appointed pro-
fessor of mathematics in the navy, and
in 1877 superintendent of the Nautical
Almanac Office, a position which he
held till he was relieved in 1897 at
the age limit with the relative rank
of rear-admiral. An appropriation to
enable him to continue his work was
made by the congress and later it was
carried forward under the auspices of
the Carnegie Institution to be ended
only with his death. He declinea the
directorship of the Harvard Observa-
tory, but accepted a professorship in
the Johns Hopkins University in con-
junction with his work at Washington.
In addition to his great work in
celestial mechanics, Newcomb performed
important services for astronomy and
for science in many directions. One of
206
THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
these was in administration, and the | anniversary of the publication of “The
national government owes much to his
skill and wisdom. Another is in his
numerous popular works and text-
books. He was a master of clear think-
ing and good English—witness,
example, the series of papers on “‘ The
Stars,” published in this journal in
1900. He was also the author of
standard works on political economy
and of a great number of articles,
addresses and papers dealing with the
problems of science over a very wide
range.
It is needless to tell here of the hon-
ors conferred upon Newcomb. He was
elected president of the American Asso-
ciation for the Advancement of Science
at an early age. Honorary degrees and
honorary membership in academies
were heaped upon him. To be one of
the eight foreign associates of the
Paris Academy of Sciences is perhaps
the highest recognition that can be
given in the scientific world. It had
not been awarded to an American since
Franklin.
DARWIN COMMEMORATION
AT CAMBRIDGE
THE centenary of the birth of Charles
coinciding with the fiftieth
THE
Darwin
for |
|
| Origin of Species,” has been adequately
celebrated in the United States, as re-
counted in the April issue of this
journal, which was itself a Darwin
memorial number. It is, however, fit-
_ting that the principal commemoration
should be held in Great Britain and at
the University of Cambridge. Darwin,
it is true, held no academic position
and was not greatly influenced by his
work as an undergraduate at Cam-
bridge. He said later that his “time
was wasted as far as his academic
studies were concerned ”; but he could
also say: “the three years I spent at
, Cambridge were the most joyful of my
happy life.” The part often played by
a college in the future life of a student
through the friends and associations
there formed is well illustrated in the
case of Darwin. He became interested
in collecting beetles through his cousin,
W. Darwin Fox, also a student of
Christ’s College, and through Henslow,
the eminent botanist, and it was
through the latter that he was led to
| undertake the voyage on the Beagle.
This was Darwin’s true university
course, and it is difficult to imagine
just what he would have done in the
world had it not been for the circum-
THE SECOND CouRT OF CHRIST’S COLLEGE, in which were the rooms of Charles Darwin.
THH PROGRESS OF SCIENCE
stances, which may be regarded as acci-
dental, leading to this voyage. When
we remember that his contemporaries,
Huxley, Wallace and Hooker, were also
led to their scientific work by a voy-
age of exploration, we must regard it
as more than a mere incident in their
lives.
It is truly remarkable that Christ’s
College, smaller than the average of
our six hundred colleges and with no
higher standards as far as the require-
ments of the curriculum go, can cele-
brate the tercentenary of -the birth of
Milton as well as the centenary of the
birth of Darwin; that Tennyson and
Darwin should have been fellow stu-
dents, and that Newton, perhaps Dar-
win’s only rival for scientific preem-
inence, should have been a member of
the same university. Darwin’s grand-
father, Erasmus, was also a Cambridge
student, and three of his sons are inti-
‘mately connected with the university.
Cambridge may well be proud of its
great men and England of its great
university; and this feeling we may
share, remembering the descent of our
academic institutions from the new
Cambridge in New England. /
An English university is certainly
the place where a ceremonial such as
the Darwin centenary has the most fit
setting. To it came delegates from all
parts of the world, some 230 in num-
ber, leaders in all departments of sci-
ence and especially in the biological
and evolutionary sciences. Lord Ray-
leigh, formerly professor of physics and
now chancellor of the university, wel-
comed the guests to the Fitzwilliam
Museum on the evening of June 22.
On the following day, there was a pres-
entation of addresses by the delegates
in the Senate House. After the address
of the chancellor speeches were made
by Professor Oscar Hertwig, of Berlin;
Professor Elié Metchnikoff, of Paris;
Dr. Henry F. Osborn, of New York,
and Sir E. Ray Lankester, of London. |
In concluding his remarks Dr. Osborn
said that they, the delegates, natural-
ists and friends, desired to present to
207
Christ’s College, as a memorial of their
visit, a portrait of Charles Darwin in
bronze, the work of their countryman,
William Couper, “a portrait which
they trusted would convey to this and
future generations of Cambridge stu-
dents, some impression of the rugged
simplicity as well as of the intellectual
grandeur of the man they revered and
honored.”
On Wednesday evening the delegates
and guests were entertained at a ban-
quet held in the New Examination
Hall, which was used for the first time
for a public purpose. Among the
speakers were the Right Hon. A. J.
Balfour, Dr. Svante Arrhenius, Pro-
fessor E. B. Poulton and Mr. William
Erasmus Darwin, eldest son of Charles
Darwin. On Thursday, the Rede lec-
ture was given by Sir Archibald Geikie,
president of the Royal Society, and
honorary degrees were conferred on a
number of delegates, including from
America Professor Jacques Loeb, of
the University of California; Secretary
Charles D. Walcott, of the Smithsonian
Institution and Professor Edmund B.
Wilson, of Columbia University. Dur-
ing the celebration there was an exhi-
bition held in Christ’s College of pic-
tures, books, manuscripts and other
objects connected with Darwin, in-
cluding the portraits by Richmand,
Collier and Ouless, and the bronze bust
by William Couper, of New York,
which the American delegates pre-
sented to Christ’s College.
THE WINNIPEG MEETING OF THE
BRITISH ASSOCIATION
Tue British Association for the Ad-
vancement of Science takes seriously its
imperial functions. Four years ago it
migrated to South Africa, and now, for
the third time, it is about to hold a
Canadian meeting and in the very cen-
ter of the great dominion. The British
Association has maintained its useful-
ness and prestige along the lines in
which it was originally established.
It is a great factor in the diffusion as
well as in the advancement of science.
Tar ee
ok 7S ee Sy ke me ee ah ae
208 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTEL os
Its meetings are attended by the lead- |
ing professional men of science and at
the same time by large numbers of
amateurs. The local members at each
meeting are likely to exceed a thou-
sand, and excellent arrangements are
made for their instruction and enter-
tainment. The social features are em-
phasized, so that there is opportunity
for forming personal acquaintances and
for those who are only interested in
science to meet those most actively
engaged in its advancement.
The Winnipeg meeting, which opens
on August 25, will be presided over by
the eminent Cambridge physicist, Pro-
fessor J. J. Thomson, who succeeds Mr.
Francis Darwin. Addresses of general
interest will be given by the president
and the presidents of the sections, and
by Professor Herdman, Professor Tut-
ton, Professor Dixon, Professor Poyn-
ting and others, and the sectional meet-
ings are certain to have attractive pro-
grams. There will also be the usual
extensive arrangements for garden par-
ties, receptions and excursions. A visit
to the Pacific coast, including Alaska
and the Seattle Exposition, should be
of unusual interest.
The Canadian railways offer a single
fare, so the return trip from Montreal
or Quebee to Winnipeg costs only
thirty-six dollars. The council of the
British Association has courteously
voted to admit all members of the
American Association for the Advance-
ment of Science to membership for the
meeting, waiving the entrance fee, and
the American Association will hold no
meeting this summer. A large number
of Americans will doubtless take ad-
vantage of the generous invitation of
their British colleagues and attend the
Hebe that should bet taken suvien
by all who find it possible.
gist of Vienna.
Amone the honors awarded o
birthday of King Edward are k
hoods to Mr. Francis Galton, Prof
J. Larmor, Mr. R. H. I. Palgrav a
Professor T. E. Thorpe—Mr. Orville —
Wright and Mr. Wilbur Wright w
presented on June 19 with the g
medal authorized by congress, a medal —
on behalf of the state of Ohio an
medal on behalf of the city of Dayton
Dr. WILLIAM H. WELCH, profes
pathology in the Johns Hopkins
versity, has been elected preside:
the American Medical Association-
Professor E. W. Morley has been elec
Nichols acting president of the Seve
International Congress of Applied
Chemistry, which has accepted th
vitation extended by the con,
through the president and the see
tary of state, to meet in this counti
in 1912.
a forthe sift of $10,000,000 to
General Education Board. Its endow
ment is now $53,000,000. Mr. Rocl e
feller has authorized the board to dis-
tribute the principal as well as thc
income for educational purposes, should
this at any future time appea’ *o be
advisable.
- - out Anesthetics.
\
‘CONTENTS OF JUNE NUMBER
The Tides and their Causes, ROLLIN ARTHUR HaRRIS,
Facts concerning the Determination and Inheritance of
‘ Sex. Professor H. E. JORDAN,
- Josiah Willard Gibbs and his relation to Modern Science,
Dr. FIELDING H, GARRISON.
Suggestions from Two Cases of Cerebral Surgery with-
Professor “GEORGa TRUMBULL
, LApDD. ~
Hysteria as an Asset, Dr. PEARCE BAILEY.
_ Notes on Certain Philosophies of the Day. Professor
ALEXANDER F, CHAMBERLAIN,
Professor G. J. PEARCE,
Dr. W. B. Pirkin,
~ Okefinokee Swamp, RoLAND M. HARPER.
The Progress of Science :
Scientific and Educational Meetings; Justus von
Liebig ; Scientific Items,
Formative Influences.
‘Training College Teachers.»
_ Index to Volume LXXIV. Z
‘fo THE SCIENCE PRESS,
e Popular Science Monthly
Entered in the Post Office tn Lancaster, Pa., as second-class matter.
-— The. MONTHEY will be sent to new subscribers for six months for One Dollar
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CONTENTS OF JULY NUMBER
Natural Resistance to Infectious Diseases and Its Rein-
forcement, Dr. Simon FLEXNER,
Some Practical Aspects of Gyrostatic Action. Professor
W.S. FRANKLIN. sae
Josiah Willard Gibbs and His Relation to Modern Science.
FIELDING H, GARRISON. :
A Reyolutionin Dentistry. Dr. RicHARD CoLE NEWTON.
The Origin of the Nervous System and its Appropriation
of Effectors. Professor G, H. PARKER.
The Preparation for the Study of Medicine.
ERIC T LEwIs.
Darwinism in the Theory of Social Evolution. Professor
FRANKLIN H, GIDDINGS.
Dr. FRED-
Darwin’s Influence upon Philosophy. Professor JOHN
DEWEY.
The Progress of Science:
The College and the Student ; The New Buildings og
the University of Pittsburgh; The Percy Sladen
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CONTENTS|
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the United States for Population. Professor ALBERT PERRY
° . 4 . oe Se ° e * . .
Dr. ‘Haro SELLERS Coton RS Maan Meat ce ew 201
7 of Individual Development. Professor FRANK R. Tue . 239
POL: the Nervous ake and its Appropriation of Effectors.
or Ge H. Parker — mies ,
of Species ae ewes PBURBANK GS. oir es
ca and the French Academy. ‘M. Fripiric Masson. .
He ting an ¥ Camping Afoot. nese of a Snr ychitelsls aly bm eine at aero
l or an International Language. Dr. Ivy KELLERMAN .
a Li - Animal ? ‘How much of it is alive ? Dr. A. F. A; Kive 289 ;
ned | Canals of the § State of New York, ‘Ety Van DE WARKER . : 297
is sce ay of ee | nee Gatien; ‘The Eugenics shorn of the Uni- ‘
rsity of ete The Inheritance of Baie. Scientific Items . her 306 i
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CAPACITY OF THE UNITED STATES FOR POPULATION
By Prorrssor ALBERT PERRY BRIGHAM
COLGATH UNIVERSITY
F any reader of these pages thinks, with a recent writer, that “ pop-
ulation is a vast and wandering theme,” we shall have no quarrel
with him. No doubt the problem has a keener interest in such a
country as Great Britain or France, where population approaches ca-
pacity or is perhaps beyond the permanent limit of resources. But we
are maturing, the frontier stage is past, our land is filling and fertile
quarter sections are no more free. We have thus our own social prob-
lems, sharpening their quest for solution, and, moreover, being Amer-
icans, we now and then become enthusiastic and break into prophecy.
We may well sober our inquiry with the preliminary question—is a
great population desirable? Not so, surely, for us, from the military
point of view. We have men enough to send to the front and men
enough to keep in the shop and field, to meet any emergency of war
which lies within the horizon of reasonable conjecture. Perhaps, in
view of our general influence in the world, we might be glad to have
several hundred millions of people, but only if we are so conditioned
that our influence would be a boon to other lands. This indeed in itself
implies a limit, for we must not be too many to live with freedom and
with worthy standards.
We may take ourselves out of the ranks of the enthusiast with a
second preliminary question—is a great population probable? Our list
of prophets is distinguished. Mr. O. P. Austin thinks there is no good
reason for our failing of three hundred million people in the year 2000.
Mr. James J. Hill expects an increase to two hundred million in less
than fifty years, and Mr. Andrew Carnegie a few years ago thought five
hundred million a proper figure. Mr. Justin Winsor allows two hun-
dred million for the Mississippi Valley. Mr. F. A. Ogg raises the figure
VOL, Lxxv. —14.
ai ac ieti :
i ' PRD Buy i
210 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
by fifty million, and Professor A. B. Hart does not hesitate to go up to
three hundred and fifty million. We are by no means disposed to dis-
pute all of these figures, but there are considerations which point in the
other direction, as for example that the percentage of increase went
down in the decades between 1860 and 1900.
We have also the check of advancing civilization. That voluntary
restriction follows a higher scale of needs is shown in France, in lesser
degree in Great Britain and probably in all lands of advancing culture.
Thus there is color for the view that France with her disturbing birth
rate has only arrived first at the condition to which all cultivated peoples
are moving. Motives of economy and of opportunity for self and chil-
dren press more strongly as standards rise, and it has recently been
urged, that even Ireland, with new land laws and with peasant pro-
prietorship, will become more restrictive of population. It seems to be
as true with man as in the general field of natural history, that the
higher the type the fewer the progeny.
Perhaps also this tendency will fall in with the natural limit of
food production. Indeed, the latter will have a controlling causal effect
on the former, following the ever-operative law that higher prices or
approaching scarcity is accompanied by restriction of population. That
which is temporary in the latter case may well be found permanent in
the other.
To the present time immigration has been one of the chief sources
of our growth. We are already seeing a check of the inflowing current,
and this may well become permanent in future years. The restrictive
measures of the government count for something. The narrowing of
opportunities, as for free land, is another and more powerful factor, and
a further consideration of unknown significance is rising in our view,
namely, the improvement of conditions and the triumphs of democratic
aspiration in the lands from which the foreigner comes. In proportion
as life in the old countries becomes endurable, not to say attractive, the
fountains of immigration will begin to go dry.
On the other hand, there is a source of increase upon which we
may look with full content, reasons, applicable alike to us, which a
European authority has assigned, for the increase of European popula-
tion during the last half century. These reasons are in relation to the
lowering of the death rate by diminution of war, by the elimination of
epidemics and by better hygiene. ‘These advances would seem to mean
more than a lower death rate. Not only are people kept alive. but
they are made more productive workers and reasonably, it would seem,
may become more prolific as well as better conditioned. Whatever our
views of population or progress, it would hardly be prudent to disagree
with Mr. Mackaye’s proposition that it is not so important to get nitro-
gen into the soil and raise more food as to make right use of the food
we have. We should, he thinks, avoid undue increase of our population,
POPULATION OF THE UNITED STATES 20r
raise our wealth per capita, and not “ cause two unhappy human beings
to live where one lived before.”
It is proposed here to attend more to the means of approaching the
problem, than to the study of figures, which last in writings on popula-
tion, are usually guesses supported by vague and inapplicable compari-
sons with China. As the writer has said elsewhere, it is not of interest
to know how many Chinese could exist on American soil, but how many
occidental citizens could live here in comfort and progress.
The largest single element in our problem must always be food.
Other things are important, but for simplicity we take this singly, in
relation to the resources of our own domain. ‘There are several ways
in which our food supply can be increased, and first of all, without
raising the sum of products, they can be enlarged in their availability.
No one familiar with culinary matters can avoid the belief that there is
great loss through misuse and positive waste. Unskilled treatment
alone is responsible for much loss of nutritive values and prodigality is
to be found on private tables, while consumption in public places is
attended oftentimes with destruction that is well-nigh criminal. The
rise of industrial and domestic science will in part correct the evil, and
any ultimate approach to a narrow margin between food and mouths
would be felt in resulting economies.
No one doubts that our food supply could be much increased by
more scientific and intensive cultivation of lands which are now actually
under the plow. Here indeed we are already beginning a cheerful and
significant era of hope and achievement. ‘The farmer is becoming a
wiser man and many things are helping him in his unfolding. This
came home to us recently in the story of a farmer in western New York,
who started poor four years ago, has paid for a large farm property
with four crops, and expects out of the fifth to build a mansion for his
family. 4
The American farmer is learning to adapt his crop to his soil and to
his market. This is the teaching of the United States Bureau of Soil
Survey, in its field work and in its reports. It is the burden of the
agricultural college and of the experiment station, and the agricultural
explorer of the department in Washington is searching widely in aid of
something fit and good to fill every arable American acre. Adaptation
will increase the product of food, as will also the more intelligent and
energetic use of fertilizers. Intelligence will find the fertilizer and put
it where it will do the greatest good, and will stimulate the energy in
its use which is now sadly lacking. Let any man traverse the country
regions in the eastern states and he will pass innumerable poor and
hungry farms, and the greater the natural leanness of the soil, the more
sure is he to see the manure-heap leaching, often for the second year,
in the farm yard.
In like degree are our resources now wasted through the prevalent
212 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
methods of sewage disposal. No treachery to the land can be so great
as that which sends out into the sea the highly concentrated nitrogenous
products which have with toil been wrung from a soil which is becoming
poor in capacity for crops. In this primitive riddance of valuable
matter we accomplish a further loss by polluting the waters and if we
do not thus endanger human life, we destroy the fields in which a
certain important amount of aquatic food can be produced. —
A further gain can be had on soils already in use by expert manage-
ment in the direction of proper succession of crops and a thoroughness
of occupation and tillage often seen in Italy, France or Belgium, but
only exceptionally found as yet in our own land. We need not only
better directed labor, but more labor on the same soil. In the regions
of sufficient rainfall, which comprise nearly the eastern half of the
United States, we shall find, or did find in 1900, seven men per average
square mile, tilling the soil, or one to each lot of 91.4 acres. Making
generous allowance for ground not in tillage, we still find the working
force far too small to bring maximum quantities of food out of the
ground. We need also on much plow land and meadow east of the
arid belt supplementary irrigation for many seasons and for some crops,
and with abundant water resources, there is no good reason why nature
should not thus be helped to her best. Some areas, many, it would
doubtless be better to say, would be doubled in productive worth by
more effective drainage than has yet been applied. The barest inspec-
tion of crop averages per acre, or of half the ripening harvests that fall
under the eye of the traveler, supports the belief that a vast increment
of food can be won from lands that are not now given a full chance.
Further inquiry leads us to lands not now cultivated, which might
and will be made productive. Here some of our largest reserves appear.
Lands of an arid or semi-arid character embrace about two fifths of our
territory. In these great fields, and in small patches now improved,
crops can not be expected unless water is applied by man. There is
doubtless force in the claim that these soils are potentially marked by
exceptional richness, due not only to the fact that they are virgin soils
as related to man, but because they have not suffered the leaching and
waste of important elements which have affected soils in lands of large
rainfall. It is cited by Hilgard that Nile lands have for centuries
supported an average population of more than one and one half persons
per square acre, which means a density of about 1,000 per square mile.
Without questioning the accuracy of this claim, it may be urged that
we do not know whether flooding by the Cordilleran irrigator would be
as favorable to fertility as the flooding of the Nile. Nor may we forget
comparative standards of living any more than in the case of China.
We must also keep in sight the inevitable condition that there is
water enough in the west to make fertile but a small fraction of the dry
area. If we accept this at one fifteenth and receive without discount
POPULATION OF THE UNITED STATES 213
the figures for the Nile, applying them boldly to Arizona, Colorado,
Nevada and the other arid states, we shall arrive at a population of
eighty million for the arid regions. The eastern man will incline to
think this conclusion savors of fancy, and the Cordilleran enthusiast will
in like manner think it sober and sensible prophecy. All will agree,
however, that the food production of the country willl rise by a marked
increase when reclamation work has been carried toward its maximum.
Whether many millions or several tens of millions will thus be added
to our numbers is not important to our present purpose. That the
growth will be large none denies.
A further great gain will be made in the drainage of our marsh
lands, both of the marine and of the fresh-water type. That this is in no
way theoretical appears in the vast European areas, which, though now
densely peopled, were more or less covered by water a millennium ago.
Professor Shaler counted that the area of swamp lands rises to more
than 100,000 square miles, reckoning only such marshes as would be
considered reclaimable in northern Europe, and he believes that they
would be equal in production to the three states on the north bank of
the Ohio River, Ohio, Indiana and Illinois. When one remembers the
quality of a drained swamp, and that the area of available marshes is
about three fourths as great as these combined states, he will have no
difficulty with this conclusion.
The importance of this reserve has recently been accented by the .
proposal of Senator H. C. Hansbrough, to make these marshes also sub-
ject to reclamation by federal action. Further emphasis is warranted
by the easy proximity of many of these lands to great eastern markets,
and by their adaptation to the intensive culture of many crops.
We may be challenged in the statement that forest lands of some
extent may yet be spared for tillage. The writer yields to no one in
loyal conviction of the importance of forest conservation, or in con-
demnation of congressional delay and inaction. Ultimate adaptation
will control in forest conservation, and some lands will be cleared for
needful and effective tillage, and their loss will be counterbalanced by
the foresting of other areas where unfitness for the plow is now evident.
We shall also replace forest products in a more extended use of
underground materials for buildings and implements. As in Europe
the clay pit and the quarry will afford means of curtailing the forest.
Likewise the use of the fibers of grain plants for the making of paper
will release timber for other uses or timber land for other crops. We
need also to remember that the remaining forests will be properly con-
served and made largely and permanently productive. When, forty
years ago, the Irish laborer planted his potato patch by the railway
track, or when to-day the Italian immigrant raises his vegetables in
waste corners, it has not been recognized that he is the pioneer of the
future. It is the traveler in such foreign lands as Belgium, Norway
or Italy, who becomes able to appreciate the waste of American soils.
214 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
Beyond the plowed fields of the present, the arid and wet lands and the
superfluous forests, are no inconsiderable reserves of food from lands
deemed useless. We may consider potential gardens along more than
two hundred thousand miles of railway, the fruit that might grow by
millions of miles of highway, the steep and immature slopes that are
more capable of terracing than those of Capri or Amalfi, or ancient
Palestine, and finally those rugged areas of glacial hillside or mountain
slope, where nut-bearing trees might produce no inconsiderable amount
of highly nutritious food. The possible production of food substances
in the laboratory is at present so far from the geographer’s domain that
it would be profitless to dwell upon it.
It is plain that the whole circle of conservation problems applies
here, not only by directly increasing food, as in irrigation, but in
cheapening the cost of transportation, in saving land by forest conserva-
tion and in utilizing power of every kind to the full, thus releasing time
and energy for the free use of opportunity and the complete employment
of all our resources. Thus a well ordered civilization would sustain
the greatest number at good standards, as a well-managed household
may maintain a large family on a lesser sum than is required by a
neighboring small household.
Population capacity would afford a less baffling inquiry if food alone
were needed. Mere questions of mouths, bushels and pounds might
involve simple ratios, easily determined, but we must at once include
clothing, of vegetable fibers, animal fibers, furs and skins, nearly all
requiring land for their production. Man must have shelter and a
long catalogue of objects of domestic utility, for the household and for
the tillage of the soil. These things may become chiefly derivable from
subterranean sources with the single exception of a minimum demand
on the forest. Many rocks and mineral substances would far outrun
any possible use of them, but it seems certain that we could not for
many generations supply iron for as many millions as we can feed. It
may be doubtful whether our ultimate expansion will receive its first
effective check above or below the surface of the earth.
We must include also a wide range of objects of public utility, such
as roads and all appliances of transportation and manufacture, and
public structures for education, worship, government, health and
charity, adding instruments of knowledge and pleasure such as books,
music, ornaments and all works of art.
Almost as fundamental as food is the requirement of power. Here,
however, the supply seems ample and permament. Long before the
stores of buried fuel are exhausted, other natural forces, particularly
that of moving water, will meet the needs of any population which we
can feed. The maximum of population therefore for the whole world
hinges upon the supply of material substances derived from the atmos-
phere, the water, the soil and the rocks.
POPULATION OF THE UNITED STATES 215
For a given country the problem is complicated by exchange. The
exchange values, however, must be won on the home ground. England
has, for example, a far greater population than she can feed, but her coal
and iron have enabled her to manufacture and to carry for other nations.
But England is now to a considerable extent using foreign supplies of
the ores of iron. For a period she may do this and maintain her in-
dustry, through inertia, but imported raw materials and fuel could not
permanently afford a basis for British industry, and for the present
population of the United Kingdom. In that future, whenever it may
come, the islands will contain the people whom they can feed, clothe and
shelter, and no more.
Total resources, therefore, rather than total food production, de-
termine how many people a given country can support, but in the world
aspect total food marks an absolute limit, since we can not bring in food
from Mars, even if Mr. Percival Lowell should convince us that she had
a surplus.
It would be interesting to consider the United States in the light
of the principles that have been suggested, but the story would be too
long. We might simplify it by adopting the interesting and pleasant
belief that our extraordinary range of resources would enable us to get
on with little exchange, but this, as we have seen, would hardly change
the result as to population. Mr. O. P. Austin supports our hopes of
three hundred million people by the comfortable assurance that we can
grow all our sugar, all our rice, wine, tea, silk fibers, tobacco and most
tropical fruits. Probably we could get on without diamonds and there
are those who think our civilization might survive without coffee. But
it would really make little difference whether we raised coffee or bought
it with the proceeds of wheat. Or we might, indifferently, raise our
silk, or sell farm machinery and buy silk, since either sort of production
at present requires trees, and trees require land.
We have ventured the belief that we are sure of power. We may
further include hopefully the resources of the underworld of the rocks,
considering new reductions and uses of metals and many mineral sub-
stances. When the use of wood has come down to the minimum, the
chief remaining demands on the soil, may, after all, be for food and
clothing.
If we further suppose war and heavy armaments eliminated and all
government honestly and economically administered, we shall cover a
vast present waste. ‘Thus to arrive at maximum population we must
somewhat approach millennial conditions. Then, in high degree a self-
sufficient nation, we could keep as many people as our own soil could
feed and clothe. With wise timidity we have been deferring those large
transactions in figures which the reader has been expecting, and we
might with good show of reason, confess that inquiry for precise results
is absurd and drop the attempt to forecast. Nevertheless, the next
patriotic speech will marshal before us our future hundreds of millions,
216 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
sole progeny of buoyant national pride. Perhaps, therefore, any sober
argument on this inevitable theme is better than none.
Probably the safest approach is by comparison, for thus we avail
ourselves of such experience as has come to our race in different parts
of the world. But let us avoid China and Java, even though they seem
such available examples of a great population, of high density, with
small percentage of exchange and hence almost self-sufficient. But
their standards of living—could we, even with our superior skill and
progressiveness, take the same resources and support an equal number
of people up to American standards of comfort and efficiency? We do
not know those resources well enough to tell, hence we dismiss oriental
nations and turn to people more like ourselves.
We have elsewhere made a brief comparison between England and
that part of the United States which lies east of the Dakotas, Kansas
and Texas. It was suggested that this region, about two fifths of the
chief continental area of the United States, averages in resources of
every sort as well as England, and it was shown that if we could in
these 1,200,000 square miles reach the present density of England, we
should have, east of the meridian of Omaha, 742,000,000 people. To
have put this in print should at once, it would seem, shatter all preten-
sion to soberness. We are quite willing to scale down the figure, while
taking refuge under the fact that these computations were not offered
as prophecy. With such an enormous population, we, like England,
could not feed half our mouths, and should have to exchange other
products for food. But other lands might not have the surplus in those
days, to send tous. And our underground resources might be seriously
reduced, if not exhausted, and we could not produce the exchange
values. We thus see how fascinating and how futile is the hundred-
million tendency. Let us divide our total by three, and arrive at a
population which we might hope to feed from our own soil, a little
under 250,000,000. It will be seen that in this estimate we leave the
Great Plains and Cordilleras to be peopled according to the dictates of
a cold conservatism, or of a lively enthusiasm. .
An instructive comparison can be made with Italy, whose area is
110,550 square miles, and whose population is reckoned to have been,
on January 1, 1907, 33,640,710. The density was 304.3, not far from
half that of England or Belgium, and about twelve times as great as
that exhibited by the United States in 1900.
We may first take the comparative density of agricultural workers.
In Italy, of persons, male and female, over nine years of age, there were
at work in the fields, in 1900, 9,611,003. In our own country in 1900
there were, over ten years of age, 10,438,219. When we remember that
the smaller country contained a little more than 30,000,000 people at
that time and we had 76,000,000, the figures show their meaning. This
comes out with force if we look at the ratio of workers to a given surface
of production. In the United States east of the arid regions there was
POPULATION OF THE UNITED STATES 2G
one worker to each 91.4 acres, counting the entire territory. In Italy
there was one to each 5.0% acres, counting only the productive lands.
But as these are there reckoned at more than two thirds of the whole,
the comparison stands almost at full force. Including all of Italy, we
should find one worker for each plot of eight acres or a little less.
Making all due allowance for primitive methods and smaller indi-
vidual efficiency, we still see how much more intensive is the care of the
lands. And we must not forget that in Lombardy and some other
parts of the Mediterranean kingdom, modern methods are gaining
ground. Indeed that nearly two thirds of the country is worked as
productive soil is in itself significant to one who knows the ruggedness
of much of the realm. The stretches of bare Apenine slope seem to
be endless, and one is sometimes inclined to say that Italy is fertile
only in spots. It has been called a “ gray rather than a green country,”
a designation which must stand true except for idealizing imaginations
which require Italy to unroll fields of endless verdure. One must
traverse the Val d’Arno, or cross and recross the plains of the Po, find
the fertile corners of south Italy and Sicily, and then explore the
terraced mountainsides and secluded Apenine valleys, to learn how
the little kingdom feeds so many people. If we are reminded that the
people are poor and the comforts of life small, we recognize the fact,
often sad and depressing, but even here, when considering capacity for
population, we remember that Italy has lost by long use of her soils,
and by much injury through deforestation, no small measure of her
ancient capacity for food production. We, on the other hand, have a
virgin country and on the whole our spirit of conservation has arisen
in time to save us from fatal losses.
The value of Italian products, as reported, for tillage, animals and
forest, is annually about $1,000,000,000. This figure, however, does not
include the items of poultry, eggs or vegetables. These, and especially
the last, are no doubt far more important relatively than in our own
country. The above figure gives a little less than $30 in value for each
person in the kingdom. This indeed would seem a starvation figure,
but for the vegetables, whose rapid succession of crops and large con-
sumption, must be a large factor in maintaining so great a density.
The comparison turns greatly in our favor when we consider under-
ground resources, and here her paucity makes Italy instructive for
population study. Gold and silver are so small as to be negligible, and
yet she must acquire her reasonable sum of these metals. Sulphur is
far in the lead, but amounts annually to but little more than $7,000,-
000. Zine follows with $4,000,000, lead with a little more than one
_ and one half million and all the others fall below the last figure. Tron
gives an annual value of $1,371,155, and employs but 1,790 workers.
Mineral fuel stands at $838,375, a small fraction of the mineral fuel
output of the single state of Iowa. Coal and coke are imported to the
extent of about $40,000,000, and boilers and machinery cross the fron-
218 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
tier to the value of $32,600,000. The total annual mineral output of
Italy is about $20,000,000.
When we remember that Italy imports much of her food as well as
iron, coal and other things, we are pressed with the question—where
does she get her exchange values? Five of her imports pass the hun-
dred million lire mark. These are wheat, raw cotton, coal and coke,
boilers and machinery and raw silk. But one export passes this mark,
viz., raw silk, rising, however, to nearly 600,000,000 lire. There are,
indeed, many exports of smaller value, but these are more than offset
by minor imports, so that, as a whole, her imports exceed her exports
by nearly 600,000,000 lire, or by about 33 per cent. It is not easy to
see how Italy maintains her people. Certain reliefs suggest themselves.
It is admitted that many Italians exist rather than live; but this must
not be said of Rome or Tuscany or the valley of the Po. We allow
something for a genial climate which at once gives quick returns from
the soil and reduces the need of clothing and fuel. And we may not
forget the great sums brought into Italy by travelers and foreign resi-
dents, for the winning of whose money Italian arrangements some-
times seem peculiarly effective. However difficult it is for one not
trained in economic studies to see how this thing is done, it is done,
and conditions are improving. We are thus warranted in looking to
this middle kingdom of the Mediterranean for lessons concerning our-
selves.
As has been already intimated, 70.6 per cent. of Italy is registered
as productive, the rest being barren or negligible. Let us consider the
territory of the United States east of the arid regions. We will (let
us hope to be forgiven) eliminate New England, the Appalachian
Mountain belt, the Appalachian Plateau, the interior timbered region
and the Ozark Hills. The lands thus thrown out as relatively poor
contain 28 per cent. of the area under consideration, which it will be
seen is not far from the 29.4 per cent. rejected in Italy. And they con-
tain 30,000,000 people, which is not far from the population of Italy.
We have left a vast expanse of prairie, alluvial and lacustrine lowland,
and of coastal plain. We may at least please our fancy by giving these
selected lands the density of Italy. The resulting population is about
334,000,000. Adding the present population of the rejected areas, we
have a total east of the arid belt, of 864,000,000. If we allow half the
density of Italy for this entire area, we have a total population east of
the arid belt, of 230,000,000.
We have just referred to a classification of lands which is compara-
tively new. For some years physiographers have seen that new cate-
gories were needed in the description of continental surfaces. The
forms of the land have been taken into account, in respect both to their
origin and to their present characteristics. A plain is more than a plain
for it may be of a variety of origins and types, with its peculiar phases
of structure, relief, soil, climate and vegetation. Similar statements
POPULATION OF THE UNITED STATES 219
may be made of plateaux and mountain regions. In the census of 1900,
this classification was taken up in a brief and supplementary way, and
the area, population and density of the several physiographic regions
were computed and are placed before the reader. The areas are not
exact, for the boundaries had to be determined by the nearest available
county lines, but the error can hardly be of disturbing proportions.
It is not here possible to exhibit or discuss the interesting facts
brought out by this new departure of the census. It marks, however, a
step of progress in understanding the adjustment of our people to their
environment. Under the designation of New England Hills are in-
cluded New England, the Adirondacks and the foothill country east of
the Hudson in the state of New York. The density for this region
is the highest in the United States, 124.1. How strongly population
turns on other factors than soil, thus appears, and the result becomes
astonishing when we put down in comparison the present density of the
prairie region, viz., 29.2.
Using the new land classification, we may approach again the pos-
sible or probable population east of the great plains, or in the well-
watered eastern section of the United States. Leaving out the New
England Hills, which already exceed the density we are about to pro-
pose, and omitting the Appalachian Plateau and the Ozark Hills, it
would seem reasonable to expect an average density of 100 for the re-
maining territory of the east. This is about the density of Europe.
The territory for which we propose it includes the coastal plains and
lowlands, the Appalachian Valley, the piedmont and lake regions, the
Mississippi alluvial region, the interior timbered region and the prai-
ries. One need not apologize for thinking this aggregate physically as
good as average Europe. ‘T'wo of the regions, the Appalachian Valley
and the piedmont, already have more than three fourths of the density
proposed, and the interior timbered region, so far from being the wilder-
ness implied by its name, has a density of 68.7. Raising the whole to
100, we pass from the present 53,800,000 to 127,600,000. If to this
total we add the present population of the New England Hills, the
Appalachian Plateau and the Ozark Hills, we bring our total to 145,-
000,000. If we allow reasonably for the growth of these three regions
we place the figure at 150,000,000.
A density of 100, however, seems a low expectation for the prairies,
and also for the lake region, which last already has 55.2 persons per
square mile. Considering the soil, climate, minerals and transporta-
tion facilities of the lake borders, their population must largely in-
crease. Give these two regions the present density of France or of
Austria-Hungary, we must add to the total already reached, 40,000,000
for the prairies and 15,000,000 for the lakes, bringing our total east of
the great plains to 205,000,000.
Iowa is a typical prairie state and has 55,475 square miles, not
counting a few hundred miles of water surface. This state has about
220 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
two and one fourth million of people, and with the density of France
would have more than four times as many, or nearly ten and one half
million. Jowa now has 13.39 acres of improved farm land for each
one of her population. With the greater density she would have about
three acres for each person, while France now has two and one third
acres. In general fertility the odds are probably in favor of Iowa.
The mineral output of France is now relatively much greater than
that of the prairie state, but it is by no means certain that the ratio
would be maintained under full development of the new region, whose
building stones, clays and gypsum are but in their commercial begin-
nings. In that prime necessity, coal, Iowa has quite the advantage, for
she mines annually 22 tons for each resident, against } ton in France.
The latter people imports much fuel, while the vast resources of Iowa
for the most part lie still beneath the surface. Not many are probably
aware that Iowa has 7,000 square miles of forest, more than at any
previous time within the ken of the white man. She has, indeed, nearly
as much forest for the proposed ten million people, as France now has
for an equal number. It seems reasonable, therefore, to forecast for
the prairies an occupation as dense as that of France or Austria.
It would be fatal to the peace of any student to omit the west in
such a discussion as this. The writer recently made before the Inter-
national Geographic Congress at Geneva what seemed to him the mod-
erate and innocent assertion, that the center of our population would
always remain some distance east of the geographic center of the
United States. He was sharply reminded by a fellow American that
such sentiments openly expressed on the Pacific Coast would make him
the subject of a lynching excursion. As he is at present at a safe dis-
tance he retains his view, but is willing to accept tentatively a generous
prophecy for the Cordilleras. Suppose we take seventy-five per cent. of
the figure already hazarded for the areas of reclamation, or 60,000,000.
And that we may not seem to be dominated by cramped eastern notions,
let us concede, since no data are available, that when the arid lands are
turned into paradise and a full trade established up and down the
Pacific and across its wide waters, that the coast and its cities, the wet
belt of the border, the mining centers, mountain valleys and arid pas-
tures will harbor an additional 40,000,000 people. This allows 100,-
000,000 people west of the prairies, a region that in 1900 had a popu-
lation of 4,654,818 and a density of 3.5. Here is an increase of twenty-
one and a half times, a proposal which can hardly be charged with
parsimony, and raises our total for the whole country to 305,000,000.
If we think the Cordilleran estimate out of bounds, it would yet be
easy on the basis of European comparisons to find place for compen-
sating millions in some of the geographic regions east of the Mississippi
‘River.
PEALEH’S MUSEUM 221
PEALE’S MUSEUM
By HAROLD SELLERS COLTON, Pu.D.
UNIVERSITY OF PHNNSYLVANIA
Ae almost neglected chapter in the history of the natural sciences
in this country is that dealing with Peale’s Museum. Of the
accounts of the museum that have appeared from time to time, one
alone is worthy of consideration, being written from a scientific point
of view. The work referred to is by Mr. Witmer Stone? and considers
the ornithological collections alone.
Through the great kindness of Mr. Horace Wells Sellers, access has
been had to the diaries, letter books and unpublished autobiography of
Charles Willson Peale. With the material thus furnished by Mr.
Sellers, to whom the writer is deeply indebted, and much other mate-
rial from the Pennsylvania Historical Society and the Philadelphia
Library, very little of which has been referred to by biographers, many
clouds enveloping the history of Peale’s Museum have been cleared
away. As this history is so intimately connected with the life of the
founder, a better beginning can not be made than by reviewing briefly
his career.
His life was a long one—eighty-six years. It divides itself very
naturally into four periods—of about equal length—twenty to twenty-
four years: the period of youth, the period of the prime of life, the
period of middle age, and the period of old age. The first period
begins with his birth in Queen Anne County, Maryland, April 15, 1741.
His progenitors were English. In the paternal line, they were for
several generations rectors of the parish of Edith Weston in Rutland-
shire. Charles Peale, his father, although educated in turn for the
church at Cambridge, did not take a degree, but came to this country
and became headmaster of the Kent County Free School in Maryland.
Although the school was popular and patronized by the best families
of Kent County, yet he, at times, had great difficulty in making both
ends meet; and died when his eldest son Charles Willson Peale was
nine years old. His widow, being left with very little to provide for
a large family, removed to Annapolis, and, by dressmaking, maintained
herself and her children.
1The official name was “The Philadelphia Museum,” but must not be
confused with the now existing “‘ Philadelphia Museum,” which was founded
forty-five years after the former ceased to exist.
2Awk, April, 1899, Vol. XVI., pp. 166-177.
222 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
- Charles was now put to school; but, after he had learned writing
and arithmetic, etc., he was apprenticed, at the age of thirteen, to a
saddler. Working out his apprenticeship, when he was twenty-one
he married into an influential family ; and, with the assistance of a life-
long friend of his father, James Tilghman, set up in business for
himself.
The saddlery business did not prove a success; and it was about
this time that he, on seeing a poorly executed painting and having had
from childhood a taste for drawing, thought that he could paint as
well. With some borrowed colors and by the aid of a looking glass,
he painted a portrait of himself with such good results that some of
his friends advised him to study painting seriously. Thus, at the age
of twenty-four, he began the second period of his life—that of a painter.
Peale, the Portrait Painter
After studying under the best available talent in Maryland and in
Virginia, he went to Boston and took a few lessons under Copley and
shortly afterward was engaged to paint several portraits. Returning
to Annapolis, his work soon became noticed. John Beale Bordley and
several of his fellow members of the Governor’s Council of Maryland
made up a purse and sent Peale to London to study under Benjamin
West. Returning to Maryland two years later, his ability was soon
recognized and for the next twenty years he was the leading portrait
painter of Pennsylvania and the south.
His many engagements in Philadelphia caused him to move to that
city in 1774 and to make it his permanent home. Being an ardent
patriot, he offered his services to the American cause at the beginning
of the Revolution, being made lieutenant and later captain in a com-
pany of Philadelphia militia. He was in action in the battles of
Germantown, Trenton and Princeton. At Valley Forge in the winter
of 1777 he found occupation in painting portraits of his fellow officers.
Many of his portraits painted during the war were subsequently placed
in his “ painting room” to form a nucleus of what he hoped would
become a national portrait gallery. During this period, his interest in
public affairs led him into various activities and public positions in
connection with the British evacuation of Philadelphia.
As soon as opportunity offered, he established himself in a house at
Third and Lombard streets and resumed with his former energy the
practise of his portrait painting. In connection with this house he
built a long room to hold his pictures and to use as a studio. As
curiosities Dr. Morgan gave him some bones of a mammoth from
Ohio; Professor Robt. Patterson, of the College of Philadelphia, pre-
sented him with a paddle fish from the Allegheny River; Dr. Franklin
gave him an Angora cat from France, which was soon lost for want
PHALE’S MUSEUM 223
of proper means to preserve it; with these as a nucleus, it was sug-
gested to Peale that he start a museum of natural history.
The Museum
At the age of forty-four the third period of Peale’s life may be
said to begin. Acting on the suggestion that he form a museum of
natural history, he at once referred to books to discover the means to
preserve reptiles, quadrupeds and birds. At the end of the second
summer those preserved were all eaten up by dermestes and moths.
After a great deal of experimenting, a method was devised that fills
many pages of his autobiography. The basis of this method was the
use of arsenic and alum. Although it had a very serious effect on his
health for awhile, yet he was obliged to use it. “The many difficulties
I had encountered in this new business,” said he in his autobiography,
“had made me often repent that I had undertaken so arduous a task,
yet . . . the idea of handing down to posterity a work, that if judi-
ciously managed might become equal to any undertaking of the like
kind in Europe ”—this was a stimulus to his exertions. Although, by
the neglect of his portrait painting, he found it difficult, at times, to
meet the expenses not only of his family, but of taxes, ground rents
and other unavoidable expenses of his establishment, yet his enthu-
siasm, perseverance and ingenuity enabled him to conquer the difficul-
ties, but not without the aid of his talents as a painter. Finally, after
placing his museum on a self-supporting basis he retired in 1808 to
his country place, “ Belfield,” in Germantown.
In the midst of the active period of museum development he made
trips when his funds were low into all the neighboring states to paint.
During his trips he never lost an opportunity to gather specimens or
further the interests of his museum. On a trip to Maryland he met
a Rev. Mr. Kerby who was a collector of beetles. His account, in his
diary, of the effect of this meeting shows the enthusiasm that was
instilled into his collecting. Said he:
Some collectors, like myself, have only looked for subjects large and
striking to the sight, but now I declare that I find equal pleasure in seeking
for an acquaintance with those little animals whose life, perhaps, is spent on
a single leaf, or at most on a single bush. It is diverting to watch a flower as
you approach and see the little being watching you. It turns around a twig
or part of a flower to avoid your sight, and in an instant drawing in its legs
rolls off, sometimes falling from leaf to leaf to get a passage to the ground.
Yesterday morning I set out to walk several miles before dinner. . . . But
in the first meadow I found myself examining the bushes attentively and there
I found so much amusement that several hours passed away before I could
think of leaving those bewitching animals. Looking at my watch, I found it
was almost dinner time, when I scarcely thought I had begun my pursuit.
The museum grew rapidly and soon he was obliged to seek for other
quarters. Being a member of the Philosophical Society, some of his
224 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
friends suggested that he rent Philosophical Hall. This the society
allowed him to do, making him curator and librarian. In describing
the moving of the collection he writes:
To take advantage of public curiosity, I contrived to make a very consid-
erable parade of the articles, especially those which were large. As boys are
generally very fond of parade, I collected all the boys of the neighborhood.
At the head of the parade was carried on men’s shoulders, the American
buffalo, the panthers, tiger cats; and a long string of animals carried by the
boys. The parade from Lombard Street to the Hall brought all the inhabitants
to their doors and windows to see the cavalcade. It was fine fun for the boys.
They were willing to work in such a novel removal and saved me some expense
in moving the delicate articles.
Governor Mifflin allowed Peale to fence in part of the State House
Garden so as to make a place to keep living animals. Speaking of
this, Peale said:
The cages and animals kept in the yard amused the public much, but was
supported with some expense; yet it was a necessary appendage to the museum,
as animals that had not come to their full growth are not fit subjects to be
preserved, except when some of the young are to be placed with their parents
to form family groups, as pictures of the manners of animals.
Notwithstanding legends to the contrary, this was the only zoological
garden that Peale ever attempted to form, it being but a temporary
expedient.
It was not Peale’s practise to sell his duplicate specimens; but
wherever opportunity offered he would exchange. In this way he was
soon in communication with the various museums of Europe and from
his letters I find that he sent many specimens to the Museum d’ Histoire
Naturelle, to the British Museum, to the Royal Society of Sweden, and
many others scattered over Europe.
It must be remembered that during much of this time Europe was
at war. Privateers scoured the seas, which made many letters go
astray and caused many cases of specimens to be lost. Notwithstand-
ing these troubles he mentions receiving an orang-outang and a
“ Platipus,’” and many other beasts from all over the world.
“ Now to show all these things to advantage,” said Peale, “ required
judgment as well as a tasteful disposition of them to be pleasing to the
eye as well as useful to enquiring visitors.” In classifying animals he
followed Linneus. In fact he was such an admirer of Linneus that
he named one of his children after the great Swede. He used Buffon’s
work to identify the specimens. However, as one would expect in a
new country that had been visited by but few naturalists, much of the
material gathered by Peale would be classed as “ non-descripts.” To
these Peale gave a common name but did not describe. It fell to the
labors of Wilson, Say and other Philadelphia naturalists who followed
to describe those animals. As arranged in the cases each animal had
on it a label that gave the English, French and (when one had been
given to it) Latin name.
PEALE’S MUSEUM 225
* *
\e en
Vl
i
CHARLES WILLSON PEALE.
With respect to the arrangement of the specimens on the shelves
Peale says:
It is not customary in Europe, it is said, to paint skies and landscapes in
their cases of birds and other animals, and it may have a neat and clean
appearance to line them only with white paper, but on the other hand it is not
only pleasing to see a sketch of a landscape, but by showing the nest, hollow,
cave or a particular view of the country from which they came, some instances
of the habits may be given.
This idea is interesting because it is the one that is growing in favor
in the museums of Europe and America at the present time.
Peale and His Contemporaries
In 1792 Peale writes:
Having exerted myself to my utmost ability to collect and preserve articles
for the miseum and believing I could get men of distinction to form a board
of visitors and obtain legislative aid for the further improvement of it so that
at last it might become a great national institution, I waited on several
gentlemen.
voL. LXxv.—15.
226 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
As a result of this, a board of visitors or directors was formed of
twenty-five individuals. Thomas Jefferson was elected president, and
among the others present were Alexander Hamilton, James Madison,
Thos. Mifflin, Robert Morris, David Rittenhouse and Dr. Caspar Wistar.
In the registration book of season ticket holders for the year 1794, the
first signature is that of George Washington, who signed for four
tickets. Then follow the names of John Adams, Munroe, etc. The
fact that he was able to procure the aid of such men and the fact that
he was allowed the use of Independence Hall rent free for a time and
later for a nominal rental, all show that the museum was recognized
as a valuable institution.
The decades 1790-1810, during which Peale was most active, com-
posed part of the period of American zoology called by Brown Goode*
the period of Jefferson. The influence that the great statesman ex-
erted Goode compared to that of Agassiz in a later period. Among —
the medical profession of the country were a few men interested in
natural history. These centered about the newly founded medical
school of the University of Pennsylvania. The ones only that might
be placed in a class with Jefferson were Caspar Wistar and Benjamin
Smith Barton. Later may be mentioned the names of Wilson, Ord
and Rafinesque.
At this time the pure sciences centered around the American Philo-
sophical Society. The minute books of the society show that from the
time that Peale was elected a member in 1786, he was rarely absent
from a meeting. Renting, as he did, a large part of the hall and being
librarian and curator, he was for many years closely identified with it.
In 1804, Baron Humboldt, Bompland, the botanist, and a Peruvian
gentleman, Montrefar, arrived in Philadelphia from the famous trip
to South America. Peale was a member of an informal committee
from the Philosophical Society to see to their reception. ‘The commit-
tee went with the travelers to Washington, where they were entertained
by President Jefferson. Of this journey Peale writes to his brother-
in-law in New York:
However, I have been richly repaid for the expense and trouble of a
journey, by the agreeable conversation of Baron Humboldt, who is, without
exception, the most extraordinary traveler I have ever met with; he is a foun-
tain of knowledge that flows in copious streams; to drop this metaphore, he is
a great luminary diffusing light in every branch of science, I say diffusing
because he is so communicative of his knowledge, which has been treasured up
in his travels of upward of nineteen years.
The Baron sat before Peale for his portrait and on sailing for France
Peale presented him with a mounted specimen of an alligator. This
°G. Brown Goode, “ Beginnings of American Science,” Proc. Bio. Sci.
Wash., Voi. IV.. 85.
PHEALE’S MUSEUM 227
later was presented on the Baron’s return to France to the National
Museum.*
With the Museum d’Histoire Naturelle, Peale had more inter-
course than with any other institution in Europe. This began when
the museum in Philadelphia was very young, by the arrival in Phila-
delphia of the naturalist, Baron Palisot de Beauvois, a refugee from
the terrible massacre at St. Domingo. For the short time that he was
in Philadelphia, Beauvois aided Peale in many ways. Not only did he
help Peale in identifying the specimens,® but he also wrote the French
edition of the catalogue; and Peale in turn aided him by furnishing
him with many letters of introduction whenever he went on collecting
trips into other states. A personal friendship sprang up which lasted
till Beauvois’ death in 1820, and it is in Peale’s letters to Beauvois
after the latter’s return to France that one finds the best account of
what was going on in Philadelphia. With respect to the museum, Peale
was in correspondence with Geffroy St. Hilaire and with Cuvier, also
receiving letters from Lamarck. With all these connections joining the
museum to France it was not strange that the French influence was
strong.
The Mastodon
The feat which was Peale’s greatest achievement in connection
with the museum was the recovery and reconstruction of the skeleton
of a mastodon. In the spring of 1801, receiving information from a
scientific correspondent in the state of New York that the bones of a
mammoth had been found in digging a marl pit near Newburg, Peale
hastened to the spot; and, after bargaining with Mr. Masten, who
owned the farm on which the bones were found, he finally paid $300
for those bones that had already been procured and the right to drain
and excavate the morass to recover if possible the rest of the skeleton.
On Mr. Masten showing Peale the spot where the bones were found,
which was a spacious hole filled with water, he wrote in his auto-
biography :
The pleasure which I felt at seeing the place, where I supposed my great
treasure lay, almost tempted me to strip off my clothes and dive to the bottom
and try to feel for bones. ‘he hope, however, of returning soon with the means
of emptying the pond satisfied me.
He went at once to New York. Through President Jefferson he was
able to borrow pumps from the Navy Department and other things
from the War Office. The Philosophical Society advanced ‘him $500
without interest, with his house in Philadelphia as security. He then
returned to the scene of operation with his son Rembrandt. After
*“Hamy, HE. T., “ Alexandre de Humboldt et le Museum D’Histoire Nat-
urelle,’” Nou. Achhis. Du Mus., 4e series, Vol. VIII., p. 10.
* Cuvier, “ Eloge de M. de Beauvois,” Mem. Paris Acad. Sci., IV., 1819-20,
p. 318.
228 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
INDEPENDENCE HaAtu, Philadelphia, which contained Peale’s Museum.
hard work they were rewarded with grand success and were able to
ship to Philadelphia one skeleton that lacked principally the lower
jaw and the top of the head. What was lacking in this skeleton was
found in another from a nearby bog. The bones of the two animals
were not mixed. When the skeletons were set up the missing parts
were carved out of wood,.so that there were finished two complete skele-
tons. “ Although putting these skeletons together,” to return again
to the autobiography, “ was a long and arduous work; yet the novelty
of the subject, the producing the form, and, as it would seem a second
creation, was delightful; and every day’s work brought forth its
pleasure.”
Up to this time many scattered bones and teeth of the mastodon
had been found in this country. They had been described as belong-
ing to a race of gigantic man, to the fathers of cattle, to hippopotomi,
etc. In a letter to Geffroy Saint-Hilaire describing his find Peale
states that this animal should be called the carnivorous elephant of the
north, but should not be confounded with the Siberian mammoth.
Cuvier in his memoir “ Le Grand Mastodonte” writes:
Mais pendant que nous travaillions ainsi en Europe sur quelques fragmens
de cet animal, M, Peale continuait 4 en recueillir les os, et il avait été assez
heureux pour en obtenir deux squelettes presque complets qui ont décidé la
question pour tonjours (p. 261).
The Museum in the State House
In 1802 the state legislature moved to Lancaster. This left the
State House (Independence Hall) vacant. Peale petitioned the legis-
PHEALE’S MUSEUM 229
lature and was allowed to occupy the building as long as he allowed
persons to pass through the hall into the State House Garden. His
son Rembrandt used the east room on the first floor as his studio,
while the entire second floor and tower was given up to the use of the
museum.
The best picture that we have of the museum in Independence Hall
is found in a letter written by the late George Escol Sellers, of Chat-
tanooga, Tenn., a grandson of Peale, who as a boy and a young man
spent much of his time in the museum, and who subsequently became
one of its trustees. The period referred to in this letter is about 1820-—
1824, twelve years or more after Charles Willson Peale ceased to take
an active part in the management, Mr. Rubens Peale being in control.
There is very little evidence that much of scientific value was added
after the father retired, except, perhaps, the collections of Major Long’s
expedition to the Rocky Mountains, and Dr. Harlan’s anatomical and
craniological preparations.
Mr. Sellers, in describing the arrangement of the hall writes:
I will go with you up the stairs and try to lead you through the Museum
rooms. At the top of the stairs is a small window where tickets to the Museum
are sold. We enter a great door from the landing and find ourselves in what
was called the hall lecture room. The bench seats rose all around at such an
angle that the two or three upper seats crossed the passage into the Quadruped
Room at sufficient height to give headway under them. To the right is a door
that is worthy of consideration. (This door leads into the Quadruped Room,
the south-west Room of the State House.) On the west end of the room, the
PRESERVING
Room
AND
SHOP
Ticket
Orrice J
SSS See
Fhooy Raised 1jou
Crear Seal
(a) ———
[ato face LecTURE
Room
©
Jndian Cases OB
Byrd Cases—Severa tiers hign—Fortraits over Them
LONG FRioom woop
Insects
ei ;
[rer fon ore e | ee ‘i
——— — _tllee
GROUND PLAN OF PEALE’S MUSEUM IN INDEPENDENCE HALL ABOUT 1821 To 1826.
From a diagram drawn by Mr. George Escol Sellers, from memory.
Mineéra’s ,Fossils, eic
BeOn THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
floor was raised about 1 foot and on it stood the great seal, Buffalo, Elk, Moose,
Bears, ete., but most attractive to country folk was a 5 legged cow giving milk
to a 2 headed calf. As we turn to the passage into the long room, the great
case at our right hand is the wolf case. The great gray wolf with bloody fangs
is rending a lamb, whose papier-mache entrails from the skilled and realistic
hands of Uncle Rubens bulge out so naturally that they appear living and in
motion. The opposite case was of particular interést to children. Smaller
animals crowd the cases that fill this room.
Of the Long Room Peale himself has perhaps given us the best
account.° He writes:
For instruction to those who wish to know the Linnean classification of
Birds on the side of the door entering the Long Room, is a large frame con-
taining the several orders and genera of Birds with the characters of each.
This Long Room has an elegant appearance. Its length is 100 feet. It is hand-
some because of its regularity of the numerous glass cases, which are neat
without being gaudy and the catalogue in the frames makes a beautiful division
covering each of the shelves extending from end to end of the room. There are
9 windows opposite, between them projecting are partitions to hold the cases
of insects and also cases for minerals and fossils.
Over the center window is a neat well tuned organ for the use of such
visitors that understand music. Under the orchestra are microscopes for show-
ing Insects and other subjects to advantage.
Over the Bird cases are two rows of portraits of Distinguished Personages
in gilt frames extending almost the whole length of the room. They are orig-
inal portraits painted from life by C. W. Peale and his son Remb* At each
end of the room are also some portraits. The most conspicuous being those of
General Washington and his lady, which are the last they sat for C. W. Peale.
To complete the description of the museum we return to Mr.
Sellers’ letter:
If the day be chilly, the settees are around the great six plate wood burning
stove. This was a very attractive feature. This Long Room was a promenade
to show off finery, gay bonnets and cashmere shawls. Most of the more modern
paintings and the portraits painted by Uncle Rembrandt when in Europe for
the Museum were in the Mammoth Room.
On entering this room in the corner case was a wax figure of Col. Lewis
or Clark, I do not remember which, in a complete Indian costume. The cases
of Indians and their dresses and implements were very attractive. Back of the
skeleton of the Mammoth at the end of the room was a large, what might be
called, historical painting showing the tread wheels and other appliances that
were used to pump out the morass while the bones were being exhumed. In
fact this and a smaller painting gave a graphic history.
The marine room, up the lobby stairs, better known as the anatomical
room was really a gruesome room in spite of its end cases of Monkeys at work.
There was shown the smith, the carpenter, the cooper and even the shoe maker,
a shoe between his knees, his arms akimbo as if drawing tight his waxed ends,
a grin from ear to ear. The side cases were shallow and filled with snakes
long and coiled. One snake was charming a stuffed bird with its bead eyes.
One was in the act of swallowing a toad or frog with the hind quarters pro-
jecting from the mouth. There were also lizards big and little. Among the
various cases was one filled with real anatomical preparations, including a
*See footnote, p. 231.
PHALEH’S MUSEUM 23%
ghastly tatooed head, a manufactured South American Mermaid—half fish and
half hairless dried monkey—, innumerable alcoholic preparations, also an
embryo shelf with animal and human feetuses.
In 1805 Peale started to write a book called “ A Walk with a Friend
to the Philadelphia Museum.”* This seems never to have been finished
and was never published. A comparison of the above account of Mr.
Sellers with that of Peale shows that on the whole the same specimens
were on exhibition as in the days that Mr. Sellers recorded; never-
theless there was a lack of sensational attractions in 1805. As an
instance of this may be mentioned the fact that the monkeys at work
were not added until 1809, a year after Peale retired to his German-
town farm. The two-headed calf was not added for some years after
that.
In “A Walk with a Friend” Peale writes about the quadruped
room, and it is of interest in relation to modern methods of taxidermy :
The door opens to us and behold a multitude of animals fills the room on
every side. They seem to be in characteristic attitudes; the Lama of South
America is rearing up in the act of spitting through the fissure of his upper
Ite Gy) bee
The muscles of this as well as many of these quadrupeds are so well repre-
sented that painters might take them for models and all is so well preserved
that no insects can destroy them; a thing too generally the case in other
museums.
The Proprietor has invented a mode of mounting them which I believe was
never practised before. As the muscles can not be preserved to keep their
natural plumpness nor can it be expected that the most careful operator can
stuff skins in the common way to preserve perfectly the true form more espe-
ciaily of animals that have not an abundance of hair or fur—the limbs of these
have been carved in: wood; closely imitating the form after the skins had been
taken oif; giving swell to the muscles proportional to their action so that, in
fact, they are statues of animals with the real skin to cover them—a stupendous
labour originating from and effected by an enthusiastic desire of exhibiting a
series of real forms as they exist in nature....
Besides the methods of taxidermy as practised by Peale, there was
another equally striking innovation. We have seen that there was a
large frame illustrating Linneus’s classification of birds. To aid the
inquiring visitor much information of general interest was contained in
similar frames. In the Mammoth Room on the wall beside the skeleton
of the Mastodon, Rembrandt Peale’s “ Historical Disquisition on the
Mammoth ” was framed page by page. By reading this account and by
referring to the skeleton and to the paintings Peale intended that his
visitors should have the opportunity of becoming well informed. These
were points the importance of which were emphasized by Brown Goode®
‘many years afterward.
7™ Manuscript in the Pennsylvania Historical Society.
*See Brown Goode, “Museum History and Museums of History,” 1889,
p. 267.
232 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
As an attraction, one winter when the attendance was low, Peale
installed in one corner of the hall a man to cut silhouettes by a new
method. In one year 8,880 people carried away likenesses of them-
selves. After he retired, but particularly after his death, under the
direction of his sons this precedent that Peale himself established of
having attractions was increased, so that in its last years the institu-
tion became little more than a dime museum.
In the lbrary of the Pennsylvania Historical Society there is a
large blank book bound in whole calf entitled “ Memoranda of the
Philadelphia Museum.” This book contains a record of the donations,
accessions and exchanges between the years 1803 and 1837. An im-
pression that one gets from reviewing its pages is that of the enormous
amount of valueless material presented by travelers from Europe and
from farmers up in the state. This, however, is a common feature of
all museums; nothing offered must be refused, but, if of no value,
will find its way to the official rubbish heap.
The library of the museum must have been of exceeding value.
Every page records books bought or books received in exchange. As an
exchange for specimens sent to France the museum received Buffon’s
works in five volumes. The following is a sample page showing the
type of entry:
Pace 12
1806 A Tropic Bird, 2 Frigates, 3 Hels which are said to wound very severe
Feb. 17. and to attack people. Ship Geo. ‘Washington by Capt." Farris.
The natural history of British Insects with colored plates Vol. Ist
—octavo,—John Armond.
19. Fossil shell from Kentucky, they are found from 1 foot to 50 feet
below the surface of the earth in limestone. W. Chambers.
2 pieces hog skin, one inch and 4 in thickness, from the shoulder.
It was shot on the banks of the Ohio, in the spring of 1793—William
Chambers.
21. The head of the Petrel F. V. Riviere.
21. Pheton Athireus or tropic bird, female, F. V. Riviere.
Lacerta Chamzon, Chameleon, Isle of France—Cap." Farris.
21. Skeleton of a Porcellaria Petrel. Samuel Coates.
22. The Trumpet Fish from S. America—Peter Solee
An Experimental Dissertation on the Rhus Vernix, Rhus Rodicans
and Rhus Globrum commonly known in Penn* by the names Poison
ash, Poison-vine, and common Sumach by Tho Horsfield.
An Inaugural Dissertation on the warm Bath by Hen. Wil™ Lockette.
24. Viverra nasua Coata Mondi (alive) from South America Joseph
Baker.
His Last Years
Peale’s early training and natural ingenuity enabled him to turn his
hand to anything; this quality has been exaggerated by his biographers
-and mere incidents pointed to as periods in his career.
Peale’s period of senescence may be said to date from the time he
PEALE’S MUSEUM 233
resigned the active management of the museum and moved to his
“ Belfield ” place, at Germantown. With him old age was robbed of its
infirmities. ‘Temperate habits, outdoor exercise and constant employ-
ment of mind and body, were responsible, according to his own theories,°
for the vigor that he enjoyed at eighty. He was eighty-three when he
painted without his glasses a full-length portrait of himself by order of
the trustees of the museum. ‘This is the portrait that now hangs in the
Academy of Fine Arts in Philadelphia, an institution of which he was
the chief founder. These latter years of his life were not marked by
reduced activities, but by more varied occupations. His attempts to
make porcelain teeth and similar undertakings have been unduely
emphasized. Undoubtedly it is the memory of this period that has led
‘many of his biographers to refer to him as a “ jack of all trades.”
Later History of Museum
It may be interesting to outline briefly the later history of the
museum and the fate of its collections.
In the first decade of the nineteenth century the value of the col-
lections was from an educational point of view equal to those of the
famous museums of Europe. At this time, with a view to its preserva-
tion and to carry out a cherished hope, Peale offered it to the govern-
ment at Washington to form the nucleus of a National Museum. Ac-
cording to Jeffersonian simplicity it was not in the province of the
government to father institutions not directly connected with govern-
ment, so the offer was refused.
In 1816 the city purchased the State House from the state; and,
at once, raised the rent on Peale from $400 to $2,000. As Peale could
not pay so much, a compromise was made for $1,200. The museum
was run at a loss for three years, at the end of which time Peale
induced councils to lower the rent to $600. About this time Peale
offered the museum to the city on condition that they would agree to
house, add to it, and promise not to sell any part of it except duplica-
tions. The city refused to accept the gift.
In 1821 the museum took another lease of life, and its aged pro-
prietor, still fearing that it would become divided on his death, had it
incorporated with five trustees, all, except one, members of his family.
As organized, four professors were appointed to give lectures in Natural
History, viz. : .
In mineralogy, Dr. Gerard Troost.
In zoology, Thomas Say.
In comparative anatomy, Dr. Richard Harlan.
In physiology, Dr. John Godman.
Conservator in zoology, Titian Peale.
*“An Epistle to a Friend on the Means of Preserving Health, Promoting
Happiness, etc.,” 8vo, Philadelphia, 1803, 48 pp., by C. W. Peale.
234 THK POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
The publishing of a journal was undertaken which perished after
the appearance of the first number.
In 1827 Charles Willson Peale died and the next year the museum
moved into the Arcade on Chestnut Street above Sixth Street., on the
north side. In 1835, the stock of the company was increased from
$100,000 to $400,000 and a magnificent building was started at Ninth
and Sansom on the site of the present Continental Hotel. Three years
later the collections were moved from the Arcade into their new home.
Up to this time the museum had been very prosperous financially
and had become largely a money-making concern. In 1841 the failure
of the United States Bank carried down the Museum Company. The
receivers of the bank foreclosed on the building, which was soon sold at
auction. By paying rent the Museum Company was allowed by the
new owner to occupy the building. In the hard times that followed,
the Museum Company attempted to keep its head above water by
vaudeville attractions and concerts. Thus the museum was thrown
into direct competition with the dime museum as typified by Barnum’s
Museums. ‘The directors of the company were not equal to competition
with the trained showman. When, in 1846, the end came, the col-
lections were sold at auction, the pictures going all over the country;
yet one third subsequently came back to Independence Hall.
An attempt was made to keep the Natural History collections
together; and until 1850 they were exhibited at Masonic Hall, but not
by the Peales. At that time they were sold by the sheriff and bought
for five or six thousand dollars by P. T. Barnum and his associate,
Moses Kimball. They were divided, half going to the Boston Museum
and half gomg to Barnum’s American Museum, in New York.?®
Legend has it that the mastodon went to this latter place and was
destroyed when, in 1865, the American Museum burned. Since its
whereabouts? was not known in 1852 when Warren wrote his mono-
graph, it is possible that it was burned in the fire that destroyed, in
1851, Barnum’s Philadelphia Museum. If this be the case it would
seem to indicate that Barnum did not take all his share of the speci-
mens to New York as he said he did. In either case it was destroyed.
In 1900 the Boston Museum broke up, and the specimens were pre-
sented to the Boston Society of Natural History, where about 1,300 of
the birds now are. There is nothing to indicate that any specimens
were added to the collections after they were removed from the Phila-
delphia Museum.
1 P, T. Barnum, “‘ How I Made Millions ”; the life of P. T. Barnum, written
by himself.
The bones mentioned by Warren as being exhibited in Paris belong, I
judge, to a mass of bones of several animals which were found at Big Bone Lick.
An attempt was made to sell them to Peale. As they were from several animals
he refused to buy them. Cf. “The Navigator,” Pittsburg, 1811, 7th edition,
p- 117.
PEALE’S MUSEUM 235
The second mastodon found in 1801 has had a more varied history.
In 1803 Rembrandt Peale and his brother Rubens carried it to Eng-
land. It was exhibited before the Royal Society. While in London,
Rembrandt Peale wrote his “ Historical Disquisition on the Mammoth.”
An attempt to sell the skeleton to Napoleon was undertaken, but war
broke out with England which prevented the deal being completed.
Peale’s sons brought it back to this country and they made a southern
trip, exhibiting the mastodon as far south as Charleston. Later, in
1813, Rembrandt started a museum in Baltimore’? on similar lines
to that of his father’s in Philadelphia. In this museum the mastodon
found a home. This became later the Baltimore Museum, from which
in 1846 it was purchased by Dr. Warren and taken to Boston for
comparison with his very perfect skeleton and placed in the Warren
Museum on Beacon Hill. With Warren’s mastodon it was bought from
the Warren estate by J. P. Morgan and is now in the American Museum
of Natural History in New York, and is called the Baltimore mastodon.
This is all that is known of the fate of the collections of Peale’s
Museum.
A point that has been particularly confusing to historians is the fact
that Peale’s Museums were located in both New York and Baltimore.
In this connection it will become necessary to refer briefly to Peale’s
sons. s
In the last decade of the eighteenth century Rubens Peale and his
brother Rembrandt attempted to found in Baltimore a museum with
some duplicate specimens given them by their father. This museum
was discontinued after one year.
In 1813, however, Rembrandt Peale, who was a better artist than his
father, but was less of a naturalist, moved to Baltimore and in the
following year opened a museum and art gallery on Holliday Street in
a building that afterward became the Baltimore City Hall. The
museum finally passed out of his hands, becoming the Baltimore
Museum, which was bought by Barnum in 1845. In the early twenties
Rembrandt opened a museum in New York, on Broadway, opposite the
City Hall. This museum passed out of his hands into that of a stock
company, which, after trying to compete with Barnum’s American
Museum, was obliged to sell out to the great showman in 1842.
When Charles Willson Peale retired, he placed his son Rubens in his
place as director of the Philadelphia Museum with the secret hope that
with the opportunities at his disposal he would become a naturalist
of world-wide reputation. However, Reubens was apparently not much
of a naturalist, but during the years that he was director he devoted
himself to making the museum self-supporting rather than increasing
the value of its collections. For a while, it would seem about 1841, at
* Scharf, “‘ History of Baltimore.”
236 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
the call of the directors of the New York Museum, he became manager
of it.
The sons of Peale who had real tastes in zoology were both of the
name of Titian. Titian Peale, by Charles Willson’s first wife, was
becoming a naturalist of great promise and of great help to his father,
when he died at the age of eighteen. In memory of this son Peale
named a child by his second wife Titian. This Titian became an or-
nithologist’® of some distinction, and was conservator of the collections
of the Philadelphia Museum for many years.
Peale as a Museum Director
As we have seen, Charles Willson Peale was an enthusiastic col-
lector. The object of these collections was the education of the public.
Peale’s ideas as to the function of museums are best illustrated by some
extracts from a lecture introductory to a series of forty that he de-
livered in the winter of 1800-1801.1* He wrote that a museum should
teach the economic use of animals and plants. Says Peale:
A farmer ought to know what reptiles best aid and protect the fruit of his
labors, and not through ignorance destroy such as feed on animals more de-
structive to his grain and fruits; nor possess antipathies to those that he
ought to cherish.
A museum should exert a moral inflyence in the community. Said
the lecturer :
An instance of this is in the memory of many of my hearers. The chiefs
of several nations of Indians who had an hereditary enmity, happened to meet
unexpectedly in the museum in 1796; they regarded themselves with consider-
able emotion which in some degree subsided when, by their interpreters, they
were informed, that each party, ignorant of the intention of the other, had
come merely to view the museum. Never having met before, but in the field of
battle, . . . now for the first time finding themselves at peace surrounded by
a scene calculated to inspire the most perfect harmony, the first suggestion was
that as men, they were of the same species and ought forever to bury the
hatchet of war. After leaving the museum they formed a treaty. At the
request of the Secretary of War, I supplied them with a room. They heard a
speech written by General Washington recommending peace. Their orators
spoke, and they departed friends.
After giving a brief account of the history of the museums in the
world, from the time of Ptolemy Philadelphus, he describes his ideal
museum. Says he:
First let us suppose we have before us a spacious building . . . in which
are arranged all the various animals of this vast continent and all other
countries. Let us suppose them classically arranged so that the mind may not
be confused and distracted in viewing and studying such a vast multitude of
objects. Here should be no duplicates and only the varieties of each species, all
*8 See Stone, Witmer, Awk, 1899, Vol. XVI., pp. 166-177.
**See “Discourse Introductory to a Course of Lectures, ete.,” 1800, C.
W. Peale.
PHALE’S MUSEUM 227
placed in the most conspicuous point of light to be seen to the best advantage,
without being handled. Besides a classical catalogue descriptive of every article
in so extensive a museum, there ought also to be a library consisting of the
writings of the best authors on natural history from Aristotle down to the
present time. A few persons well acquainted with the methods of preserving
subjects should be continually employed. Gentlemen of talent should be allowed
to deliver lectures in the several branches of natural history. ... It would
readily be conceived that some person should have the superintendence of the
museum, under whose directions every addition should be made and the care of
everything should rest with him. .
Parts of this lecture and the one delivered in the previous winter in
“the hall of the University of Pennsylvania,” as an introduction to a
course of twenty-seven,’® remind one amazingly of certain portions of
the addresses of Sir William Flower*® and Brown Goode."
Some of the characteristic features of Peale’s Museum might be
summarized as follows:
1. Its collections were educational rather than scientific.
2. The idea of indicating the natural environment with the mounted
specimen, the idea of framing the pages of books (recommended also
by Brown Goode), the idea of having diagrams and popular descriptions
of the specimens beside the specimens themselves, and the idea of
placing those of the 4,000 insects that were too small to be easily
observed by the naked eye under permanent simple and compound
microscopes, and his methods of taxidermy, all of which approach the
arrangement of modern museums of natural history.
3. Although Peale was not the first to give lectures in natural
history in this country, yet he was the first to give lectures illustrated
by specimens.
The Influence of the Museum
The influence of the museum was wide-spread, but lay not in the
direction that the founder had hoped. A perusal of the newspapers of
the first decade of the nineteenth century will show that by this time
there were a number of museums in every city. They show also that
these museums were copied from Peale’s Museum, in that they nearly
always had a gallery of portraits of heroes in connection with a col-
lection of curiosities. By the first quarter of the century, all had added
concerts as an additional attraction. It was not long before the concert
developed into a variety theater, although in the case of the Boston
Museum legitimate drama was given. In the middle of the century
these museums reached their greatest development, such as it was, while
Peale’s Museum became but a memory. Barnum’s American Museum
#%“Yntroduction to a Course of Lectures in Natural History,” Philadel-
' phia, 1800.
** Flower, William Henry, “ Essays on Museums,” 1898.
* Brown Goode, “ Museum History and the Museums of History,” American
Historical Association, 1888, p. 63.
238 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
marked the climax. When in 1902 the Boston Museum ceased to exist,
this event marked the end of the last museum that obviously was sug-
gested by the Peale Museum, although there are a few dime museums
of later date that have managed to survive.
The cause of the fall of these museums lies in the fact that their
place has been filled by natural history museums and zoological gardens
which teach true natural history in place of the fake natural history of
the dime museum. Although Peale’s Museum seems to us to-day a
very primitive affair, yet, considering the time when it was founded, the
institution must be looked upon in a different light. Then there was
no other collection of any kind in the country that could be called
a museum. Not having any precedent of museum arrangement, the
whole evolution was independent.
The museums of Europe exerted some influence, of course, on its
development, but they were so far away that the problems that cropped
up from time to time had to be solved independently. This accounts
of course, for the many original features that were presented.
The importance of Peale’s Museum has been largely discredited,
owing to the impression left of its latter days, long after its founder’s
death. One forgets its positive value and influence when it was directed
by his energy and intelligent effort. In the decade of 1800-1810
travelers compare the quality of its collections with the museums on
the other side of the ocean. After Peale’s retirement from its active
direction, the museum ceased practically to grow, while those founded
much later began their wonderful development.
Although Peale helped but little to advance our scientific knowl-
edge by the collection of facts, yet to him should be given the credit of
organizing what was for awhile a great museum and enabling thousands
of people to become acquainted with the appearance and the habits of
many animals of this and other countries.
INDIVIDUAL DEVELOPMENTS 239
THE THEORY OF INDIVIDUAL DEVELOPMENT*
By Prorrssor FRANK R. LILLIE
UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO
RGANIC development presents two aspects: that of the individual
and that of the race, ontogeny and phylogeny (evolution). These
are not two separate and distinct series of phenomena; on the one
hand, the individual development is to a certain extent a record of
the past history of the race, and the promise of future racial develop-
ment; on the other hand, evolution is not a series of completed indi-
viduals but a series of individual life, histories; for the only road from
one generation to the next is by way of a complete life history. Indi-
vidual development is, therefore, not something distinct from evolution ;
it is a part of the process of evolution itself; the development of the
individual is a chapter in the history of the race.
The development of the individual may be pictured as a steadily
broadening stream that takes its source in the fertilized ovum and
flows on until death. In this analogy the individual would be repre-
sented as a cross-section of the stream at whatever stage we were
examining. Though such an analogy limps, inasmuch as individual
development is never before us as a unit, as a stream may be conceived
to be, and can indeed be said to exist only as the successive cross-
sections (its past having disappeared and its future yet unborn), never-
theless, it represents very well the steady, unbroken progress of de-
velopment from the ovum to old age. There may be crises in the
development of the individual, as, for instance, when the chick leaves
the egg or the pullet lays its first egg, but there are no breaks in its
continuity. Successive generations may be pictured as new streams,
each taking its source from a particle—a germ cell—from some cross-
section of the preceding generation; and evolution may be represented
by placing the new source at a different level than the original. For
evolution studies we compare cross-sections of different developmental
streams (generations) at comparable distances from the sources, and
for evolutionary explanation we must examine the entire series of
processes involved in the origin of the new source and in the conditions
and inherent character of the new developmental stream.
We can not be said to have actual experience of any other form
of development than individual development; evolution or racial de-
+One of the series of Darwin Anniversary addresses given under the
auspices of the Biological Club of the University of Chicago, February 1 to
March 18, 1909.
240 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
velopment is an inference from innumerable facts and se.ies of phe-
nomena, all of which are bound up together and rendered intelligible
by the theory of common descent. We therefore find that the founders
of theories of evolution turn to individual development as the court
of last resort, as the place where evolution may be detected in actual
process. For here is found the link that binds successive generations,
here variations arise, whether they be mutations or of the ordinary
fluctuating kind, whether they be germinal or acquired; here in the
individual life history the Lamarckian must look for the reflection of
the experiences of the individual back upon the germ; here the ad-
herents of orthogenesis must find their crucial evidence.
In his theory of natural selection Darwin accepted as given the
data of individual development. But he saw clearly that the funda-
mental phenomena of heredity and variation had their seat in the
individual development, and he experienced the need of framing a
conception that would bind together the phenomena of hybridization,
the various forms of variation, atavism, telegony, regeneration, inheri-
tance of acquired characters and the like; and in his volumes on “ Ani-
mals and Plants under Domestication” he framed the provisional
hypothesis of pangenesis to include them all. I shall not attempt to
present the details of this theory, but I may be permitted to say that,
as a matter of logical arrangement of the assumed data, under the
circumstances of existing biological conceptions and of the state of
knowledge of the time, the theory was well worthy of its illustrious
founder. In its way, it was as original as the theory of natural selec-
tion, though some of its fundamental ideas had certainly been antici-
pated by previous writers.
Nor shall I attempt a critical estimate of the value of the theory
in the history of science; but I may be permitted to call attention to
certain features. In the first place, the theory was overburdened with
certain unnecessary conceptions such as inheritance of acquired char-
acters, atavism and telegony. The elimination of these conceptions
immensely simplifies the theory of individual development. In the
second place, it rested upon a fundamental conception, that of repre-
sentative particles, which amounts to a denial of the reality of indi-
vidual development. And in the third place, it assumed certain biolog-
ical processes—the existence of specific vital particles of ultramicro-
scopic dimensions, their radiation from parent cells, and their aggrega-
tion in other specific cells in a definite architectural pattern—tfor which
there is not only entire absence of evidence, but which are wholly
inconsistent with the known facts of cellular physiology. For these
reasons the theory had only provisional importance, as indeed Darwin
recognized in naming it the provisional hypothesis of pangenesis.
The determinant hypothesis of Weismann, contained in his theory
INDIVIDUAL DEVELOPMENT 241
of the germ-plasm, includes the assumptions of the pangenesis hypoth-
esis, with those eliminated that were made necessary by the conception
of the inheritance of acquired characters. For Weismann’s gemmules,
or determinants, the assumption of somatic origin was unnecessary,
and thus, as Professor Whitman states, the entire centripetal migration
of Darwin’s theory was eliminated, but the entire centrifugal process
was retained. ‘The origin of every character of the individual was
explained in the Weismannian theory, as in the Darwinian theory, by
the unfolding (it can not be called development) of representative
particles. Nevertheless, the theory of the germ-plasm played an im-
portant réle in the development of biological knowledge, for it framed
a set of ideas in a manner sufficiently logical and definite to serve as
veritable working hypotheses or bases of attack. The immense effect
of Weismann’s writings on the theory of individual development should
not be underestimated.
PHYSIOLOGY OF DEVELOPMENT
The theories of individual development that we have mentioned
bear all the marks of provisional or formal hypotheses. Although
extremely ingenious and logical, they are based only in small part on
analysis of the actual processes and they offer no real explanation of the
phenomena themselves; for they really include all the elemental phe-
nomena and merely sum them up; they are definitions that include the
matter to be defined; they amount to a denial of the reality of individ-
ual development as truly as did the preformation theories of the
eighteenth century.
As a series of processes occurring in nature and accessible to experi-
ence, the development of the individual is capable of resolution into
simpler biological processes, and these presumably into physico-chemical
events in the usual sense. All attempts to make such analyses come
under the head of Physiology of Development; and this plan of
attack on the problems of individual development, known in Germany
as developmental mechanics, is one of the most actively pursued lines
of biological investigation at the present time. Physiology of Develop-
ment deals primarily with specific problems, and the results constitute
a critical basis for the appreciation of general theories of both indi-
vidual and racial development. We shall examine some results and
principles of these studies, and consider their application to some
theories of heredity and evolution.
1. Embryonic Primordia and the Law of Genetic Restriction.—
In the course of development the most general features of organization
arise first, and those that are successively less general in the order of
their specialization. Thus the directions of symmetry of the future
organism—the oral and aboral surfaces, right and left sides, anterior
voL. Lxxv.—l16.
242 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
and posterior ends—are the earliest recognizable features of organiza-
tion of bilateral animals, and they appear while the germ is still uni-
cellular. The distinction between outer, intermediate and internal
organs next makes its appearance, each at first as a single tissue. The
outer tissue then separates into an epidermal and a nervous tissue, the
inner tissue into the intestinal and yolk-sac epithelium, the middle
tissue into muscle-forming tissue, connective tissue, skeleton-forming
tissue, blood-forming tissue, excretory tissue, peritoneal tissue, etc.
For every structure, therefore, there is a period of emergence from
something more general. The earliest discernible germ of any part or
organ may be called its primordium. In this sense the ovum is the
primordium of the individual, the primitive outer tissue the primordium
of all structures of the skin and nervous system, the primitive inner
layer of the intestine and all structures connected with it, etc. Pri-
mordia are, therefore, of all grades, and each arises from a primordium
of a higher grade of generality.
The emergence of a primordium involves a limitation in two
directions: (1) it is itself limited in a-positive fashion by being re-
stricted to a definite line of differentiation more special than the
primordium from which it sprang, and (2) the latter is limited in a
negative way by losing the capacity for producing another primordium
of exactly the same sort. The advance of differentiation sets a limit,
in the manners indicated, to subsequent differentiation, a principle
that has been designated by Minot the law of genetic restriction. This
in a merely descriptive way is one of the general laws of individual
development, and in it is involved the explanation of many important
data in the fields of physiology and pathology.
But, though primordia are thus restricted, they nevertheless have
the very important property of subdivision, in many cases at least,
each part retaining the qualities of the whole. Thus, for instance, in
some animals two or several complete embryos may arise from parts
of one ovum. Similarly, two or more limbs may be produced in some
forms by subdividing a limb bud. Thus frogs with six hind legs have
been produced by Gustav Tornier by the simple process of dividing
the primordia of the hind legs with a snip of the scissors, in which case
he found that on each side one part of the primordium produced a com-
plete pair of legs and the other the normal leg of that side. This
capacity for subdivision of primordia explains large classes of patho-
logical facts—at the same time it furnishes a problem to the student
of the physiology of development which has proved a serious stumbling
block.
2. Principle of Organization—I have already indicated the exist-
ence of direction and localization in the primordial germ of the
individual, the unsegmented ovum; the ovum, as we say, is polarized,
INDIVIDUAL DEVELOPMENT 243
and, not only so, but, in bilateral animals, it is bilaterally symmetrical.
This is not usually indicated in the form of the ovum, which is typically
spherical, but in the disposition and developmental value of its parts.
Here we have one of the most fundamental and least comprehended
facts in embryology. It has, moreover, been shown that this property
of direction and localization resides in the homogeneous, transparent,
‘semifluid matrix that suspends all the visible particles of the proto-
plasm of the egg. It is probable that primordia of all grades possess
similar properties, and, if this is so, we have a principle that goes far
to explain the orderly localization of processes in morphogenesis.
This principle is not farther analyzable at present; but, as it may be
found intact in parts of primordia no less than in the whole, it prob-
ably rests on a molecular basis. The most ready analogy in simpler
phenomena is that of crystallization. The study of fluid crystals has
furnished us examples of imorganic molecular aggregates in which
direction and ‘localization are given in the whole and also reappear
rapidly in the parts when the whole is subdivided.
3. The Réle of Cell-division in Development.—The individual or-
ganism begins as a single cell, from which all cells of the developed
organism trace their lineage by the process of cell-division. This has
been regarded as one of the most fundamental factors of the individual
development in the theories of Weismann, Hertwig and others. But
important as the process of cell-division undoubtably is in development,
I believe that it is impossible to ascribe to it in principle more than an
indirect effect: Considerable complexity of development is possible
among Protozoa, whose body is unicellular, and some ova may carry
out under experimental conditions a considerable part of the early
development without a single cell-division. Moreover, the same kind
of differentiated structure may be composed of one cell or of many,
or of variable numbers of cells.
The physiological value of cell-division is no different in principle
in developing than in functioning tissues (using these terms in the
usual sense). The general law of relative reduction of surface in
_ proportion to increasing mass imposes a size limit on cells, which can
be regulated only by cell-division; an internal principle of regulation
of cell-size has also been stated by R. Hertwig and Boveri, viz., a cer-
tain relationship characteristic of each species between the amounts
of nuclear and cytoplasmic matters, so that increase of initial volume
of the former involves increase of the latter, and vice versa. Corre-
sponding to these principles, we find that individuals of different sizes
of the same species vary not in the size, but in the number of the cells;
and this is regulated by variation in the number of cell-divisions in
different individuals.
Cell-division must necessarily, therefore, have an immense func-
244 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
tional significance in development, owing to the principle of relation
of functional area to mass. It has also another very important func-
tion as an isolating factor. The localizations that arise, owing to the
organization process of which we have spoken, are rendered relatively
stable and permanent by the formation of cell-walls. Thus the ele-
ments of the mosaic are isolated, and each isolated part has the oppor-
tunity to grow into a new mosaic. Cell-division is thus an important
factor in progressive differentiation, not as a cause, but as a means.
4. Environment.—Environment must be conceived in a somewhat
broader sense than usual in considering the individual development.
The developing embryo has an environment in the usual sense, con-
sisting of all those external conditions that surround it, some of which
enter into its development. But in addition to this extra-organic en-
vironment there is an intra-organic one; the developing embryo is
not merely a unit on which an extra-organic environment operates,
but it is a living mosaic, each element of which may conceivably enter
into the development of any other in the sense of being a factor in the
process. Hach part of the embryo, therefore, has an intra-organic
environment consisting of all the other parts, some of which constitute
relatively immediate environmental factors, others relatively re-
mote ones. Z
To illustrate: nerves arise in the embryo from certain centers and
grow out in the embryonic tissues, much as roots grow out in the soil;
the muscles arise separately and the nerves grow to them and make the
proper connections. Is this due to an innate tendency of each nerve
to grow in particular paths and branch according to definite laws, or,
on the other hand, is it due to a directive stimulus exerted on the
growing nerve by developing muscle tissue? The answer can be given
only by a suitable experiment: If an abnormal innervation area were
brought into the field of growth of a developing nerve, would the nerve
entering the abnormal area follow its normal mode of branching, or
the one characteristic of the normal nerves of the transposed area?
To be specific: the bud of a leg of a tadpole that has as yet no nerves
may be transplanted to any region of the body (Braus and Harrison),
and it develops as a leg; but it receives its innervation from the nerves
of the region to which it has been transplanted, and the mode of
branching of the nerve is that of the leg nerves. We may generalize
this statement by saying that any nerve may be made to depart from
its normal mode of branching and to branch like leg nerves, by bringing
a leg bud into its innervation area at the time that the nerve is still
growing. -
It will be seen that if this is generally true, the constancy of
distribution of peripheral nerves is not due to the transmission of
nerve-branching determinants from generation to generation, but is a
function of the intra-organic environment in each generation.
INDIVIDUAL DEVELOPMENT 245
The case of the determination of nerve-branching by intra-organic
relations does not by any means stand alone. The same principle
undoubtedly holds for the development of the blood-vessels, which
grow along paths determined by the arrangement of organs and tissues
and not according to a predetermined law given in the blood-vessels
themselves. Color patterns have been shown in some cases to be
determined by intra-organic variable relations, as in Loeb’s experiments
on the determination of the color pattern of the yolk-sac of a fish, which
he demonstrated to be due to the positive attraction of the circulating
blood for migratory cells that bear pigment. The development of any
color pattern was therefore dependent upon blood-circulation, and the
form of the pattern upon the pattern of the blood-vessels. The
primordia of the eye or the ear transplanted to strange locations in the
embryo induce formations in surrounding tissues that are strange to
them and characteristic of the normal eye and ear environment. The
origin and growth of motor nerve cells has been shown in my laboratory
by Miss Shorey to be dependent in the chick on normal muscle develop-
ment; so that the anatomy of the central nervous system, no less than
the peripheral system, is dependent to some extent on the environment.
Regeneration of lost parts is dependent for its completion to some degree
on innervation, and the normal development of muscle tissue beyond a
certain stage is likewise so dependent. These examples might be in-
creased by others, which, taken together, would show that an immense
part of what we call inheritance is inheritance of environment only, that
is, repetition of similar developmental processes under similar condi-
tions. The bearing of all this on the doctrine of determinants, that
characters of the adult are represented by germs of a lesser order in the
germ of the entire organism, is obvious.
Many of the problems of heredity, so-called, are not capable at
present of such resolution. We may note some instances of this kind
and then attempt to analyze the whole matter briefly. The example
cited of transplantation of a leg-bud is of this kind: the transplanted
leg-bud does not develop into an arm if it be transplanted to the region
of the arm, but into a right or left leg, as the case may be, and this is
true no matter how early the stage at which the transplantation may
be made. It is not possible to change the specificity of such a pri-
mordium by any means yet employed. Moreover, there are many other
experiments which show that the primordia of a great many structures
are definitely specified even before they can be detected by any method
of pure observation. Thus if a portion of the medullary plate of a
frog embryo be cut out so as to include in the cut part the region that
would form an eye in the course of time, and if then this piece be re-
placed inverted, it is found that the subsequent development of this area
is inverted, not restored to the normal, although no trace of organs
246 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
was present at the time of the operation (Spemann). In this case,
then, the eye appears in an abnormal position.
Correlate Differentiation—We have cited a series of cases that
illustrate two apparently contradictory principles known as the principles
of correlative differentiation and of self-differentiation. The part that
these play in embryonic development should be analyzed. The data
of correlative differentiation may be placed in two categories, one of
behavior and one of metabolic relations. Considering these separately :
Behavior.—Any case of behavior involves a stimulus, and a re-
sponse ; these imply irritability and reaction capacity. To take a simple
case, for instance, the contraction of a muscle, the stimulus may be
of a variety of kinds, nervous, chemical, electrical, thermic, mechanical ;
in any case the response is contraction. The nature of the response
is given in the system and is limited by its reaction capacity. The
muscle cell does not contract for one kind of stimulus and secrete in
Tesponse to another.
This principle is elementary in physiology and psychology and it
must apply also in the physiology of development. It appears to me
that it has not been sufficiently borne in mind by students of the sub-
ject. Herbst, for instance, divides developmental stimuli into directive,
trophic and formative. The first kind of stimulus determines the
direction of growth or migration, and so plays an important part in
development, a really great part illustrated in two of the cases cited,
viz., the mode of branching of nerves, and the direction of migration
of wandering cells. Trophic stimuli are those that affect the rate or
amount of growth without altering its specific character.
The conception of formative stimuli implies, if it has any meaning
whatever, that the nature of a developmental process is determined
by the nature of a stimulus. A case often cited is as follows: the two
most fundamental parts of the eye, lens and retina, develop from two
entirely distinct primordia, the retina from the embryonic brain and the
lens from the epidermis. The retina first grows out from the wall
of the brain and reaches the epidermis to which it becomes fused. The
latter then produces a lens. Now it was shown for some amphibia,
that, if the retina fails to reach the epidermis, no lens forms; there-
fore, it was argued that the production of the lens is due to a formative
stimulus exercised by the retina on the epidermis. But in some other
cases the lens forms even if the retina be absent; which does not prove
that it arises without stimulus, only that this specific stimulus is not
needed. And the fact that transplanted optic vesicles stimulate lens
formation in strange localities from the epidermis merely shows that
this form of reaction of embryonic epidermis is widespread at this
stage of development.
The instance is valuable as proving that stimuli are important in
INDIVIDUAL DEVELOPMENT 247
development, but useless as an example of a formative stimulus.
Morphogenetic behavior, like behavior in other fields, is not a function
of the stimulus as to its specificity, but it is prescribed and limited
by the reaction capacity of the system. One example is as good as
many. We shall not find this principle contradicted by any of the
known data of the physiology of development.”
Metabolic Relations—When we consider to what an extent the
nature of every biological character is given in its chemical composi-
tion, it can be readily understood that, to some authors, physiological
chemistry should seem the complete basis of heredity. The characters
of every tissue of the body are absolutely dependent on their chemical
composition, and even slight variations in chemical composition may
‘completely alter function, appearance or form. For such a statement
examples are entirely unnecessary.
The development of characters in the individual is dependent upon
the occurrence of definite chemical reactions, upon their rate and upon
their degree of completion. It has been shown that the law of accelera-
tion of embryonic development in correspondence with rise of tempera-
ture is the same in principle as the law of acceleration of chemical reac-
tions by temperature increase. Numerous experiments have been made
on the character of development in the absence of one or other or
combinations of the elements normal to protoplasm, with the aim of
determining their role in development. Herbst, for instance, has made
a series of experiments on the development of larve of the sea urchin
in artificial sea waters, in the composition of which definite elements
are wanting. He shows, for instance, that in sea water made up
without calcium the skeleton fails to develop, and that the form of
the larva resulting is profoundly modified from the normal. In other
experiments the potassium or sulphur, or iron, etc., is omitted from
the solution, and the effect on the development noted. Other experi-
menters have maintained that the presence of specific chemical elements
in excess has definite morphological consequences.
As regards complex substances and their réle in morphogenesis, but
little is actually known. Recent results indicate that the egg con-
tains substances of complex chemical composition which are essential
for the development of specific parts or tissues. Thus certain experi-
ments consist in the removal of definite parts of the egg containing
specific materials; and in the subsequent development specific parts of
the embryo are wanting. In other experiments, by Conklin, the trans-
ference of definite substances from their normal location by means of
centrifugal force is followed by the development of corresponding
Stimuli in the sense in which we use the word involve merely the im-
pinging of energies on the stimulated system; if substantive additions are
involved we have more than a mere stimulus, to the extent that substances are
added to the system.
248 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
specific structures in the abnormal location. These experiments
strongly suggest, even if they do not rigorously prove, that such sub-
stances are essential ingredients in definite developmental processes.
I am indebted to Dr. Riddle for the following illustration: The
various colors of mammals, such as black, brown, red, yellow, are due
to chemical substances known as melanins. The chemistry of these
substances starts out from a simple colorless base or chromogen, from
which the series of colors, yellow, red, brown, black, is derived as
successive stages of oxidation. The chromogen base is found in all
mammals; the color then would appear to be due to the varying powers
of the cells of different individuals to oxidize the given base. ‘Tornier
has shown in his experiments on the coloration of Amphibia that the
particular color developed is a function of nutrition, varying in the
order of oxidation value (as was later ascertained) according to the
degree of nutrition. The development or inheritance of color, there-
fore, can certainly not be due to the presence of black or brown or red
or yellow determinants in the germ, assumed for theoretical purposes
by some students of heredity, but to a specific power of oxidation of the
protoplasm. This faculty in its turn is no doubt capable of resolution
into other physiological terms.
We are only at the beginning of the study of correlations of em-
bryonic metabolism. The réle that the internal secretions of the
embryo may play in the processes of development is practically unknown ;
but we may expect to find here biological reactions of fundamental
significance, especially when we consider such phenomena of the adult
as the influence of pregnancy on the organism, the possibility of in-
ducing lactation, with all that this implies, by injection of feetal tissues ;
the relations between the sex organs and secondary sexual characteristics
and indeed the entire habitus of the organism; the influence of a small
gland like the thyroid, or the pituitary body, etc. Biochemical reaction
runs through every phase of development and is unquestionably the
decisive factor in the appearance of many characters of the organism.
Self-differentiation.—The conception of self-differentiation in mor-
phogenesis is a vague and unsatisfactory one. In a sense it is a contra-
diction in biological terms, for assuredly environment enters into every
biological process. On the one hand, the term covers the fact of the
specificity of primordia, which means only a certain stability of metab-
olism and reaction capacity; on the other hand, it may have specific
meaning in one large class of developmental phenomena, viz., polariza-
tion and localization. If, for instance, the term self-differentiation
might be applied to the appearance of definite axes, angles, points and
faces of a crystal, it would with equal propriety be applicable to the
appearance of polarity, bilaterality, etc., the axes of embryonic develop-
ment. But if the term should come to hold simply this restricted
meaning, then all reason for its maintenance would be gone.
INDIVIDUAL DEVELOPMENT 249
It is not at all certain that it will be possible to reduce all the
problems of the physiology of development to such categories as we
have mentioned. The subject is full of unsolved problems, but so far
as I can see no one has shown any real reason for assuming ultra-
physical agencies in any of the events, and there is the same pragmatic
reason for refusing to assent to such suggestions, which are made all
too frequently, that there is in other fields of science. If we will be
consistent, we are driven to the conclusion that the apparent simplicity
of the germ is real, that the germ contains no gemmules, or determinants
or other representative particles; that development is truly epigenetic,
a natural series of events that succeed one another according to physico-
chemical and physiological laws; the explanation of the sequence con-
sists simply in the discovery of each of its steps.
APPLICATIONS
The problems of heredity and variation are included in a true
physiological conception of the individual development; but some bio-
logical conceptions that have more or less status and reputation are in-
consistent with it. Such are the inheritance of acquired characters,
atavism, and the theory of unit characters, The first is a familiar
problem that I shall not argue anew; the second logically implies the
presence of ancestral representative particles in the germ, which is in-
consistent with a physiological theory of development. But it is obvious
that the facts united under the name of atavism or reversion take their
place naturally in a physiological theory of development, as arrests of
development, or modification of environment, or in other ways.
The theory of unit characters deserves more attention for it is
essentially a modern theory, and counts numerous adherents. This
conception has been most sharply formulated by De Vries in his Muta-
tionstheorie. He says:
The properties of the organism are constructed of units which are sharply
distinguished from one another. These units may be united in groups, and in
related species the same units and groups occur. Intermediates between the
units, such as the external forms of plants and animals exhibit so abundantly,
are not found any more than between the molecules of chemistry.
Bateson’s allelomorphs constitute a similar conception. Such
hypothetical elements of organization must be conceived as distinct
from the germ on. They can be shuffled about from one generation
to another, and can, therefore, be introduced, removed or replaced in
the germ cells.
It must be admitted that these conceptions fit certain facts of
inheritance in many hybrids fairly well, but the progress of discovery
has made necessary the installation of subsidiary hypotheses, so that
the most recent conceptions of unit characters are becoming extremely
250 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
complex, and it would seem as though the system would soon fall of its
own weight. ‘The entire value of the hypothesis consists in the formal
approximate expression of certain facts; when it is found that the
hypothesis begins to fail even for the classes of facts for which it was
originally intended, and that most of the known facts of development
can not possibly be expressed in its terms, the entire conception is put
on trial.
The weakness in the theory of unit characters is in the use and
conception of the term “character. The term has been prescribed
to us by the systematic zoologists and botanists engaged in describing
the differences between species; so that “ character ” really means any
definable feature of an anatomical kind that differentiates species; by
extension it also means any other differentiating features that can be
defined. In the study of evolution and heredity, it is usually only
anatomical characters that are in question. Now the study of the
physiology of development teaches us that whatever else “ characters ”
may be, they are not units; they simply represent the sum of all
physiological processes coming to expression in definable areas or ways,
and they may thus represent a particular stage of a chemical process,
or a mode of reaction of some part. “Character” is essentially a
static morphological term; in the study of heredity and development
we are dealing with biological processes. To adapt a phrase of Hux-
ley’s: “ characters ” are like shells cast up on the beach by the ebb and
flow of the vital tides; they have a more or less adventitious quality.
To give them representation in the germ is equivalent to a denial of
uniformity in biological phenomena.
Just as the exact position of each shell on a beach might be fully
explained if we knew its full history, so each character has a certain
kind of inner necessity as the result of a sequence of developmental
processes. And just as in the history of the position of the shell on
the beach we should certainly ascribe great importance to the tides and
winds, so in the quality of each individual character we should find
corresponding vital tides and winds, as regular and lawful as those of
the ocean. We do not yet know the secrets of the vital tides; we
maintain only that they are the moving forces in development and
heredity, just as in physiology and pathology; and every fundamental
contribution to the physiology of protoplasm is at the same time,
and to the same extent, a contribution to heredity and the physiology
of development.
But if these principles are accepted, how are we to explain the
facts on which the theory of unit characters depends? ‘The main
difficulty lies not in the facts of mutation, for the physiology of this
phenomenon already begins to appear from the experiments of Tower
and MacDougal, who show that mutations may result from action of
INDIVIDUAL DEVELOPMENT 251
environment directly on the germ cells. The most fundamental phe-
nomena in the unit character theory are unquestionably the segrega-
tions of characters that appear in the offspring of hybrids in so-called
Mendelian inheritance. In the most typical cases, grandparental
characters reappear in definite proportions of the progeny of the hybrid
generation. The interpretation, according to the theory of unit
characters, is in the hypothesis of purity of the germ cells of the
hybrid generation with respect to the segregated characters; which
means that the germ cells of the hybrid generation are pure with refer-
ence to the contrasting characters united in the soma; in other words,
that corresponding contrasted characters can not both remain in the
same germ cell, but are segregated in different ones and may thus
appear pure in the descendants of a hybrid generation.*
We may well doubt that absolute purity of grandparental characters
in the offspring of the hybrid generation occurs, and the results un-
questionably vary with the environment; but I believe that we have
to admit the general principle of segregation. However; the theory
of segregation of unit characters in the germ cells is in no way necessary
to explain the results; it is in fact inconsistent with the highly variable
result; if unit characters were segregated in the germ, we should expect
very definite constant results.
If we take our stand on the epigenetic basis and regard the germ
cells as no more complex than direct investigation would lead us to
suppose, then we have to admit that segregation in the germ cells can
involve only constituents of the germ cells themselves. But any
variation thus induced in the germ cells would be a factor in each
process of the development, and would hence tend to influence every
character that appears. Such a hypothesis involves the conception
that germ cells contain elements capable of segregation; and this is so.
Even if the principle of segregation of characters in inheritance had
never been discovered, the principle of segregation of germ-cell elements
would still hold, for the two discoveries were made absolutely inde-
pendently.
I refer to the work of Guyer and Montgomery on the chromosomes,
which has been followed by a long series of very exact studies.. These
studies certainly suggest segregation of parental chromosomes in vary-
ing proportions in different germ cells. Indeed, I know of no other
interpretation of chromosome behavior that is consistent with the
facts. Whatever value we may attribute to the chromosomes in cellular
physiology, the variable relations established by their differential segre-
gations, even if only quantitative differences are concerned, must involve
endless secondary effects in the long series of cell generations that make
3 Recent modifications of the theory of purity of the germ-cells do not essen-
tially modify the argument.
252 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
up the individual life history.* It is not impossible that other segrega-
tions than those of the chromosomes form part of the germ-cell be-
havior, but of this we know nothing as yet. In any event, the principle
of segregation of actual visible elements of the germ cells has a firm
anatomical basis.
It must not be forgotten that the germ is the entire organism and
that it passes through development as the same individual; con-
tinuity of indwiduality is preserved throughout development. There-
fore, if we discard determinant hypotheses and take our stand on
a strictly physiological theory of development, it follows of necessity
that the transmitted factors of heredity included in the organization
of the germ cells must be factors in the development of the entire
organism. The so-called Mendelian factors must therefore be of this
character, as I have argued elsewhere. That is to say, the segregated
factors must be general constitutional conditions effective as factors
in the development of every part of the organism. It can readily be
seen that specific intensity of metabolism, or of reactivity, and varia-
tion in constitutional size of cells may be such conditions. Others no
doubt exist, of which sex may be one. The essential thing to recognize
is that the heritable and segregable factors, being conditions of the
germ cells at the start, can never be anything less than factors of the
entire organism at all stages.
Our conclusion is that the theory of individual development must
more and more come to be regarded as a branch of physiology proper.
The theory of representative particles must be relegated to the class of
formal hypotheses whose usefulness is largely outlived. While it may
still play a part in speculations on heredity, I believe that it will come
to be generally recognized by those who use it as a mere matter of
convenience of terminology, and not as an explanation of the phenomena
described in its terms, in the sense of being a verifiable part of the
sequence of processes in development.
*This general argument would stand even if the chromosomes be regarded
merely as indices of organization. They at least give us a clue as to what
“the organism” is doing at the time in question. This is indeed all we can
say of any characters at any period if we consider the matter in a strictly
logical sense.
ORIGIN OF THE NERVOUS SYSTEM 253
THE ORIGIN OF THE NERVOUS SYSTEM AND ITS
APPROPRIATION OF EFFECTORS
By G. H. PARKHR
PROFESSOR OF ZOOLOGY, HARVARD UNIVERSITY
III. CrEntrat NERvous ORGANS
iE dealing with the differentiation of nervous organs, the earth-
worm affords a good example of a simple type of well-centralized
nervous system. The central nervous organs in this animal (Fig. 1)
consist of a brain or cerebral ganglion situated anteriorly and dorsal to
the buccal cavity, right and left esophageal connectives extending from
the brain ventrally to the ventral nerve-cord which stretches as a seg-
mented organ from near the anterior end of the worm over its ventral
line posteriorly to the tail. The segments in the ventral cord agree in
Fie. 1. Head OF AN HARTHWORM IN LONGITUDINAL SEcTIon. 0, brain; m,
mouth; 0, esophagus; vn, ventral nerve-cord.
number and position with those of the worm’s body and from each seg-
ment three pairs of nerves pass out to the integument and muscles of
the adjacent region.
The essential nervous elements of the ventral cord can be made out
in transverse sections (Fig. 2). In such sections the integument will
be seen to be filled with sense-cells, each of which ends peripherally in a
sensory bristle and gives rise centrally, in addition to a few subepithelial
processes, to a single nerve-fiber which passes inward between the
muscles and enters the ventral ganglion by one of its three nerves;
finally this fiber spreads out in the fibrillar substance or neuropile of
the ganglion. This cell-body in the integument with its processes
including the nerve-fiber constitutes a primary sensory neurone. These
neurones usually do not spread beyond the ganglion with which they
are directly connected, but in exceptional cases they may extend into
the ganglion anterior or posterior to this one.
In the ventral and lateral portions of each ganglion are numerous
large nerve-cells from which coarse processes extend through the neuro-
254 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
pile, fibrillating as they pass to terminate as motor nerve-fibers in the
muscles of the adjacent part of the body. These cells with their proc-
esses constitute the primary motor neurones of the earthworm and, like
the sensory neurones, they may be present in any one of the three nerves
of asegment. Their longitudinal extent is probably not much beyond
a single segment.
The primary sensory and motor neurones not only give rise to the
nerves of the earthworm, but they contribute a larger part of the sub-
ws:
yee
IR.
——— SS
Fic. 2. TRANSVERSD SECTION OF THE VENTRAL NERVOUS CHAIN AND SURROUNDING
STRUCTURES OF AN EARTHWORM. cm, circular muscles; ep, epidermis ; 7m, longitudinal
muscles ; mc, motor cell-body ; mf, motor nerve-fiber ; sc, sensory cell-body ; sf, sensory
nherve-fiber ; vg, ventral ganglion.
stance of each ganglion. As stated in the first article, they form when
together the necessary elements for the simplest, conventional reflex-arc.
How they are related to one another in the neuropile is not conclusively
settled, but, judging from the work of Apathy (1897) and others, the
connection here as in the nervous net is one of direct continuity.
Besides the motor and sensory neurones, the central nervous organs
of the earthworm contain a considerable number of so-called association
neurones. These are nerve-cells with longer or shorter processes that
connect parts within the same ganglion or run from one ganglion to
another. They give rise to no fibers that extend into the nerves and
hence they are strictly limited to the central nervous organs. Their
longitudinal extent is seldom over more than one or two segments.
Since the sensory, motor, and association neurones thus far described
make up the bulk of the ventral nerve-cord of the earthworm and since
none of these have a longitudinal extent of more than a few segments,
it follows that the cord must be conceived as made up of an immense
number of overlapping short neurones which in this collective way
stretch over its hundred and twenty or more segments. But the nerve-
cord of the earthworm is not composed exclusively of short neurones.
In its dorsal portion are three giant fibers which, though their nature
has been even recently disputed, are without much doubt nervous
ORIGIN OF THE NERVOUS SYSTEM 255
organs. The middle and largest of these fibers extends almost the
whole length of the ventral cord and, according to Friedlander (1894),
has unquestionable connections with ganglion-cells. The two lateral
fibers, though smaller, have much the same extent as the median one
and are also directly connected with cells. Both sets of fibers connect
by branches with the neuropile of the successive segments. Thus the
ventral cord of the earthworm may be described as composed of three
long neurones and an immense number of overlapping short neurones.
This peculiarity in the structure of the cord makes itself manifest
in the movements of the worm. Undoubtedly the slow waves of mus-
cular activity that move over the worm from head to tail as it creeps
along are dependent upon the interlocked short neurones, whereas the
e mu nN Weeyy Nt a hpeinbin PAREN EPR SERN TY
Fig. 3. TRANSVERSE SECTION OF THH VENTRAL NeRVOUS CorD or Segalion
(modified from Hatschek). 6m, basement membrane; c, cuticula; e, epidermis; gc,
ganglion-cells; n, nerve-fibers and neuropile; s, space occupied by vacuolated sup-
porting tissue.
sudden drawing together of the worm as a whole, when it is vigorously
stimulated, is very probably the result of impulses spread through the
long neurones.
The absence of degenerated fiber-tracts in the ventral cords of
earthworms that have been cut in two and the rapidity with which
nervous regeneration takes place in these worms are conditions that
very likely depend upon the almost entire formation of the cord from
systems of short neurones.
At first sight the central nervous apparatus of the sartinporin seems
to be widely different from the neuromuscular mechanism of the ccelen-
terates, but the difference in reality is not so pronounced. To begin
with, the whole nervous mechanism of the ccelenterate is within an
256 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
epithelial layer, whereas the central nervous organs of the earthworm
are solid masses of nerve-cells, fibers, and neuropile entirely distinct
from any epithelium. But this condition is apparently a recent acqui-
sition on the part of the earthworm, for in another annelid, Sagalion,
the ventral cord (Fig. 3) and the brain are still a part of the superficial
Fic. 4. TRANSVERSE SECTION OF THE VENTRAL NERVOUS CORD OF AN EARTHWORM,
showing the ganglion-cells on the ventral side (v) and the nerve-fibers and neuropile
on the dorsal side (d).
ectoderm and differ from the condition in the ccelenterates only in that
they represent a concentration of nervous elements in certain regions
instead of a diffuse*condition as in the sea-anemones, etc. In Nereis
the brain is epithelial, but the cord by a process of delamination has
broken away from the integument, and in the earthworm the whole
central nervous system, brain as well as cord, has delaminated. It is
chiefly this concentration and separation of the nervous organs from the
skin that justifies, in my opinion, the statement that an earthworm has
central nervous organs and a sea-anemone has not.
The fact, however, that the central nervous system of the earthworm
has developed on the lines of the ccelenterate, has left its mark in the
distribution of nervous materials in the ventral cord of this animal. In
the ectoderm of the celenterate the cell-bodies of the nervous mech-
anism are nearer the exterior of the animal than are their processes, the
fibrillar mass, and the same is true in the ventral ganglia of the earth-
worm (Fig. 4) ; here the cell-bodies are on the ventral side of the gang-
lion, 7. e., next the integumentary epithelium, and the neuropile and
nerve-fibers are on the opposite or dorsal side of the ganglion. This
peculiarity in the distribution of nervous materials is apparently true
for most higher metazoans.
Another point of comparison between the nervous mechanism in
celenterates and in the earthworm is the presence of nerves in the
latter and their absence in the former. As already pointed out, the
nerves in the earthworm are bundles of independent fibers which course
more or less together between their end-organs and the central apparatus.
ORIGIN OF THE NERVOUS SYSTEM 257
The fibers in a nerve have no necessary functional relations one with
another, but are brought together chiefly by convenience of passage.
They are characteristic of those animals in which sense organs and
muscles have become well differentiated and widely separated from the
central organs, and are not to be confused with elongated bundles of
nervous elements such as are to be met with in some ceelenterates and
many echinoderms, for though these may represent early steps in the
evolution of nerves, they still retain so many evidences of functional
interrelation among their elements that they are to be classed rather
with nervous nets than with nerves.
The differentiation of nerves as thus ‘defined implies an increased
interrelation of neurones in the central apparatus as compared with the
condition in the more primitive nervous net. The nature of this grow-
ing interrelation has been well expressed by Sherrington (1906) in his
principle of the common path. ‘This principle implies that each sense
organ may be connected through the central organ with every effector
and conversely any effector may receive through the central organ
impulses from any sense-organ. In consequence the central organ must
contain many common paths which are momentarily used, now for this,
now for that combination of particular receptors and effectors. This
condition without doubt obtains in earthworms as it does in higher
animals, and is a feature that can hardly be said to exist in the nervous
nets of the ccelenterates.
It is also probable that the nervous mechanism in ccelenterates dif-
fers from that in the earthworm in its capacity as a nervous transmitter.
Attention has already been called to the fact that transmission in the
nervous net of a coelenterate may occur in almost any direction and that
in the central nervous organs of vertebrates it is very definitely limited
and may in fact flow in only one of two apparently possible directions.
So definite a restriction can not be asserted for the earthworm but, as
Norman (1900) has shown, significant differences do obtain. If an
earthworm that is creeping forward over a smooth surface is suddenly
cut in two near the middle, the anterior portion will move onward
without much disturbance whereas the posterior part will wriggle as
though in convulsions. This reaction, which can be repeatedly obtained
on even fragments of worms, shows that a single cut involves a stimula-
tion which in a posterior direction gives rise to a wholly different form
of response to what it does anteriorly; in other words, transmission in
the nerve-cord of the worm is specialized as compared with transmission
in the nervous net of the ccelenterate.
There is good reason to believe that the cerebral ganglion or brain
of the earthworm is in a measure degenerate. Certainly if we turn to
such an annelid as Nereis we find in place of the small mass of gangli-
onic cells and fibers that represent the brain in the earthworm a much
VOL. LXxv—17.
258 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
more extensive organ connected with a considerable number of sense
organs none of which are present in the earthworm. Light peristomial
tentacles, a pair of palps, a pair of antenne and, two pairs of eyes are
found connected by nerves with the brain of Nereis and represent a
condition in strong contrast with the unspecialized state in the earth-
worm. Yet both the earthworm and Nereis show much the same traits
when deprived of their brains (Loeb, 1894). Each worm is immensely
reduced in activity somewhat as a jellyfish is after the removal of its
sense-bodies, and one is justified in concluding that the head of even the
earthworm is an especially sensitive region through which many slight
environmental influences that might not be able to affect other parts of
the body gain access at this point to the neuromuscular mechanism.
That such a condition should obtain at the anterior end of a bilateral
animal has long been recognized as appropriate, for this is the part of
the animal that in normal locomotion first reaches the new environment.
But I am not acquainted with any discussion as to the mutual relations
of the nervous parts at the anterior end of an animal so far as their
origins are concerned. If what has been said in these lectures is true,
namely, that sense-organs in general precede central nervous organs in
evolution, then the brain of the worm has developed at its anterior end
because the chief sense-organs were originally there, and not vice versa,
a statement that I believe to hold for the growth of the brain in all
animals. Intricate’ and marvelous as the brain of the higher animals
is, it is, in my opinion, the product of a group of sense-organs that in
evolution preceded it in point of time.
The annelids then possess a neuromuscular mechanism in which
there are not only primary organs such as muscles, and secondary
organs, the sense-organs, but also tertiary organs, central nervous organs.
These central organs intervene in position between the receptors and
effectors and in the annelids are composed almost exclusively of short
overlapping neurones. It is probable that in the sea-anemone these
neurones are represented by the so-called ganglion-cells of the nervous
layer, but I would not go as far as Havet (1901) and designate these
cells in ccelenterates as motor cells, for though some of them undoubt-
edly connect with the muscle-fibers, others may be purely association
neurones. I believe further that in the sea-anemones the fibrils from
many sense-cells connect directly with muscle-fibers without the inter-
vention of ganglion-cells.
As an example of a central nervous system built upon the annelid
type but with increased complication, we may turn to the arthropods.
The central nervous system of these animals, like that of the annelids,
consists of a dorsal brain, cesophageal connectives, and a ventral, seg-
mented cord. These organs have been formed by a process of delami-
nation as in the earthworm and exhibit the same fundamental arrange-
ORIGIN OF THE NERVOUS SYSTEM 259
ment of cellular elements as is seen in this animal, 1. ¢., the ganglion-
cells are on the side of the cord next the exterior, and the neuropile and
nerve-fibers next the interior.
The chief fundamental point of difference in the nervous systems of
the annelids and arthropods consists in the great number of long
neurones in the latter as compared with the former. In the crab, as
demonstrated by Bethe (1897), many of the primary sensory neurones
extend over half the length of the ventral cord instead of being limited
to a few segments as in the earthworm, and the same is true of the
primary motor neurones. Moreover, the association neurones have
shown an extensive growth. Although in the crab there are some
neurones limited to one or two segments, as is the rule in the earth-
worm, the great majority extend over many segments and often through
the whole length of the nervous system. In this way the central
nervous organs of these animals are locked together much more closely
than are those in the worm and exhibit consequently in their physiology
a unity that the worms do not possess. This nervous unity, moreover,
has developed to such a degree in the higher arthropods that we may
with reason ascribe to such animals as the insects a primitive form of
intellectual life not unlike that found in the vertebrates. The struc-
tural basis for this seems to me to be foreshadowed in the few long
neurones of the worm which, as I have just pointed out, come to be the
common type in the arthropods. ‘The type of central nervous system
with long neurones also characterizes the other higher invertebrates
such as the mollusks, etc.
The central nervous system of the vertebrates and of certain other
closely allied forms like the tunicates, is usually put in strong contrast
with that of the higher invertebrates. The most striking feature in
this contrast is the fact that the vertebrate nervous system is tubular
and the invertebrate solid. As is well known, the central nervous
organs in vertebrates develop from an ectodermic tube that has been
infolded from the median dorsal surface of the animal. This simple
nerve-tube with nervous connections, but otherwise almost unmodified,
exists to-day in that primitive vertebrate amphioxus. In the higher
vertebrates the posterior portion of this tube becomes uniformly thick-
ened and forms the spinal cord, the central canal of which gives evi-
dence of its tubular nature. The anterior portion undergoes still more
profound changes than the posterior part in that its wall thickens very
differently in different regions and expands in several lobe-like out-
growths, giving rise thus to the brain whose ventricles represent the
original cavity of the nerve-tube.
Notwithstanding the striking difference between the central nervous
organs of vertebrates and invertebrates, they show certain fundamental
similarities and the first of these has to do with the distribution of
260 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
nervous materials. Since the nerve-tube from which the central
nervous organs in vertebrates are developed is infolded ectoderm, it
follows that the inner surface of the tube represents a portion of the
outer surface of the animal. This inner surface even in the adult
central nervous system is always covered by an epithelium as the
exterior of the animal is, and the nervous materials which surround it
are related to this epithelium in a characteristic way. This relation
can be most easily seen in any transverse section of the spinal cord.
Beginning at the central canal of such a section (Fig. 5) and proceed-
Fic. 5. TRANSVERSH SECTION OF THH SPINAL CORD OF A VERTEBRATH (SALA-
MANDER). c¢, central canal ; e, epidermis; g, gray substance composed of ganglion-
cells and neuropile; w, white substance or nerve-fibers.
ing through the substance of the cord to the opposite face, one passes
‘first an epithelial layer, then gray substances composed of nerve-cells,
neuropile, etc., and finally white substance made up of nerve-fibers.
Precisely this sequence is met with in the central nervous system of any
primitive invertebrate such as Segalion, where, as already pointed out,
in passing through the thickness of the central nervous organ from the
exterior to the interior one meets first external epithelium, then gan-
glion-cells and fibrille corresponding to the gray substance of verte-
brates, and finally nerve-fibers corresponding to the white substance of
these animals. Thus the nervous materials of the vertebrate spinal
cord are distributed through that structure on a plan similar to that
found in invertebrates, and this plan, though considerably modified, also
holds good for the vertebrate brain. So far as these particulars are
concerned, the vertebrate central nervous system differs from that of
the higher invertebrates chiefly in that in separating from the integu-
ment it has carried with it its epithelial mother-tissue instead of leaving
this tissue behind.
Not only are the materials of the vertebrate central organs distrib-
uted on a plan that is best understood from the standpoint of the inver-
tebrates, but the primary neurones of vertebrates are also most clearly
interpreted from this point of view. The primary motor neurones of
ORIGIN OF THE NERVOUS SYSTEM 261
vertebrates (Fig. 6) resemble very closely those of invertebrates, for
their cell-bodies are within the central nervous mass and their neurites
extend as motor nerve-fibers to the skeletal muscles. The primary
sensory neurones also agree with those of the invertebrates except that
their cell-bodies instead of being in or near the integument, as in most
invertebrates, have migrated centrally and thus form the dorsal ganglia.
At least this appears to have occurred in all vertebrate sensory nerves
except the olfactory, which still retains the usual invertebrate condition.
Fie. 6. DIAGRAM OF THH PRIMARY NEURONES OF THH VERTEBRATE NERVOUS
SYSTEM AS SHEN IN TRANSVERSH SECTION. Cc, spinal cord; dg, dorsal ganglion; i, in-
tegument; m, muscle; mn, motor neurone; sn, sensory neurone.
Association neurones, which were met with in the invertebrates, are
abundantly present in the vertebrates.
How the neurones in vertebrates are related to one another has been
a matter of much dispute. Whether the gray substance of the central
organs in these animals contains a true nervous net as seems to be the
case in many invertebrates or whether their neurones retain greater
individuality and are related morphologically only through contact, is
not yet settled. That many embryonic neurones, or neurocytes, are in
the beginning widely separated from others with which they are ulti-
mately closely related is true and gives color to the belief that they may
never fuse anatomically, though physiologically they do become con-
tinuous. The fact that nervous transmission through central organs
in adult vertebrates is slow, open to exhaustion, and restricted to one
direction as contrasted with transmission through nerve-fibers, is strong
physiological evidence of a special central mechanism of interrelation
between neurones such as Sherrington (1906) has pictured in the
synapse. ‘That no special anatomical condition has thus far been dis-
covered that answers to this physiological requirement can in no sense
be taken as an objection to it. That the vertebrate central nervous
system is in many of its parts a synaptic organ can not be doubted, but
that all its parts are synaptic is not yet proved. Possibly this is a
262 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
feature characteristic of only the more specialized parts of the vertebrate
central organs and entirely absent from the invertebrate, but whether
this difference really exists or not must remain for future investigation.
Although it can not be said at present that a synaptic nervous system
is the peculiar possession of the vertebrates, there are two important
features in which the central organs of these animals differ from those
of the invertebrates. In the first place, the central organs of verte-
brates exhibit a large prepondernace of long neurones over short ones,
and in the second place, they show an enormous increase in the number
of association neurones. In an earthworm there are only three long
neurones and the rest are short ones; in a crab the long and short
neurones are perhaps about equally abundant; but in a vertebrate the
long neurones certainly far outnumber the short ones. In any trans-
verse section of the spinal cord of one of the higher animals almost
all of the white substance in view excepting a thin layer surrounding
the ventral horn is made up of systems of long neurones. In this
respect the condition in the vertebrates seems to be almost the reverse
of that in worms and in consequence transection of their central nervous
organs results in profound and extensive degeneration such as is never
met with in animals like worms. For this reason the central nervous
system of the vertebrate, though giving much evidence of segmentation
in its early stages of growth, is finally a physiological unit such as is
realized in no other group of animals, a condition well evidenced by
the fact that some of its most recent phylogenetic acquisitions, like the
pyramidal tracts of the mammals, may consist of neurones that reach
almost from one end of the system to the other.
The second feature that distinguishes the central nervous organs of
vertebrates from those of invertebrates is the enormous development of
association neurones. These neurones are present in worms, are nu-
merous in arthropods, but are overwhelmingly abundant in vertebrates.
Of the white substance seen in the transverse section of the spinal cord
almost all except the dorsal columns represent association neurones.
Judged from this standpoint there are certainly many more association
neurones in the cord than all other kinds taken together. But the asso-
ciation neurones are not only the most numerous in the vertebrates;
they also constitute the basis of the most significant evolution. The
central nervous organs that show the most conspicuous progressive
changes in the vertebrates are the cerebellum and the cerebrum, par-
ticularly their cortical portions, and when it is remembered that few or
no primary sensory or motor neurones contribute to these two organs,
but that they are made up of association neurones almost exclusively, it
will be seen how enormously important these neurones become. The
association neurones in the vertebrates are not only the organs of intri-
eate nervous exchange, but in the region of the cerebral cortex they
ORIGIN OF THE NERVOUS SYSTEM 263
afford the material basis of the intellectual life. Thus in the verte-
brates the primary sensory and motor neurones in number and impor-
tance are outstripped by the association neurones.
As thus sketched the development of the adjustor or central nervous
element of the neuromuscular mechanism takes place in the region
between the receptors and the effectors and in time after these two sets
of organs have appeared. Its primary function is undoubtedly trans-
mission involving the principle of the common path; secondarily it
comes to be a repository of the effects of nervous stimulation whereby
its principal function as a modifier of impulses is made possible.
REFERENCES
APATHY, S.
1897. Das leitende Element des Nervensystems und seine topographischen
Beziehungen zu den Zellen, Mitth. zool. Stat., Neapel, Bd. 12, pp. 495-
748, Taf. 23-32.
BeETHE, A.
1897. Das Nervensystem von Carcinus Menas. Arch. mik. Anat., Bd. 50,
pp. 460-546, Taf. 25-30.
FRIEDLANDER, B.
1894. Altes und Neues zur Histologie des Bauchstranges des Regenwurms.
Zeitschr. wiss. Zool., Bd. 58, pp. 661-693, Taf. 40.
Havet, J.
1901. Contribution a l’étude du Systéme nerveux des Actinies. La Cellule,
tome 18, pp. 385-419, pls. 1-6.
Logs, J.
1894. Beitriige zur Gehirnphysiologie der Wiirmer. Arch. ges. Physiol.,
Bd. 56, pp. 247-269.
Norman, W. W.
1900. Do the Reactions of the Lower Animals against Injury indicate Pain
Sensations? Amer. Journ. Physiol., vol. 3, pp. 271-284.
‘Suerrineton, C. S.
1906. The Integrative Action of the Nervous System. New York, 8vo,
xvi + 411 pp.
264 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
ANOTHER MODE OF SPECIES FORMING!
By LUTHER BURBANK,
SANTA ROSA, CAL.
a HE more usual concept of the formation of species is by slow varia-
tions so well known as the Darwinian theory, which though
attacked from every point, still is and must always in the main be
accepted, for without question it gives the fundamental principles of
evolution as had never been done before. Yet the boundless amount
of research along these lines during the last half century has developed
strong new sidelights which illuminate, and in some cases compel a
slightly different view of, some of the suggestions of the master, Darwin.
During the period of forty years that I have been experimenting
with plant life both in bleak New England and in sunny California, ex-
tensively operating on much more than four thousand five hundred
distinct species of plants, including all known economic and orna-
mental plant forms which are grown in the open air in temperate and
semi-tropic climates, as well as many of those commonly grown in
greenhouses and numerous absolutely new ones not before domesticated
and on a scale never before attempted by any individual or body of
individuals, numerous general principles have pressed themselves for-
ward for discussion and observation. Only one of these can be dis-
cussed at this time, and this briefly, more as a text for further observa-
tions and experiments than as anything like a full view of this highly
interesting mode of species formation.
In the first place, let me say that our so-called species are only
tentative bundles of plants, no two individuals of which are exactly
alike, but nearly all of which quite closely resemble each other in gen-
eral outside appearances and in hereditary tendencies. Yet no one
can tell just what the result will be when combinations of these in-
herent tendencies are crossed or subjected to any other disturbing fac-
tor or factors. Like the chemist who has new elements to work with,
we may predict with some degree of accuracy what the general results
will be, but any definite knowledge of the results of these combinations
is far more difficult, even impossible, as the life forces of plants and
animals act in infinitely more new directions than can any ordinary
number of combinations of chemicals.
Only a few years ago, it was generally supposed that by crossing
two somewhat different species or varieties a mongrel might be pro-
duced which might, or more likely might not, surpass its parents.
*Read at the annual meeting of the American Breeders’ Association, at
Columbia, Mo., January 5 to 8, 1909
ANOTHER MODE OF SPECIES FORMING 265
The fact that crossing was only the first step and that selection
from the numerous variations secured in the second and a few succeed-
ing generations was the real work of new plant creation had never
been appreciated; and to-day its significance is not fully understood
either by breeders or even by many scientific investigators along these
very lines. Old tailings are constantly being worked over at great ex-
pense of time and with small profit, while the mother lode is repudiated
and neglected.
Plant breeding to be successful must be conducted like architecture.
Definite plans must be carefully laid for the proposed creation; suit-
able materials selected with judgment, and these must be securely
placed in their proper order and position. No occupation requires more
accuracy, foresight and skill than does scientific plant or animal
breeding.
As before noted, the first generation after a cross has been made
is usually a more or less complete blend of all the characteristics of
both parents; not only the visible characters, but an infinite number of
invisible ones are inherent and will shape the future character and
destiny of the descendants, often producing otherwise unaccountable
so-called mutations, saltations or sports, the selection and perpetuation
of which give to new plant creations their unique forms and often
priceless values, like the Burbank potato produced thirty-six years ago
and which is now grown on this western coast almost to the exclusion
of all others (fourteen millions of bushels per annum, besides the vast
amount. grown in the eastern United States and other countries), or
the Bartlett pear, Baldwin apple and navel oranges, all of which are
variations selected by some keen observer. Millions of others are
forever buried in oblivion for the lack of such an observer.
But in this paper I wish to call attention to a not unusual result of
crossing quite distinct wild species which deserves the most careful
analysis, as it seems to promise a new text for scientific investigation,
especially on biometric lines. The subject was most forcibly brought
to my attention twenty years ago by the singular behavior of the
second-generation seedlings of raspberry-blackberry hybrids. By cross-
ing the Siberian raspberry (Rubus crategifolius) with our native
trailing blackberry (Rubus vitifolius), a thoroughly fixed new species
was summarily produced. The seedlings of this composite Rubus
(named Primus), though a most perfect blend of both parents but re-
sembling neither, never reverted either way; all the seedlings coming
much more exactly like the new type than do the seedlings of any
ordinary wild rubus. Many thousand plants have been raised genera-
tion after generation, all repeating themselves after the new and
unique type. No botanist on earth could do otherwise than classify
it if found wild as a valid new species, which it truly is, though so
summarily produced by crossing.
266 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
Since the Primus species was originated, numerous similar cases
have attracted attention, such as my now popular Phenomenal pro-
duced by crossing the Cuthbert raspberry with our native Pacific coast
blackberry, and the Logan berry, both of which, though a complete
blend of two such distinct species, yet reproduce from seed as truly as
any wild rubus species.
I have had also growing on my grounds for some fifteen years or
more hybrids of Rubus ideus and Rubus villosus, both red and yellow
varieties. All are exactly intermediate between these two very widely
different species, yet both always come true intermediates from seed,
generation after generation, never reverting either way:
By crossing the great African “ stubble berry ” (Solanum guinense)
with our Pacific coast “rabbit weed” (Solanum villosum) an abso-
lutely new species has also been produced, the fruit of which resembles
in almost every particular the common blueberry (Vaccinium Penn-
sylvanicum), and while the fruit of neither parent species is edible, the
fruit of the newly created one is most delicious and most abundantly
produced, and the seedlings, generation after generation though pro-
duced by the million, still, all come as true to the new type as do
either parent species to their normal type.
Still another example of this mode may be found in my experiments
with opuntias. By crossing O. tuna with O. vulgaris, thousands of seed-
lings have been produced, all of which, in the first, second and third
generations, though a well-balanced blend of the two natural species, still
come as true to the newly created species as do either parent species to
their own natural types.
Not only does this new mode hold true under cultivation but species
are also summarily produced in a wild state by natural crossing.
The western blackcap (Rubus occidentalis) and the eastern red
raspberry (Rubus strigosus) when growing contiguous, as they very
commonly do in Central British America, often cross, forming an
intermediate new species which sometimes sorely crowds both of the
parent species, and when brought under cultivation still firmly main-
tains its intermediate characters, no matter how often reproduced from
seed. And still further, our common “tarweed” (Madia elegans)
with its beautiful large blossoms often crosses with M. saliva with
its insignificant pale yellow flowers, producing a complete intermediate.
I have not yet determined whether the intermediate will reproduce
true from seed, but confidently expect it to do so. Similar results
among wild evergreens and deciduous trees and shrubs and herbaceous
plants have been frequently and forcefully brought to my attention,
leaving little doubt in my own mind that the evolution of species is by
more modes than some are inclined to admit. .
POINCARE AND THE FRENCH ACADEMY 267
HENRI POINCARE AND THE FRENCH ACADEMY?
By M. FREDERIC MASSON
PARIS ACADEMY OF SCIENCES
il eas Académie Frangaise is primarily a literary organization, and
its special work is the preparation of a dictionary. But even in
this enterprise it is desirable, as M. Masson points out in the document
of which I propose to translate a part, to have expert assistance at hand
in the matter of the meaning and use of scientific terms. It is probably
for this reason that Henri Poincaré, already a member of thirty-five
academies, was this year called to membership in the most celebrated
of all academies.
The great mathematician entered the august body with a eulogy of
his predecessor, the poet Sully-Prudhomme—which task was not as
strange to him as might seem at first glance, since Sully-Prudhomme
was educated for a scientist and all of his work shows a scientific turn—
and was received, with the customary biographical welcome, by the
historian Frédéric Masson. A study by a layman and for the ears of
laymen, M. Masson’s address is a thoroughly popular effort; but it has
a great deal that is pleasing, and not a little that is suggestive. I
quote, with considerable abbreviation, from the part which deals most
‘directly with the new academician’s life and work.
You were born, a little more than half a century ago, in that dear
and glorious Lorraine which has furnished this body so many men
remarkable in lines of activity so diverse; so soon after we have been
cruelly touched by the death of Theuriet, of Gebhart and of Cardinal
Mathieu, you appear, attesting, by the exercise of a totally different
genius, the inexhaustible fecundity of your native province.
You come of an old race long established at Neufchateau, and lo-
cated at Nancy foracentury. Of your name—Pontcaré (square bridge),
rather than Poincaré (square point), for, as you have said, one might
conceive a square bridge, but scarcely a square point—there have been
magistrates, savants, lawyers, soldiers like the Commandant Poincaré,
your great-uncle, whose tenderness for his wife and whose sad adven-
tures M. Chuquet has narrated—like that other Poincaré, also an of-
ficer, who died for the republic in the year IX., whose son the first
consul himself recommended to the ministry of war for a place in their
offices, since, a corporal in the Seventh Hussars, “he had lost a leg
and a thigh in one of the last battles which adorned the last campaign
on the Rhine.”
‘Translated, with an introduction, by Professor Roy Temple House.
268 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
Your grandfather was a pharmacist; it was at Nancy, in his house,
opposite the ducal palace, that you came into the world; and this
house, solid, massive and without ornament, is entered through an al-
most monumental portal whose worm-eaten posts support a broken
pediment bearing the semblance of a boiling pot. Some found a bit
of symbolism: the portal is poetry; the house is prose; it gives an im-
pression of bourgeois simplicity and of settled living which is by no
means trivial. Your father, a physician, was a conscientious student,
a distinguished practitioner; and the faculty of Nancy, where he took
his course, considered him a master of whom they were justly proud,
at the same time that the working population saluted in him their
benefactor. He was one of those men who, having been led by a noble
curiosity into the most emotional and uncertain of professions, practise
it with admirable disinterestedness and hold themselves amply repaid
if they are so fortunate as to save a human life now and then. For the
honor of the nation, there are many of the sort in France; but few
have been able, like Dr. Poincaré, to discharge the duties of so absorbing
a profession, to work in the laboratory, to teach assiduously, and at the
same time to travel extensively over Europe.
Your mother was one of those alert, active women, always in mo-
tion and always busy, whose spirit of order, organization and command
rules a household. ,She also was a native of Lorraine, of an old local
family, home-loving, attached and riveted to the soil; the boys, no
matter how brilliantly they had begun life, were never easy till they
had returned to the home-nest to live, hunting on their estates or super-
vising their cultivation; two of your great-uncles joined to their rural
tastes an inclination for geometry. Your mother wasted no time on
such matters, finding enough to busy her in those occupations which are
duties, and which, cheerfully accepted as such, become pleasures. Ah!
what admirable sources of vital energy are these Frenchwomen, honest
and shrewd, economical and judicious, sovereign in their own domain
and disdainful of the other conquests, constantly busy at reforming the
national virtue and transmitting intelligent patriotism to their chil-
dren! ... In your home you found an uncle recently graduated from
the Ecole Polytechnique. What a prestige surrounds these young men
who, by a mental effort which is sometimes excessive, succeed in ob-
taining the first places in their generation, and to how many mistaken
choices of vocation does their example lead! But with you, sir, the
vocation had nothing to do with example; you were predestined to
mathematics! This aptitude, in your paternal and maternal family, is
transmitted in collateral lines like the throne in the House of Osman,
and yourself twice heir of avuncular gifts, I am told that you have
selected one of your own nephews for the precious succession.
You did not wait long to reveal your vocation, and you are justly
POINCARE AND THE FRENCH ACADEMY 269
cited as the most precocious of infant prodigies. You were nine months
old when you first saw the sky at night. You saw astar come out. You
obstinately pointed out the shining spot to your mother, who was also
your nurse. You discovered a second, with the same astonishment.
You greeted the third, the fourth, with the same cry of joy and the
same enthusiasm ; it was necessary to put you to bed, you were so ex-
cited by your new occupation of star-finding. That evening brought
your first contact with infinity and your first lesson in astronomy ; you
were the youngest professor known.
I have been told that you were a delicate, alert, charming child,
spoiled and adored by your parents; a terrible illness suffered at the
age of five years, as a result of which it was feared that you would
never be able to speak again, left you more delicate, timid and some-
what awkward, so that you were afraid of the noisy games of the boys
and preferred the society of your little sister. I do not imagine that
violent sports ever tempted you, or that you ever became skilful in
them. Nevertheless, you learned to hunt very large game. As soon as
you learned to read, your curiosity was excited by those books of popu-
lar science which have replaced fairy stories in realistic schemes of edu-
cation. You found extreme pleasure in them, and you experienced a
grandiose horror in witnessing cosmic upheavals and battling with
antediluvian animals. It was formerly the fashion to run after Prince
Charming and awaken Sleeping Beauties. Now the child is no longer
expected to make the acquaintance of those trivial personages ; he must
content himself with those whose skeletons have been discovered. Let
me ask you: Between creatures which have really lived and of which
we know nothing and never shall know anything, except that they
lived, and beings which have lived only in the dreams of humanity,
but which in the course of the ages have gratified us with so much
beauty, grace and poetry, which are the more real, which bring more
of light, of consolation, of joy? But you were not made to sit in the
arm-chair of Charles Perrault.
It was in your father’s house that you received from a retired
teacher, a friend of your family, your first notions of things; he did
not require written exercises from you; he conversed with you, talking
of everything at haphazard; this encyclopedic instruction was so ap-
propriate to your nature that when you entered the collége you at once
took the first place; but this sort of work would be injurious to chil-
dren of different endowment. Your memory was and still is more
auditory than visual. Pronounced words engrave themselves on it.
When you come back from a journey, no matter how long, you can
recite the names of all the stations you have passed, if you heard them
cried before your car. More than this—a character presents itself to
your mind like a sound. In the evening, you can recite the numbers of
270 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
all the coaches you have met in the course of the day, but you hear
them, you do not see the figures. This is one of the most remarkable
peculiarities of your brain, and I venture to note it because I have
the unanimous testimony for it of those who know you most intimately.
At the lycée of Nancy, you were superior to your comrades in every
branch, and you seemed so well endowed for literary studies that one of
your teachers, who is one of our best historians, would have been glad
to attract you to our speciality; but when, in the fourth grade, you
opened a text on geometry, the work was done. Your astonished
teacher rushed to your mother and said to her: “ Madam, your son will
be a mathematician.” And she was not particularly frightened. Math-
ematics, as soon as you made her acquaintance, seized you and held
you. She is a tenacious mistress, with this peculiarity, that she fires all
her lovers with the same impulse: the mathematician is a peripatetic.
Pedestrian exercise seems necessary to him in order to stimulate
thought, and, as he walks, certain mechanical gestures with which he
occupies his fingers seem the indispensable auxiliaries of an intellectual
labor that leaves him indifferent to the exterior world and even uncon-
scious of it. One day, when promenading, you suddenly discovered
that you were carrying in your hand a wicker cage. You were prodig-
iously surprised. When, where, how had your hand plucked this cage,
which was new and fortunately empty? You had no idea, and re-
tracing your steps, you walked until you found on the sidewalk the
stock of a basket-maker whom you had innocently despoiled. Such
phenomena are very common with you; they will become, if they are not
already so, as celebrated as those attributed to Lagrange, to Kant, to
Ampere. You might be in worse company.
You were, nevertheless, at times, a child who liked pleasure and
games, but you invented your own amusements. You played at rail-
road or diligence with a map or a guide in reach, and thus you learned
geography. You put history into dramas and comedies; at sixteen
years you had written a five-act tragedy in verse, and you would not
have been a son of Lorraine if the heroine had not been Joan of Arc.
Even charades had a charm for you. Are they not problems?
The war interrupted these games. You were sixteen years old; your
age and your health prevented your mingling with the combatants, but
you tried to make yourself useful; every day you accompanied your
father to the hospital and served as his secretary; you were so eager to
learn the news that, in order to read them in the only papers that were
accessible to you, you learned German. The war must have matured
you; it certainly left its trace upon you; but it did not change your
life. To the men of the generation preceding yours, it brought a defi-
nite conversion with introspection. You have read Sully-Prudhomme’s
verses entitled “ Repentance.” In them he confesses the error into
which the generosity of his heart had drawn him and in which the fal-
POINCARE AND THE FRENCH ACADEMY 27
lacious discourses of the rhetoricians had maintained him; in order to
carry out designs which were unworthy and shameful, these gentry re-
sort to sonorous words to lull a careless people to security; and when
the nation awakens and finds herself rolling into the abyss, she cries out
treason but is unable to distinguish the traitors. So Sully-Prudhomme
had detested war and shown himself rather disdainful of soldiers.
Then he learned from his own experience that any one who chooses can
not be a soldier, that it is one thing to deliver philosophic harangues
and another to submit one’s physical and moral being to monotonous
regulations and entire self-effacement ; he learned—and the lesson cost
him dear—that in order to possess the right to think, one must have
conquered first the right to live; that it is folly which would be ridicu-
lous if it did not bring such despair to profess humanitarianism when
all of Europe is under arms; and that, however inelegant the solution
may appear, there is but one, if a people intends to maintain its na-
tionality, guard its independence, continue its race, possess its territory,
speak its language—and the solution is to be strong enough to defend
them.
You lived your life, sir, under the yoke of the victorious enemy.
It was in a city occupied by the Germans that you resumed and con-
tinued your studies. You were thoroughly successful in them; but the
joy was doubled for you by the fact that your public success coincided
with the evacuation of Nancy. As our dear late colleague Emile Geb-
hart has told us, it was in a hall filled with the joy of deliverance that
you received your last scholastic honors. You held the first rank, a na-
tive of the city and ten times a prize-winner. You carried off the prize
in mathematics from all your rivals, from Paris and the departments ;
it depended on you alone to enter the School of Forestry second on the
list of appointees; this would have been another glory for Nancy, but
you refused to go further with the school than to leave your visiting-
card; you were distrustful of the fallacious dryads who delight in
troubling the absent-minded.
The next year you presented yourself as a candidate at the Ecole
Polytechnique and at the same time at the Ecole Normale; for the latter
you stood number five, for the former number one. Which of the two
great schools would you choose? That which decided your choice, more
even than the familiar memories, than the temptation of the uniform
and the glory of the sergeant-major’s chevrons, was it not, tell us, the
groaning of the mutilated fatherland? But you never reached the point
of entering upon a military career. Your scientific bent showed itself so
brilliantly at the school that there was no question of another sort of
glory; your residence there is a matter of piously transmitted tradition.
It is related that you attended your classes, at least in mathematics,
without taking a note, without reading or even collecting the mimeo-
graphed sheets which reproduce the professor’s lecture. Your method
272 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
was to classify the results established, to study their connections, with
no care for the demonstrations, sure of finding others, if you happened
to forget the ones which they had employed; at the time of your
entrance examination, did you not find a new solution for a problem
which had been set you? When you worked, you did not remain in
your room, but gave your brain a promenade through the corridors,
and in place of a pen, a pencil or a piece of chalk, your hand was busy
with a bunch of keys—your opener of ideas.
Your superiority in mathematics was so decided that, in spite of
your inaptitude for anything practical—manipulations, linear design,
imitative design—you were, at the closing examination, placed second,
and admitted to the School of Mines. There you found life pleasant
for more than one reason. In the first place, in the Latin Quarter,
you lodged with one of your cousins, who was taking a literary and law
course. . . . With him, in the practise of peripatetism—which was,
perhaps, less a philosophical school than a physical peculiarity of philos-
ophers and mathematicians—you followed those studious rounds in the
course of which you discussed philosophic themes, already indissolubly
associated in your mind, as in those of the ancients, with mathematical
theories.
In 1880, the Academy of Sciences had set as the subject of the
mathematical great prize, the theory of differential equations. When
the illustrious M. Hermite presented his report, he mentioned a dis-
cussion bearing the motto: Non inultus premor, whose anonymous
author he invited to persevere in a work which promised to produce
results. The motto was that of Nancy; you were the author; but your
paper was only a first sketch; you presented at that time only the
results which you were soon to obtain and which, in the month of
February, 1881, burst forth—it is the only exact phrase, says one of
your admirers—in the report of the Academy of Sciences. From week
to week, with the notes which you sent out regularly, your discovery
increased in precision and amplitude for a period of nearly two years.
Your contribution was the “the crowning of the work of Cauchy and
Riemann, the representation of the coordinates of any algebraic curve
in uniform functions, the integration of linear differential equations
with algebraic coefficients—it was a new and immense perspective
opened to view.”
This discovery was a great victory for French science. For some
years the German geometers had been roving about the house without
finding the door. You located it and opened it.
From there I need not follow you in your career: Professor in the
University of Paris and the Ecole Polytechnique, your lessons have had
an unequaled vogue; and if, among your auditors, many were not able
to follow you, all agreed in proclaiming your astonishing superiority ;
at thirty-two years you were elected ‘a member of the Academy of
POINCARE AND THE FRENCH ACADEMY 273
Sciences, you have been called into the majority of the scientific socie-
ties of two hemispheres; you have received all the honors that a legiti-
mate ambition could crave. Your name, going out beyond the narrow
circle where your work can be appreciated, has become illustrious and
added to a nation’s glory, and this fame you owe only to yourself; it is
the gift of no one, you have followed no master, you belong to no
school, you are yourself—and that is enough.
Similarly, when you undertake a criticism of science, you make it a
personal matter, and without adopting any tradition, without bowing
to any formula, you walk on in your independence and because you
choose to. You run indeed, and so fast, with such bounds, that in order
to follow you it is necessary to leap ditches and fill in gaps; but you are
built so. Original in mathematics, you remain so in this branch of
philosophy; you apply to it, at the same time, a highly-developed in-
terest in psychology, a rare aptitude for observing physiological phe-
nomena in your own person, and that mathematical habit which organ-
izes precision and with refined subtlety binds arguments together with
chains that seem impossible to break. Restrained by nothing which you
place confidence in or accept a@ priori, you build up your doubt against
official science and sound its nothingness. So your work is double: in
mathematics you erect to scientific truth a temple accessible only to the
few initiates; and with your philosophic artillery you hurl into the air
the chapels about which throng the crowds of rationalists and free-
thinkers who by a common school certificate have acquired the right to
believe in nothing which is not proved to them, to celebrate the mys-
teries of a pretended religion of science. Ah, sir, what havoc you are
making in these demonstrations! Nothing would survive the rudeness
of the blows you are dealing if you did not stop from time to time to
banter your victims, or if, seized with a sort of remorse, you did not
amuse yourself by gluing together again the members you have broken.
The axioms which seemed established by the wisdom of the ages are no
longer more than definitions when you have passed; the laws become
hypotheses; and at the same time that you prove the essential réle of
these hypotheses, you show their merely temporary utility—you make
it evident that these definitions are convenient but ephemeral. What
remains? Nothing, or little more than nothing, and the most precious
idols of primary religion go to join the dead stars in the depopulated
heavens. A
Does this mean, sir, that you doubt science more than truth?
Neither the one nor the other; but the latter gives way constantly before
the advance of the former, and, as man proceeds one step farther, the
space he must cross withdraws before him; beyond the steppe whose
extent his eye embraces, others await him, and still others, for he only
is assured of reaching the end who stopped with the rudiments—and
learned them by heart... .
VOL. Lxxy.—18.
274 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
COLLECTING AND CAMPING AFOOT
By A. 8. HITCHCOCK
SYSTEMATIC AGROSTOLOGIST, U. 8. DEPARTMENT OF AGRICULTURE
KE VERY naturalist wishes to spend a part of his time in the field,
observing, taking notes and making collections. It often hap-
pens that such field work can be done best by camping. Methods em-
ployed by field naturalists while camping vary according to the char-
acter of the country and according to the objects to be attained.
It is the purpose here to give a few hints concerning traveling on
foot, and carrying a light camp outfit on the back as a pack. These
hints are based upon considerable experience with this method of camp-
ing in various parts of the United States, and are given with the hope
that others may find them an aid in planning similar trips. This kind
of camping can be of service only when the necessary collecting outfit
and specimens collected are comparatively light in weight and when
the area of the region to be covered is considerable. In my own work I
can use this method because I am collecting only grasses which are
easily prepared, and because I wish to cover in a single season a wide
area, usually several states. I wish to travel quickly by railroad or
other regular transportation, from one locality to another, often two or
three hundred miles apart, spending one to five days in each place. It
does not pay to outfit with wagon or pack animals for so short a time
and one is not sufficiently mobile when stopping at hotels. With a light
outfit one can start into the field as soon as he arrives at a station, thus
saving much time. If more than five days is required for a given ex-
cursion, I am in the habit of taking a pack animal to carry my outfit,
as I can not conveniently carry in a pack provisions for more than that
number of days.
In calculating the details of an outfit one must first determine the
weight he is able or willing to carry. If the weight carried is too great
the mobility is too much reduced. Yet enough in the way of food,
clothing and bedding must be carried to prevent too much risk to the
health from short rations and exposure. The problem before us is to
adjust the factors so that the result may represent a maximum effi-
ciency. I endeavor to keep the total weight of my outfit within fifty
pounds and we may assume in general that a man should limit his
pack to a third of his own weight. With this weight I count on walk-
ing fifteen to twenty miles a day over ordinary roads or trails that do
COLLECTING AND CAMPING AFOOT 275
not include over two thousand feet of total climbing. In climbing one
can count on one thousand feet an hour, without a pack if the trail is
steep. With a fifty-pound pack the time is about doubled. If one finds
it necessary to carry more than the weight indicated, the distance
traveled is correspondingly reduced. From the total weight one must
subtract the weight of the collecting outfit. My own outfit consists of
a wood slat press with straps, twenty-five light-weight driers, one hun-
dred sheets of inner papers, a few ounces of cardboard slips for fastening
over the bends in specimens, and my plant digger. The total weight is
not over five pounds. The weight of the specimens gathered is not
likely to be, on a single trip, more than five pounds, which increase in
weight is, however, offset by the decrease in weight of supplies. We
have then forty-five pounds for the remainder of the pack.
The outfit may be considered conveniently under the following
heads: clothing, bedding, cooking utensils, provisions, miscellaneous.
The exact selection depends upon the length of the trip, the character
of the country, climate, accessibility of supply stations and many other
conditions which can not here be foreseen. It is clear that in the high
Sierras more bedding is necessary than in Florida, that more provisions
must be carried in a wilderness than in a settled country, and that
rain or mosquitoes must be provided against where these occur. There-
fore in discussing the requisites for an outfit I shall not make a definite
selection, but shall offer suggestions as to such selection based upon my
own experience.
In my own work I travel from place to place with the usual baggage
allowance of one hundred and fifty pounds aside from my hand baggage.
In this baggage I carry such articles as I am likely to need at hotels
where I may stop, and also a selection of camp equipment, and extra
driers and other collecting supplies. Sometimes I go first to a hotel,
where I leave my baggage while I make an excursion of a few days on
foot. Sometimes I travel in camp clothes and pack, in which case I
can leave my baggage at the depot and go at once into the country.
Concerning clothes for camping, I can say little except that it is
very necessary that the foot covering, whatever its other qualities, should
be well fitted and well “broken in,” for it is absolutely essential in a
walking trip that the feet should be kept in good condition. As to
other articles, I prefer heavy socks, wide-brimmed cowboy hat, and, in
the mountains, woolen underwear. I usually go without a coat, but
carry a sweater. ‘The extra clothes may be reduced to an extra suit of
underwear, an extra pair of socks, two large handkerchiefs and a pair
of moccasins. The latter I use chiefly at night.
The bedding may be reduced to a single blanket of moderate weight
or two of light weight. I also carry a waterproof poncho. This is a
protection against rain, dew or damp ground at night and can be used
276 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
as a cape in the daytime in case of showers. I carry in my baggage a
light, so-called balloon silk A tent for use in regions where one may
expect rain at night. This has a ridge rope by which it is suspended
and weighs six pounds. In mountain regions where the nights are
cold I depend for warmth on keeping a fire during the night, rather
than on carrying extra bedding. But in my baggage I carry a water-
proof sleeping bag for use on longer trips with a pack animal. Where
mosquitoes abound one must be provided with a cheese-cloth tent, or at
least with a head veil.
The cooking utensils may be reduced to a very few pieces, but in
this aluminum age one may add a few luxuries. While one can with
patience cook over a small fire between stones, this method has its dis-
advantages. There may be no stones; but even when these are present
it is not easy to find them of the proper size and shape for the small
vessels used by one person, such as a pail four inches in diameter.
I therefore usually carry a “stove” or grate. This consists of three
pieces of strap iron about fifteen inches long, fastened by four cross
strips. This can be set across stones or small logs and is certainly a
great convenience. It is strong enough to hold in the middle a quart
of water. When packed it is placed in a cloth sack to prevent the soot
from soiling other articles. Two or three dishes may be cooking at the
same time by this means. The cooking utensils consist of a straight-
sided coffee pot, a pail in which this fits, both of aluminum, all with the
parts riveted, not soldered, and finally a small frying pan of iron. I
have not found aluminum so satisfactory for the latter article, as foods
cooked in it seem to burn more easily. A second small pail is a con-
venience, in fact I often use in an emergency a tin fruit can with the
top melted off and a wire bail attached. Hach utensil used over the
fire should be packed in a light cloth bag to prevent the soot from soil-
ing the other articles. One can not take time to remove soot after each
meal. In addition might be mentioned a plate and two bowls of
aluminum, a drinking cup of tin (aluminum gets too hot), knife, fork
and dessert spoon. I must not fail to mention the canvas bucket.
This is light and collapsible, and is very convenient to bring a supply
of water from a distance. One can not always camp in the immediate
vicinity of water. 'The best matches are the old-fashioned sulphur kind
that come in blocks. These should be kept in a waterproof box. Ina
recent work on camping I saw mentioned a handy contrivance for blow-
ing the fire. It consists merely of a rubber tube with a short metal
tube at the end. When cooking with such a small outfit it is necessary
to-use a small fire, frequently replenished. The blower serves a useful
purpose for bringing the fire quickly into action. I have used this
article during the last season and can heartily recommend it to others.
In describing my outfit I mentioned a plant digger. For this purpose
COLLECTING AND CAMPING AFOOT 277
I use an “ intrenching tool,” an implement in use in the army. This is
a broad-bladed knife of good steel which fits in a scabbard carried at the
belt. It is an excellent thing with which to dig plants, but it can be
used for several other purposes, the most important of which is to cut
fire-wood and incidentally to make friends with vicious dogs. This tool
may be obtained of Francis Bannerman, 549 Broadway, New York.
In choosing the food for such a trip as described one is limited by
the available supply and is governed by one’s tastes and by the necessity
of reducing the total weight to a minimum. It is essential that the
ration be fairly well balanced. The following is given only as a sug-
gestion, as tastes and conditions are so variable. It is also to be remem-
bered that the supplies must be obtained from ordinary sources as found
in the region visited. A few kinds of food, such as erbswurst and dried
egg, I may provide at the beginning of the trip, as these can not be
purchased at village grocery stores. For drinking I carry cocoa, as
coffee is more bulky and tea I do not care for. If cold water of good
quality can be obtained I drink the cocoa only at breakfast. To the
cocoa I often add a little arrowroot. To avoid lumps the sugar may be
mixed with the dry cocoa before the hot water is added. Milk I carry
in condensed form. Dried milk is not so satisfactory, as it does not
mix well for cooking, but it has the advantage of light weight. Since a
can of condensed milk will last one or two days, according to size, it is
necessary to protect an opened can or there will be a fine mess in one’s
baggage. I keep the can in a closed tin can just large enough to hold
it. The milk can is opened by driving two small wire nails in the top
at opposite sides. When not in use the nails remain in as stoppers.
The foods may be classified into carbohydrates, fats, nitrogenous foods,
fruits and condiments. Of the first may be mentioned sugar, which
with me is an important article of diet, as I eat half a pound a day.
The starchy foods present considerable variety. Bread heads the list,
but not infrequently one is unable to obtain this at a supply station.
Furthermore, on a walking trip one can scarcely count on carrying
bread sufficient for more than two days. Flour is likely to be the
staple. I have found self-rising pancake flour the most convenient, as
this comes in small packages all ready for use. One can carry but a
few pounds of flour and it is difficult to obtain so small a quantity of
the ordinary sort at a store. Other starchy foods that I often use are
grape nuts, cream of wheat (or similar breakfast food) and rice. This
last, however, I do not much relish, though it is improved by cooking
with raisins or dried fruit. When possible I add potatoes and onions,
but both are bulky and can be carried only in small quantity. The fats
are supplied usually by bacon. Butter can be carried only in the moun-
tains where the climate is cool, otherwise it turns to oil. The nitrogen
may be supplied by canned meats, which are heavy; by canned beans,
278 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
which are also heavy; by dry beans, which take too long to cook to suit
me, or by dried egg. JI depend largely upon this last. It comes in
convenient-sized cans and has proved very satisfactory. One can make
omelette or scrambled eggs, or it can be mixed with the flour for cakes.
I use the last method frequently, putting into the flour the equivalent
of two eggs. Fruit is an essential in camping. I prefer dried cherries,
but if these can not be obtained, I use prunes, dried peaches, apples or
whatever is available. A package of raisins is a good thing to have.
Of the condiments I carry only salt, as I do not care for pepper, vinegar
and so on, which are inconvenient and superfluous articles for a pack.
There are various kinds of concentrated soup packages on the market
only one of which I have found worth carrying. That is erbswurst, sold
by Abercrombie & Fitch Co., of New York. It is put up in pound, half-
pound and quarter-pound packages and consists of a meal ground from
peas, vegetables and meat, seasoned, ready for use by adding water. It
is a balanced ration easy to prepare and very concentrated. On a forced
march one could subsist upon this alone.
The miscellaneous portion of the outfit includes a few toilet articles,
a pocket dissecting outfit, together with bandages, carbolated vaseline,
etc., for patching myself in case of accident, needle, thread, twine,
safety-pins and similar small articles. For packing these and the food
not contained in, the original cases I use small cloth bags. The sugar,
dried fruit, rice or even the flour or cream of wheat, is transferred to a
cloth sack, as paper sack or pasteboard boxes will not withstand close
packing.
The greater part of the outfit is carried in a pack upon the back.
If the bulk is small an ordinary soldier’s knapsack is satisfactory.
When it is necessary to carry more the outfit may be placed in two
waterproof duffle bags and these carried in a strap pack. The most
satisfactory pack that I have tried is the Merriam pack by which a por-
tion of the weight is supported at the hips.
In a trip of three to five days from a station, the outfit consists,
then, of the Merriam pack in which is placed every thing except the
poncho and blanket which are folded in a roll on the outside, the plant.
digger carried at the belt and the plant press carried in the hand. I
carry in addition a haversack for overflow articles. I try to start with
two loaves of bread, which being too bulky for the pack I place in the
haversack. In this I carry also my note book and drinking cup.
Having decided upon a route for a short trip, which should be ar-
ranged if possible so that no portion is traveled over twice, I carry my
pack to a favorable locality for collecting and unload. After exhaust-
ing the collecting I move on to another place. Occasional plants are
dug up without removing the pack but this is somewhat of a strain and
should not be done regularly. One is obliged to rest every two or three
COLLECTING AND CAMPING AFOOT 279
miles, and by selecting the proper localities, these halts can be used for
collecting. The pack can be removed by unfastening a single clasp.
If long side trips are to be made, such as climbing a mountain, the
outfit can be cached until the return.
An average day in the field, thus equipped, would be about as fol-
lows: Supposing that I have arrived in the forenoon at the terminus of
a branch railway line in the mountains, I obtain such supplies as may
be necessary and start at once toward what appears to be the most fay-
orable collecting ground. At noon I eat a light lunch such as grape-
nuts, usually not going to the trouble of making a fire. About five
o’clock in the afternoon I begin to watch for a favorable camping spot.
The requisites are good water, firewood in abundance and a comfortable
location for my camp. As I carry no axe it is necessary that the fire-
wood be in shape for use without chopping. At altitudes where the
temperature sinks to 40° F., it is necessary to keep a fire all night, as
the bedding carried is not sufficient to keep one comfortably warm. A
level spot is selected and freed from stones, sticks and cones. It is an
advantage if one can place his bed by a large rock or log and build the
fire a short distance in front as the heat is then reflected and the wind
is kept off. It is scarcely safe to build a fire against a large log or
stump, as it may start a forest fire or it may at least be troublesome to
put out the next morning. A supply of firewood should be placed near
at hand and the fire replenished as needed, which is at intervals of
about two hours during the night. There is no advantage in making
a larger fire as one is driven farther away and gets cold just as soon
when the fire dies out, and furthermore there is more danger from
sparks falling on the blanket. It may be remarked that the falling
temperature always wakes one up in time to replenish the fire if the
nights are cold. Having gathered the firewood one prepares for sup-
per. I do not utilize the large fire for cooking, but build a small fire
near-by, under the grate previously described. The small fire can be
controlled to suit the requirements. As one sits near the stove while
cooking, the fire must not be too large. The supper is with me the
important meal of the day. There is time to cook such articles as need
prolonged boiling. At this meal I have pancakes, bacon, potatoes,
onions, fruit or whatever my supplies will furnish. As the cooking
utensils are limited to a frying pan, coffee pot, pail and tin can, the
amount of cooking that can be carried on at one time is limited.
Enough dried fruit is made into sauce to last for the breakfast and
possibly the lunch following. Cream of wheat will also be cooked for
the following breakfast. If potatoes are carried enough are boiled at
night to give a small surplus for frying the next morning. As a matter
of fact when one is alone it is necessary to limit the variety of food at
any one meal, since it is not convenient to carry in a pack the surplus
from a meal, especially if in liquid form.
280 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
Supper over I go to bed at once. The bed consists of the poncho
and blanket doubled on the ground near the fire. I never take the
trouble to collect boughs or otherwise prepare a bed, except to remove
obstructions. If soft turf is present so much the better, but this does
not often happen. Usually I sleep on the bare ground as bunch grass
is not comfortable. As explained before I carry an extra suit of under-
wear and a pair of socks. At night I remove the clothes worn during
the day, put on dry underwear and socks, and if the weather demands,
put on the other suit of underwear over the first, and finally the
sweater and moccasins, and am ready to fold myself in my blanket.
To do this I spread the blanket and poncho over me, roll first to one
side, then to the other until the slack is taken up on each side. In this
way the two edges are lapped beneath and J can roll to either side, the
blanket remaining tight. For a pillow I use the bag in which I carry
my clothes, filling it with leaves. I arise at dawn and retire soon after
dark, for there is little to do when alone by a campfire.
As partially indicated above the breakfast consists of cocoa and
cream of wheat or other breakfast food cooked the night before, and if I
am hungry enough, other food left from supper. The utensils are now
cleaned and packed for the day.
The plant driers are changed once or twice a day. As I usually
carry only twenty-five driers, it is necessary to remove the plants and
dry the driers in the sun, or if the weather is damp, before a campfire.
Ordinarily in sunny weather I attend to the drying about 10 a.m. and
2 P.M., most grasses being dry in twenty-four hours. In this way I can
prepare about twenty-five specimens each day. But if the collecting is
particularly good I can double the number by drying before the camp-
fire at night.
With the outfit I have described one can travel safely, that is, with-
out subjecting himself to exposure, but the work is not easy. Of course
if two persons arrange to travel in company the trip would be more
pleasant and a few additional comforts might be included. One ad-
vantage in traveling afoot is the mobility. Little time is lost in getting
to the collecting ground and one is not confined to roads or trails as
when traveling with pack animals. One can cross a mountain range
or from one railroad to another. The available range with full com-
plement of supplies is as much as one hundred miles.
The traveler should be provided with good maps and a compass.
Topographic sheets of a considerable portion of the country can be
purchased from the United States Geological Survey.
The above suggestions are offered for the purpose of aiding any
who propose making natural history collections. I should not advise
this method for those who are going for pleasure only, as it is hard
work and the necessary drudgery is only balanced by the increased op-
portunity for collecting and observing.
AN INTERNATIONAL LANGUAGE 281
THE NECESSITY FOR AN INTERNATIONAL LANGUAGE
By IVY KELLERMAN, PH.D.
CHICAGO
ig was urged by a certain Greek philosopher that in ignorance alone
lay the real reason of wrong-doing, and that none who truly under-
stood the right could thereafter be guilty of wrong. Ignorance in a
narrower sense has been offered as the explanation for misunderstand-
ing and consequent trouble of a more or less serious nature between
nations and races as well as between individuals. Ignorance of one
another’s civilization, lack of appreciation of each other’s character and
ideals, failure to comprehend the motives of essentially simple actions
—all these are at fault when great nations disagree. No other inter-
pretation is indeed possible, since longing for power, love of conquest,
lust to slay, can hardly be suggested in calm seriousness as motivating
the actions of nations who are followers of the gentle Jesus, the kindly
Buddha, the wise Confucius, in a supposedly civilized century.
It seems strange at first that there should be room for such lack of
mutual understanding and sympathy, in view of the vaunted increase
of international intercourse, due to the many opportunities of com-
munication by mail and by wire, to the great interchange of commodi-
ties made possible by commercial progress, and to the growing facilities
for international travel. It seems strange, also, when we recollect that
in the employ of every nation there are numerous persons skilled in the
language of every other nation of political or commercial importance,
to serve the one as interpreters of the thoughts and words of the other,
and to translate the ideas and ideals of these peoples for each other in
any emergency that may arise. Such experts are found likewise in all
great educational centers. There is not a university without its corps
of trained linguists, while its leaders in all of the various departments
must possess a fair degree of familiarity with numerous foreign tongues.
Even the students are becoming slightly cosmopolitan. A few Amer-
icans and Englishmen and Orientals are found at every European
university of note, while in America are scattered students from Europe,
from the far east and from South America.
Therefore we may claim to have interpreters. They are few indeed,
in proportion to the number needed, as has been forcibly pointed out,
with the plea that “ governments, universities, churches, chambers of
commerce, should have some definite plan of raising up a body of
sympathetic scholars, who shall be first-hand interpreters of one nation
to the other.”?
But in this very claim lies the explanation of the puzzle. As long
1Document 15 of the American Association for International Conciliation:
“ American Ignorance of Oriental Languages,” by J. H. DeForest, D.D., page 12.
282 ‘THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
as interpreters are needed, as long as the ability to interpret rests only
with the officials of the government, the faculties of the universities,
and the small proportion of citizens and students who have opportunity
of extended residence in at least one country besides the native one,
just so long is perfect understanding impossible. For perfect under-
standing between two nations results from an understanding between a
majority of the citizens of these two nations, not from even the most
perfect understanding and appreciation of one by but a small minority
in the other. This is true even if the minority happens to be the
political body in control. For in one way or another the people rule,
and public opinion and desire, however faulty, exert a mighty influence.
Accordingly, if international sympathy and agreement rest upon
adequate mutual understanding attained through the complete compre-
hension of more languages than the mother-tongue among the general
public—whether these languages be spoken, printed in newspapers,
pamphlets and books, or written in letters amicably exchanged—the
immediate solution suggesting itself is this: Let all or a majority of the
citizens of each nation learn thoroughly the language of each other
nation. Then will the barrier to intercommunication disappear. Each
individual may read at will and at once the publications of every other ;
may express his ideas and have his questions answered, orally or by
correspondence, with citizens of any nation; and may feel himself
linguistically at home in any country of the world, without the present
need of guidebooks, couriers and interpreters, ever provocative of
mutual distrust.
Such a proposition is, however, utterly futile from a practical point
of view. Persons in comfortable financial circumstances may learn
several languages besides their own, business men stationed in foreign
countries may do so to some extent, and peasant immigrants may do the
same in limited degree; but the possessor of more than a moderate
familiarity with two or three languages is called a linguist, and placed
in a class apart, as differing by that very fact from the majority of
mankind. Genuine admiration is accorded any person who has com-
pletely mastered three or four languages in addition to his mother-
tongue, and speaks and writes all of them with equal fluency, exactness
and elegance. Nor is any one surprised to hear that such an expert
spends many years and much care in acquiring these three or four lan-
guages with a reasonable perfection of pronunciation, syntax and style,
or that teaching this is in itself a profession worthy of remuneration.
Yet to be truly a polyglot one must be familiar with not only French
and German, English, Spanish, Italian, Russian, each difficult of mas-
tery, and the Scandinavian languages, but also Dutch, Flemish, Por-
tuguese, Roumanian, Catalonian, Greek and the many languages allied
to Russian, such as Bohemian, Polish, Servian, Bulgarian, Lithuanian,
etc., and also the non-Aryan tongues of Europe, such as Hungarian and
AN INTERNATIONAL LANGUAGE 283
Finnish and the scattered Yiddish. Not even with this may he be
content, although it demand the work of a lifetime and more, but must
turn to the east, with its Persian, Armenian, Arabic, Turkish and
numerous Hindoo tongues, and then pass on to China and Japan, and
even to Korea.
Who can boast of all this? Yet who will deny that not one nor
many, but in truth each and every one, of the intelligent citizens of
every nation should have the power of overcoming these linguistic
barriers? This is one of the great needs of the civilized world, as urged
in the Prime Minister’s address at the Seventeenth Universal Peace
Congress held in London, July, 1908: “I have said it before, but I
would say it again, the main thing is that nations should get to know
and understand one another.’ This is profoundly true. Not only the
future but the present of these various-tongued races and nations is
intertwined to such an extent that the power of free intercommunica-
tion is an imperious necessity. But if this direly needed intercourse
is so impossible of universal or even fairly general attainment under
existing circumstances, another solution must be sought.
The solution that presents itself next is, that some one of these
languages be chosen for universal international use. Next after the
mother-tongue, this should be learned by every inhabitant of the civil-
ized world, and all publications of any importance whatever should be
published directly or in duplicate in this international medium. All
international correspondence should be thus conducted, and the lan-
guage likewise used in all international assemblies and conventions.
To learn one language besides the native tongue would not be so abso-
lutely impossible as the absurd idea of learning many or all of them.
The proposal is good, and the selection of this language at once becomes
a problem worthy of attention, for that one language should serve all
nations of the world in international dealings is eminently reasonable.
The place of a semi-common language among the educated classes
was held by Latin in the middle ages, and the mind at once reverts to
this, with speculations as to the possibility of its revival. But Latin
can not serve this purpose. Its vocabulary is too limited and too
unsuitable for discussion of modern themes, since even a bicycle or an
umbrella demands circumlocution in Latin, while the introduction of
new and modern words would destroy its purity, and make it but a
barbarous hodge-podge of Latin forms. Moreover, the difficulties of
Latin grammar and syntax prevent this language from being easily
mastered. Only at the expense of much time and effort can the modern
mind completely assimilate the ancient ways of word-inflection and
sentence construction. Any one may admire the purity and severe
elegance of Ciceronian Latin, but not every one is able to imitate it.
Yet Ciceronian Latin would unhesitatingly be chosen as the standard
for a revivification of this tongue. The silver Latinity and that of the
284 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
middle ages are as out of the question as the “modern” Latin which
for want of a better medium is forced to serve in a multitude of scien-
tific classifications and descriptions of the present day. This too is in
regard to Latin as a written language. Speaking it is a still more diffi-
cult problem, one before which even the Latin specialist is ill at ease.
It is evident that the idea of bringing Latin in any shape into real use
as an auxiliary language in the busy modern world is absolutely hopeless.
What is true of Latin is equally true of Greek, with its own peculiar
alphabet, used by no other language, and its even greater remoteness
from present European tongues, in spite of the many derivatives from it
in modern vocabularies, especially in technical terminology, and in spite
of the fact that the idiom developed from ancient Greek is a spoken
language to-day. The languages of the past can not serve the peoples
of the present in any immediate and practical capacity.
The next alternative is the consideration of the modern and living
languages. For French was the accepted language of European courts,
in times not yet remote, as well as the language of diplomacy and of
polite literature ; although, as in the case of Latin, this language too was
semi-universal among chiefly the educated and politically powerful
classes. Is it feasible to restore French to that high estate from which
it has now fallen? Hardly so, with English a powerful competitor, and
German vying with both. From this very competition it is clear that
neither French nor any other national speech can to-day or to-morrow
become the accepted auxiliary language. This idea, untenable now,
may find acceptance in the far future, after the establishment of inter-
national unity and understanding, and after the forgetting of inter-
national jealousies and struggles for political preferment and commer-
cial supremacy. But at present it is plainly Utopian. No nation of
to-day will yield to any one other nation the immense commercial and
political advantage given by permitting the mother-tongue of that
nation to become the accepted medium for international dealings. No
American or Englishman would consent to an attempt to have German
used exclusively, in his intercourse with Spanish-speaking peoples, or
any other peoples, nor would he consent to French for such a sole
medium. No German would accept French in this capacity, or
English; nor would the Frenchman be a whit more generous. This
same feeling, intermingled with a host of ancient grudges, would extend
to the lesser nations whose languages meet with still less consideration
in such theorizing.
In days of old, that nation politically most powerful might some-
times thrust its language upon conquered peoples, by sheer force of
arms. This method is rather impracticable to-day, although a hint of
it remains in the ineffectual struggles of the Poles to retain their own
idiom in spite of the “ official” tongues established among them, or of
the Boers against the “ official” English. Clinging to the native
AN INTERNATIONAL LANGUAGE 285
tongue overbalances practical and economic considerations, and hence
the Flemish, Celtic and similar “ revivals.”
The proportion of those speaking a certain language is no less im-
practicable a basis for the choice of an international auxiliary medium.
Leaving out the question of Asiatic tongues, in spite of their supe-
riority in this regard, the selection is among those same reciprocally
jealous nations, namely, Russian, French, English and German. More-
over, this method would be unfair to multitudes among nations speak-
ing other languages. For even French (in France, Belgium and
Switzerland) is spoken by only about forty-five millions among the
three hundred and fifty millions of Europeans, English by about forty
millions, and so on. If the calculation be made upon a wider basis, and
the new world and the far east included, the additional figure for Eng-
lish would be more than neutralized by the additional figure for Span-
ish tongues and the entrance of the multitudinous non-Aryan as well
as Aryan languages.
Let still a different basis for the selection be offered: Let that lan-
guage be chosen which is the easiest of acquirement for all peoples to
whom some other language than this is the native tongue. This is even
more perplexing. The people of each nation, accustomed to the na-
tional language from infancy, are unconscious of its peculiarities and
irregularities, its difficulties of pronunciation, inflection and syntax,
and its various idiomatic expressions. Not aware that these are diffi-
culties, they unhesitatingly declare their own language the easiest of all.
Yet English-speaking people would debar German from the choice be-
cause its mastery takes far too long, and is woefully hampered by the
umlaut vowels, the three categories of grammatical gender, the compli-
cated verb and the troublesome word-order. Similar objections exist
for the Scandinavian languages, while against Russian are its additional
vowels and additional consonant combinations, its perfective verbs, its
seven-case substantive, with changing declensions for noun, adjective
and pronoun, and three classes of formal gender, its alphabet which
like Greek and German would need transliteration into the more uni-
versal and therefore also more economical Roman characters. French
would be dismissed because of the “ French u,” the nasals, the varying
verbal forms, the grammatical gender, quite as annoying as the gender
of three categories in the previously mentioned languages, inasmuch as
the assignment of those categories is entirely arbitrary in each from the
point of view of the others, and the irregular plurals, and the many
fine distinctions which make complete mastery all but hopeless. Of
Spanish and Italian much the same may be said. English is quite as
much out of the question as any other language. A smattering of it, as
of the others, is obtainable without great difficulty, but to learn it well,
to overcome all of its difficulties, is another matter. English contains
three consonant sounds peculiar to English alone, the w, the sound
286 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
represented by th in with, and the surd represented by the same digraph
in pith. The accentuation is irregular and perplexing, while the orthog-
raphy is hopeless. A half-dozen sounds may be represented by one
letter or combination of letters, or one sound may be represented by as
many varying signs.’
There are irregular verbs, about 175 in number, numerous irregular
and defective plurals, and a want of clearness due to the fact that nouns,
particles, adjectives, adverbs and verbs may have the same form, and
that different tenses of the verb may be identical in form, whether
or not identical in sound. There is also a more or less stereotyped and
yet elusive word-order.
Any and all of the national languages are then out of the question,
first because none can yet secure adoption even if it were suitable, and
second, because none is suitable. To be capable of truly international
use a language must be possible of complete acquirement by all,
whether linguistically gifted or not, and must be possible of such ac-
quirement in such short space of time as can be devoted to this by the
majority of the busy citizens of the world. Its acquirement must be
an incidental preparation for one’s profession or business, not an end
in itself, or a matter of higher culture for the few.
Hence the thought of modifying some one of these languages, or
combining them, or in some way forming a neutral language, objection-
able to none on political or sentimental grounds, easily mastered by all,
and therefore recognized by all nations and races as the accepted
medium for international communication. That it must appeal to all
sufficiently to be thus accepted is an important item, for, as has been
previously intimated, nothing of this kind can be forced into use. It
must be such a language that every intelligent citizen of each nation
can and will learn it, as the first language to be mastered after his
mother-tongue, to be able to read it, speak it and write it, in his capacity
as a citizen of the world, and as an intelligent citizen of his own nation.
Since the days of Descartes this dream has haunted one and
another, and plans for such a tongue have been proposed, necessarily
crude at first, gaining in value as time went on, and as each author of
such a plan profited by the faults in the projects of his predecessors.
The earliest attempts were to create a language of philosophical or a
priori nature, in which words are reduced to mere formule, a certain
letter of the alphabet indicating the concrete, another vegetable life,
another animal life and so on. The idea, although wholly impracti-
cable, has not yet entirely disappeared, and a priori schemes are still oc-
casionally promulgated. One project, for example, has the following
4 Note for example the different signs for the one consonant sound in gash,
fashion, mission, conscious, fetich, nation, vicious, etc., the different signs for
the same sound in raze, raise, rays, tael, gaol, gauge, great, fete, matinee, eh,
eight, they; the different sounds given to ch in charm, chasm, chandelier; the
interchange of s and z sounds in lose, loose, azure, leisure, raze, race, erase, etc.
AN INTERNATIONAL LANGUAGE 287
formations upon the letter m: mab, “mankind”; mac, “ monkey” ;
mad, “cat”; maf, “ dog”; mag, “bear”; mas, “ horse”; me, “bird” ;
mi, “reptile”; mo, “fish,” etc. Quite the opposite of these are the
a posteriori languages, based upon the principle of borrowing, select-
ing and simplifying from already existing languages. This latter
method, with a negligible admixture of the a priori, proves the only
sound one, and all projects meeting with the slightest favor have been
of this class. Among the numerous languages proposed, two alone have
succeeded in obtaining any prominence or general publicity. The first
of these was Volapiik, published in 1880. Societies for its propaganda
were organized, some instruction books and several magazines pub-
lished. The success of the language, in spite of its crudities and too
great difficulty, afforded proof that an international language was de-
sired. But dissensions arose, chiefly as to whether numerous proposed
changes should be introduced, with or without the consent of the author,
who had assumed an unfortunate attitude of ownership of the language.
By giving attention to discussion of such matters instead of to propa-
ganda work, the Volapiikists lost all they had gained.
Their bitter experience taught a lesson to the promulgators of the
only other important project for an international language, the only
one which to-day receives general attention. When overzealous theor-
ists proposed changes in Esperanto, and insisted upon the adoption of
their “improvements” the great majority of Esperantists refused
to countenance any sudden or radical changes, declaring instead
for a unity and stability. Their action was the more decisive in
that the proposed improvements appealed to them as simply the mar-
ring of a language already proved satisfactory and practicable, and
already existing as a living language, in which any changes should
come gradually and systematically. The smaller restless and theorizing
element attempted to create a schism through the use of various publi-
cations attacking Esperanto or Esperantists, and arrived at a somewhat
unstable idiom of their own, which was called simplified Esperanto by
some and a new language by others, among its advocates. A certain
amount of newspaper notoriety was obtained in both Europe and
America, but no definite or serious results.
The wisdom of the Esperantists as a whole is apparent in the progress
due to their steadfastness and united effort. Those who know more or
less of the language are reckoned by hundreds of thousands, judging by
the number of text-books sold by responsible publishing houses, but the
number of persons announced as being in the actual propaganda move-
ment consists only of those who are registered and paying members of
some official organization, such as the national associations, British,
French, German, Japanese, American,* and various international or-
*Esperanto Association of North America, headquarters, 3981 Langley
Avenue, Chicago.
288 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
ganizations, such as those of Hsperantist physicians, scientists, pacifists,
and many others. Propagated steadily but unobtrusively in all quar-
ters of the world, the international language idea, represented by Es-
peranto, has loomed large and become a reality, even in this short space
of time since its presentation to the world. Doubtless one reason is
that the unbounded possibilities of the practical side of the language
have only as yet begun to develop, while the insistence upon the ideals
of “ Esperantism ” has been emphasized. This word Esperantism has
come to stand for a spirit of tolerance and conciliation which is dis-
tinctly worthy of note, and which materially aids in paving the way for
ultimate complete understanding and “ the federation of the world.”
It is a significant fact that the two nations which may be said to
hold the linguistic balance of power, since their decision for the inter-
national language and their refusal to continue struggling with the
manifold tongues of Europe, except for cultural purposes, would have
great and well-nigh decisive weight, namely, the United States and
Japan, were the two countries to send official government representa-
tives to the last (fourth) International Esperanto Congress, held in
Dresden, August, 1908.4 For these two nations whose more and more
intimate relations demand better mutual understanding and apprecia-
tion, as forcibly pointed out in the document previously mentioned, the
most immediate and practicable method of obtaining such general and
immediate intereourse lies ready at hand. The Esperanto movement,
strongest in Europe, has found favorable reception in Japan, whose
minister of foreign affairs is president of the Japanese Esperanto As-
sociation. In the United States the present propaganda association is
less than a year old, yet the number and quality of persons interested
in the idea and movement is such that European Hsperantists expect to
be invited to the United States for the Sixth Annual International
Esperanto Congress, in 1910. It is to be hoped that this will come to
pass, and that some educational institution of note will open its doors
for the occasion, as did Cambridge University for the Congress in Eng-
land in 190%. In the meantime, it certainly behooves every one who
approves of the wide-spread international acquaintance, understanding
and conciliation, to examine this language which offers such great pos-
sibilities, since it has proved itself fully worthy of consideration in the
brief time that it has existed as a living language. It behooves every
one to examine it, and to aid its promulgation as best he may, by advo-
cating it, by urging its introduction into schools and publishing in it,
entire or in abstract, at least some of the writings which he now offers
to the reading public in English or some other national idiom only.
For Esperanto is solving the problem of an international language,
which is “ An attempt to save the greatest amount of labor, and open
the widest fields of thought and action to the greatest number.”
“Cf. the report made by the U. S. delegate, Major P. F. Straub, of the
U.S. Medical Corps, published in the Army and Navy Register, January 16, 1909.
WHAT IS A LIVING ANIMAL? 289
WHAT IS A LIVING ANIMAL? HOW MUCH OF
IT IS ALIVE?
By Dr. A. F. A. KING
WASHINGTON, D. C.
Corre. the second question first, the reply to it will depend
a good deal upon education. An extremely ignorant person
might answer that all parts of a living body are alive except the bones.
It required some education before we medical men learned to realize,
without surprise, that crude metallic bodies—bullets, pins, needles, wire
sutures buried in our internal organs, nails driven into our fractured
bones by surgeons, finger rings, scissors, forceps, spectacles, etc., left in
the peritoneal cavity by careless operators—could remain in a human
body without any immediate danger to life.
We had to learn also that large crystalline masses—the various
forms of calculi—and dead fcetuses; lithopodians; even dead children
at full term, both intra- and extra-uterine—could remain in a living
body for several decades without any immediate danger to life. Thus
we learn from these crude examples that living bodies may contain dead
bodies, and dead substances of various kinds. Numerous other in-
stances will now be considered.
The protective shells of some animals, the epidermal appendages
(horns, tusks, hoofs, claws, nails, hair, wool, etc.), of others, are only
alive at their proximal ends—their “roots” so-called. Their distal
extremities are not living. They are products of life, but so are our
coal beds, chalk cliffs, coral reefs and tortoise shell combs, but they are
not alive.
If we ask, Where is the line of division between the dead and living
in a cow’s horn, or an elephant’s tusk, we must reply, there is no such
line. ‘The transition from living to dead tissue is a gradational one.
And this simple example should help to dispel the common error that
everything in this world must be either dead or alive. Notso. It may
be between the two: neither one or the other. Here, if anywhere, the
old truism, Natura non facet saltem, deserves special recognition.
We must certainly realize that the gases, foodstuffs and excremen-
titious matters in the alimentary canal and the contents of the urinary
bladder are not alive. Is the bile living? Bile is an excrement from
the hepatic cells, the histological units of the liver, which find it neces-
sary to discharge their toxic excreta into those minute drains, the bile
ducts, and thence into the main sewer of the intestine. In thus main-
taining their own normal metabolism, they save us from hepatic
toxemia. Bile is not alive.
vol. Lxxv.—19.
290 THH POPULAR SCIENCH MONTHLY
Is milk a living substance? It is a saline solution, containing
sugar and albumen. Microscopically we find it swarming with the post-
mortem débris of epithelium cells that have undergone fatty degenera-
tion. It is the fatty dust into which these dead cells have crumbled
that rises to the surface as cream and when amassed in the churn con-
stitutes the butter of commerce. Milk is emphatically a dead material.
What of that milky emulsion we call chyle? We can not say it is
alive in the intestine; nor does it become so in the thoracic duct, nor in
the subclavian vein. Neither does mingling with the blood give it life.
It is dead.
What of the blood itself? Commonly we speak of it as being
“warm with life.’ Not so in cold-blooded animals. Again, it is re-
ferred to as the “vital fluid,’ the “life-blood”; and we say: “the
blood is the life thereof.” So it is, in the sense that we can not live
without it, and if we lose it by hemorrhage we die. Nevertheless, the
blood is not alive. Its corpuscles are, but the plasma in which they
float is not living. This plasma is the natural habitat of the living
corpuscle (much in the same way as a pond of water is the natural
habitat of Ameba proteus), but it is not alive.
Can our blood corpuscles live in a dead plasma? It is not very
long ago that in cases of hemorrhage we injected into the blood vessels
large quantities of cow’s milk; now-a-days we inject salt solution. In
some cases we inject so much of these dead fluids that the quantity may
exceed that of the normal blood plasma left behind after the hem-
orrhage. Hence we know by actual experiment, in these cases, that
the larger part of the blood plasma mixture is not alive.
Furthermore, human leucocytes have been kept alive in normal salt
solution outside of the body for many hours, retaining all their
amoeboid and phagocytic properties; and recently in a properly pre-
pared solution containing 3 per cent. of sodium citrate and 1 per cent.
of sodium chloride, R. C. Ross has kept human leucocytes three days
alive and has caused them to protrude and retract the most remarkably
long pseudopodia so that they actually resembled squids, or tarantulas.*
Thus we see a living plasma is not necessary for the bloéd corpuscles:
they flourish in a dead one. ‘The blood plasma is not alive.
In the days of venesection we were taught that the last act of vitality
in blood when drawn from the body was its coagulation, but is this
really any more a vital process than the clotting of sour milk? I
think not.
In the same category with milk and blood plasma, we must place
lymph, the fluids in the pleura, pericardium, peritoneum and synovial
sacs, and also the cerebro-spinal fluid; none of them is alive.
It might be supposed that the delicate structures of our central
London Lancet, January 30, 1909, p. 314.
WHAT IS A LIVING ANIMAL? 291
nervous system must at least be protected from contact with dead
fluids. Not so. Im cases of cerebro-spinal meningitis, we draw off
the cerebro-spinal fluid and inject into the cerebro-spinal canal a cura-
tive antimeningitic serum that has stood on the shelves of its manu-
facturer, cold and dead, for half a year or more before being used.
In this line of thought we have reached the conclusion that the
crystalline masses, gases and fluids in an animal body are none of them
truly alive.
What have we left? What parts of the body do live? The his-
tological units—the individual cells: these are the living inhabitants,
in that great organic community, which constitutes a living animal.
The fluids of the body are inert plasmata designed for the main-
tenance, nourishment and functional integrity of these living units.
The cells of the body are alive, but nothing else in it can be truly said
to live.
Let us now ask: When an animal dies how much of it is dead?
An ignorant person would reply: “ All of it.” Notso. The cells of a
corpse remain alive some considerable time after the man has ceased to
breathe. The cells of the liver continue their glycogenic function.
Active spermatozoa have been found in the testicle, and living leuco-
cytes in the cavities of the heart, many hours after death. The skin of
a recent corpse can be successfully transplanted into a living person, as
may also some of the internal organs, bones and joints. Recently one
of our surgeons? has transplanted an entire knee joint (a healthy one)
from the body of a corpse into the limb of a person from whom a dis-
eased knee joint had been just previously removed. The case is pro-
egressing favorably.?
In the retrogressive phenomena of death as in the evolution of living
from dead matter, the old saying of nature not making leaps, again
asserts itself, and the prevalent error that everything must be either
dead or alive, with no intermediate gradations, becomes pronouncedly
manifest.
We now gome to the question: What is a living animal? The one
most marked characteristic of things that are truly alive is motion,
especially locomotive auto-mobility, to which must be added growth and
reproduction.
It is now generally admitted that the basis of life is electricity.
The power that produces muscular motion, cell-movement, cell-division,
cell union (as in fecundation), and embryological growth, is essentially
a form of electro-magnetic energy, this energy being generated by the
successive chemical decompositions and syntheses—the electrolytic asso-
2 Dr. Tully S. Vaughn, of Washington, D. C.
’It is now six weeks since the operation. There have been a few similar
cases in Germany.
2092 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
ciations and dissociations of atoms and molecules—of anions and
cations—in the complex phenomena of metabolism throughout the body.
No nutritive change, even in a single cell, can take place without a dis-
turbance of electric equilibrium and the development of an electric
current, be it ever so diminutive. Nerve force, electricity and “ vital
force” are identical in so far as they are all manifestations of electro-
magnetic energy. Every histological unit in an animal body is a
diminutive battery in which such energy is evolved. This, I think, is
common knowledge, that has passed beyond the realm of theory.
Perhaps the crudest and most evident illustration of the production
of electricity by animal metabolism is exhibited in the electric fishes:
the torpedo, the Gymnotus (electric eel), the Malapterurus (electric
catfish), the skate and others. In these forms, it is true, we find a
special electric apparatus, consisting of some hundreds of columns made
up of millions of superimposed plates or discs, arranged transversely to
the length of the columns and separated from one another by an
albuminous liquid, thus resembling a voltaic pile. The distribution,
or discharge of this electric energy is controlled by nerves emanating
from the medulla oblongata. Thus the animal, at will, can shock and
capture its prey, and even emit charges, in some instances, sufficient to
injure, and perhaps kill, even men and horses.
A more delicate method of demonstrating the identity of nerve force
and electricity was shown at the last meeting of the International Con-
egress of Hlectrology and Radiology held in the University of Amster-
dam,* when Professor Salomonson, by using Hinthoven’s string-galvan-
ometer (a sort of electric microscope), was able to measure, and render
visible on a photographic plate, the electric current producing one con-
traction of a single muscle, for example, that of the quadriceps femoris
during the patellary reflex. Even currents producing contractions in
the cardiac muscles were exhibited. He presented on the screen a
cardiogram, by which, he remarks: “ Each muscular fiber of the heart
has written its own sign-manual on the photographic plate.” By means
of this device he was able to exhibit visibly events successively occurring
at intervals of one one-hundredth of a second, and electric nerve cur-
rents so small as the one ten-thousandth part of a single volt.
Now if every living animal, and every cell within it, be really an
electrical machine—a generator of electro-magnetic energy—it is evi-
dent that in order to secure and use the power thus produced the appa-
ratus must be insulated from its surroundings, otherwise the electricity
would instantly escape back into the earth whence it came. All our
electric machines and batteries are thus insulated.
Are animal bodies provided with this electric insulation? They are.
* Proceedings of the Royal Society of Medicine, November, 1908.
WHAT IS A LIVING ANIMAL? 293
The insulatory resistance of the bare human skin varies from 1,000 to
6,000 ohms. In many animals the insulation is increased by non-con-
ducting hair, wool, fur, ete. And naked man finds it expedient to rein-
force his own insulation by clothing of silk, satin, hair, wool, flannel
and other non-conducting materials. We are exhilarated by a dry
atmosphere: depressed by a damp one, because the moist air, being a
conductor, carries off some of our electricity to the earth, while dry air
is a more complete insulator and prevents this leakage.
Besides contact with the air, the feet of animals are in actual con-
tact with the earth itself, and accordingly ought to be endowed with a
specially good insulation.
Finding no data on this point, I submitted to the U. S. Bureau of
Standards some specimens of a horse’s hoof, to have their insulation
tested. The director, Professor 8. W. Stratton, wrote me® that the
resistance of the first specimen, when dry, was 4,700 million ohms.
This was a part of the “frog” of the foot. A second specimen, taken
from the peripheral margin of the hoof was tested, of which the bureau
reported® that “by the direct-deflection method, using 120 volts and a
very sensitive galvanometer, the deflection was so small that it could
not be read.” “The resistance was equal to or greater than 22 billion
ohms. This corresponds to a specific resistance of about 16.5 & 107°
ohms per centimeter cube.” Professor Stratton adds: “ Of course the
actual resistance may be much higher, as it was too high to determine
with any accuracy by this means.”
Subsequently, Professor Chas. W. Mortimer, of the George Wash-
ington University, by using his Wheatstone Bridge apparatus, kindly
tested for me, altogether, 67 specimens of animal and some vegetable
structures, as to the insulating power of their external coverings. The
specimens included the feet, claws and bills of sheep, rabbits and chick-
ens; the fresh human umbilical cord, foetal membranes and placenta;
the shell of an egg; the external coverings of fruits (oranges, apples,
nuts, etc.) and of vegetables (turnips, onions, etc.).
In no instance did the external covering fail to exhibit a relatively
greater resistance than the internal structure. In most of the speci-
mens the resistance hovered about 10,000,000 ohms, some more, some
less. In one instance, that of a green pea pod, the resistance of the un-
broken pod was 500,000 ohms, while the external surface of the green
pea itself was 10,000,000 ohms.
I did not test any cereal grains, but Mr. Lyman J. Briggs, of the
Bureau of Plant Industry, U. S. Department of Agriculture, has re-
cently ascertained that the resistance of wheat grains, varying with
> Official letter, October 23, 1903.
* Official letter, January 21, 1904.
294 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
temperature and moisture, is somewhere between 2 million and 10,000
million ohms.?
It is conceivable that the grains of wheat exhumed with Egyptian
mummies would scarcely have retained their germinating power after
so many centuries had not nature clothed them with their insulating
shells, and passing from these diminutive little lives of eggs, grains
and cells, it is conceivable that this globe that we inhabit would itself
become a moving sepulchre, devoid of all molecular transformations of
energy, were it not for the external envelope of insulating atmosphere
with which it is clothed. Without this insulation the energy of solar
light and heat would no longer be transformed into things of beauty
and life; but would at once be dissipated into the abysses of space and
our earth would probably become as dead as the moon, which has no
insulating covering, and, consequently, upon whose face, within the
memory of man, no single change of feature has been observed.
In the foregoing discussion my purpose has been to lay the founda-
tion for a modified definition of life. Every one is familiar with
Spencer’s definition, viz:
Life is the definite combination of heterogeneous changes, both simultaneous
and successive, in correspondence with external coexistences and sequences.*
Never, perhaps, did human language attempt to express so much in
so few words. In fact it is so condensed as to be difficult of compre-
hension. If the definition had been given first, few of us would ever
guess that life was the thing it intended to define.
On page 80, Spencer says:
The broadest and most complete definition of life will be: the continuous
adjustment of internal relations with external relations.
De Blainville said:
Life is the twofold internal movement of composition and decomposition
at once general and continuous.
Criticizing this definition, Spencer remarks:
It describes not only the integrating and disintegrating processes going on
in a living body, but it equally well describes those going on in a galvanic
battery which also exhibits a two-fold internal movement of composition and
decomposition at once general and continuous.®
At the time Spencer wrote (1866), biology was not sufficiently
advanced for him to realize that every cell in the body really was a
minute electric battery, and that the coordinate and simultaneous action
of millions of these batteries made up together the living body of a
complete animal.
7 Science, December 4, 1908, p. 812, and Bulletin 99, 1907, Bureau of Plant
Industry, U. S. Department of Agriculture.
8“ Principles of Biology,” p. 74.
°“ Principles of Biology,” p. 60.
WHAT IS A LIVING ANIMAL? 295
With these preliminaries, I submit the following definition of a
living being. It is this: A living body, whether a simple cell or a
fully developed mammal, consists of a temporary aggregation of a lim-
ited number of material particles, call them what we may—molecules,
atoms, ions, electrons—whose actions and reactions between each other,
and between themselves and their environing conditions (light, tem-
perature, air, water, food, terrestrial magnetism, gravitation, etc.) are
of such a kind as to generate electro-magnetic energy, which energy 1s
and necessarily must be secured to the use of the individual producing
it, by a semi-porous limiting external envelope which provides the
individual with electric insulation from its surroundings. —
It is upon this external electric insulation that I desire to insist as
a necessary part of everything that can truly be said to “ live, move and
have its being.” Vain and useless indeed would be the energy gene-
rated in living bodies by the successive compositions and decomposi-
tions, the integrations and disintegrations, the electrolytic associations
and disassociations of ions and electrons resulting from animal metab-
olism, if no arrangement had been provided by which the energy de-
veloped could be secured to the use of the individual producing it, in-
stead of instantly flashing back to the earth whence it came, which it
inevitably would do, in the absence of such insulation.
That this insulatory covering really exists, in the case of animals,
eggs, seeds, etc., has been shown by the experiments before mentioned.
That the individual cells of the body—the histological units—are
also provided with the same electric insulation, may be more difficult
to demonstrate. But such demonstration is not altogether wanting.
The red corpuscles of the blood are, in a measure, insulated from the
serum in which they float. “The intact red corpuscles,” writes Stewart,
“have an electric conductivity so many times less than that of serum
that they may, in comparison, be looked upon as non-conductors.’’!°
Among other explanations he suggests that this may be because the
envelope of the corpuscles refuses passage to the electric charge pro-
duced by the dissociation of ions within them.
In the developing ovum, according to this view, the ectoderm ought
to be an insulator. I can give no proof of this, but it is significantly
suggestive that the cerebro-spinal axis of the embryo (which we should
think ought to receive a specially good insulation) is clothed on its
outside by an investment from the ectodermic layer, produced by an
invagination of that structure to form the medullary groove and canal
in which the central nervous system pursues its development.
Finally, is the protoplasm of animal organisms a really living sub-
stance? The answer will depend upon our definition of the word
70 Human Physiology,” p. 35, 3d ed., 1899.
296 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
“living.” Properly speaking, protoplasm is neither dead nor alive: it is
between the two.
If we could get together an ounce or a ton of it, we should say it.
was a substance or mass exhibiting some of the properties of living
matter. We could not say it was a living individual. It is simply
matter occupying a very high plane in those ascending gradational
transformations between the dead and the living: between the simple
inorganic constituents of the earth, and those more complex segrega-
tions of chemical atoms which finally become surrounded by a limiting
insulatory envelope and thus constitute “ physiological units,” or living
beings. But until this formation of units—this individualism— of the
mass, protoplasm can not be said to live.
Of course, the direct transformation of inorganic matter into Jiving
animal matter is impossible. There must always occur the intermedi-
ate phenomenon of vegetable life. Vegetables can transform the inor-
ganic chemical materials of the air and earth into their own structure,
but the animal must either feed upon the products produced by the
vegetable or upon other animals that have been so fed. No single defi-
nition of life, therefore, can include both animal and vegetable life,
since the vegetable is an intermediate product between minerals and
animals. The evolution of life is a gradational process. Things are
not “either dead or alive.” Some things, like protoplasm, are between
the two.
ABANDONED CANALS 297
ABANDONED CANALS OF THE STATE OF NEW YORK
By ELY VAN DE WARKER
HOSE who have only a partial knowledge of the subject, regard
the present time as the age of canals. They overlook the genera-
tions of time and the vast sums of money expended by other people
who have held to the idea of the canal with a national fixity of purpose
that has produced astonishing results. The amount of money ex-
pended so exceeds the sums spent in the United States, including the
Isthmian Canal, that they appear like trivial things.
France has 3,045 miles of artificial waterways and 4,665 miles of
canalized rivers, aggregating nearly 8,000 miles. These cost in the
last thirty years five hundred million dollars. Belgium has one mile
of canal navigation to eight miles of territory. Germany has spent,
since 1900, eighty million dollars and has just authorized the expendi-
ture of eighty-five million dollars more. Austria-Hungary within a
few years has expended fifty-three million dollars and is yet pushing
the work. The canals of Holland and some of those of southern
France were built centuries ago.
FISH CRENK, OPENING OF WOOD CREEK, which will be a part of the Barge Canal.
298 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
Woop CREEK, TEE OLD CANAL, 1795.
These countries are achieving commercial supremacy along lines
that parallel the development of their canal systems. One of the most
interesting features of international political economy is the great
value one nation will place upon a thing that another people will
throw away. What makes the canals of France of such value to the
people is their contentment in saving money. The Frenchman has a
keen sense of the value of a dollar saved. So long as he can get the
product of his acres and the output of his factories at their final
destination at the lowest freight cost, without time as an important
factor, he is content with canal transportation. He realized that a
dollar so saved is to be totaled among his profits and not credited to
his savings.
The American, working on the credit system, is obliged to earn
the quick dollar, and yet feels the attrition of the nether millstone that
gives to the corporate trusts the money that belongs to the small
producer. He thus abandons canals that in France would pay the
individual as well as the state. The American has but one standard,
Do the canals pay? He demands immediate returns, not prospective.
Canals have their good and bad years. With such a criticism no canal,
as a tax earner, is always successful. This, in brief, was the history
of the abandonment of the central New York canals. It is interesting
to trace this cause in the profligate dereliction of the lateral canals.
ABANDONED CANALS 299
The state engineer’s report shows the abandonment of 221 miles
of canals with their locks and feeders. To this, add a littoral of lakes
and rivers of 300 miles and we have abandoned waterways of 521
miles. This covers a region which, in the course of thirty years, has
increased 1,500,000 in population and its manufactured products have
more than trebled.
The American voter is not the wise man that he thinks he is. He
fails to grasp the primary idea of statecraft. He bends an obedient
knee to the moloch of the lobby. He obeyed the behest of his party
and sold his birthright for something as impalpable as moonlight.
When he sold the right of way of the Chemung Canal for $100, he saw
neither wrong to himself nor injustice to his posterity. A few dollars
of annual tax was worth more than millions in prospective.
For years it was a vexed question in politics, with the democrats on
one side and the republicans on the other. The fatal blow was given
in the republican stronghold, central New York, by the people whe
had the most at stake in preserving the canals.
The republican legislature of 1873 officially abandoned them. The
results were quickly shown. The year before the abandonment gave a
loss in tons of 308,588, while two railways connecting Lake Erie with
New York showed an excess in tons of freight over that of 1872 of
1,877,187. This was a direct loss to the farmer and the small producer
of $96,693 to save the small sum of $34,000 divided among sixteen
counties. A more complete demonstration of the canals as a freight
regulator it would be impossible to find.
ONEIDA LAKE CANAL LOCKS,
300 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
The result to the farmers was a harder blow to bear. Real estate
value shrank to less than was paid for land forty years before. Central
New York was the great wheat-growing region of the state, but by the
rapidly moving freight of the railways they were unable to compete
with the western wheat. This lost crop was so nearly total that they
ceased to grow enough for their own mills. It appears as though they
ought to have had business foresight to realize the value of the lateral
canals as coal carriers. It was for this purpose that these canals were
built.
They awoke from their dream of small economy to find themselves
in the grasp of the great octopus of the coal roads, which for thirty-
five years has been growing more exacting and oppressive. Through-
out this region these roads are not only drawing the coal, but by their
own agents they are delivering it at the door of the consumer.
We have been laying this upon the farmer and the people directly
interested in maintaining these canals, and justly. There never was a
moment when the mass of voters in this republican stronghold could
not have dominated the situation. It was the old time-worn adage
of a fool and his folly. He has not the negative merit of holding his
tongue after he has committed the error. Utica, which could have
saved the Shenango Canal, petitioned the state engineer’s office and the
canal board for the rebuilding of the canal as a coal carrier only a
year ago. It was a childish effort and they awoke from the calm
repose to-find that their fair city was simply reduced to a state of mind
and the real Utica was the Lackawanna road.
Before the Erie Canal was a practical waterway the people were
keenly alive to the value of the lakes as commercial waterways. The
earliest steamboat navigation as a well-developed enterprise upon in-
land waters was opened in the New York lake region. Upon three
of the lakes—Cayuga, Seneca and Keuka—steam navigation appeared
in 1820. The people were roused to enthusiasm. The first boats
made their landings amid the shouts of the multitude, volleys of
musketry and salvos of cannon. Gradually the steamboat service was
extended until in 1827 steamboats were a general thing upon the
lakes. Many years previous to this sloop navigation was resorted to
for both freight and passengers. ‘The first began regular trading trips
in 1795 and gradually this form of navigation was extended over all
the lakes. :
The Erie Canal found abundant supplies of freight and passengers
waiting when it passed through this region of the lateral canals. As
a method of commercial interchange they never paid; whatever we
may think about the ethics of the state making money off the people’s
enterprise, there was no question about its rights as late as 1873.
Neither was any money lost until the people followed like a flock
ABANDONED CANALS 301
of sheep the bell wether, the political factotum of the countryside,
and surrendered its rights to the railways. The face of the country
withered, as though stricken by a famine, under their remorseless
demands. The fact that makes canal navigation not alone possible
but profitable is that speed represents cost.
That which constitutes a profitable canal is not a dividend on the
investment, but in augmenting the volume of trade. The profit that
accrues is prospective, not immediate, and belongs to the people; a
theory of public utilities that the state of New York never adopted.
Let us see what this meant to the farmer and the manufacturer.
The manufactured product was of coarsest character, hoops, staves,
shingles and sawed lumber, material that could not afford to pay a
higher tariff for transportation. This was practically cut out. Farm
produce was of a like character; potatoes, cabbage, onions and apples
demanded a moderate price for carriage if they were to make a living
return to the grower. These were no longer seen by the boatload
except within wheeling distance of the Erie; a small supply was re-
ceived from the Cayuga and Seneca canals. ‘The wheat crop, as
already noticed, had disappeared. Barley and oats, in the cheap days
of 1870, represented little money to the grower, and hay at six and
seven dollars a ton, including the cost of baling, was impossible as
freight. It was reasonable to expect that the roads would not work
against these products an impossible tariff. The way station received
but little notice. It was the fatal long haul, that has caused so many
crimes against commerce, that was at fault. It cost more to stop and
side-track than to make the continuous trip.
In 1872 the amount carried was 156,999 tons. This did not repre-
sent much in commercial value. But, this was only a minor part of
its true worth. Imagine the condition had the slight sacrifice been
made of maintaining the lateral canals for the past thirty-five years,
with over 1,500,000 population added. These derelict canals would
have been a treasure-trove to the inhabitants. An English author
upon the subject expresses the idea perfectly when he states “that
where canals do not pay, they pay by increasing the volume of trade.”
The coal transported by lateral canals was 411,918 tons, sufficient
to compel the roads to meet the cheap water rate. An instance on
the Black River Canal, now used as a feeder to the Hrie, illustrates
what happened to the people of the lake region. The last station on
the canal paid at retail three dollars a ton for coal; the town above,
served by the railroad, paid five and a half per ton. The saving on
freight, in thirty-five years, had the canals been the rate maker,
would have amounted to more than a million and a half dollars yearly.
The waterways of the Iroquois were, from the nature of their
distribution, natural waterways; while the Erie connected two termini.
302 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
The freightage was the natural product of its own littoral. The
demand for canals was so urgent that as early as 1768 it was designed
to connect Oneida Lake and the Mohawk by the improvement of Wood
Creek. In 1792 the legislature passed the act. To this day old
wooden locks may be found upon Wood Creek. Central New York
was the first stimulus to the canal system of the state. It paid even
at that early date. It reduced the cost of transportation from $32 to
$16 per ton on the cargo. This great reduction in price “ actually
doubled the intrinsic value of the lands and produce around our
lakes.” If the reader were able to see the insignificance of the little
ditch of Wood Creek he could not realize the grand total of the result.
OLD ONEIDA LAKE, WooDEN LOCKS.
A few details will prove that the cheapening of carriage and the
earning capacity of the canal was under- rather than over-estimated.
The toll on a barrel of flour passing 100 miles was 52 cents and for a
ton of goods passing the same distance was $5.75. The rapidity with
which its earning capacity increased is not less remarkable. The
capital stock of the western company was $232,000, which paid to the
stockholders a dividend of 3 per cent. in 1798, 3.5 in 1813, 4.5 in
1815 and 8 per cent. in 1816.
The rights of this company were acquired by the state in 1820,
for $151,000. The middle division cost $1,125,983. If we add to
this double the amount for enlargement, the sum of $2,570,000 was
1State Engineer’s Report, 1862.
ABANDONED CANALS 303
abandoned by the state, the result of an ignorant and weak constituency
and an aggressive lobby who represented the powerful railways behind
the movement. These canals will be rebuilt on a grander scale com-
mensurate with the magnitude of the barge canal. Already some of
the great inland lakes have applied for a renewal of the canals. The
history of the lateral canals will insure a favorable response. Even
then they will not be money-makers. They will make money for the
state only in proportion to the trade developed.
It is doubtful if the history of the country can parallel such useless
destruction. From the amount of money squandered and the human
ONEIDA CANAL,
interests involved, it stands alone, not as an object of public plunder,
but, worse than that, a colossal blunder.
In going over these old canals it appears among the marvels of
time, how quickly they are disappearing. Stones of monolithic size
are lying in heaps. Canals, like the Chemung, are simply weed-
grown ditches. Wooden locks have left scarcely a trace; ruin, meas-
ured by the hundreds of miles, disfigures and encumbers the earth.
The Genesee Valley was one of the most important of the sub-
sidiary canals. During the year previous to its official abandonment
the total movement of goods amounted to 96,000 tons, in a total of
nearly a half million. In 1873, 132 tons of wheat and 245 tons of
304 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
CHEMUNG CANAL.
CHEMUNG CANAL EXTENSION.
ABANDONED CANALS 305
flour moved in the direction of tide water. The total of tolls in the
last year of its official life was over 20,000 dollars. The story of the
coal moved is better told in the amount carried by the Cayuga and
Seneca Lakes Canal, and partly distributed by the Genesee Valley, which
was 400,000 tons, now reduced to a few boatloads to accommodate the
railroads and not the public. There could not possibly have been
serious loss to the state from the Genesee Valley Canal and yet it
passed the way of the other waterways. This canal offers the most
picturesque ruins. A railway runs along the bottom for a part of
the way. The remains of the works at Dansville have a kind of
melancholy grandeur; a sad evidence of the greed and folly of man.
It is only a matter of time when the subsidary canals will be
rebuilt. With the increased value of material and labor, it will cost
hundreds of thousands while the original represented thousands. It
will not be a question of money. It will be an overmastering impulse
to equal the best in canal structure. France, Germany, Belgium,
Holland will be the criteria. There appears every prospect that the
roads will take their normal place as freight carriers.
It-is planned to build a canal from the great lakes to Pittsburg,
thence to the Gulf. Such a waterway, if constructed with a view of
paying interest on the investment, will never be built. As a check to
the greed of the railways, as a plan to place them in normal accord
with the transportation interests of the country, it will prove an un-
alloyed blessing. Of more value than all else will be the vast tide of
traffic that will seek the cheap route of the canals. Seen from this
point the canals will always pay. The lateral waterways of New
York, in their darkest hour, paid the people manyfold. The sin of
the abandoned canals rests to-day upon this charming region. The
fleets of steamers, sloops and barges have disappeared and the lakes
haye drifted back to primeval solitude.
VOL. LXXv. — 20.
306 THE POPULAR
SCIENCE
MONTHLY
THE PROGRESS .OF SCIENCE
THNNYSON AND THE SCIENCE OF | on the classical tradition can not make
THE NINETEENTH CENTURY
|
a wide or deep appeal to a world in
Tue hundred years which began with | which it is no longer living; the future
the births of Darwin, Tennyson and | of poetry depends on the possibility of
Gladstone, and closes with the deaths |
of Meredith and Swinburne, has been
a notable period in English history.
Its two chief movements—the growth
of science and the growth of democracy
—are adequately represented by Dar-
win and Gladstone. Tennyson was the
most widely read and perhaps the
greatest poet of the period. The scien- |
tific man may be permitted to moralize
over the world-wide extension and per-
manence of Darwin’s contribution as
compared with Tennyson’s.
|
|
Fifty |
years ago Darwin’s name was almost
unknown, whereas Tennyson’s was a
household word in England. A little
later a man was not thought to have
made himself ridiculous by saying that
he sided with God against Darwin and
the devil. Now Tennyson’s reputation
is being defended; no one would think
of defending Darwin. The University
of Cambridge lavishes its academic
ceremonial on the man of science rather
than on the poet. Tennyson wrote:
The man of science himself is fonder of
glory, and vain,
An eye well practised in nature, a spiriv
bounded and poor.
But Darwin’s personality and charac-
ter are comparable with his services
to science.
We may place the science of the
nineteenth century before its poetry
and Darwin before Tennyson; but to
do so it is not needful to depreciate
the poetry or the poet laureate. In-
deed a scientific journal may well call
attention to the fact that Tennyson
was largely influenced by the science
of his period and permitted it to be-
come part of his poetry. Poetry based
its adjusting itself to science and mod-
ern life, and Tennyson should receive
honor for his efforts to this end.
The well-known verses of “In Me-
moriam ” were printed nine years be-
fore the “Origin of Species.” The
geology may have have come from
Lyell, but it was twenty years before
Lyell would have been willing to accept
the last verse of the stanza:
The solid earth whereon we tread
In tracts of fluent heat began,
And grew to seeming random forms,
The seeming prey of cyclic storms,
Till at the last arose the man.
The doctrine of evolution is frequently
used, as in ‘‘ Maud,” where the first
verse is scarcely less significant than
the second in the couplet:
As nine months go to the shaping an
infant ripe for his birth,
So many a million of ages have gone to
the making of man.
There will also be found in Tennyson
an adequate conception of physical sci-
ence and an attempt to put even its
practical achievements into poetical
form, Thus the age is told to
Rift the hills, and roll the waters, flash
the lightnings, weigh the sun.
and we even hear of
The nations’ airy navies grappling in the
central blue.
Scientific knowledge is assumed or
taught continually in the pages of
Tennyson from the first lines of the
“Lady of Shalott,” which reawakened
the spirit of English poetry—
On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye .
Willows whiten, aspens quiver
Little breezes dusk and shiver.
to his last poem with
From a painting by C. W. Furse, A.R A.
308 THE POPULAR
the kindly sphere
That once had rolled you round and round
the sun.
Medievalism and modern life, classical
reference and scientific simile are curi-
ously commingled in Tennyson’s poems.
As one turns back to them “ the- tender
grace of a day that is dead” does not
fully return. They are not like science
universal; but for their own epoch
they were not only great poems, but
also rendered a not insignificant sery-
ice in the diffusion of the scientific
spirit.
THE REMINISCENCES OF SIR
FRANCOIS GALTON
Tue greatness of the Victorian era
is now represented among the living by
men of science—Hooker, Wallace, Ave-
bury, Lister, Huggins, Galton—all past
eighty years of age. Sir Francis Gal-
ton—the “sir” is a tardy recognition
on the king’s recent birthday—now in
his eighty-eighth year has done well to
prepare the reminiscences which have
been published under the title “ Mem-
ories of my Life.” He is typical of the
great period in which he-has lived and
to the preeminence of which he has
contributed his share. Like his cousin,
Charles Darwin, he has had no profes-
sion, but with sufficient private means
he has devoted his life to the advance-
ment of science. There are certain
marked resemblances in intellect and
character between the two kinsmen—
scientific curiosity reaching from ob-
secure details to broad theories, pa-
tience combined with daring, royal
simplicity and directness—which might
be used to illustrate the theories of
heredity in which both have been inter-
ested. Galton, like Darwin, studied
medicine and like him was a student
at Cambridge; but, unlike Darwin, he
has lived in London and has taken an
active part in the social and scientific
activities of the time. He has been in
intimate personal relations with the
scientific and other leaders and a help-
ful friend to many at the beginning of
their scientific work. The writer of
SCIENCE
MONTHLY
the present note is one of a large com-
pany that owes him an unpayable debt
for personal kindness and intellectual
stimulation.
Galton—the Sir Francis does not
come naturally—gives rather full de-
tails, as is becoming, of his parentage
and early life. On both sides he was
of quaker stock. He traces to inherit-
ance his taste for science, for poetry
and for statistics, and his endurance of
physical fatigue. His formal schooling
was not profitable. He says (it was
before going to Cambridge): “In the
spring of 1840 a passion for travel
seized me as if I had been a migratory
bird.” He made a somewhat adventu-
rous trip to the near east, and his
travels were continued more seriously
on completing his studies. He made
two trips of exploration in Africa, in
the second conducting an expedition of
some 1,700 miles through unknown re-
gions in the southwest. For this he
was awarded one of the gold medals
of the Royal Geographical Society in
1854, and was elected a fellow of the
Royal Society two years later.
In 1853 Galton married a daughter
of the dean of Peterborough, the father
of a gifted family, and thenceforth
residing in London carried out the in-
vestigations and published the long
series of important memoirs and vol-
umes, the contents of which are all too
briefly reviewed in the reminiscences.
First appeared works on travel, then
serious attention was given to meteor-
ology and the Kew Observatory. In
1865 were published two papers on
“ Heredity Talent and Character”;
and these were followed by the studies
on variation and individual differences
which are summarized in
“Human Faculty.” The on
anthropometry, on association and on
imagery opened up new fields for psy-
chology; the composite portraits and
largely
work
the. study of finger prints are known
to all. Nearly every one of the 183
| publications contains a new idea or an
ingenious application. The work on
THE PROGRESS OF SCIENCE
heredity and its application to eugen-
ies, beginning before the publication of
the volume on “ Hereditary Genius ”
in 1869 and continuing to the present
time, is of vast importance. Numerous
articles on these subjects by Galton
himself and by others who have re-
ceived their inspiration from him have
been published in this journal, and it
is of course out of the question to give
a summary in a brief note. There are
no other problems so important as
those to which Galton has given the
name eugenics, and there is no one else
who has done so much toward making
straight the way for their solution.
THE BUGENIOS LABORATORY OF |
THE UNIVERSITY OF LONDON
AmoncG Sir Francis Galton’s unnum-
bered services to science has been the |
establishment of a laboratory for the |
study of national eugenics at the Uni-
versity of London. In cooperation
with the biometric laboratory and the
department of applied mathematics,
also under the direction of Professor
Karl Pearson, it is leading the way in
a movement likely to become dominant
in the course of the present century.
National eugenics is officially described
as “the study of agencies under social
control that may improve or impair
the racial qualities of future genera-
tions, either physically or mentally.”
It is further stated that it is intended
that the laboratory shall serve as a
storehouse of statistical material bear-
ing on the mental and physical condi-
tions in man, and the relation of these
conditions to inheritance and environ-
ment, as a center for the publication
or other rorm of distribution of infor-
mation concerning national eugenics,
and as a school for training and assist-
ing students in special problems in
eugenics.
The general scope of the work which
has been undertaken may be gathered
from an enumeration of the publica- |
tions for which the laboratories of the
University of London are responsible.
3°99
| Biometrika is a journal for the statis-
tical study of the biological sciences
| published about four times a year and
|/now in the seventh volume. It is a
storehouse of materials and methods,
dominated naturally by the interests
of the editor. In some ways it is an
advantage and in some ways a draw-
| back that Professor Pearson is a
mathematician. The need of applying
mathematical methods to variation
and heredity should be emphasized and
stress on the method has permitted the
| treatment and unification of varied
| material. But it is also true that so
long as there are but few biologists
| who are mathematicians, there is dan-
ger that certain methods may become
prematurely crystallized and these spe-
cial methods may be regarded as an
/end rather than as a tool. In addition
to Biometrica there has been estab-
lished this year a Treasury of Human
Inheritance, devoted to family his-
tories, including diseases, physical
traits and mental qualities. Then
there are two series of memoirs, one
entitled Biometric Series, the other
Studies in National Deterioration,
published at the expense of the Dra-
pers’ Company. The first of these con-
tains chiefly Professor Pearson’s more
recent mathematical contributions to
the theory of evolution, while the
second includes so far three studies,
one on the relation of fertility in men
to social status and two on inheritance
and infection in tuberculosis. Lastly,
there is a lecture series, of which but
one has been issued, and a memoir
series from the eugenics laboratory.
The memoirs include a study of the
inheritance of ability from the Oxford
class lists and of the relation between
success in examinations and in after
life; inheritance of insanity, the re-
semblance of first cousins and the
inheritance of vision.
THE INHERITANCE OF VISION
|
| THE recently issued mcenograph from
the Eugenics Laboratory on the in-
310 THE POPULAR
heritance of vision, which is by Miss
Amy Barrington and Professor Karl
Pearson, is of special interest, as it is
one of the first attempts to determine
the relative influence of heredity and
environment, and announces the unex-
pected conclusion that there is no defi-
nite evidence that schools have a dele-
terious effect on the eyesight of chil-
dren. Other results are that keenness
of vision is an inherited character,
that there is some relation between
intelligence and good eyesight, but
none between this and poverty or
shiftless parentage.
The authors have not obtained data
of their own, but work over results
that have already been published. For
heredity they discuss the work of
Steiger, which has the drawback that
the material is not a random selection
from the population, but starts with
abnormal cases. Allowing for this,
they conclude that heredity is as
strong in the case of astigmatism as
for other physical traits, such as
height or eye color.
For environment the authors depend
largely on a study of 1,400 school chil-
dren made by the Edinburgh Charity
Emmetropia
Percentages
!
investigators.
SCIENCE MONTHLY
Organization Society. These children
show a high degree of fraternal re-
semblance. The conditions of eyesight
are reproduced in the accompanying
diagram. It appears that emmetropia
—which the authors regard as syn-
onymous with normal vision, though
there are good grounds for regarding
the hypermetropic eye as normal—
actually increases from the age of six
to ten, while astigmatism decreases.
There is no appreciable change in
myopia. Myopia, or near-sightedness,
does increase from the age of ten to
fourteen, though only to 6.5 per cent.
of the children.
These figures do not agree with those
of Cohen, Erismann, Risley and other
Cohen, for example,
found the percentage of myopics to be:
in village schools 1.4 per cent., in ele-
mentary schools 6.7 per cent, in inter-
mediate schools 10.3 per cent., in the
gymnasium 26.2 per cent. and in the
university 59.5 per cent. The fact is
that the Edinburgh children, being
from the poorest classes, probably did
not greatly strain their eyes with read-
ing and school work. The authors
say: “The persistent use by the Ger-
Ages.
TuE DISTRIBUTION OF EYESIGHT AMONG EDINBURGH CHILDREN.
Dr. ERNEST Fox NicHous
President of Dartmouth College, lately Professor of Physics
in Columbia University.
"Sees
mans of non-hygienic characters for
their type . . . renders all comparisons
of English and German conditions un-
profitable.” One might suppose, on the
contrary, that this comparison would
indicate that progressive myopia is due
to environment rather than to heredity.
Cohen ‘indeed found that of 1,000 near-
sighted children only 2.7 per cent. had
a near-sighted father or mother.
Professor Pearson may be correct in
urging that “the first thing is good
stock, and the second thing is good
stock, and the third thing is good
stock,” but it does not appear that
this conclusion can be deduced from
what is known in regard to defective
eyesight. There is danger that an atti-
tude such as Professor Pearson’s may
lead to neglect of those factors of the
environment which we can improve.
When he says: “Pay attention to
breeding, and the environmental ele-
ment will not upset your projects,” he
rather neglects to emphasize the fact
that paying attention to breeding does |
not under what Galton calls “the |
existing conditions of law and _ senti-
ment ” give us much chance to improve
the racial stock in man. We can not
breed a race immune to myopia, but
we can refrain from producing a gen-
eration of myopic school children.
SCIENTIFIC ITEMS
We regret to record the death of
Dr. R. E. C. Stearns, of Los Angeles,
known for his work on the Mollusca;
of John Morse Ordway, until recently
professor of metallurgy at Tulane Uni-
versity; of Mr. Lefferts Buck, a lead-
ing New York engineer; of Dr. T. W.
Bridge, professor of zoology at Birm-
ingham, and of Dr. V. R. Matteucci,
director of the Observatory on Mt.
Vesuvius.
pha Ph ee
ents
ar THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY te
Proressor R. C. ALLEN, of the Uni-
versity of Michigan, has been ap-
pointed state geologist of Michigan, to
succeed Dr. A. C. Lane, who has be-
come professor of geology in Tufts
College——Dr. C. Gordon Hewitt, lee-
turer in economic zoology in the Uni-
versity of Manchester, has been ap-
pointed entomologist to the Dominign
of Canada in succession to the late
|Dr. James Fletcher.
Sir JosepH Darton HOooKeER cele-
brated his ninety-second birthday on
June 30. His scientific career began
seventy years ago, when he went out
as surgeon and naturalist with Sir
James Ross’s Antarctic expedition.—
Dr. C. Lloyd Morgan, F.R.S., known
for his contributions to comparative
psychology, has resigned the office of
vice-chancellor of the University of
Bristol.
Tue French Association for the Ad-
vancement of Science will meet this
year at Lille on August 2-7, under the
presidency of Professor Landouzy, dean
of the faculty of medicine in the Uni-
versity of Paris. The gold medal of
the association, which was instituted
last year, is to be awarded to Professor
H. Poincaré, who will deliver a lecture
during the course 01 the meeting.
TuE heirs of the late Herr Heinrich
Lanz, head of the Mannheim engineer-
ing firm, have given a million Marks
for the establishment of an academy
of science at Heidelberg—M. Henry
Deutsch has given 500,000 francs, and
promises in addition an annual grant
of 15,000 frances, towards the creation
of an aerotechnical institute in the
University of Paris. M. Basil Zakaroff
has given 700,000 francs for the foun-
dation of a chair of aviation in the
faculty of sciences of the university.
“>
+
The Popular Science Monthly
iF
{ 'e Entered tn the Post Office in Lomoaster, Pa., as second-class matter.
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‘ CONTENTS OF JULY NUMBER
Natural Resistance to Infectious Diseases and Its Rein-
- forcement. Dr. Simon FLEXNER.
‘Some Practical Aspects of Gyrostatic Action, Professor
_ W.S, FRANKLIN.
Josiah Willard Gibbs and His Relation to Modern Science,
FIELDING H, GARRISON,
_ AReyolutionin Dentistry. Dr.Ricnarp CoLE NEWTON.
‘The Origin of the Nervous System and its Appropristion
( of Effectors. Professor G. H. PARKER.
_ The Preparation for the Study of Medicine. Dr. FrEep-
Eric T LEWIS.
Darwinism in the Theory of Social Evolution. Professor
_ FRANKLIN H. GrppInes.
_ Darwin’s Influence upon Philosophy. Professor Joun
DEWEY.
The Progress of Science :
_. the University of Pittsburgh ; The Perey Sladen
Memorial Fund ; Scientific Items.
To THE SCIENCE PEESS,
The Future of Astronomy.
‘Phe College and the Student ; The New Buildings of
CONTENTS OF AUGUST NUMBER
Professor Epwarp C.
PICKERING.
The Future of Mathematics. Professor G. A. MILLER,
‘The “Druid Stones” of Brittany. Professor J. S.
KINGSLEY,
The Origin of the Nervous System and its Appropria-
tion of Effectors. Professor G. H. PARKER.
The Variational Factor in Handwriting. Dr. JUNE E,
DOWNEY.
Jane Lathrop Stanford. President Davin STARR
JORDAN.
Life from the Biologist’sStandpoint, Professor WILLIAM
E. RITTER.
Josiah Willard Gibbs and his Relation to Modern Science.
Dr. FIELDING H. GARRISON.
The Progress of Science:
The Death of Simon Newcomb; The Darwin Com-
memoration; The Winnipeg Meeting of the British
Association; Scientific Items.
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POPULAR SCIEN CH
MONTH LY.
OCTOBER, 1909
THE HUDSON-FULTON CELEBRATION OF 1909
By Dr. GEORGE FREDERICK KUNZ
NEW YORK CITY
apie the London Exhibition of 1851, and the first Paris Exposi-
tion of 1855, there have been probably one hundred expositions
in various parts of the world. Generally they have been held in com-
memoration of some historic event or anniversary, and each one, large
or small, has usually had some special distinctive feature. The great
exposition at Chicago had its White City and its illuminations; the
Buffalo Exposition had its architecture, its illuminations and the added
advantage of its striking environment, and the various French exposi-
tions have each possessed peculiar points to mark their individuality.
All of them have been held for six months or more, but in a great many
cases from one third to one half of that time elapsed before all the
departments were completed and opened to the public. In this way
public interest was checked at the beginning, and when the exposition
was finally completed, a good part of the allotted time had passed, and
the enthusiasm always excited by these affairs had begun to flag.
New York in itself is not only the greatest exposition, perhaps, in
the world, because of its geographic features and its wonderful resources,
but its various lines of transit—surface cars, elevated railways and sub-
ways—facilitate the handling of great crowds. In addition to this
New York les between two rivers, and is as easily reached by boat as
by rail, to say nothing of the attractive physical advantages this location
gives it.
The writer, in an article published in the North American Review
for September, 1902, and entitled “The Management and Uses of
Expositions,” strongly urged the holding of an exposition to mark the
tercentenary of Henry Hudson’s arrival at the mouth of the river which
bears his name. The forecast of the present advantages of our city
VOL. Lxxv. —21.
*
a
By
314 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
Hrenry Hupson (ideal). No artist’s name attached.
given in this article has been almost literally fulfilled, and the writer
realizes more than ever that he was correct in saying that the museums
and institutions of our city would “furnish a greater display to the
visitor than any exposition yet held on the continent.”
New York, with its great variety of public buildings, its miles of
waterways, its dozens of museums, its many civic buildings, its great
system of parks, stands alone as a prominent and fitting exposition
ground. Why erect a city of staff, wood and other inflammable material
to hold costly objects? Whoever contributed his much-prized works of
art to such shelter, awaited, with fear and trembling, their safe return,
and few of the finest things were ever loaned except in Paris, where
they were shown in permanent structures such as the artistic Nouveau
Salon, and its dainty neighbor, the Petit Salon, to the right of which
is the magnificent Pont Alexandre II.
Although not so. named, this Hudson-Fulton Celebration really
presents the features of a great exposition, for when all the resources
HUDSON-FULTON CELEBRATION OF. 1909 eG
ROBERT FULTON, by Benjamin West. Fulton as a youth went to Burope to study art.
West was his teacher. This portrait of Fulton is said to represent West’s best style.
Hudson-Fulton Celebration Commission.
of New York are presented as they will be on this occasion, and given
a brilliant and attractive setting, it will be found that no exposition
ever organized on this continent has offered a greater variety of interest.
To apply the standard of monetary value may seem a trifle vulgar when
we are treating of the triumphs of art in all its forms, and yet this
standard merely expresses the worth of antiquities and artistic creations
in a more exact way than by using superlatives of speech. A reasonable
estimate of the value of the attractions that our city offers to its visitors
would be rather in excess of $2,000,000,000 than below that figure, and
316 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
Last Days or Hrnry Hupson, by Sir John Collier. Original in Tate Gallery, London.
On his last voyage (in the Adriatic) Hudson was set adrift in a small boat
by his mutinous crew and nothing was later heard of him.
Hudson-Fulton Celebration Commission.
yet, where the great expositions of the past have cost from $10,000,000
to $20,000,000 or more for their organization, all the treasures and
beauties of New York can be displayed at an expense of only $1,000,000.
A single building, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, with the objects it
will hold, would not be over-valued at from $30,000,000 to $40,000,000.
At an exposition the public is called upon to pay fifty cents admis-
sion each time to enter the gates and an additional fee for each special
exhibition. The great New York celebration will be free for all, even
for those who have no car fare to enable them to ride. The demon-
strations are in the heart of the city itself. They do not take place in
some suburb, or barren, out-of-the-way spot. They are not encompassed
HUDSON-FULTON CELEBRATION OF 1909 317
within a temporary city built like that at Coney Island, or held
away out in the Bronx, on the Palisades or at Staten Island; neither
is the celebration instituted or furthered to boom any special piece of
real estate, or to sustain the selling of a quantity of traction stock or
railroad stock that might be affected by an unusual traffic for the
time being.
The celebration is designed to cover a very wide field, and the aim
of the commission has not been confined to honoring the explorer of
the Hudson River and the man who made steam navigation a perma-
nent success; in addition to this the occasion has been utilized to illus-
trate and emphasize the development and greatness of New York City,
the metropolis of the western hemisphere. Those who can understand
the true significance of this celebration, and who are able to forecast
the future, will see the vision of a still greater and more magnificent
city, worthy of being called a world metropolis.
Although the naval parade owes its greatness to the presence of the
American and international war fleet, and to the immense aggregation
of vessels of all kinds and denominations assembled for the occasion,
the place of honor is fittingly assigned to the replicas of the two small
vessels which helped to make the names of Hudson and Fulton famous.
The reproduction of the Half Moon, generously offered by the govern-
ment of the Netherlands, is a craft of but 80 tons burden and is only
744 feet long and 17 feet wide. The Half Moon will be under the
command of Commander Lam, who will be costumed to impersonate
Henry Hudson; the crew will also wear the dress of sailors of Hudson’s
time. A comparison with the Celtic shows in a striking manner the
wonderful progress in naval construction, the giant lner being 700
feet long and 75 feet wide, while its tonnage is 20,904. The historic
Clermont, which, in 1807, made its memorable trip up the Hudson,
thus inaugurating steam navigation on the river, has been carefully
reproduced. This craft, while larger than the Half Moon, is still small
and insignificant in comparison with the magnificent steamers of to-day.
It is only 150 feet long and 18 feet wide.
The reproductions of the Half Moon and the Clermont constitute
the central point, the very focus, of the celebration, and this has been
fully recognized by the commission. Hence the opening day, Saturday,
September 25, will be devoted to a grand naval parade, perhaps the
greatest naval pageant ever seen. The eighty warships, American and
foreign, form the most imposing array of naval forces assembled at any
- time in the new world, and we may safely say that, with one or two
possible exceptions, no fleet of equal might and numbers was ever
brought together.
The United States will be represented by 16 battleships, 12 torpedo-
boats, 4 submarines, 2 supply ships, 1 repair ship, 1 torpedo vessel,
1 tug and 7 colliers: 53 vessels in all, the battleships constituting the
318 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY ©
most powerful fleet ever assembled except on a few occasions in the
English Channel. Rear-Admiral Seaton Schroeder, U.S.N., is in
command.
From the Netherlands comes the cruiser Utrecht, commanded by
Captain G. P. van Hecking Colenbrander, R.N.N., and the replica of
the Half Moon. Germany sends the cruisers Dresden, Hertha, Viktoria
Luisa and Bremen, under the command of Grand Admiral H. L. R. von
Koster, retired, of the Imperial Navy. The English squadron will con-
—
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THE PURCHASE OF MANHATTAN ISLAND.
sist of the cruisers Inflexible, Drake, Argyll and Duke of Edinburgh,
commanded by Admiral Sir Edward Seymour, of the Royal Navy.
France will be represented by two battleships, the Liberté and the
Justice, under the command of Vice Admiral Le Pord. From Italy
come the cruiser Htruria and the schoolship Htna, on board of which
will be the cadets of the Royal Naval Academy—the future officers of
the Itahan navy.
Latin America will also participate in the parade, Mexico being
represented by the gun-boat Bravo, commanded by Captain Manuel HE.
Izaguirre ; Cuba, by the revenue-cutter Hatuey; the Argentine Republic,
by the warship Presidente Sarmiento, and Guatemala, by a coast-
patrol boat.
An immense fleet of seagoing and coastwise merchant vessels, steam-
boats, ferryboats, steam yachts, motor boats, tugs and steam lighters,
sailing crafts, police boats, wrecking boats, fire boats, hospital boats,
naval-militia vessels, steam cutters and launches, United States revenue-
cutters and other craft, including the Clermont and Half Moon, will
assemble in ten squadrons in the Harbor, in the vicinity of the Brooklyn,
HUDSON-FULTON CELEBRATION OF 1909 319
A GENERAL PEACE.
NEW-YTORK, March 25, 1783.
LATE loft Night, on EXPRESS from New-Ferfey,
brought the following Account.
T H A T on Sunday laft, the Twenty-Third Inftant, a Veffel arrived at
Philadelphia, in Thirty-five Days from Cadiz, with Difpatches to
the Continental Congrefi, informing them, that on Monday the Twentieth
Day of January, the PRELIMINARIES.to .
AGENERAL PEACE
Between Great-Britain, France, Spain, Holland, and the United States of
| America, were SIGNED at Paris, by all the Commiffioners from thofe Powers ;
in confequence of which, Hoftilities, by Sea and Land, were to ceafe im
| Europe, on Wednefday the Twentieth Day of February ; and in America, on
Thurfday the Twentieth Day of March, in the prefent Year One Thoufand
Seven Hundred and Eighty-Three. :
THIS very smportant Intelligence was laft Night announced by the
Firing of Cannon, and. great Rejoicings at Elizabeth-Town.---Refpecting
the Particulars of this truly interefting Event no more are yet received, but:
| ‘theyare hourly expected.
| Publifbed by James Rivington, Printer to the King’s Moft Excellent Majefty.
ne SS mn ESTE ERP
The foregoing “Broadside” has been comparrd with the original, in the Senate House,
Kingston, N. Y., and found correct, s
eer: JULIUS SCHOONMAKER, Custodian.
| ; Subscribed and sworn lo before me, this 130; day of Octoder, 7893,
‘ - C. HUME, Notary Public.
Staten Island and New Jersey shores. An object of interest for all will
be the historic Roosevelt, used by Commander Peary in his successful
trip to the North Pole. Staten Island has contributed a reproduction
of Commodore Vanderbilt’s periagua, the forerunner of the Vander-
bilt ferryboats between Staten Island and Manhattan. The warships
will also rendezvous in the harbor, and at 1:30 p.m. the parade
will begin, the warships in the lead. The whole array of vessels, at
least seven miles in length, will advance, slowly and majestically, up
320 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
THE Harr Moon. An exact photograph of the replica of the Half Moon, in which
Hudson sailed under the auspices of the Dutch Hast India Company, built by
patriotic citizens of Holland and to be presented to the Commission.
Hudson-Fulton Celebration Commission.
the Hudson River. When the head of the column reaches Forty-second
Street, the two leading warships will swing out of line and cast anchor
opposite each other; a little further on the second pair will then per-
form the same evolutions, to be succeeded in turn by all the other
warships, the line finally extending from Forty-second Street to 175th
Street. The civic fleet will continue on its way, passing to the left of
the warships until the head of the line is reached, when the vessels will
cross over and move down the river between the warships and the
Manhattan shore, to 110th Street.
In the meanwhile the replicas of the Half Moon and the Clermont,
accompanied by their more immediate escort, will pass up between the
lines of warships to 110th Street and will be greeted by a salute in
passing. Arriving at 110th Street, the formal presentation of the two
vessels will be made, the exercises taking place on a landing stage con-
structed at that point.
The parade of the civic fleet will be repeated in the evening, start-
ing at 7:30 p.m., and will make a very brilliant spectacle, for the
moving vessels as well as the warships will be illuminated with electric
lamps, which will outline their form with a tracery of fire.
HUDSON-FULTON CELEBRATION OF 1909 321
On Wednesday, September 29, about 9:30 a.m., the Half Moon and
the Clermont will leave their anchorages at 110th Street and will pro-
ceed up the river, stopping for a time at Yonkers, Tarrytown, Ossining,
Peekskill and Cornwall. On Friday, October 1, these vessels will arrive
at Newburgh, where they will meet the Upper and Lower Hudson fleets.
The latter fleet will leave New York on the morning of October 1, and
will consist of the submarine Costine (the first submarine), twelve
torpedo boats and a large number of other ships, divided into six
squadrons.
There can be no question that the naval parade with which the
Hudson-Fulton Celebration begins, represents the central idea of the
whole festival. The spectators, in gazing upon the immense fleet of
modern vessels, may find it difficult to realize that the tiny ships, the
Half Moon and the Clermont, so faithfully reproduced for this occa-
sion, occupy a more important place in the world’s history than will
all the gigantic vessels that are assembled to honor the two remarkable
men who accomplished so much with such scant resources.
This lesson is especially important in our time, for the tendency of
our day is to lay undue stress upon mere magnitude, and to believe that
larger ships, larger buildings and larger cities necessarily mark a real
progress in civilization. No sane person will deny the fact that the
conditions of lfe have changed and are changing for the better—
slowly, it is true—but there can be as little question that the rate of
progress would be greatly accelerated if the essentials of civilization
THE HALF Moon.
322 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
were more regarded than the development of mere material greatness.
The first of the land parades, the great historical pageant, will take
place on Tuesday, September 28, and will consist of 54 cars, or “ floats,”
bearing groups of figures and accessories illustrating scenes from the
history of the city or state of New York. These floats will be accom-
panied by marching bodies from various civic societies, American and
foreign. The one which will head the procession has been named
“The New York Title Car” and will bear a seated figure of the God-
THE HaAatr Moon.
dess of Liberty; two owls, the birds of Minerva, are perched upon the
high back of the chair on which the goddess sits, signifying that wisdom
has guided her in her progress. The contrast between the primitive
conditions of Henry Hudson’s time and those of the present day is
strikingly presented by the model of an Indian canoe alongside of that
of an ocean liner, and by representations, in due proportions, of a
“ skyscraper ” and of an Indian wigwam.
The parade will be divided into four divisions, devoted, respectively,
to the Indian, the Dutch, the Colonial and the Revolutionary periods,
each division being preceded by a car bearing a group which epitomizes
HUDSON-FULTON CELEBRATION OF 1909 323
LAUNCHING OF THE HALF MOON AT AMSTERDAM.
the leading characteristics of the period. The last car typifies the hos-
pitality of our city, a gigantic figure of Old Father Knickerbocker
standing upon it with hands outstretched and extending a hearty wel-
come to all the nations of the earth. In order to add to the verisimili-
tude of the different groups, Iroquois Indians have been secured to man
the Indian floats; members of the various Holland societies to represent
COMPARATIVE PicTURE, “ CELTIC” AND ‘‘ HALF Moon.” Celtic (1909)—length 700
feet, beam 75 feet, depth 49 feet, displacement 37,870 tons, tonnage 20,904 tons, horse-
power 13,000. Half Moon (1609)—length 74.54 feet, beam 16.94 feet, depth 10.08
feet, tonnage §0 tons. The Celtic crosses the Atlantic in a little less than eight days.
The Half Moon crossed the Atlantic in fifty-nine days.
‘MOISSIMIMIOZ) UOIVAQI[99 WOI[Ny-uospnyT Aq ‘GOEL ‘pe Iustatdop
“ENOWUAT) WHT,
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THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
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324
HUDSON-FULTON CELEBRATION OF 1909 325
the characters on the Dutch floats, and descendants of the old Colonial
families, members of the Society of Colonial Wars, Sons of the Revolu-
tion, etc., to perform the same service on the Colonial floats. The float
showing the capture of Major André will be manned by descendants of
John Paulding, one of André’s captors.
The parade will begin at 110th Street and Central Park West and
will proceed down Central Park West to 59th Street, through that
street to Fifth Avenue, and down Fifth Avenue to Washington Square.
This parade will be repeated in Brooklyn on Friday, October 1,
proceeding from the Memorial Arch at the entrance to Prospect Park
by way of the Eastern Parkway to Buffalo Avenue. Richmond Borough
will also have its historical parade, on a smaller scale, it is true. This
will take place on Monday, September 27, and will traverse the Amboy
Road, between New Dorp and Oakwood. ‘The ceremonies on the site
of the first church on Staten Island, founded by the Waldensians, will
commemorate the first permanent settlement on the island.
The military parade will take place on Thursday, passing over the
route followed by the historical pageant. It will be composed of the
Federal Troops of the Department of the East, the National Guard of
the State of New York within the limits of New York city, the United
States Navy and Marine Corps, the Naval Reserve, the veteran organ-
izations, and marines and sailors from foreign warships. It is esti-
mated that 25,000 men will be in line.
The carnival parade on Saturday evening, October 2, will traverse
the route followed by the historical parade and the military parade.
This will unquestionably be one of the most interesting and probably
the most brilliant feature of the celebration. It will be under the care
of the German societies of New York, and the Germans have always
displayed a remarkable aptitude for organizing and designing pageants
of this kind. The fifty cars composing the parade will be artistically
illuminated, and many thousands of torch-bearers will precede and
follow the emblematic groups. These will represent music, art and
literature, and the wide field of German legend, song and history will
furnish most of the themes. The streets along the route of the parade
will be made as light as day by festoons of electric lamps. This pageant
will be repeated in Brooklyn on the evening of Saturday, October 9,
and will pass along the Eastern Parkway.
The general illumination of the city every night during the festival
period will offer the most brilliant spectacle ever seen in this country.
All the municipal buildings, as well as thousands of private buildings,
will be lighted up by tens of thousands of electric lights. The four
bridges spanning the East River will be radiant with rows of lights,
14,000 being placed on the Queensboro Bridge, 13,000 on the Brooklyn
Bridge, 11,000 on the Williamsburg Bridge and the same number on
326 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
the Manhattan Bridge. As seen from any point on the Kast River,
these bridges will be outlined against the dark background of the night,
so as as to appear like structures of flame, evoked by a magician’s hand.
On the other side of the island, both shores of the Hudson River from
Forty-second Street to Spuyten Duyvil will be ablaze with light. At
110th Street there will be a battery of twelve searchlghts, aggregating
1,700,000 candle power; these lights will be directed up, down and
across the river, illuminating an immense radius. Another battery of
searchlights, four in number and aggregating 400,000 candle power,
will cast its rays upon Grant’s Tomb, which will be thrown into striking
relief by the dazzling light.
- The historical parade and all the other pageants of the week will
HUDSON-FULTON CELEBRATION OF 1909 327
arouse in the minds of the beholders a more lively understanding of
the history and development of our city, and, while delighting the eye,
will convey an important lesson in the very best and most effective way
—that is, unconsciously. A population like ours is greatly in need of
some powerful stimulation of this kind to weld together all its heter-
ogeneous elements. But let it not be supposed that this is the only end
to be attained; such brilliant spectacles are a good in themselves and
none will appreciate this more thoroughly than those whose life is
merely a sad and monotonous struggle for their daily bread. On this
occasion the poorest and the richest will share equally in the enjoyment
of the various splendid and artistic spectacles.
Of the special exhibitions which have been organized by the Art and
Historical Exhibits Committee, the most important is the magnificent
collection of masterpieces by Dutch painters which will be seen in the
Metropolitan Museum of Art, at Fifth Avenue and Highty-second
Street. Never before have so many splendid examples of Dutch art
been gathered together in the United States; indeed, the exhibition as
a whole has never been rivaled even in Hurope. Here may be seen no
less than thirty-five Rembrandts, a larger number than exist in any
permanent collection, except that of the Hermitage in St. Petersburg.
Then there are nineteen portraits by Franz Hals, who is only inferior
to Rembrandt among the Dutch portraitists, and five specimens of the
work of Vermeer van Delft, whose pictures are extremely rare, there
being only thirty authentic examples extant. Besides the works of
these artists there are fine and characteristic pictures by Jacob and
Salomon Ruysdael, Cuyp, Hobbema, Metsu, Van Ostade and many
others who were contemporaries of Henry Hudson. These works come
from the finest private collections in the United States and many years
will pass before an equally favorable opportunity will be afforded for
the study of Dutch pictorial art.
The special exhibition also embraces a large and valuable collection
of furniture, silver, pewter, porcelain and glass, produced in this
country between 1625 and 1815, the year of Fulton’s death; and there
is also a fine collection of paintings by American artists born before
1800, including pictures by Woolaston, Copley, West, Allston, Peale,
Stuart, Trumbull, Fulton, Doughty, etc.
We have all read of the Indians who were settled on Manhattan
Island before the arrival of Henry Hudson, but few realize how many
relics of these aborigines have been found here, especially at the upper
end of the island. A large and valuable collection of these relics may
be seen in the American Museum of Natural History, at Central Park
West and Seventy-seventh Street, and a classic monograph, written by
Dr. Clark Wissler, can be obtained at the same place, and will enable
the visitor to understand the significance of the various relics. The
328 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
manners and customs of the Indians of Long Island are represented by
an important exhibit in the Brooklyn Institute. Independent of any
museum, and of ethnological interest, will be the 125 Indians, men,
women and children, from New York reservations, who will participate
in the landing of the Half Moon, and in several of the parades.
The early history of New York and the beginnings of steam navi-
gation will be illustrated by an exhibition of views, paintings, manu-
scripts, books, etc., shown in the Lenox branch of the New York Public
Library, detailed information in regard to the exhibits being offered in
a special catalogue. The New York Historical Society, in its new
building, on Central Park West, corner of Seventy-seventh Street,
just below the American Museum of Natural History, exhibits many
interesting pictures and relics relating to Robert Fulton. At the
National Arts Club, No. 15 Gramercy Park, the special collection is
entitled “ Three Hundred Years of New York,” and the visitor will
see a large number of pictures and other objects illustrating the
development of the city and its rapid and marvelous growth. A col-
lection of oil paintings and old manuscripts concerning the early his-
tory of New York is exhibited by the Genealogical and Biographical
HUDSON-FULTON CELEBRATION OF 1909 329
Society, No. 226 West Fifty-seventh Street, and rare manuscripts and
books on the same subject may be seen at the College of the City of
New York, St. Nicholas Avenue and 138th Street.
As is the case with all great inventions, steam navigation was not
the work of one man alone, although Robert Fulton was the first to
apply it consequently and permanently. Epoch-making inventions
have usually been the work of a group of men pursuing the same end,
often independently of each other, but the credit and glory of success
is reserved for that one of them who possesses the energy and persist-
ence requisite for ultimate triumph. Before Fulton built the Clermont,
John Fitch had constructed a boat operated and propelled by steam,
and John Stevens had already sailed a steamboat, his Phenix being
undoubtedly the first steamboat to sail on the ocean; but Fulton applied
the ideas of Fitch and improved upon them to such an extent that he
is rightly regarded as the parent of steam navigation. Aided by the
advice of Chancellor Livingston, he secured a sort of monopoly in
steamship building and his name will always be remembered among
those of the great benefactors of humanity.
The portrait of Fulton by Benjamin West is justly regarded as one
vol. LXxXv.—22. :
S Je hel
GENDPRAL SThwarT L. WOODFORD,
President of the Hudson-Fulton Celebration
Commission.
us something not to be found in
other portraits, namely, the idea, or
perhaps we should rather say the
ideal, the artist has formed of him-
self.
HENRY W. SACKETT,
Secretary of the Hudson-Fulton Celebration
Commission.
?In Brooklyn Institute exhibit.
Published by his permission.
THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
of the best works of our American
painter, who became president of
the Royal Academy in London.
Fulton himself was an artist of
considerable ability, and pursued his
art. studies in London under West’s
direction. Among his works is a
most interesting portrait of himself,
which can be seen in the Brooklyn
Institute. Although this does not
equal West’s portrait in artistic
merit, like other attempts of artists
to portray their own features it gives
HERMANN RIDDER,
Vice-president of the Hudson-Fulton
Celebration Commission.
One of the most interesting of
the printed documents referring to
the Revolution is an old “ Broad-
side” printed in New York, March
25, 1783.2, We are here given a
vivid idea of the time required for
the transmission of news in that day,
for this sheet tells us that the first
news of the signing of the prelim-
inaries to the treaty of peace at Paris
Loaned by Colonel Henry T. Chapman.
HUDSON-FULTON CELEBRATION OF 1909 agi
on January 20, 1783, reached Philadelphia, by way of Cadiz, Spain,
on the twenty-seventh of March.
The flora of Manhattan Island and its vicinity, in the time of Henry
Hudson, is shown in the New York Botanical Garden, where these
specimens are indicated by the letter “ H,” and in the parks of Brooklyn
and Queens boroughs, a special sign in this case indicating the trees and
shrubs which grew here in 1609. It is difficult for those who see this
city of stone, brick and concrete to imagine its appearance in Henry
Hudson’s time, when stretches of meadow land alternated with groves
or small forests of trees, over the greater part of the territory, while the
upper part of Manhattan Island was traversed with rocky ridges rising
in some cases to a considerable height above tide-water. Except in the
outlying portions of the city, all these irregularities have been effaced,
but the large parks, especially Morningside Park and a portion of
Central Park above 100th Street, still show much of the primitive
conditions.
Such a transformation makes the old pictures of Manhattan Island
seem unreal, nevertheless it should be a consolation for the present
landowners to know that the land was duly and legally acquired by the
first Dutch settlers, and although Peter Minuit may have made a good
bargain, the title is clear and without stain.
Those who wish to form some idea of the fauna of this region at the
time of Hudson’s arrival should visit the New York Zoological Garden,
where the specimens in question are marked by the flag of the Hudson-
Fulton Celebration. In the New York Aquarium appropriate signs
have also been placed on the tanks containing fish indigenous to the
Hudson River and the waters surrounding New York.
For many special exhibitions catalogues have been prepared at con-
siderable expense. The price at which they are sold scarcely covers the
cost of printing them from the plates. A first edition of 5,000 to 10,000
copies has been printed, but when this supply is exhausted new editions
of, say, 2,000 copies will be issued from time to time as occasion requires.
One of the leading features of the celebration will be a grand banquet
of 2,000 persons in the magnificent new dining-hall of the Hotel Astor.
This will be the greatest fine banquet ever given in this country, and
the use of the hall has been held back to have this the initial banquet.
It is true that in point of size it can not be compared with the dinner
given to 22,000 maires of the French communes, at the opening of the
Paris Exposition in 1889. Some idea of the gigantic proportions of
this function may be given by the fact that the plates used in serving
the dinner, if placed on top of each other, would have made a pile two
miles in height. However, this was merely a dinner, while the function
in the Hotel Astor is a grand banquet faultless in every detail.
In Brooklyn the social side of the celebration will find expression in
332 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
\MPEDRPRNC NA ‘ is
ey ;
ND |
a SCENIC AND: Bi
= PRESERVATION: SOCIETY"
merey 3k e pass E- Sidi Tonal
pnt NG G- ail aeons
a ball to be given at the Brooklyn Academy of Music. Invitations have
been extended to the officers of the American and International fleets,
the diplomatic representatives of foreign nations, and many other dis-
tinguished guests, and the ball will undoubtedly be a brilliant and
imposing affair.
Lovers of good music will have ample opportunity to gratify their
HUDSON-FULTON CELEBRATION OF 1909 333
tastes. On Sunday evening, September 26, the masterpieces of Irish
music and song will be rendered in Carnegie Hall by Irish citizens of
New York, many of the songs being given in both English and Gaelic.
- In the Hippodrome, on the same evening, there will be a concert by the
United German Singers of the Northeast District of New York.
On Monday evening, September 27, the Hudson-Fulton official
ceremonies will open with a reception to the distinguished visiting
guests at the Metropolitan Opera House, when all the distinguished
foreign guests will present their addresses, after an official welcome by
the Hudson-Fulton Celebration Commission, Gen. Stewart L. Woodford,
Charles E. Hughes, Governor of the state of New York, Mayor George
B. McClellan, and Mrs. Julia Ward Howe, over ninety years old, author
of the “ Battle Hymn of the Republic,” will recite a poem.
On Tuesday evening, September 28, there will be a musical festival
by the German Liederkranz in the Metropolitan Opera House, and on
Thursday evening, September 30, a concert will be given by the New
York Festival Chorus in Carnegie Hall. Lastly, there will be a sacred
concert at Carnegie Hall by the People’s Choral Union, under the
leadership of Walter Damrosch, on Sunday, the third of October.
Educational exercises, dealing with subjects appropriate to the
celebration, and designed to be participated in by universities, colleges,
schools, museums and learned and patriotic societies throughout the
state, will be held on Wednesday, September 29. In New York City,
the following lectures will be delivered in various rooms of the New
York University: “Literature of the First Two Centuries of New
York City,” by Professor Francis H. Stoddard; ‘“ Conditions Deter-
mining the Greatness of New York City as a Commercial and Financial
Center,” by Professor Joseph F. Johnson; “The Political History of
New Netherland,” by Professor Marshall 8S. Brown; “ History of
Education in New York,” by Professor Herman H. Horne; “ Fulton
and Other Promoters of Steam Navigation,’ by Professor Daniel W.
Hering; “ History of Steam Navigation,” by Professor Charles HE.
Houghton; “A Comparison of the Steam Engine Before 1809 with
Fulton’s Steam Engine,” by Professor Collins P. Bliss; “The Physio-
graphic Development of the Hudson River Valley,” by Professor Joseph
EK. Woodman. There will also be exercises in connection with the
university's schools in Washington Square. In Brooklyn Borough
there will be literary exercises on Tuesday evening, September 28, at
the Brooklyn Academy of Music.
Commemorative services will take place throughout the city and
state on Saturday, September 28. On this day the Reformed Protestant
Dutch Church of the City of New York, organized in 1628 and repre-
senting the earliest religious organization in New York, will hold special
commemorative services at 11 a.m. and 8 P.M., in its churches at Second
334 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
Avenue and Seventh Street, Fifth Avenue and Twenty-ninth Street,
Fifth Avenue and Forty-eighth Street and West End Avenue and
Seventy-seventh Street.
The Henry Hudson Monument on Spuyten Duyvil Hill will be
dedicated on Monday, September 27, and is so placed as to form a
prominent landmark. From a base ornamented with bas-reliefs springs
a fluted Doric column, surmounted by a pedestal supporting the statue
of Hudson. This monument, by Karl Bitter and Schrady, is a chaste
and beautiful work of art. It is 110 feet high, and, being set upon an
=, ey aa ANG
ih te ie cust) vag
é
t% ae
aimee
Pa og
GATBWAY ERECTED ON STONY POINT BATTLEFIELD BY DAUGHTERS OF THE REVOLUTION
(New York State) and to be dedicated during Hudson-Fulton Celebration—
September 25 to October 9, 1909—as part of the official program.
Hudson-Fulton Celebration Commission.
elevation 200 feet above tide-water, it can be seen from a distance of
several miles up and down the Hudson River, and even from the waters
of Long Island Sound; the sum required for its erection was supplied
by private subscription. The monument rests on the site of the Indian
village of Nipinichsen, whence, on October 2, 1609, an attack was made
upon the Half Moon.
The last scene of Hudson’s life makes a gloomy picture. Set adrift
in a small boat by the mutinous crew of his ship Adriatic, he passed
away out of the sight of men and was never heard of again. In the
dreary hours of aimless drifting over the tossing waves, and face to face
with death, Hudson had not even the consolation of knowing that his
HUDSON-FULTON CELEBRATION OF 1909 335
name would be handed down to posterity, and that nearly three centuries
after his death millions of his race and speech would assemble to do
him honor.
Land is so valuable on Manhattan Island that but few remain of
the old buildings associated with the early history of the city. For this
very reason a visit to four of these historic buildings which have been
preserved from destruction will be of interest. Fraunces’ Tavern, situ-
ated near the corner of Pearl and Broad Streets, is famous as the place
where Washington bade farewell to his officers, December 4, 1783. The
collection of old pictures and historic relics gathered here will gain in
interest by the associations connected with the place.
Another building dating from colonial times is that formerly known
as the Morris Mansion, or the Jumel Mansion. This fine old residence
was built about 1760 and it was here that Washington established his
headquarters during the military operations on the upper part of Man-
hattan Island. The building is now the property of the City of New
York, and is under the care of the Daughters of the American Revolu-
tion (State of New York), who have brought together a very interesting
collection of mementoes of the Revolution.
The Van Cortlandt Mansion, erected about 1748, is a fine and char-
acteristic specimen of the colonial style of architecture, and will con-
tain a valuable collection of portraits of men who played a leading part
in the Revolution. ‘This building is cared for by the Colonial Dames
of the State of New York.
The Aquarium building in Battery Park was originally erected, in
1807; as a fort, and was named Fort Clinton in 1812. Many years later
it was transformed into a theater and concert hall, under the name of
Castle Garden. There are some still living who can recall the wild
enthusiasm evoked by the “Swedish nightingale,’ Jenny Lind, when
she made her first appearance before an American audience in this
building. In 1855 a new use was found for Castle Garden and it
became the goal of an immense host of immigrants, 7,690,606 passing
through its portals in the period from 1855 to 1890.
One of the interesting exercises connected with the celebration will
be the dedication of the Memorial Arch erected by the Daughters of
the American Revolution in the Stony Point Battlefield State Reser-
vation. ‘The ceremonies will take place on Saturday, October 2. The
governor of the state and many prominent citizens, as well as a number
of military and civic organizations, will be present. The National
Scenic Preservation Society, the official custodian of the reservation,
will cooperate in the formal exercises.
On Wednesday, September 29, at 4 p.m., the American Scenic and
Historic Preservation Society will dedicate the tablet erected through
the generosity of Mr. Cornelius K. G. Billings, on the site of Fort Tryon,
336 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
on Fort Washington Avenue. This fort was gallantly defended on
November 16, 1776, by the Maryland and Virginia Regiment, against
the attack of the Hessian troops.
The following dedications have also been officially recognized by the
commission: On Wednesday, September 29, the City Wall Bastion
Tablet, at No. 48 Wall Street, New York, marking the site of a bastion
in the old city wall to be dedicated by the Society of Colonial Wars in
the State of New York; the Fort Amsterdam Tablet placed on the
United States Custom House in New York City, marking the site of
Fort Amsterdam, dedicated by the New York Society of the Founders
and Patriots of America. On Monday, September 27, the Palisades
Interstate Park, extending for thirty miles along the western shore of
the Hudson River, from Fort Lee, N. Y., to Piermont, N. Y., will be
dedicated by the commissioners of the Interstate Palisades Park. The
date for the dedication of the bust of Verrazzano, the Italian navigator
who visited New York Harbor in 1524, has not yet been selected by the
Italian societies which have donated it to the city.
Aquatic sports will be the order of the day on Wednesday, September
29, when boat races will be held on the Hudson River, the boats being
manned from the crews of the foreign and American warships. There
will also be interstate contests between members of the Naval Reserves
from different states, canoe races and motor-boat races. At Yonkers,
on the same day, high-power motor-boats will compete, and there will be
boat races between various amateur crews from clubs.
The astonishing progress in aeronautics during the past year has
excited public interest to the highest pitch, and the celebration commis-
sion is making every effort to assure the presence of some of the leading
aeronauts and aviators. While the arrangements for this branch of
the celebration are not fully completed at the time of writing, the public
will certainly be given an opportunity to see many types of dirigibles
and aeroplanes, and some sensational flights will be made. If the
weather conditions are favorable, the aeronautical exhibitions will begin
‘on Monday, September 27.
In organizing the various parades and exercises, the celebration
commission has not forgotten the children of our city, for whom special
festivals will be held, on Saturday, October 2, at fifty different centers.
There will be games, historical plays, folk-dances, ete., given by thou-
sands of children from the public schools, and accommodations will be
provided for a half million children to witness the spectacles.
The close of the celebration in all its phases will be marked by a
chain of immense beacon-fires lighted on mountain tops and heights
from Staten Island to the head of navigation on Saturday evening,
October 9. All these beacons will be connected by electric wires and
will be lighted simultaneously by President Taft. The beacons are
made of peat with chemicals, so that they will burn even if it rains.
HUDSON-FULTON CELEBRATION OF 1909 337
Henry Hupson Monument. To be erected on Spuyten Duyvil by popular sub-
scription at a cost of $100,000, and to be dedicated as a part of the official program
of the Hudson-Fulton Celebration. This monument is by Karl Bitter and Schrady,
is 110 feet high and will stand on an elevation of two hundred feet above the water,
being visible for many miles above the Hudson River and from Long Island Sound.
A special two-cent stamp to commemorate the Hudson-Fulton Cele-
bration has been issued by the Post Office Department. The background
of the design shows the Palisades, with the Half Moon sailing up the
Hudson River, and the Clermont steaming in the opposite direction ;
in the foreground is an Indian in a canoe, and another canoe manned
by four Indians can just be discerned in the distance. The commission
has to thank Congressman Bennett and his colleagues, Congressmen
Parsons and Olcott, for their successful efforts in securing the consent
of the Postmaster General to the issue of these stamps, of which fifty
million will be printed.
338 ' THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
THE ORIGIN OF THE NERVOUS SYSTEM AND ITS
APPROPRIATION OF EFFECTORS
By G. H. PARKER
PROFESSOR OF ZOOLOGY, HARVARD UNIVERSITY
IV. THE APPROPRIATION OF EFFECTORS
i N the preceding articles in this series the origin and development of
the neuromuscular mechanism has been broadly sketched in a suc-
cession of representative stages. The first stage was that of the inde-
pendent effector, the muscle which was brought into action by the direct
influence of environmental changes as seen in the pore sphincters of
sponges. The second stage was that of the combined receptor and
effector in which the receptors, in the form of diffuse sensory epithelia
or specialized sense-organs, served as delicate triggers to set the muscles
in action and thereby render the effectors responsive to a wider range
of stimuli than they would be under independent stimulation. Finally,
the third stage is seen in the complete neuromuscular mechanism in
which a central nervous organ or adjustor has developed between the
receptors and the effectors. This adjustor serves as a switchboard for
nervous transmission and a repository for the effects of nervous
activities.
This line of progressive differentiation from the muscle to the com-
plete nervous system is complicated by the fact that in the more com-
plete examples of the third stage the nervous system is found connected
not only with such effectors as muscles, but with electric organs, chro-
matophores, glands, luminous organs, etc. If the history of the growth
of the neuromuscular mechanism as it has been sketched in these articles
is a correct one, the effectors just named must be regarded in the light
of relatively recent acquisitions and in my opinion they illustrate an
invasion and appropriation on the part of the nervous system of terri-
tory that was not originally under its control. This principle of appro-
priation results not only in the acquisition of totally new forms of
effectors such as glands, etc., but also in gaining control over inde-
pendently and newly developed muscles. Examples of this kind will be
taken up first in discussing this question of nervous appropriation.
The differentiation of the central nervous organs is in large part a
process that goes on hand in hand with the differentiation of the
muscles. This is well seen not only in the higher invertebrates, but also
in the vertebrates. The differentiation of a single muscle into a group
of muscles and the consequent and corresponding changes in the nerv-
ORIGIN OF THE NERVOUS SYSTEM 339
ous relations, both central and peripheral, are too well known to require
comment. To this process must be added, I believe, the appropriation
of totally new muscles. There is good reason to assume that the heart-
beat in tunicates is of myogenic origin and the fact that the embry-
onic vertebrate heart pulses before it contains any nervous elements is
strong evidence in favor of the view that the cardiac muscle of the
primitive vertebrate was a muscle developed independently of nervous
control. That that muscle in modern adult vertebrates is under a
certain amount of nervous control is unquestionable, but this control is
not of the kind usually seen in other neuromuscular combinations. The
nerves that enter the heart are probably not ordinarily directly con-
cerned with its beat, for, as already pointed out, this continues after
they are cut. The function of these nerves seems to be that of modi-
fying this beat and in this respect two classes of fibers may be distin-
guished: augmentors which increase the beat, and inhibitors which
retard or even check it. ‘This whole nervous mechanism has the appear-
ance of having been superimposed upon a muscle that was originally
non-nervously active, and I therefore regard the vertebrate heart as an
example of an originally independent muscle secondarily brought under
the influence of central nervous organs. Many other muscles, like the
sphincter pupille, etc., have doubtless had a like history, but as they
have not been investigated from this standpoint, the question of their
exact relations to nervous control must remain for the present some-
what open.
In the vertebrates at least, nervous effectors include not only mus-
cles, but also electric organs. These organs occur not infrequently among
the fishes. They are best represented in the South American electric
eel, the electric catfish of Africa and the torpedoes of the Mediterranean
Sea and the Atlantic and Indian Oceans. They also occur less fully
developed in certain skates, mormyres and the star-gazer. These organs
are usually imbedded in a mass of the fish’s muscle or they occupy such
positions that they clearly replace muscles. Their histogenesis, as
worked out particularly in the skates by Ewart (1888), shows con-
clusively that each electric plate is a modified muscle-fiber and in fact
there seems to be good reason to conclude that all known electric organs,
excepting possibly those of the electric catfish, are modified muscles.
This is entirely consistent with what is known of the physiology of these
two kinds of effectors, for muscles not only move parts, but generate
through their activity a certain amount of electricity, while the electric
organs have lost the power of producing molar movements and have
enormously increased that of producing electricity. Electric organs,
though often described as a special class of effectors, are in reality
merely modified muscles and therefore can not be regarded properly as
a new appropriation of the nervous system.
340 THH POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
The chromatophores, on the other hand, are effectors which are in no
sense derived from muscles. These organs enable many animals to
make relatively sudden changes in their external coloration, and though
they are present in many animals, they are most perfectly developed in
the arthropods, mollusks and vertebrates. They are also present in
the more complex types of eyes, where their
movements serve to protect the receptive ele-
ments from exposure to excessive light or to
open them to the full effects of dim hght. The
investigation of these organs dates from com-
paratively recent times and van Rynberk (1906),
who has recently summarized our information
about them, has shown that the accounts already
given are in many respects contradictory.
Hence what I shall have to say I shall draw
mostly from those fields with which I am some-
what acquainted at first hand.
That some chromatophores are completely
independent of nervous control even though
they are most intimately associated with nery-
ous mechanisms is well attested. The deeper
part of the compound eye in the shrimp, Pale-
monetes, contains a layer of cells, the retinular
cells (Fig. 1), which though they carry rhab-
domes and end proximally in nerve-fibers and
are therefore unquestionably sensory cells, con-
tain many dark pigment-granules which change
Fic. 1. Two E1ements positions in accordance with the illumination.
A Sess dug Cera From this standpoint these cells are true chro-
tribution of pigment in the :
light (A) and in the dark matophores. In an eye exposed to the light the
(B). b, basement membrane; : ; ane hs
¢ cuticula en, cone; n, nerve- pigment-granules occupy distal positions in these
ie cells; in one in the dark they come to lie in
proximal positions. The place occupied by the pigment in a given eye
is entirely determined by the presence or absence of light in that eye,
for the two eyes have no sympathetic relations. Moreover if a per-
sistent shadow is cast on part of one eye, the condition characteristic for
the dark is assumed by that part even though the pigment in the rest of
the eye is in the position characteristic for light. These observations
show the physiological independence of the chromatophores in different
parts of the eye. These organs, though connected by nerve-fibers with _
the central nervous organs, are also in their action independent of such
parts, for the movements of their pigment from the dark to the light
position and the reverse go on in an essentially normal way even after
these connections have been cut. Chromatophores then may carry out:
under direct stimulation somewhat complicated pigment-migrations in
ORIGIN OF THE NERVOUS SYSTEM 341
intimate relations to the successful action of such an organ as an eye,
and yet with complete independence of central-nervous control.
Other chromatophores, like those in the skin of lizards, can be as
clearly demonstrated to be under the control of nerves as those in the
eyes of Palemonetes have been shown to be free from this control. The
integumentary color changes in lizards are often extremely complicated
processes, especially in such forms as the chameleon, but they include as
a fundamental principle the inward and outward migration of dark
pigment-granules within certain large unicellular chromatophores (Fig.
2). When these pigment-granules pass out into the processes of the
chromatophores, they give to the surface of the lizard a dark or even
black aspect. When they migrate inward to the body of the chro-
@
Fig. 2. Two CHROMATOPEORES FROM THE SKIN OF A LIZARD, Showing the con-
dition due to the dark (A) and to the light (B). c¢, chromatophore; d, derma; e,
epidermis ; g, irregular masses of ground color.
matophore, which is often hidden in pigment masses of some particular
color, they thus allow the ground-color behind them to assert itself.
By this simple inward and outward migration of the pigment, the chief
change in the color differences of the lizard’s skin is accomplished. The
question that we have to consider is to what extent these changes are
controlled by the central nervous organs.
The inward and outward migration of the pigment of the chromato-
phores is well seen in the skin of the so-called Florida chameleon,
Anolis. According to Carlton (1903), who has studied this animal
with care, the passive state in its chromatophores is that in which their
pigment is gathered together in the cell-bodies. This state is brought
about when the lizard is removed from the stimulating effect of light,
when the blood and nerve supply of a given region are cut off, when the
animal is etherized, or when it dies. In fact any change that might be
expected to interfere with nervous activity calls forth this condition.
Since nicotine is a poison for the sympathetic nervous system, render-
ing it temporarily inactive, and since the inward migration of the chro-
matophoral pigment is immediately produced on injecting a very small
amount of nicotine into the Anolis, it is probable that the reverse
process, the outward migration, is dependent upon the normal action of
342 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
these poisoned parts, the sympathetic nerves. For these reasons I be-
lieve that in Anolis the inward migration is a process which is ordinarily
under the control of the chromatophore itself and that the outward
migration, which takes place all over the animal when even only a small
spot in the skin is illuminated (Parker and Starratt, 1905), is depend-
ent upon the action of sympathetic nerves.
In the true Chameleon, as Briicke (1852) and many others have
demonstrated, precisely the reverse is true; the outward migration is
independent of nerves and the inward migration is produced by them.
Moreover, judging from the results of experiments on the spinal cord,
the nerves which in Chameleon are concerned with these changes are not
sympathetic nerves, but spinal nerves.
These differences between Anolis and Chameleon I believe to be well
founded. In my opinion both animals have descended from a stock
‘in which the chromatophores were entirely independent of nervous
contro] and in the process of descent the chromatophores of different
lines became separately appropriated as effectors of the nervous system.
In the ancestors of Anolis the sympathetic nervous system became re-
lated to the outward migration of pigment; and in those of the Chame-
leon the spinal system associated itself with the inward migration.
The fact that Chameleon and Anolis belong not only to separate
families, but to separate suborders of lizards, rather emphasizes this
view than otherwise.
Such instances as the independent retinal chromatophores of Pale-
monetes and the nervously dependent chromatophores of Chameleon
and Anolis lead me to believe that chromatophores are effectors evolved
independently of nervous control, but in some cases secondarily appro-
priated as nervous end-organs.
What has been said of chromatophores so far as their relation to
nerves is concerned is probably also true of glands. The majority of
glands are unquestionably independent of direct nervous control. In
almost all instances a blood supply is essential to the action of a gland,
and as this can be controlled by nerves there is thus an indirect influ-
ence of the nervous system on the action of the gland, but this nervous
control over the blood supply is very different from a direct nervous
control over secretion. I know of no good reason to assume that nerves
have any direct influence on the secretions of the kidneys. the liver or
even the pancreas. The pancreatic juice which appears with such pre-
cision on the arrival of food in the small intestine has been shown by
Bayliss and Starling (1904) to be secreted not through the action of
nerves on the gland, but through the action of a substance, secretin,
produced by the food in the intestine and carried by the blood to the
gland. If into the blood of a fasting animal whose nerves to the pan-
creas have been cut a small amount of secretin is injected, the pan-
creas will begin to produce its characteristic secretion.
ORIGIN OF THE NERVOUS SYSTEM 343
Although most glands are not under direct nervous control, some
are as completely under this control as the majority of muscles are.
The best examples of this condition are the sweat glands and the sali-
vary glands. The fact that when the nerves supplied to the salivary
gland are stimulated, secretion may take place at a pressure higher than
that of the blood supplied to the gland shows conclusively that the
production of saliva is not a simple organic filtration process, but is de-
pendent upon action called forth in the secretory cells by a nervous
impulse. This view gains additional support from the fact that in the
salivary glands nerve fibers have been found to end in connection with
the secretory cells. There is therefore every reason to believe that the
salivary glands, and the same may be said of the sweat glands, are
organs whose secretions are directly controlled by nerves.
As these several examples show, some glands are completely under
the control of nerves and others are not. In my opinion the latter
represent the primitive state of this form of effector and the former the
condition after such organs have been appropriated by the developing
nervous system.
Luminous or phosphorescent organs afford another class of effectors
which have probably originated independently and fallen secondarily
under the influence of the nervous system. ‘These organs, however,
have been studied so imperfectly that it is at present difficult if not im-
possible to get satisfactory evidence as to their exact condition. Some
animals have been supposed to possess phosphorescent organs when in
reality their luminosity was due entirely to reflection; others like cer-
tain earthworms were found to be phosphorescent because their slime
contained photogenic bacteria. But aside from these spurious cases
there is an abundant range of truly phosphorescent animals, examples of
which occur from protozoans to vertebrates. One peculiarity in their
distribution is that true phosphorescent animals are not found in fresh
water ; they are either marine or air-inhabiting.
In all cases where animal phosphorescence has been examined with
care, it seems to be dependent upon the production of a special sub-
stance by the light-producing cells. This substance is not in the na-
ture of a living, structurally organized material like muscle, for it can
be crushed into a paste and still show light. Moreover, Bongardt (1903)
dried the phosphorescent organ of a common firefly over calcium
chloride and then kept it in a sealed tube from July 16, 1901, till Au-
gust 3, 1902, a period of over a year. After this the tube was opened
and the organ wet with distilled water; in twelve minutes it glowed so
that it could be seen at a distance of two meters. Evidence of this kind
supports the view that the phosphorescent substance is not living but
rather formed material, such as a secretion, and resembles in this re-
spect pepsin or trysin.
344 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
If phosphorescent organs produce a substance essentially a secre-
tion to which their characteristic activity is due, they might without
impropriety be classed as glands, but if they are thus classed, it must
be remembered that the majority of them are so placed that they have
no access to cavities or the exterior; hence they would be in the nature
of ductless glands. In one respect, however, they differ even from
ductless glands; the substance that they produce is not carried away
from them even by the blood-stream but is used locally for the produc-
tion of light. Hence though phosphorescent organs may be in many
important respects like glands, they differ in certain ways from all
ordinary glands.
Whether phosphorescent organs are under the control of nerves or
not is a question of some uncertainty. The fact that many highly
specialized phosphorescent organs have a rich innervation indicates that
they are under nervous influence, but even this may be of the indirect
kind such as has already been indicated for glands and not a direct
control. In ctenophores Peters (1905) has shown that a few paddle-
plates will glow on mechanical stimulation precisely as the rows of
plates in the normal animals do. He has also shown that the primitive
nervous system of these animals plays no direct part in this phos-
phorescence. This instance seems to me to be a perfectly clear case of
phosphorescence not under the control of nerves, though in an animal
with a nervous mechanism.
In the common firefly the relations are not so well understood.
Thus Bongardt (1903), though he describes an intimate nervous plexus
in the luminous organ of this animal, believes that its rhythmic photo-
genic activity is not under even indirect nervous control. He main-
tains, on what, however, is not really strong experimental evidence, that
the firefly can not extinguish its light through nervous action and he
believes that the phosphorescent rhythm is due to totally different fac-
tors. This case merely shows the fragmentary nature of our knowledge
of this phenomenon even in so well-known an example as the firefly.
As a good instance of nervous control over phosphorescence the
brittlestar, Ophiopsila, recently studied by Mangold (1907), may be
quoted. On mechanical stimulation the ventral surfaces of the arms
of this animal glow for a short time. The phosphorescence begins in
the stimulated part and, if this be an arm, it may spread over this arm
to the disk and thence to the other arms. The course that it follows is
that of the radial and circular nerve-strands. If any of these are in-
terrupted by being cut, the phosphorescence does not pass beyond the
cut, thus showing that it is probably controlled by the nerve.
These instances, few and confessedly fragmentary as they are, indi-
cate that phosphorescent organs, though in many important respects
like glands, are in reality a separate class of effectors and that in some
ORIGIN OF THE NERVOUS SYSTEM 345
instances their action is independent of nervous control, while in others
it is under this control. In my opinion the instances of independent
action represent a primitive state; the others a condition brought about
through the appropriation of these organs as end-organs by a develop-
ing nervous system.
If what has been stated in this article is correct, we must picture to
ourselves as steps in the evolution of the nervous system not only the
independent origin of muscle around which the nervous organs subse-
quently develop, but also the independent origin of other effectors such
as chromatophores, glands and phosphorescent organs and the second-
ary appropriation of many of these by a developing nervous system.
This principle of appropriation I believe to be as significant in elucida-
ting the present condition of the nervous system and its appendages, as
the principle of evolutionary sequence of parts, muscle, sense organ,
and central nervous organ, as given in the first three articles.
REFERENCES
Bayuiss, W. M., and E. H. STARLine.
1904. The Chemical Regulation of the Secretory Process. Proc. Roy. Soc.,
London, vol. 73, pp. 310-322.
BoNGARDT, J.
1903. Beitrige zur Kenntnis der Leuchtorgane einheimischer Lampyriden.
Zeitschr. wiss. Zool., Bd. 65, pp. 1-45, 3 Taf.
Brutcxs, EH.
1852. Untersuchungen ueber den Farbenwechsel des afrikanischen Cha-
maeleons. Denkschr. Akad. Wiss., Wien, math.-naturw. Cl., Bd. 4,
34 pp., 1 Taf.
Carton, F. C.
1903. The Color Changes in the Skin of the so-called Florida Chameleon,
Anolis carolinensis Cuv. Proc. Amer. Acad. Arts and Sci., vol. 39,
pp. 259-276, 1 pl.
Ewart, J. C.
1888. The Electric Organs of the Skate. On the Development of the
Electric Organs of Raia batis. Phil. Trans. Roy. Soc., London, B,
vol. 179, pp. 399-416, pls. 66-68.
MANGOLD, E.
1907. Leuchtende Schlangensterne und die Flimmerbewegung bei Ophiop-
sila. Arch. ges. Physiol., Bd. 118, pp. 613-640.
PaRKER, G. H.
1897. Photomechanical Changes in the Retinal Pigment Cells of Pale-
monetes, and their Relation to the Central Nervous System. Bull.
Mus. Comp. Zool., vol. 30, pp. 275-300, 1 pl.
Parker, G. H., and S. A. STARRATT.
1905. Color Changes in Anolis. Science, n. ser., vol. 21, p. 381.
Prerers, A. W.
1905. Phosphorescence in Ctenophores. Journ. Exp. Zool., vol. 2, p. 103-
116.
VAN RYNBEREK, G.
1906. Ueber den durch Chromatophoren bedingten Farbenwechsel der Tiere.
Ergeb. Physiol., Jahrg. 5, Abt. 1 and 2, pp. 347-571.
VOL. LXxv. —23.
346 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
THE SERVICE OF ZOOLOGY TO INTELLECTUAL PROGRESS?
By Proressor WILLIAM A. LOCY
NORTHWESTHRN UNIVERSITY
Le eee the progress of zoology has played an important —
part in the intellectual development of civilized mankind, but
the way in which it has moulded thought is but vaguely appreciated by
most people. On that account it is my purpose to discuss the question
of the service of zoology to intellectual progress.
We speak of the intellectual development of civilized mankind,
meaning thereby the general level of mental development that any
people has attained; and we observe that the circumstance that chiefly
sets one people on a pinnacle higher than another people is their degree
of intellectual development.
There is nothing that affects us all more closely than that our young
people should learn to think straight, and that they should ally them-
selves with the thought of their time, and take part in it, because this
mental life of ours is remaking for us our ideas of the universe in which
we live. It is not peopling it with phantasies and dreams so much as
with realities. ‘There was never a time before when realities were so
carefully sought after.
If we look into history we shall see that there has been a ruling
power in the mental life of different peoples characteristic of every age,
such as the mental devotion of the Romans to law and government, of
the Greeks to art and philosophical disquisitions, of the people of the
middle ages to mystical metaphysics and theological dogma, and so on.
Let us now ask: “ What is the dominant note in intellectual life to-
day?” Is it not a greater care to determine the truth? Is it not the
investigating spirit? Is it not that spirit which we may designate
generically as the scientific spirit? Perhaps great material prosperity
is the most evident aspect of life to-day, but in the mental sphere there
is certainly a disposition to analyze, to experiment and to arrive at con-
clusions by the method of observation and reasoning.
This situation is very different from the one from which the civilized
world has recently emerged. A former state prevailed in which author-
ity was declared to be the source of knowledge. In the sixteenth cen-
tury, and earlier, men believed things not because they could be shown
to be true, but because some one had said they were true. In order to
crush out dissent the authority for a certain statement was quoted, and
the authority cited was usually one of the ancient writers.
1The annual address before the Iowa State Academy of Science, April 30,
1909.
ZOOLOGY AND INTELLECTUAL PROGRESS 347
The Revival of Learning.—But the human mind, ever restive to
discover the relation between causes and effects in the production of
natural phenomena, would not permanently brook this restraint. The
minds of the more energetic and independent thinkers revolted against
the reign of authority, and, under the leadership of such minds, there
began a reform that is known to us all under the title of the revival of
learning, a reform of wide extent and of great importance to the hu-
man race. I wish to take a few minutes to point out that the essence
of this reform consisted in a change in the method of the pursuit of
knowledge.
This so-called revival of learning affords a striking illustration of
how a change in mental interests may have great consequences for those
who engage in it. Let us first picture to ourselves the fruits of the
mental life of the middle ages, and then contrast this with the results
of the changed method of ascertaining truth introduced at the time of
the revival of learning.
It is an old, oft-repeated story, how with the overthrow of ancient
civilization the torch of learning was nearly extinguished. Not only
was there a complete political revolution; there was also a complete
change in the mental interests of mankind. The situation was com-
plex, and it is true that there were many influences at work, but the
extinction of all scientific activity which occurred at this time was due
to a complete arrest of inquiry into the phenomena of nature. The
physicist no longer experimented, the naturalist no longer sought for
relation and causes in living beings.
One circumstance that played a considerable part in the cessation
of scientific investigation at this time was the rise of the christian
church and the dominance of the priesthood in intellectual as well as in
spiritual life. The world-shunning spirit, so scrupulously cultivated
by the early christians, promoted a spirit that was hostile to observation.
The behest to shun the world was acted upon too literally. The eyes
were closed to nature and the mind was directed towards spiritual
matters, which truly seemed of higher importance. Presently the ob-
servation of nature came to be looked upon as proceeding from a prying
and impious curiosity—as an attempt to search out the concealments of
the Almighty.
Books were scarce, schools of philosophy were reduced, and any gen-
eral dissemination of learning ceased. The priests who had access to
the books assumed the direction of intellectual life. But they were
largely employed with the analysis of the supernatural, and without the
wholesome checks of observation and experiment, mystical explanations
were invented for natural phenomena, while metaphysical speculation
became the dominant form of mental activity.
Authority declared the Source of Knowledge.—In this atmosphere
free inquiry could not live, controversies over trivial points were en-
348 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
gendered and the ancient writings were quoted as sustaining one side
or the other. All this led to referring questions as to their truth or
error to authority as the source of knowledge, and resulted in a com-
plete eclipse of the reason.
This was a barren period, not only for science, but also, curiously
enough, for those studies which were especially engaged in. Notwith-
standing the fact that for more than a thousand years all the new works
were written by theologians, there was no substantial advance in their
field of learning, and the reflection comes to us that the reciprocal ac-
tion of free inquiry is an essential condition for the growth of any de-
partment of learning.
We should remember that the mental life of the Middle Ages was
active. It is a mistake to suppose that men of those times differed
much in their mental powers from those of to-day. The medieval phi-
losophers were masters of the metaphysical method of argument, and
their ingenuity and mental alertness were great. The principal thing
that held progress in check was the method of setting about to ascer-
tain truth.
Renewal of Observation.—It was an epoch of great importance,
therefore, when men began again to observe, and to attempt, even in an
unskilful way, hampered by intellectual inheritance and habit, to unravel
the mysteries of nature and to trace the relation between causes and
effects in the universe. The new movement was, as previously said, a
revolt of the intellect against existing conditions. In this movement
were embraced all the benefits that have resulted from the development
of modern science. The invention of printing, the voyages of mariners,
the growth of universities, all helped in a general way, but just as the
pause in science a thousand years or more earlier had been owing to the
turning away from nature and to new mental interests, so the revival
was a return to nature and to the method of science.
The Widening Horizon.—The reign of authority in intellectual mat-
ters lasted for twelve centuries, and then gave way gradually to the
reign of observation and reason. Under the influence of the new
method we have been moving generation by generation into a state of
clearer discernment and into an intellectual atmosphere of wider
horizon.
There is an inspiration in this ever-widening horizon. We must
recognize, I think, that there has been a reconstructive force accom-
panying scientific progress. Wherever traditional opinion has been
uprooted something more helpful to humanity has been planted.
When rightly understood, we see that this freer life of thought has been
constructive and helpful, not merely iconoclastic. Man has once again
taken his high place in the world as the interpreter of nature, and as
investigation widens his comprehension of the laws of natural phe-
ZOOLOGY AND INTELLECTUAL PROGRESS 349
nomena, he is extending his control in the sphere of nature and turning
natural forces to his advantage.
The Study of Nature.—I now turn to another phase of the subject,
viz.: to a consideration of the effect upon mental life of advances in the
knowledge of natural phenomena. Let us, if possible, catch a glimpse
of the edifice that has been built upon the foundation since the early
naturalists broke ground and began operations.
One of the most notable things of the last half century has been the
mental evolution produced by the great extension of knowledge of
organic nature. This more intimate acquaintance with natural phe-
nomena, and of living nature in particular, has altered our way of look-
ing at the world, and especially of our relation to it. The whole fabric
of thinking has been so profoundly changed by the biological advances
to which I refer that all educated people ought to make themselves ac-
quainted with the generalizations of biology and with the foundations
upon which they rest. This science is not a remote branch of learning ;
it touches every-day life at many points, and affects our well-being more
closely than is generally realized.
The study of nature and the explanation of natural phenomena pos-
sess an inherent interest to which most minds respond. The physicist
and chemist have for their territory the field of inorganic nature, but
the biologist has the advantage of dealing with the living world.
There is, in reality, nothing in the sphere of knowledge more fascina-
ting than the study of life. Any reference to the part that bacteria play
in the world awakens a responsive interest. References to the doctrine -
of evolution, and the light it throws on the origin of the human body as
well as on the races of animals, arouse attention. The teachings of
science in reference to the life of the globe have awakened wonder,
sometimes dissent, but always interest.
Zoology the Central Subject—Now the kind of knowledge to which
I am referring belongs to the domain of biology, and in that domain
zoology is the central subject. Many people think of zoology as it was
in the time of Linneus, or, at best, as it was in the early part of the
nineteenth century, when the spiritless activity of species-making was
its prominent feature. It is no longer merely a mass of knowledge that
enables its devotees to name animals and to arrange systematically a
cabinet. Zoology of to-day is vastly different; it has become one of the
leading departments of science. While dealing with the structure, the
development and the evolution of animal life, it at the same time brings
one into contact with those changes in human opinion for which its own
advances have been largely responsible.
From the group of the natural sciences there emerges into prominent
place the princely science of zoology. As was said before, it is the cen-
tral subject in all that advance in the knowledge of organic nature to
which reference has been made. It is best fitted, it seems to me, to give
350 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
to the students in our colleges and universities an idea of the results of
the activity of the nature seekers. Its sister science, botany, which runs
parallel to it, deals with similar phenomena in plants. Still, it is only
among animals that we find nervous responses tolerably well developed.
The presence of a nervous system in animals in connection with a highly
developed state of other organs affords a more comprehensive picture
of vital activity. If I seem, in this statement, to show bias, it should be
set down to the circumstance that my activities for some years have
been taken up mainly with the study of animal life.
The observations in zoology, as carried on to-day, are so illumina-
ting and have such important bearings that we can see why it is that all
over the civilized world it has been given such a prominent place in
universities and colleges. We begin to understand why great buildings
are constructed for its laboratories, and why a number of men in one
faculty represent different phases of zoological investigation. This is
why in the State University of Iowa, as in other similar institutions,
zoology has come to occupy a prominent and an honored Bree in the
curriculum of studies.
It is the ideas of this science woven into the fabric of human
thought which I have in mind, rather than merely its details. Dis-
jointed fragments of knowledge are of little worth; they must be com-
bined into a unity before they have much meaning. Isolated facts
should be treated as merely specific illustrations of broad truths. The
study of one stone in an edifice as to its chemical analysis, its resistance
to strain and crushing weight, and its microscopic structure, will not
give us an idea of the edifice as a whole. Thus it is that after our stu-
dents have observed and experimented in the laboratory they must,
under the guidance of the lecturer, be brought to see the relation of
their specific observations to zoology as a science.
It is owing largely to advances in zoology that we are enabled to
formulate theories about the world, the history of living beings on it,
and the part they play in the scheme of nature. It is owing to the in-
tellectual progress that zoology has chiefly promoted that we have been
able to comprehend the structure of the human body and thereby to
discern the means of promoting its well being and assisting in its care.
Tt is owing chiefly to the advances supplied by the study of zoology
that one can adequately appreciate the soliloquy that Shakespeare puts
in the mouth of Hamlet: “ What a piece of work is man! how noble in
reason! how infinite in faculty! in form and moving how express and
admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension how like a god!
the beauty of the world! the paragon of animals!”
His structure and his development excite in the mind of the anato-
mist the same measure of admiration and wonder. And we observe in
passing that the most discerning anatomists are the comparative anato-
mists of zoology.
ZOOLOGY AND INTELLECTUAL PROGRESS 351
The Growth of Zoology.—Let us now look at some general phases
in the growth of zoology. In its first stages of growth we find a period
devoted to descriptions. In the time of Linneus, for illustration, em-
phasis was placed on collecting, describing and systematically arrang-
ing all the different kinds of animals. This resulted in giving natural-
ists a knowledge of the form and appearance of the chief animals that
inhabit the globe, and formed the basis upon which further progress
could be made.
We can not, however, reach general conclusions without the exami-
nation of many facts, and there was naturally a long period devoted
merely to the accumulation of facts about animals.
The next great step in advance was that of comparison. The con-
trast between description and comparison is brought out so clearly by
I. P. Whipple in his essay on Louis Agassiz that I quote from it. He
says:
My first impression of the genius of Agassiz was gained when he was in the
full vigor of his mental and physical powers. Some thirty-five years ago (now
sixty-five years), at a meeting of a literary and scientific club of which I hap-
pened to be a member, a discussion sprang up concerning Dr. Hitchcock’s book
on fossil “ Bird-tracks,” and plates were exhibited representing his geological
discoveries. After much time had been consumed in describing the bird-tracks
as isolated phenomena, and in lavishing compliments on Dr. Hitchcoock, a man
suddenly rose, who, in five minutes, dominated the whole assembly. He was, he
said, much interested in the specimens before them, and he would add that he
thought highly of Dr. Hitchcock’s book, as far as it accurately described the
curious and interesting facts he had unearthed; but, he added, the defect in
Dr. Hitcheock’s volume is this, that it is “ dees-creep-teeve,” and not “ com-
par-a-teeve.” It was evident throughout that the native language of the critic
was French, and that he found some difficulty in forcing his thoughts into
English words, but I can never forget the intense emphasis he put on the words
“ descriptive ” and “ comparative,” and by this emphasis flashing into the minds
of the whole company the difference between an enumeration of strange, unex-
plained facts and the same facts as interpreted and put into relation with other
facts more generally known. ‘
The moment he contrasted “ dees-creep-teeve ” with “com-par-a-teeve” one
felt the vast gulf that yawned between mere scientific observation and scientific
intelligence, between eyesight and insight, between minds that doggedly perceive
and describe and minds that instinctively compare and combine.
The descriptive and comparative stages in zoology, of course, over-
lapped. It was in the early part of the nineteenth century that Cuvier,
the great French zoologist and legislator, founded the science of com-
parative anatomy, and this brought the comparative method into the
study of zoology. The beneficent results of this were notable, and
zoological knowledge broadened and deepened.
In the last part of the nineteenth century zoologists added another
method to the investigation of animal life; they began to study proc-
esses by the experimental method. This was not merely the extension
of physiology into zoology. The new method involved experiments upon
6)5)4 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
the development of the embryo and sought to trace the modifications
resulting from changes in the conditions of growth and development.
It opened the way to those extensive experiments on regulation that
have been engaged in by some of our American zoologists. Experi-
ments were further extended to the study of heredity and evolution.
Thus description, comparison and experiment, came to mark differ-
ent phases in the progress of zoology. Certain other nineteenth century
advances can be merely alluded to. Those that had the greatest influ-
ence on the progress of zoology were the establishment of the cell theory,
the discovery of protoplasm and the acceptance of the doctrine of
organic evolution. If time permitted, a fuller consideration of these
great events in the history of zoological science might be profitable, but
I must hasten to another division of the subject.
The Idea of Service.—In these days we have come to estimate the
worth of achievements in the terms of service. We hear on every hand
the inquiry, How is this man or that man fitted to serve his time and
generation? When inquiries come to the universities regarding one of
their graduates seeking place in the world, the chief inquiry is, what is
his promise of service? We do not always mean by this the narrow idea
of direct utility—the faculty to make something that will sell—but
more often that capacity for usefulness to the state and to society that
depends on broad education, on discernment of essentials, that has been
gained by freeing the mind from hereditary hindrances and from those
grosser misunderstandings of natural phenomena that we class as super-
stitions. The university is a place where such basal training is carried
on. The activity of the university is a crusade not only against igno-
rance, but also against superstition.
Tt is this kind of service for which the progress of science is espe-
cially conspicuous, and this brings us naturally to the consideration of
the service of one science in particular. I wish to maintain that for the
past century the progress of zoology has exercised a strong and whole-
some influence upon the intellectual development of the race. The
date of a century is an arbitrary limit, but the event I have in mind is
the publication in 1809 of Lamarck’s “ Philosophie Zoologique,” that
contained the first comprehensive theory of organic evolution that has
survived to the present day.
Very likely the idea is a novel one to many that the influence of zo-
ology upon intellectual progress has been considerable. While one may
not dissent from the proposition, he might very well wish to have it
supported by specific illustrations.
Influence of Zoology on General Enlightenment.—Let us consider
first the part this science has played in general enlightenment. Its
influence has been great in clearing the atmosphere of thought, in dis-
pelling clouds and in freeing the mind from the bonds of inherited
prejudice and traditional superstition. At the beginning of the revival
ZOOLOGY AND INTELLECTUAL PROGRESS 353
of learning there were fantastic and grotesque misconceptions. The
idea of the resurrection bone was one of these—the belief that in the
body there was an indestructible bone that formed the nucleus of the
resurrection body. This view was demonstrated to be untenable by
Vesalius, the reformer of anatomy in the sixteenth century and the
forerunner of the morphologists of zoology. Other points about the
structure of man and animals, equally fantastic, were upheld, and
against one who ventured to disbelieve in them the cry of heretic was
raised. We may at first sight think that crude misunderstandings are
harmless vagaries, but when viewed as to their consequences we see that
this class of superstitions has led to intolerance and persecutions. As
illustrations there come to mind the horrors of the inquisition, the
eruel and harmful ideas of witchcraft, the brutal and wicked persecu-
tion of men and women for holding saner views than the majority of
mankind of the part played by the Almighty in his universe. It is one
of the blessings of progress that mankind has been relatively freed from
persecutions of this nature. These grotesque beliefs and superstitions
were dispelled by advances in the knowledge of the organization of ani-
mals. Wherever investigation in this territory prospered, it shed light
and dispelled error.
From one point of view the fossil remains of extinct animals belong
to the sphere of the zoologist, for the fossil animals were the ancestors
of the living ones. It was two zoologists, Cuvier and Lamarck, that
founded the science of paleontology, one that of the vertebrate series,
and the other that of the invertebrate. When fossil bones were first
unearthed they excited stupid wonder and amazement, and the most
fantastic theories were proposed to account for them. ‘They were re-
garded as bones of giants, as remains deposited by the deluge, etc., but
finally were accepted as the remains of former races of animals and
were turned to account as supplying an index to the past history of the
earth. The constantly increasing collections of fossil remains of ani-
mals are enabling us to understand something of the momentous
changes that have passed over the succession of animal forms that have
lived upon the globe. The accounts of the discoveries of prehuman
Temains, connecting by gradations with races now living, are extending
into remote periods our conception of the antiquity of man. These
matters arouse interest and discussion, and the sweep of all these dis-
coveries brings with it a widening of the horizon of human understand-
ing. The historical relations of fossils have been established by a great
number of talented observers. Without any disparagement to other
men who have done notable work in this field, I mention but one, Henry
F. Osborn, of New York, who is one of our most distinguished Ameri-
can zoologists. With the enormous collections at his disposal he has
devoted himself with marked success to making out the relations of
354 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
fossil forms to living forms and he has succeeded in tracing the remote
ancestry of a number of living races of mammals.
The Constancy of Nature.—As one great result of the investigations
of the nature seekers, there was established a belief in the constancy of
nature, and from the work of the zoologists in particular came the idea
that all animal life is the result of one orderly progress. Animal or-
ganization leads up to the structure of the human body, and on this
account there has always been a tender point in discussing the evidences
as to man’s place in nature.
This belief in the constancy of nature was a great step in intellec-
tual development. In its broad application it means that the entire
universe and all on it is the result of an orderly and well-directed
progress. It leaves no room for the idea of chance. Remote ancestral
man did not rise by chance from the animal series. The gill-clefts in
the human embryo are not there by chance. Their presence has some
significance, if haply we may find it. The great service of establish-
ing the idea of orderly progress in nature is part of the heritage of work
already done. The idea, in so far as it involves living and fossil forms
of animals, is owing to the progress of zoology.
Some Practical Applications.—Let us now consider secondly some
of the applications of zoological advances to the benefit of mankind.
It was owing to the cooperation of botany and zoology that the germ
theory of disease was established. The bacteria are, of course, plants.
The method of studying their action on animals is zoological. There
are also diseases produced by minute animal organisms, such as
malaria or common fever and ague. As has long been known, this
disease is due to an animal parasite that infects the red blood cor-
puscles. It is only within recent years, however, that the entire life
history of these animal parasites has been made out. As you all know,
part of their life cycle is passed in a certain kind of mosquito. The
disease itself has been shown to be owing to bites of these mosquitoes,
and this fact pointed out the way of avoiding malaria. The ingenuous
methods by means of which the propagation of mosquitoes is prevented
has freed many malarious districts from pestilence. These discoveries
opened the entire question of the transmission of disease by insects,
and now, thanks to those brilliant observations and experiments in
which some men sacrificed their lives, we know the entire life history
of the microbe of yellow fever. We know it is transmitted by mosquito
bites, and that disease can now be controlled. The Roman fever, once
much dreaded by travelers, and the fever of the Campagna may be
avoided. Thanks also to zoological studies, these diseases no longer
strike in the dark. We can recognize their approach and avoid inocu-
lation. The scourge of the sleeping sickness that attacks the people of
the Congo district is due to an animal parasite. The terrible scourge of
syphilis has recently been traced to a minute organism that is probably
ZOOLOGY AND INTELLECTUAL PROGRESS 355
animal. The recognition of these facts is the first step towards gaining
control of the disease.
There are other larger animal parasites like trichina, the tape worm,
the filaria of the blood, etc., the life history of which is due to zoologists.
Some of us recollect that the most comprehensive treatment of these is
due to Leuckart, a zoologist. His “ Die Menschlichen Parasiten ” is a
piece of research in pure science. The phagocyte theory, with all its
implications, was given to the world by a zoologist—Metchnikoff.
The study of cancer, trypanosomes, opsonins, etc., are being studied
by zoologists as well as by medical men, and the work of the medical
men with these subjects is chiefly by zoological methods.
Studies of animal behavior, so extensively carried on by zoologists,
are reacting on psychology and lighting the way to new advances in
that science. Those zoological studies on the wonderful architecture
of the nervous system (to which some of your men in the state univer-
sity have contributed) are bringing a knowledge of the mechanism of
the brain, and throwing light on its normal processes and its disorders.
Leading up through these studies and the inferences to be drawn from
them, we arrive at the science of comparative psychology. Furthermore
the study of localization of function in definite areas of the brain sub-
stance has opened the way to brain surgery.
The studies of heredity in animals embrace many practical hints to
stock breeders and to medical men.
But we can not make a comprehensive list of the large number of
practical applications that come from zoological investigation. The
illustrations already given are sufficient to indicate that studies in pure
science often become of the highest practical value. The practical ap-
plications will follow fast enough upon the heels of advancing knowl-
edge. The essential thing, as well as the difficult thing, is, by research,
to uncover the facts and to make the first demonstrations.
Encouragement of Scientific Research.—I wish to speak just a word
in appreciation of the men who extend the boundaries of knowledge,
and a word in favor of the encouragement of pure research. The in-
vestigators are necessarily somewhat removed from their fellows and,
therefore, often misunderstood. Theirs is a career of intense applica-
tion and sacrifice. Scientific knowledge is not advanced by happy
guesses in moments of inspiration, but only by continuous and well
directed effort. He who would wrest from nature her secrets must
prepare for the struggle by long training and must follow his calling
with intense devotion. Often must he forego the pleasure of social re-
laxation in order that the discoveries that he is nursing into being
may not suffer. When his work is reaching a climax he leads a lonely
existence.
The spirit that still animates men of this type is that so long ago
exemplified by Agassiz. As Whipple says:
356 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
From him came the most notable of all the maxims which illustrate the
disinterestedness of the chivalry of science. At the time he was absorbed in
some minute investigations in a difficult department of zoology, he received a
letter from the president of a lyceum at the West, offering him a large sum for
a course of popular lectures on natural history. His answer was: “I can not
afford to waste my time in making money.” ‘The words deserve to be printed
in capitals; but Agassiz was innocently surprised that a sentiment very natural
to him should have excited so much comment. He knew that scores of his
brother scientists, American and European, would have used the words “ afford ”
and “waste” in the same sense, had they been similarly interrupted in an
investigation which promised to yield them a new fact or principle. Still the
announcement from such an authority that there was a body of men in the
United States who could not “afford to waste time” in making money had an
immense effect. It convinced thousands of intelligent and opulent men of
business, who had never before thought a moment of time devoted to the making
of money could be wasted, that science meant something; and it made them
liberal of their money when it was asked for scientific purposes. It did even
more than this—it made them honor the men who were placed above the motives
by which they themselves were ordinarily influenced.
Men of proved capacity who are willing to devote themselves to re-
search will enter upon it with no selfish motives. They should be
classed among the benefactors of mankind, engaged in a useful service.
They should be encouraged by men of wealth, by state legislatures and
by the establishment of endowments to provide the means of carrying
on their researches. There are men of this kind in the State Univer-
sity of Iowa; to the citizens of the state I would say: “These men are a
valuable asset to the state,” and to the university authorities I would
say: “ Honor these men and encourage the pursuit of graduate studies
under their direction.” To any in the rising generation of students
who have the internal leading to follow a career devoted to scientific
investigation, if they are gifted and energetic, let them without hesita-
tion enter upon this career. The compensations will be chiefly internal.
Those who enter upon scientific investigation as a life work must forego
certain material prizes in the world that await equally well-directed
efforts in other lines of activity, but they will have other kinds of com-
pensations—in living close to great truths, and realizing in their dis-
coveries that thrill of the searcher when he has found, and after long
years feeling the uplift of their occupation. Nevertheless, they must
learn to renounce and not be embittered as Robert Louis Stevenson
wrote in that little gem of composition on the attributes of men.
To be honest, to be kind, to earn a little and to spend a little less, to make
upon the whole a family happier by his presence, to renounce when that shall
be necessary and not be embittered, to keep a few friends, but these without
capitulation, above all, on the same grim condition to keep friends with himself
—here is a task for all that a man has of fortitude and delicacy.
The Doctrine of Organic Evolution.—The crowning service of z0-
ology in extending the boundaries of human understanding is found,
perhaps, in the doctrine of evolution. The great sweep of this doctrine
ZOOLOGY AND INTELLECTUAL PROGRESS 357
makes it one of the greatest acquisitions of human knowledge. There
has been no point of intellectual vantage reached which is more inspir-
ing. It is so comprehensive that it enters into all realms of thought.
Weismann, as you all know one of its great representatives, expresses
the opinion that “the theory of descent is the most progressive step
that has been taken in the development of human knowledge” and he
says further that this position “is justified, it seems to me, even by
this fact alone: that the evolution idea is not merely a new light on the
special region of the biological sciences, zoology and botany, but is of
quite general importance. The conception of an evolution of life upon
the earth reaches far beyond the bounds of any single science, and in-
fluences our whole realm of thought.”
Its applications are helping man in the knowledge of himself and
his destiny. Anything that throws light on man’s history and his
capabilities affects the question of his duty and his destiny. A prom-
inent theologian (Bishop Creighton, of London) has said: “ Religion
means the knowledge of our destiny and the means of fulfilling it.” I
shall not attempt to qualify the statement, as I am not a theologian,
but I will point out that progress in zoology has extended the knowledge
of the history of man, and has thereby influenced our conception of his
relation to the universe. I think these advances are helpful, and are
supplying a safer and better basis for our education, our system of
morals and our religion. For all these matters of so much importance
must be brought into relation with the state of knowledge at different
periods of the history of our race. ‘This condition is necessary, it seems
to me, to men who think, who read or who investigate.
There is still too often a disposition shown by platform and pulpit
speakers to qualify, to antagonize and to belittle scientific advances.
But let us open our hearts freely, without fear, to the extensions of
truth and let us continue in the belief that the knowledge gained by in-
vestigation of nature will be helpful to all departments of human en-
deavor and aspiration. It is to be expected that the views first of the
scholars and then of the great mass of humanity will be modified and
will become harmonious with all present and all future advances in
knowledge.
The present results of these advances will appeal differently to people
according to their temperament and experience, but to many scientific
men, like Darwin and Huxley, as well as to those of smaller place, the
contemplation of it all is uplifting. We may well be drawn into sym-
pathy with the great nature psalm and feel the beauty and force of
those lines of poetry in which all nature is called upon to unite in praise
of the Ruling Power that directs the forces of the universe. Inanimate
nature, as well as all that is alive:
Mountains and all hills; fruitful trees and all cedars; beasts and all cattle;
creeping things and flying fowls; kings of the earth and all people; princes and
all judges of the earth; both young men and maidens, old men and children.
358 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
THE EMMANUEL MOVEMENT FROM A MEDICAL
VIEW-POINT
By Dr. HOMER GAGE
WORCESTER, MASS.
i ee matters pertaining to the preservation of health, and the cure of
disease, it is a fact of common observation that people in general,
and educated people in particular, are very apt to seize eagerly upon
every new theory or practise that is confidently announced as able to
dispel their ills; and all the more eagerly if, in disregard of science
and experience, it is strongly flavored with the mystical and miraculous.
The most remarkable modern instance is the extraordinary growth
and acceptance of Eddyism, or so-called christian science, and so confi-
dent are its claims and so long its list of undisputed victories that they
overshadow, and actually seem to make us forget, the real progress of
medical science, which continues uninterruptedly, but without any
such flourish of trumpets and beating of drums.
Let us remind ourselves for the moment that scientific investiga-
tion has established the presence in the world of certain poisons, whose
effects on man have been carefully studied and can be confidently pre-
dicted, like strychnia, prussic acid, arsenic and opium; that it has
furthermore discovered certain other poisons in the animal world, like
the bacillus of tuberculosis, of anthrax, of cholera, of diphtheria, the
plasmodium of malaria and the spirochete of syphilis, equally poison-
ous to man with the mineral and vegetable poisons, and capable of
producing equally definite and specific effects.
It may not have been part of the intent of creation that man
should be harassed by the latter any more than by the former; but
the conditions of life and of civilization have made us very vulnerable
through our appetites. Intended or not, these specific causes of disease
are here; and medical science has not only demonstrated their existence,
but has further proved beyond cavil that by their isolation and exclu-
sion the diseases which they cause may be limited, and even be pre-
vented from spreading from person to person.
Scientific medicine has further shown that the vital parts of our
bodies are subject to certain degenerative changes induced by exposure,
by imprudent habits of eating and drinking, by unnatural modes of liy-
ing, by inheritance, or simply by age itself. Such are the degenera-
tions of the brain, the heart and blood vessels, the liver, pancreas and
kidneys; conditions which are accompanied by demonstrable changes
THE EMMANUEL MOVEMENT 359
in the structure of these organs, are often progressive in character, and
usually incapable of repair.
There is, however, a third class of diseases, which medical science
has thus far been unable to classify with the infections or the degen-
erations; nevertheless, very real and very common, to which it has
applied the term functional disorders. These present no demonstrable
organic lesion, and very many of them seem to have their origin in
psychic rather than in physical causes.
It is from this latter class that the superstition and quackery of all
ages have largely derived their support. 'To be sure, science is grad-
ually invading even this field, and finding a physical basis for condi-
tions which it has been hitherto unable to classify.
It is clear, however, to scientific men that there is a large class for
which no physical basis is likely to be found, which will always be the
subject of much philosophical speculation and mysticism. Of late, a
most interesting attempt has been made to employ science, religion and
hypnotic suggestion, under the guise of psychotherapy, in the study and
treatment of these cases, and I thought that perhaps it would be inter-
esting to look for a few moments at the so-called Emmanuel movement
from a medical viewpoint.
The underlying principle of mind or faith healing is by no means
new; it is probably as old as the race. It is the same principle
that underlay the sacrificial offering of the ancients, and that underlies
the pilgrimages to Lourdes, and the shrine of St. Anne de Beaupré.
One of the earliest analogous movements, to that of which we now
hear so much, was that of Mesmer in the latter part of the eighteenth
century.
“ By the discovery of a universal fluid, in which life originates, and
by which it is preserved, and by the power of regulating the operations
of this fluid ”—he claimed to be able to cure the most intractable dis-
eases; and although a scientific commission, including our own Ben-
jamin Franklin, was appointed to investigate his claims, and reported
that they could find no evidence of any such fluid or special agency
emanating from him or his baquet, while, if blindfolded, his patients
proved susceptible to its influence only when they believed that they
were within its influence, whether they really were or not; still it had
for many years an astonishing vogue and following.
In the hands of his pupils animal magnetism, or mesmerism, as it
was called, was found to be capable of producing a state of profound
insensibility in some individuals and a state akin to somnambulism in
others. The subjects were made to do all sorts of unnatural things,
and to endure the severest pain without flinching. A number of surg-
ical operations were performed upon patients, who were placed under
its influence, and it was the subject of much medical speculation and
discussion.
360 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
But so thoroughly tainted with fraud was it found to be, in the
extravagant and unwarranted claims of its practitioners, that it soon
fell into the hands of charlatans and traveling showmen, and thus into
general discredit.
It had, however, a great influence in the development of spiritual-
ism and also of hypnotism, although the latter did not obtain its first
scientific recognition until many years later, through the work of the
eminent French neurologist, Charcot.
This same doctrine of the susceptibility of the individual will to the
influence of suggestion or authority is the very foundation of christian
science. It underlies the time-honored and well-nigh universal use of
the placebo by the medical profession, like the historical brown-bread
pill of Dr. Jacob Bigelow, and is the curative agent in most of the
well-known proprietary medicines. It is reflected in that old French
saying that medicine sometimes cures, often relieves and always
comforts.
Physicians have always made use of it, and especially the now
much-neglected family doctor. His intimate knowledge of the hered-
ity, habits, social and domestic life of his patients gave him a peculiar
advantage in discriminating between their mental and their physical
ailments; while the confidence, nay, almost reverence with which his
families regarded him gave an authority to his counsel that was seldom
questioned.
“ His father was here before him,” Mrs. Macfadyen used to ex-
plain, “atween them, they’ve had the countyside for weel on tae a cen-
tury; if Maclure disna understand oor constitutions, wha dis a’wud
like tae ask?”
And this simple faith has given the country doctor his one oppor-
tunity through all the world, and for many hundreds of years, to
practise what we now call psychotherapy. Perhaps he did it uncon-
sciously and in an amateurish sort of way, as Dr. Cabot says, but he did
it, is doing it and has done it with great success.
The use of psychotherapy, or mind cure, in a purely scientific way,
in the practise of medicine has been tried with conspicuous success for
many years by Dubois, in Berne, and Bramwell, in England. “Our
endeavor,” says the former, “is to raise up these patients, to give them
confidence in themselves, and to dissipate their fears and autosugges-
tions.” They do this by making a direct appeal to the patient’s reason,
by trying to train his will, by trying to make the dominating idea of
his ego one of health and strength, not of weakness.
Another factor in the development of this new movement is the
renewed interest in the old command, to love thy neighbor as thyself;
the awakening of a sense of responsibility of the more fortunate for the
less fortunate, in the world they both live in.
THE EMMANUEL MOVEMENT 361
One of the striking features of our economic development is the
disappearance of the small community and the small business, with
the personal interest of each in all, employer and employed; and in its
place we see the herding together of great masses of people in our
large cities, each class by itself; the corporation taking the place
of the individual owner, and the growth of vast business enterprises,
with its inevitable loss of personal interest and sense of personal
responsibility.
The old relation of the physician to his patient has also changed ;
partly because of the growth of the specialties, partly from the growth
of the hospital and dispensary, where the great number of patients
makes an investigation into each one’s individual circumstances and
surroundings easier to neglect than to follow up; but more largely still,
to that want of intimate acquaintance and the mutual confidence bred
of intimate acquaintance incident to life in a large community.
To meet this problem and to help the less fortunate, who, as a class,
suffer most from this change, we have the growth of settlement work,
of personal service, the better administration of charities, the getting
closer to the personal life of the unfortunates, with a better knowledge
of their trials, hopes and disappointments, giving more advice, counsel,
sympathy and practical help and less alms.
We have, of course, a class of nervous invalids, whose condition is
the result of the strain of business and pleasure; but another, and much
larger class, whose condition is due to ignorance, misfortune and
actual hardship. Hospital men are beginning to recognize that simply
a thorough physical examination with a prescription for some medicine
and a few hurried words of advice are not enough; that much of our
effort and of our hospital endowment has been wasted, because we did
not know anything about the conditions under which our patients
lived; did not know whether our advice could be followed or not and,
even if it could, did not follow them up, see that they understood it
and that the instructions were carried out.
To order for one patient a diet that he cannot possibly procure; for the
next, a vacation that he is too poor to take; to forbid the third to worry,
when the necessary cause of worry remains unchanged; to give the fourth
directions for an outdoor life, which you are morally certain he will not
carry out; to try to teach the fifth (a Jewish mother) how to modify milk
for her baby, when she understands perhaps half what you say and forgets
most of that half;—this makes a morning’s work not very satisfactory in the
retrospect to anybody.
We see at once the necessity of getting back to the old idea of the
physician, as the friend, adviser and guide of his patients; to a closer
personal relation between physician and patient, and where, as in a
large hospital clinic, this is impossible, an organization which, under
his direction, shall follow his patients to their homes, see what is
VOL. Lxxv.—24.
362 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
possible to be done in the way of carrying out his instructions, how
it may be best accomplished, and see that it is accomplished.
In this line, the work of the social service department of the Massa-
chusetts General Hospital, under Dr. Cabot’s direction, is a conspicuous
example of how these reforms may be brought about.
We have referred now to two separate movements; each of which
has exerted a large influence in the development of this Emmanuel
movement, so-called. First, the development of a healthy suggestion
from without or within, with the education of the will, by an appeal
to reason, and the cultivation of a right attitude toward life and
especially toward health; and, secondly, the attempt to get closer to
those who, by ignorance, misfortune, heredity or wrong doing, have
become victims of distorted ideas about health and disease, and are
unable to extricate themselves without help.
These very real, very active movements have appealed to many
churchmen as offering opportunities in which they could be useful to
their fellow men; while, at the same time, they would be extending the
influence of their church. The first attempt on a large scale and
with a complete organization to enlist in this service was by Rev.
Elwood Worcester, of the Emmanuel Church, Boston.
He began three years ago with a tuberculosis class under the per-
sonal direction of Dr. J. H. Pratt. “The treatment consisted of the
approved, modern method of combating consumption, plus discipline,
friendship, encouragement and hope; in short, a combination of physical
and moral elements.” It was like a regular hospital clinic under the
direction and charge of a hospital physician, but having its headquarters
not at the hospital, but at the church; and the church cooperated with
its visitors and helpers.
The only new thing about it was its connection with the church
organization and the opportunity thus given immediately to strengthen
the moral and religious character as well as the physical constitution ;
there was no mysticism, nothing but rational help—and the class was
very successful.
So successful was it that Dr. Worcester says:
It convinced us, that the church has an important mission to perform
to the sick, and that the physician and the clergyman can work together to
the benefit of the community. Accordingly, in the autumn of 1906, we deter-
mined to begin a similar work among the nervously and morally diseased.
Our single desire is to give each patient the best opportunity of life and
health which our means allow. We believe in the power of the mind over the
body, and we believe also in medicine, in good habits, and in a wholesome and
well-regulated life.
In the treatment of functional nervous disorders we make free use of
moral and psychical agencies, but we do not believe in overtaxing these valuable
aids by expecting the mind to attain results which can be effected more easily
through physical instrumentalities. Accordingly, we have gladly availed our-
THE EMMANUEL MOVEMENT 363
selves of the services of skilled medical and surgical specialists, who have
offered to cooperate with us.
All patients are referred to these specialists first, and only those
found to be suffering from the purely functional nervous disorders are
admitted to the classes; this is done to avoid the objection that the
employment of psychotherapy “in diseases which obviously require
physical interference, may result in death through neglect”; but espe-
cially because “ disorders of this nature are peculiarly associated with
the moral life ”’—and “ moral maladies require moral treatment.”
The philosophy of the movement is simple; the fundamental idea
is the existence in each of us of a subconscious or subliminal mind,
which is a normal part of our spiritual nature and is responsible for our
unconscious and automatic movements, thoughts and motives. It is
this subconscious mind which responds to hypnotic suggestion, after
the conscious mind has been put to sleep; but even without resort to
hypnotism, one of the most important characteristics is its suggestibility,
its subjection to moral influence and direction.
The functional disorders of the nervous system such as neurasthenia,
psychasthenia, hysteria, hypochondria and the like, are believed to
be diseases of the subconscious ; caused by a dissociation of consciousness,
i. e., by certain portions of consciousness having become detached from
the main stream.
By “psychic reeducation, utilization of reserve energy, suggestions
given in hypnosis or in states of deep abstraction, there follows a re-
association, a synthesis of the dissociated state, and a return to a state
of healthy mindedness.” And the susceptibility of the subconscious
mind to suggestion is believed to afford the means of accomplishing
this.
How this is actually applied in the clinic will be understood better
perhaps, if I quote directly from Mr. Powell, one of Dr. Worcester’s
earliest pupils and imitators.
After the discussion and the prescription of good books the patient is
seated in the comfortable morris chair before the fire, which I take care by
this time to have burning low—is taught by rhythmic breathing and by visual
imagery to relax the muscles, and is led into the silence of the mind by
tranquilizing suggestion. Then in terms of the spirit, the power of the
mind over the body is impressed upon the patient’s consciousness, and soothing
suggestions are given for the relief of the specific ills.
In addition to the clinic at which individual treatments are thus
given, there is, at Emmanuel Church, a mid-week meeting, at which,
after singing and Bible reading, requests for prayer are read and
answered, a short, practical address, applying the teachings of Christ
to human ills, followed by an hour of social intercourse in the social
room of the church. For the benefit of the doctors, ministers, social
workers and others who desired to study the movement, a course of
364 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
lectures was given last summer extending over three weeks, for which
a small fee was charged.
Such is, in brief, the theory of the practise of the Emmanuel
movement, so-called. It attempts to relieve certain disorders, which
have a mental or moral origin, by the use of suggestion, reinforced by
an appeal to the patient’s religious faith, and it invokes the aid of
medical science to eliminate those disorders which have a purely physical
organic basis. Except for this appeal for the help of science and the
recognition of science which it contains, there is absolutely nothing in
the movement that is new.
In the first place, these so-called functional diseases do really exist;
although it is true that the class has been growing constantly smaller
under the influence of scientific investigation and discovery. Still, it
is also true, now, as in the middle of the eighteenth century when
Dr. John Atkins wrote, that “many distempers, especially of women
that are ill all over, or know not what they ail, have been cured, I am
apt to think, more by a fancy to the physician than his prescription.”
Every doctor is familiar with the patient whose physical ailments
are quite insignificant when compared with the exaggerated importance
with which his mind or imagination has invested them. Every medical
man recognizes how little physical basis there is for the worry, fear,
doubt and melancholy with which so many of his patients are obsessed.
We all appreciate how often that symptom-complex, which goes to make
up what we call the neurotic temperament, is found in cases in which
the most rigid physical examination fails to reveal any indication of
organic disease.
In this class we find kindred conditions, which have at different
times borne a great variety of names, such as nervous prostration,
neurasthenia, psychasthenia, hysteria, hypochondria, or melancholia,
while in other cases we are content with the simpler definition of dis-
turbed mental equilibrium or deviation.
It seems impossible to classify these cases accurately, because there
is no really scientific basis upon which a classification can be made;
and the invention of new names to define certain types is not as
important or as progressive as it seems.
In speaking of these names, Dubois says: “ The name neurasthenia
is on everybody’s lips; it is the fashionable disease. But I am mis-
taken, the disease is not new, it is the name by which it is known
that is changed. We now designate by this name, a combination of
symptoms known through all time.” What we must not lose sight of
is that there are diseases of the mind, or imagination, or nervous
system, in which no physical deviation from the normal can be found,
but which are none the less real, none the less distressing, and that they
tax the skill, resources and patience of the attending physician almost
to the breaking point.
THE BHMMANUEL MOVEMENT 365
Furthermore, it must be observed that these are the cases in which
psychotherapy, whether practised by means of the placebo, or through
the agency of christian science, or the Emmanuel movement, is pre-
eminently successful.
In the second place, if we study carefully the causes of these condi-
tions, we shall find them in the two great classes into which Charcot
has divided them. “The neuroses,” he says, “arise from two factors,
the one essential and invariable, neuropathic heredity ; the other, con-
tingent and polymorphic, the provoking agent.”
In the latter belong our doubts and fears and worries, as well as the
other more easily controlled factors in the causation of these purely
functional nervous disorders. But even in the case of heredity, it is
more the unstable nervous equilibrium that is transmitted than the
specific form in which it is manifested in any individual case; and this
unstable equilibrium is capable, in no small degree, of being influenced
by reeducation along the lines of which we have been speaking.
“Tn neurasthenia,” says Dubois, “we find general debility; some-
times it is physical, sometimes intellectual, but above all it is moral.”
In other words, it is a wrong view-point, a weakness of the will power
of the individual, an inability to throw off the unduly insistent habit,
or thought, or motive.
In a few words, Carpenter explains the long list of epidemic
delusions of history, the form of which has changed from time to
time, although many of their characteristics have been common to all;
such as mesmerism, magnetism, spiritualism and the like, by saying
that “'The condition which underlies them all is the subjection of the
mind to a dominant idea.”
The trouble is that in the case of these delusions, as well as in the
case of the neurasthenic, the dominant idea is pointed in the wrong
direction; and the Emmanuel movement simply aims by a process of
reeducation through suggestion, autosuggestion or, if necessary, hypno-
tism, to change this direction.
In the treatment of these cases of functional disorder of the nervous
system, doctors, psychologists and Emmanuelists, all agree in attempting
to continue the subjection of the mind to a dominant idea; but try,
each in his own way, to make that idea stand for health, for right living
and right thinking, for cheerfulness, in a word, so to direct it that it
shall always look for the doughnut, not the hole.
But, while agreeing thus far, a fundamental difference of opinion
is disclosed, as soon as we take up the question as to by whom this work
can best be done; by the doctor or by the clergyman. The lines, how-
ever, are not strictly drawn between the two professions, because some
medical men see no impropriety in asking and encouraging the assist-
ance of the church, while many churchmen deprecate the entrance
366 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
of the church, as an organized body, into new and untried and disputed
fields of activity.
One thing should be clear at the outset, and it is emphatically set
forth in the introduction to Dr. Worcester’s book.
The church should not undertake this work without the cooperation
and assistance of the best possible medical advisers. It is a scientific
work, based on the knowledge derived from the study of medicine and
psychology, and its favorable results are not miracles, to be exploited
for the glory of religion. They can be obtained only in cases in
which no organic pathology is found to exist, in cases carefully selected,
after rigid and strictly scientific examinations.
Remember that the goal is reeducation into right habits of thinking
and living; and in this process of reeducation, judged by their results,
there is little to choose, between the efficiency of the agnostic Dubois
and the ecclesiastical Worcester.
That this process of reeducation can not be accomplished by hypnotic
suggestion is the firm belief of the medical profession, especially the
neurologists. That a state of hypnotic susceptibility can be induced in
most people by a will that is stronger than their own is not doubted;
but that it is safe, or that its results justify its use as a therapeutic
measure, is stoutly denied.
Hypnotism has been known since Braid in 1842, and every now and
then it rises up on a new wave of interest and popularity, often in a
new guise; but so far as its therapeutic value is concerned, we have as
yet derived from it no safe practical assistance.
If not by hypnotism, then how shall we seek to accomplish this re-
education—shall it be by an appeal to reason, or to faith? Unless by
faith is meant religious faith, it has been and will always be done by
medical men, acting through both agencies; by strong men, confident
in their own powers, and able to impress others with the same confidence
and faith in the truth, sincerity and accuracy of their opinions.
Examples of this use of psycho-therapeutics have been common
enough in the practise of every successful physician. That he has been
working at an increasing disadvantage is probably true; due partly to
the growth of specialism, and also to the complexity of modern life,
which, as has been already indicated, means the loss of that personal
relation and sympathy between patient and physician which used to
be common; but to an even greater extent is this disadvantage the
result of the extraordinary development of the more material and
scientific side of disease.
For example, Dr. Cabot complains, and with too much reason, that
the psychological side of tuberculosis has been largely disregarded.
“We have tried to have our patients live almost by bread alone—actually
by milk and eggs alone, in some cases.
THE BMMANUEL MOVEMENT 367
The effect of idleness upon the will, of a discouraging and unlovely health
resort on the spirits, of an empty outlook for the future—all these have been
largely disregarded. Put him in the open air, and fatten him up, we say,—
so far, so good. But he has a mind, as well as a body; a future, as well as a
present—and neither element can be neglected.”
Then, too, the study of the treatment and means of prevention of
the infections and degenerations, and the brilliancy of its results, have
tended to make us impatient with the less prompt response of the
neurotic. We medical men have been tempted to speak sternly, as did
the King in Alice in Wonderland, who told the poor hatter, who was
trembling before the throne: “ Don’t be nervous, or I’ll have you exe-
cuted on the spot.” So we have been tempted to say to the unduly
nervous patient: “ You are not sick; don’t be nervous, or you'll make
yourself sick ”—good advice, but, like much that we have to listen to,
badly given.
We must look deeper into the causes of the nervousness, and suggest
something to take their place. The profession is already awakening
to this defect in its practise, and one of the benefits of christian science
and the later movement is the stimulus which it has given the medical
profession, to take up again, in its new light, a work which it always
used to do, and which still is a part of its duty; a part of its very
raison d étre.
A recent editorial in the Boston Medical and Surgical Journal says:
That the profession at large needs instruction in the practise of psycho-
therapy we are willing to admit; we believe that such instruction should be
given at medical schools, to the end that the limitations as well as the possi-
bilities of mental treatment should be laid down, so far as our present knowl-
edge permits.
The University of Wisconsin has already established a chair of
psychology and medicine; the Phipps fund of $500,000 will soon be
available for a similar course in the Johns Hopkins University, and
Dr. Morton Prince offers a course in psychotherapy this winter at the
Tufts Medical School. In the great field of hospital and dispensary
practise much has been accomplished in the same direction by the
introduction of the social-service department, as at the Johns Hopkins,
the New York Post-graduate and the Massachusetts General Hospitals.
From these considerations I think there can be no doubt but that
the doctor has, can and ought to do this work; the next question is,
in how far it can and ought to be done by the church. We all agree
that the underlying causes in very many of these functional nervous
disorders are moral causes. We all recognize the strong religious side
in human nature. We have all seen in our own experience, or that of
some of our friends, the peace and satisfaction of mind to be derived
from a strong religious faith.
It is a powerful force for the uplifting of man, mentally and morally.
368 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
This appeal to religious faith is, however, but one of our means of
reaching nervous invalids; it is not always the most promising, nor is
it always applicable; but it is the only one which affords any excuse
for the entrance of the church into the fields of psychotherapy.
If, as has been said by one of its stoutest medical defenders, the
aim of the Emmanuel Church work is only “to educate the religious
faith, and to train the moral capacities of nervous invalids, sent to
it by the physicians of the community for that very purpose,” there
would be much less room for criticism. The work would then be
done in the same quiet, unobtrusive way that the medical profession
believes that all such work should be done.
But when it comes to lecturing weekly, to hundreds of laymen and
women at the church, and to going about from city to city explaining
to lay audiences the nature of the work and encouraging imitation,
as is being done by the projectors of this Emmanual idea, the medical
profession at large views with alarm the superficial manner in which
a complex medical problem is presented, and sees in it strong elements
of quackery and charlatanism, and the danger of great harm from |
its practise.
Education of the reason and strengthening of the will would seem
to be more promising means of securing a nervous equilibrium than
an appeal to the emotions. Even though this work has been, and is
being done by the general practitioner, as we have already seen, it is
probably true that in many cases, at least, it is a work in which he
would welcome the assistance and advice of a specialist. But how
much better fitted to give that help is the expert in diseases of the brain
and nervous system who has studied psychology, than he who has
studied psychology alone, or taken it up as a side issue to his study
of theology and of church administration.
On this point there would seem to be little chance for disagreement.
The safest counselor in all medical matters is he who has first grounded
himself in normal and abnormal anatomy, in normal and pathological
physiology and in the theory and practise of medicine as a whole, and
then upon this foundation has made a thorough and exhaustive study
of his special department; not the man who has followed a post-
graduate course of lectures for a few weeks, or even months, nor the
man whose psychological study has been incidental to his ecclesiastical
training.
To quote again from the Boston Medical and Surgical Journal:
The only knowledge which is of value in the field of abnormal psychology
and mental therapeutics has been gained from the laborious investigations of
psychologists and physicians. This, all are free to use; but that its use is best
safeguarded, and likely to be productive of the best results, in the hands of
men with a general medical training will not generally be denied.
THE EMMANUEL MOVEMENT 369
In sympathy with this feeling the best medical opinion is already
alienated, and it is apparent that the movement must get along without
the very cooperation upoxw which its originators laid such emphasis;
yet it is doubtful if they will recognize this, for they seem disposed
to show the same lack of discrimination in the selection of their medical
authorities that is manifested by the opponents of vivisection.
It ill becomes a medical man to undertake to say what the effect
of this movement may be on the church itself. It is entering a field
that has always been occupied by medical men in an empirical way ;
and with the advancing knowledge of psychology and psychotherapy,
they have demonstrated their ability and willingness successfully to
cultivate it, wholly independent of church and religion. It is cer-
tainly not desirable that this independence should be too complete; but
neither is it at all desirable, for the reasons above given, that the
medical and scientific part of the work should be incidental and sec-
ondary to the religious.
The point which Dr. Worcester seems to me to miss is this: That
these disorders, though not accompanied by any structural lesion, are,
nevertheless, deviations from the normal brain function, and, as such,
are to be studied and treated by those who have a thorough knowledge
of the normal anatomy and physiology, and the pathological anatomy
and physiology of the brain; and that the assistance of religion in
this work, great and invaluable as that often is, should be strictly
subordinate, just as it is subordinate, though very helpful and often
necessary, in the conduct of the tuberculosis clinic, in his own church.
It is difficult to see where the church has any material advantage
in the competition, and as the movement spreads into the hands of
those with few qualifications and with greater independence of sound
medical counsel, it seems not unreasonable to predict its ultimate
failure and general discredit.
However, the Emmanuel movement has done good, just as the
popular interest in hypnotism and christian science has done good.
They emphasize and make clear the value of mental therapeutics, and
spur the doctor and psychologist to renewed study of its nature,
limitations and practical application. It will also serve, perhaps, to
recall the practising physician from too cold a materialism; and to
prevent a dehumanized scientist from taking the place of the doctor
of the old school.
It is undoubtedly true that there has been a strong tendency to
give undue attention and attribute undue importance to the interesting
pathological problem presented in each case, and too little attention
to its humanitarian aspect. We must not let the scientist push to one
side the samaritan. Such is the lesson to be learned—more real hiaman
sympathy and help from the doctor, but not a “ medicalized clergy.”
370 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
THE ATLANTIC FOREST REGION OF NORTH AMERICA
By SPENCER TROTTER
SWARTHMORE COLLEGE
A Stupy oF INFLUENCES
I
ATZEL in his illuminating work on “The History of Mankind,”
remarking upon the influence of the ocean on the life of primi-
tive peoples, says:
The wide gap which the Atlantic Ocean opens in the zone of habitation
has the effect of producing “fringe”-lands. Although a brisk intercourse
from north to south, together with thickly-peopled regions at the back, and more
favorable climates, have rendered these far less ethnographically destitute than
the regions towards the poles, we still find that in Africa the highest develop-
ment has been reached on the east coast, in America on the west, that is, on
the inner sides or those farthest from the Atlantic.
In contrast with this “gap in the belt of human habitation ” the
island-dotted Pacific, with its narrowing shore lines to the north, is a
habitable area. Its island clusters have ever been the homes of men,
and its watery waste the highway of primitive navigators. Dwellers on
the fringe-lands of the continents looked out upon the Atlantic as
upon a great void, and it was not until the first thousand years of the
present era had passed that Scandinavian peoples penetrated its
gloomy mists and founded colonies in Iceland and the Faroes. This
movement of the Northmen was an expression of that migratory im-
pulse that earlier had brought the rude peoples of Europe to the con-
fines of the land. ‘Five hundred years passed before the “wide gap ”
was again crossed.
Such a forbidding “fringe,” on the farther verge of the known
world, was the landfall of the first voyagers, who, steering westward,
solved the mystery of the western ocean. In their wake followed suc-
cessive waves of migrating peoples from the shores of Europe, who
sought to found colonies on these strange coasts. Whatever fanciful
Eldorados they may have pictured were rudely dispelled by the wild
solitudes of an unknown forest that, sphinx-like, stretched its front
along the indented coast from the St. Lawrence to Florida. Between
these peoples and the world of civilization lay the dissociating Atlantic.
One landed, they had set foot on the threshold of a new home. To the
natural features of this threshold—forest, mountain, river, shore-line
and climate—and its aboriginal life, we must look for those influences
that went so largely to the making of a new type of civilized men.
THE ATLANTIC FOREST REGION 371
II
The natural condition of eastern North America is that of a forest-
covered land. Wherever the primeval woodland has been cleared there
springs up, unless thwarted by persistent tillage, a sturdy “ second
growth” which in time, and if allowed to spread, would restore the
face of the country to something of its former appearance. We
are familiar enough with such tracts, abandoned by men as unprofitable
for cultivation and left to the genial influence of birds and winds and
the chemistry of humus soils—nature’s way of getting back to original
conditions. These delectable places are the “woods,” scattered in
patches of greater or less extent throughout the farming districts, cov-
ering the slopes of hills and the windings of valley streams—places of
little value in the economic eye save for a few cords of firewood or as a
trifling source of timber, but rich withal in youthful associations.
The primitive Atlantic forest was, for a space of three hundred
years after the discovery, a dominant feature in the history of the
country. For a long period its impenetrable solitudes limited the
spread of settlement to a narrow seaboard margin; only the more in-
trepid of the newcomers plunged into its depths to meet with strange
adventures. The valleys of the larger rivers formed natural highways
into the interior of this forest region and the broad tracts of rich
bottom-land gradually became, in favorable situations, the sites of
settlement, widely scattered at first, but advancing farther and farther
inland as population increased.
It is hard for us, dwelling in the long-settled land, to appreciate
the attitude of the early colonists toward the forest. Fear mingled
with curiosity was undoubtedly the chief state of mind of the first
comers. Clearing the land had a twofold purpose—for planting
(“ plantation ” was the word used in all early writings concerning the
colonies) and to satisfy a feeling of domesticity that was ingrained
in the European mind—an inherited instinct to civilize. To these
people the forest was a dreadful reality (some early writers speak of
it as a “ Desert”), full of unknown terrors, and, especially to the
Puritan and Jesuit, a haunt of the Powers of Darkness. On the
whole the French settlers took more kindly to the forest than did the
Anglo-Saxon peoples, who from the outset evinced a ruthless determina-
tion to clear the land. The ancient wood steadily receded, slowly at
first, then rapidly as the planted country widened its borders, forest
everywhere giving way to field, and with it vanished much that was
aboriginal.
EEE
“Pine-tree State” and “ Pine-tree Shilling” were terms of no
empty meaning in the region where they originated. In northern
New England the white pine is still the most characteristic tree over
wide areas of unimproved land, and a well-defined “ pine belt” reaches
372 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
from the coast westward to beyond the Great Lakes. A goodly number
of other trees mingle with the pines in this northern portion of the
Atlantic forest—basswood, elm, birch, sugar maple and ash among the
broad-leaved species, and the black spruce, hemlock and cedar among
conifers, but the pine everywhere gives the broadest and most pro-
nounced feature to the woodland. This northern pine forest follows
the highest ridges of the Alleghanies quite to their southern limits,
conspicuous in the mountain landscape as an evergreen belt—the hem-
lock (or what is left of its once grand forests after the axe of the
lumberman and “ bark-peeler”’) predominating in certain districts.
Somewhere in the mid-New England region, and in New York
along the watershed of the St. Lawrence, one who travels with an eye
for trees will notice the ever-increasing number and variety of broad-
leaved species toward the south. Among the scattered pines appears
the massy leafage of oaks, hickories, chestnuts, beeches and other hard-
woods, which denotes a borderland in tree life—the northern edge
of that vast deciduous forest the summer canopy of which, in aboriginal
times, covered the Ohio and Mississippi basins and the Piedmont land
of the Atlantic seaboard to beyond the valley of the Delaware. Even
to-day there are wide areas still covered by remnants of this magnificent
interior forest of the continent. And what a wealth of species! No-
where in the temperate zone may we find such an assemblage of splendid
tree forms save possibly in eastern Asia. The tall tulip tree with its
gorgeous blossoms and broad leaves of shining green; the array of
magnolias, rivaled in beauty and variety only in the Chinese region;
the gums (both tupelos and liquidambar) ; the flowering dogwood; the
buckeyes, locusts, catalpas, beeches, plane trees, chestnuts, ashes, elms,
cherries, a great variety of hawthorns, the hackberry, persimmon and
sassafras; the hickories, walnuts and butternuts; the basswood, maple
and sourwood; the hornbeams, and upwards of twenty species of oaks,
not to mention a host of other less familiar trees and underwoods.
This is the forest that nature would spread over the land again should
the white man cease in his toilsome civilization. Those of us born
with a love for the woods can only regret the loss and cling the more
tenaciously to every woodland tract that happily we may still have the
right to protect.
On the coast plain of the southern Atlantic region another form of
tree-life gives character to the forest. Here the long-leaf pine and
other allied species find a congenial home, the monotonous “ piney
woods” covering wide tracts of level, sandy country. From the
earliest times tar and turpentine have given local color to the commerce
of the region where this pine abounds. In low-lying swamp districts
and along river shores the bald cypress, with its curious “ knees” lifted
above the submerging flood, is a conspicuous tree in the landscape and
entirely peculiar to this Atlantic coast region.
THE ATLANTIC FOREST REGION 373
The existence of a forest on the Atlantic side of North America
is a result of several natural conditions, chief among which is a copious
rainfall. The average yearly precipitation east of the Mississippi
Valley amounts to some fifty or sixty inches, increasing towards the
coast and the Gulf border. This insures an abundant water supply
in the subsoil—the stratum into which the roots of forest trees delve
in their search for moisture. Soils, too, play their part in the foresting
of aland. An underlying layer of clay holds the water, which collects
above it in the permeable sands and loam of the subsoil where the tree
roots interlace in a vast network. The varied nature of soils over
wide regions determines, within certain limits of temperature, the
character of tree growth. This explains in part the preponderance
of pines on a sandy soil where the water passes more or less rapidly
through the root area. Pines are physiologically dry trees as com-
pared with the broad-leaved, deciduous species; their tough and narrow
needle-like leaves do not so readily favor the transpiration process—
the freeing of the water which has ascended through their vessels from
the roots. What ground water enters the transpiration current is,
therefore, not too easily lost to the tree through its leaves. The case
of the broad-leaved trees is different, for their roots tap soils more or
less constantly moist and the ascending transpiration current is quickly
relieved by the broad expanse of leafage which they present to the air.
Temperature is unquestionably the controlling feature in the north-
ward and southward distribution of trees. Along the Atlantic sea-
board the effective temperatures in tree dispersal are related, in a
general way, to the “lay of the land.” In the same latitude various
species belonging to a more northern habitat appear in the highland
districts, while many southern forms are more or less abundant in the
lowlands. Along its inland border the coastal plain, in many places,
ends in a low rise of land, or “ upland terrace,” from the top of which
one sees the flat expanse of the plain over many miles. Back of the
observer lies the rolling country of the Piedmont district (the “ up-
lands” of the early settlers and farming people), a landscape of hills
and valleys stretching away to the eastern border of the Blue Ridge.
South of the valley of the Delaware this terrace feature marks, in a
very general way, the limits of certain northern and southern trees.
The sweet gum or liquidambar of the southern region is abundant on
the coastal plain in southeastern Pennsylvania, but is of rare occur-
rence on the uplands. The sheltered nature and rich alluvial soils
of river bottoms extend the ranges of some of the more southern trees
beyond this limit, and the same sweet gum is found growing in the
valley of the Connecticut. In like manner the valleys of the Hudson,
the Delaware and the Susquehanna are each tinged with a more south-
ern tree life than are the surrounding uplands along their course.
As a reverse of this picture, certain trees of a more northerly distribu-
374 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
tion, like the hemlock, are found growing along the higher land and in
cool ravines as far south as the Lower Delaware Valley.
The more familiar trees, however, mingle over a wide area of
country—southern New England and the Middle Atlantic district—
a transition region that lies between the northern coniferous forest
and the broad-leaved, summer-green forest of the great interior valley
and south Atlantic slope.
Something besides temperature appears to control the distribution
of certain trees. Since the settlement of the country numerous species,
the natural habitats of which are far to the south, have been planted
and grown successfully in more northern localities. The catalpa, the
sourwood and the several species of magnolia are illustrations of this.
Just what is the determining factor in preventing such trees from
spreading northward (or others from spreading southward) it is diffi-
cult to say. Possibly some subtle condition in the balance of nature
—some item in the struggle for existence, has helped or hindered the
spread of certain trees, excluding some from localities already occupied
by others. It is well known that where pines have been cut off certain
species of oaks will spring up and occupy the land. The oak seedlings
must have been abundantly scattered over the soil for a long period
of time. Only a comparatively few species are enabled to hold their
own through some superior advantage in adaptation and grow up to
form a forest. A vast number must of necessity lie dormant in the
soil for centuries. In Denmark, since glacial times, there has evidently
been a succession of forests—oak following fir and beech following
oak through a period of many thousands of years. The varied relations
of the different species of trees to light, heat, moisture and soils, to
animals, and to other trees and plants, are involved in slow, deep-seated
processes, the expression of which is the forest as we see it. Our point
of view, however, is but momentary in the vast events of nature—a
fleeting glimpse, merely, of one picture in an endless biograph.
The question of the succession of forests suggests another question
—that of the origin of the present Atlantic forest and its relation to
other forests in different parts of the world. In a general survey of
the forest trees of eastern North America there appears a large number
of types which are common also to Europe. With the exception of
the bald cypress and the hemlocks all the other coniferous types—pines,
spruces, firs and larches—are represented in Europe by closely allied
species. This is true also of a number of the deciduous trees—the
oak, beech, chestnut, elm, willow, birch, aspen, walnut, ash, maple,
plane tree, linden or basswood, and others are represented on both sides
of the Atlantic by more or less nearly related forms. This is not sur-
prising when we come to consider that all of the above-named trees
are decidedly northern in their distribution, and exist under very
similar climatic conditions. This is especially true of the coniferous
THE ATLANTIC FOREST REGION 375
trees and the birches which form a characteristic boreal forest zone
of similar features throughout the entire land area of the cold tem-
perate region from Kamschatka to Alaska. Farther south, as the
land masses diverge, the forest types show a decreasing likeness—yet
the broad-leaved woodlands of oak, beech and others are readily rec-
ognized as such in both the old and the new worlds.
A number of American trees, however, and these characteristic of
the more southern portion of the Atlantic forest, have no European
counterparts. We look in vain through the forests of Europe for
such familiar forms as the hemlock, the hickories, the tulip tree, the
magnolias, the sassafras, the tupelo gums, the witchhazel, the Ken-
tucky coffee tree, the yellow-wood, the locusts, the catalpa and the
liquidambar. Strange as it may appear, nearly all of these eastern
American forms occur nowhere else in the world save in eastern Asia,
in the more temperate parts of China and Japan, where the same or
very nearly related species are to be found. What is even still more
striking is the contrast between the Atlantic and Pacific sides of
North America. Excepting along the mountain crests where the more
or less world-wide boreal plants find a congenial environment, the
vegetation of the California region is related mainly to the dry
plateau lands of Mexico and South America. So far as the trees are
concerned a native of the eastern United States would find himself
in much more homelike surroundings in the woodlands of temperate
China and Japan than on the Pacific slope of his own country. A
tulip tree, very similar to the one at home, almost if not the identical
species of sassafras, numerous closely related magnolias, a near relative
of the southern yellow-wood, the liquidambar, the catalpa, the coffee
tree, the hemlock, and other forms appear as familiar trees in the
landscape of China and Japan. ‘This likeness between the two widely
separated regions is not confined to the trees alone. The flora at large
presents many features in common. The fox grape, the poison ivy,
the hydrangeas, the wistaria, the blue cohosh, the may-apple, the twin-
leaf, the trailing arbutus or may-flower, and the creeping snowberry
have each a more or less closely related form in eastern North America
and eastern Asia, but are found in no other part of the world.
This likeness between the forest types of eastern North America
and eastern Asia dates from a period far back in the history of north-
ern lands. The tertiary deposits of Greenland and Spitzbergen have
yielded numerous fossil remains of trees, among them a magnolia, a
tulip tree, a sassafras and a liquidambar, quite similar, if not, in some
cases, identical with the species now living. Besides these forms that
are peculiar to the regions above named, the remains of other trees of
more wide-spread distribution have been found in Greenland—a bass-
wood, a plane tree, a persimmon, also several kinds of beeches, birches,
376 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
poplars and oaks—all of which are nearly related to the modern types.
This ancient circumpolar forest flourished at a time when the
climate of the Arctic regions was almost warm temperate in its char-
acter and capable of supporting a rich and varied tree-life throughout
an immensely long period of time. Toward the close of this period
the increasing cold which culminated in a glacial epoch caused a
gradual change in the forest conditions. The more northerly portion
of this wide-spread forest was not able to survive the change, its species
were forced out of the region, finding more suitable conditions in lands
farther to the south, where some, undoubtedly, had already established
themselves. A large number of species, like the oaks and beeches and
some of the conifers easily adapted themselves to a varied environment
and spread widely around the north temperate zone. Others, how-
ever, found suitable conditions of life only in certain localities, often
widely apart, but with similar climatic features. Here we have a
solution of the similarity of tree forms in forests so widely separated
geographically as those of eastern North America and eastern Asia.
In every other portion of the wide region into which the trees of this
polar forest migrated a certain number of species failed to occupy the
soil through some adverse conditions in climate or life relations. Cut
off from their center of development in the polar area, they spread to
the south, but only in two localities did they succeed in establishing
themselves—on the eastern side of the two great northern land masses,
where almost similar climatic influences prevail.
Tt is of more than passing interest to thus trace back the history
of our forests. As with men so with trees. Countless generations
succeed one another, occupying the soil in which the remains of older
generations lie buried, each new generation springing from the one
before it and bearing the marks of an inheritance that allies its indi-
vidual members with other men and trees in far distant lands, and that
carries them back through a seemingly endless chain of life to a remote
antiquity.
With the retreat of the ice at the close of the last glacial epoch,
and the gradual assumption of the present climate and physical features
of eastern North America, the more hardy coniferous trees, and some
of the broad-leaved species that had adapted themselves to low tempera-
tures along the edge of the ice sheet, began to occupy the newly uncov-
ered land as a northern belt of pine forest. This expansion of tree
life toward the north must have relieved the long overcrowded southern
area and permitted a fuller development of the summer-green, broad-
leaved forest with its great variety of forms. The deciduous habit of
this summer-green forest is clearly an adaptation to a low winter
“The Relations of North American to North East Asian and Tertiary
Vegetation ’—being portion of an address by Dr. Asa Gray, published as
Article V. in “ Darwiniana.”
THE ATLANTIC FOREST REGION 377
temperature, the falling away of the leaves temporarily drying out the
tree by checking the transpiration current and thus preventing the
disastrous effects of freezing. Along the warmer Gulf borders certain
deciduous types, as the live oaks, have either never acquired the habit
or have lost it since glacial times.
IV
A glamour of romance brooded over this forest land and cast its
spell on the mind of western Europe. From Raleigh, dreaming of
colonies beyond the sea, down to the days of the great exodus of Huro-
pean peoples there was a pervading sense of wonder concerning the new
country. History has dealt at length with the motives that prompted
whole bodies of people to leave a long-familiar and civilized homeland
for an unknown and untried wilderness. No matter what the varied
motives may have been—whether from religious or political oppression,
or for the betterment of home and fortune—each and all were expres-
sions of that migratory impulse that from a remote period had been
working out the destiny of the race.
The English stock that colonized the Atlantic slope of North
America was made up of two strains of blood that had mingled to some
extent in the mother country, but which was destined to a far wider
and more complete fusion in the new world. From an ethnological
point of view the Welsh, the Irish and the Highland Scot or Gael have
come to be regarded as the modern representatives of an ancient Celtic
people that once occupied Britain and that were driven into remote
corners of the land by the invading Angle and his allies. As applied
to this people and its speech and literature the word “ Celtic” has
come to stand for a certain kind of temperament—imaginative and
emotional in its nature, poetic and inclined to mysticism, a man on
the edge of things, elated or cast down, and capable of great bursts of
energy. The reverse of this picture is called up by the word “ Teu-
tonic ”—the opposite strain of blood that has mingled so largely with
the Celtic element in the moulding of an American type. In point
of fact the Teutonic is the dominant strain in most of us to-day; the
Celtic being more of a local infusion here and there, like the occasional
brook flowing into the main stream of a river. The New England
Puritans were almost wholly English Teutons and the same was true
of the Virginia colonists. The Teutonic Swede and Hollander held
for a time the middle region—the Hudson and the lower valley of the
Delaware—and left an infusion of their blood in the dominant English
population which may still be traced in certain family names. The
Quakers that settled Pennsylvania were, like the Puritans, of Teutonic
English stock. The Scotch-Irish peoples, likewise largely Teutonic,
settled the Carolina seaboard. ‘The main German migration spread
through the middle region—in the Delaware and Susquehanna water-
378 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
sheds—and together with the Scotch-Irish settled the frontier valleys of
the Blue Ridge. ‘These were the peoples—Teutonic with a Celtic in-
fusion—that traversed the wide gap of the Atlantic and planted a
civilization on its farther fringe.
It was what these people brought with them, as qualities of mind,
traditions and habits of life, and the way they looked at things, that
interest us most. There could be no adaptation to a wilderness life
like that of the aboriginal inhabitants of this fringe-land. Here were
men and women, the product of centuries of civilization, suddenly
confronted with the bare fact of existence on the edge of an inhospitable
and unknown forest. This transit of civilized peoples is one of the
amazing events of history. Tillers of the land for generations, they
brought with them the old-world grains and food plants, their house-
hold goods, farm implements and cattle, and with these a bundle of
curious ideas and superstitions which had a deep and widespread root-
age in the ancestral soil of Europe. The forest held nothing for them
save fuel and material for shelter. Fish, flesh and fowl were to be had
in abundance, but of the wild food-plants that were indigenous to the
soil and which the native peoples had used for ages these immigrants
from civilization knew little or nothing. Dependent from a remote
antiquity upon agriculture, it is scarcely to be wondered at that the
first comers to the new land were at times sorely put to it for food,
as the early records relate.
The effect of this fringe-land upon its native inhabitants was ap-
parent in the low state of their culture. The aboriginal Atlantic tribes
were unacquainted with the use of iron, which, as Ratzel has remarked,
is a characteristic of all fringe-land peoples. Their agriculture was of
the rudest sort—the planting of maize, squashes and tobacco, with little
or no tillage, hunting and fishing producing their chief food supply.
The very primitive condition of these Indian peoples was further
evinced by such customs as mother-right and other ancient forms of
the social state. The Atlantic fringe-land as a whole was thinly
populated. Where many millions of Europeans now dwell on a sound
basis of agriculture, the aboriginal population seemed barely able to
hold its own, living as it were from hand to mouth. This failure to
advance culturally and increase numerically through intelligent use
of the soil is the underlying fact in all backward peoples, and their
backwardness is, in large measure, the result of environment. Un-
doubtedly one of the factors in this environment is isolation, through
many generations, in a forest region, though we must also remember
those inherent racial traits that tend to depress whole bodies of people,
relegating them to the less desirable regions—overwhelming forests,
unfertile tracts and fringe-lands. A non-agricultural people can not
wrest a civilization out of the wilderness. It can only be accom-
plished by agricultural peoples with a well developed instinct to clear
THE ATLANTIC FOREST REGION 379
the land. The forest and the ocean set limitations to the aboriginal
American. The Atlantic once crossed by the agricultural Europeans,
though it served to hold them to their new home, became their highway
of communication with the world. To them it was no longer “a gap
in the belt of human habitation.”
The Teutonic blood evinced its trait of dogged persistence in the
settlement of the land. Acre after acre of the primeval woodland
was cleared and planted. Of the species indigenous to the new country
only maize and tobacco became rivals of the old-world culture plants.
We can picture to ourselves the rude farm lands of the first period of
settlement, with stumps scattered through the fields, charred and
blackened in many places by the firing of the fallen growth, with the
maize and the English grain springing up; the kitchen-garden of old-
world vegetables and herbs; the dooryard blooms—wallflower, daffodil,
marigold, larkspur, and other sweet, homely flowers brought from
across the sea; the young orchards with their seedling fruit trees or
newly set-out transplantings of peach, apple, plum and pear. Most
of the houses at this period were built of rough-hewn logs or sawed
planks, while some of the more pretentious were of stone or brick.
Peter Kalm, the Swedish traveler, has left us a picture of the country-
side about the Delaware in the middle of the eighteenth century, after
three quarters of a century of settlement. Speaking of the farms
near Philadelphia, he says in one place:
As we went on in the wood, we continually saw at moderate distances little
fields, which had been cleared of the wood. Each of these was a farm. These
farms were commonly very pretty, and a walk of trees frequently led from them
to the highroad. The houses were all built of brick, or of the stone which is
here everywhere to be met with. Every countryman, even though he were the
poorest peasant, had an orchard with apples, peaches, chestnuts, walnuts,
cherries, quinces and such fruits, and sometimes we saw the vines climbing along
them. The valleys were frequently provided with little brooks which contained
a crystal stream. The corn on the sides of the road, was almost all mown,
and no other grain besides maize and buckwheat was standing. The former
was to be met with near each farm, in greater or lesser quantities; it grew
very well and to a great length, the stalks being from six to ten feet high, and
covered with fine green leaves. Buckwheat likewise was not very uncommon,
and in some places the people were beginning to reap it.
A month later (in October) he writes:
Wheat was now sown everywhere. In some places it was already green,
having been sown four weeks before. The wheat fields were made in the English
manner, having no ditches in them, but numerous furrows for draining the
water, at the distance of four or six feet from one another. Great stumps of
the trees which had been cut down, are everywhere seen on the fields, and this
shews that the country has been but lately cultivated.
The “worm fence” appears to have been a feature of the farm
lands in Kalm’s time, at least in the middle and southern regions. He
comments at some length on the wastefulness of wood in the construc-
tion of these worm fences.
380 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
Considering how much more wood the worm fences require (since they run
in bendings) than other inclosures which go in straight lines, and that they
are sO soon useless, one may imagine how the forests will be consumed, and
what sort of an appearance the country will have forty or fifty years hence,
in case no alteration is made; especially as wood is really squandered away in
immense quantities, day and night all the winter, or nearly one-half of the year,
for fewel.
These rude forefathers of ours evidently had small concern for
future posterity. Wood they had in abundance and they burned it
without stint. The smell of the hearth smoke must have gone deep
into their veins and its subtle influence still evokes a sense of homeli-
ness in those of us who perchance have inherited some ancestral re-
sponse that makes for happiness quite as much as acres of standing
timber.
In New England the mantle of drift, that had been strewn over the
land by the melting of an ancient glacier, afforded abundant material
for the building of “ stone fences.” These old walls, beset with weeds
and briars, became the retreat of many of the smaller wild animals that
had been driven from their forest stronghold by the clearing of the
land. The fox still finds a friendly road in the cover of these bound-
aries, and the woodchuck, ensconced within some sheltering cranny,
whistles his shrill note of defiance against the harassing boy and dog.
The surroundings of a homestead very often reflect certain local
conditions. The picturesque “well-sweep” still survives here and
there in rural New England and its origin may possibly be traced to
the long pine pole of the region. The well-sweep also appears in the
pine wood tracts of the coastal plain in Delaware, and probably else-
where. In the middle Atlantic region the “spring-house” was an
early adjunct of the dairy. Many old spring-houses still linger
throughout this land, with crumbling roofs and weathered walls falling
slowly into decay while the rill trickles through, reminiscent of a time
when pans of creamy milk and bowls of yellow butter stood cooling in
its water. Ofttimes, in near-by spots, these rills and springs are choked
with a growth of the pungent water-cress. Modern separator machin-
ery has dispossessed the spring-house—only on some remote farm does
it still do service. Its passing is not altogether to be regretted, for
many women-folk fell early victims to the crippling rheumatism that
its damp walls engendered. Occasionally some poor family makes a
home in one of these abandoned structures, and this recalls a still
more interesting abode which one now and then happens upon in some
out-of-the-way district—an old log-house that has lingered on through
the changing years, a quaint reminder of the past. I know of several
such houses not many miles from Philadelphia. The spring-house
appears to be altogether local in its origin; the abundant springs and
rills along the hillside borders of wide meadow pastures inviting the
THE ATLANTIC FOREST REGION 381
building of such contrivances for keeping dairy products through the
hot spells of summer.
Many curious old-world customs and beliefs, into which various
natural objects entered, took root in the new soils though in a some-
what altered form to suit the changed conditions. Much of folk-lore has
always been concerned with the weather. Besides the ember-days there
was Candlemas with its superstition regarding the sunshine on that
day as a prognostication of the remainder of winter. In Germany, if
the badger saw his shadow it was an old belief that hard weather would
follow for some time. No badger appearing on the Atlantic slope, the
réle of weather prophet was conferred upon the ubiquitous woodchuck
or ground-hog whose honors are still fairly even with the weather
bureau. So prominent a bird in European folk-lore as the cuckoo ap-
pears to have had no representative in this country to take its place,
though we might regard the term “rain-crow,’ bestowed upon its
American congener, as a somewhat vague recognition of kindred quali-
ties. The art of the divining-rod in locating underground water
migrated across the sea with these early settlers, and for this purpose a
forked branch of the witch-hazel was used with as sure results, when
held by a gifted hand, as that of the elm, the hazel or the willow of
the old world. Unfortunately we can not trace the “witch” part of
the name back to any certain source in the craft of the broomstick, and
“ hazel ” is but a borrowed title. The shrub has much about it that is
peculiar. Among our American underwoods its late autumnal bloom,
at the fall of the leaf, and the ripening of its fruit in the next summer
are conspicuous and may have appealed to the mystery-loving mind of
the seventeenth century.
Superstition gathered about the strange whippoorwill and its weird
twilight call. The Indian peoples, too, seem to have regarded this
bird as one of omen and Catesby in his “ Natural History of Carolina”
quotes a piece of aboriginal folk-lore to the effect that the bird was
unknown to them until after a certain battle when a great many of
their people were slain by the Europeans, and that now the birds heard
calling in the dusk are the souls of their ancestors. Many fragments
of nature folk-lore sprang up in the new world from an old-world
transplanting, as to the belief that swallows spent the winter in the
mud of ponds and river, and other beliefs quite as curious which have
gone into the limbo of the forgotten past.
In parts of the country, notably in the middle Atlantic region, the
planting of plane trees (the sycamore or buttonwood) in the immediate
vicinity of farm houses appears to have been a wide-spread custom
under the belief that the tree warded off lightning. Whatever may
have been the reason for its planting, this tree, with its huge bowl
uplifting a crown of branches, and the striking color of its bark—white,
382 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
brown and gray in streaks and blotches—is one of the most conspicuous
features about the grounds of many old homesteads.
Ni.
Adventurous men who wandered beyond the Appalachian Moun-
tains into the Ohio country found, west of the Wabash River, the
forest giving place to open grassland or “ prairies.” These were great
meadows with little or no tree growth, save along the bottomlands of
rivers. The edge of the broad-leaved forest along this prairie border
thinned out into those scattered, open woods known to the early pio-
neers as “oak openings.” It may have been that this prairie country
was at one time more extensively wooded and its later deforested condi-
tion a result of the persistent burning of the undergrowth by the hunt-
ing tribes of Indians to increase the pasture area for the vast herds of
bison that roamed over the grass country of the Mississippi Basin.
The late Professor Shaler advanced this view some years ago, stating
that it was his belief that had the discovery of the continent been de-
layed for another five centuries much of the original forest to the east
would probably have been burnt off in this way and the land changed
into a prairie country. This burning of the woods seems to have been
a wide-spread custom in aboriginal times. William Wood, in his
“ New England’s Prospects,” speaks of it as follows:
For the Indians burning it [the ground] to suppresse the Underwood,
which else would grow all over the Countrey, the Snow falling not long after,
keepes the ground warme, and with his melting conveighs the ashes into the
pores of the earth, which doth fatten it.
Mention is also made of this custom by numerous writers at a later
period. Richard Smith,’ of Burlington, New Jersey, who made a sur-
vey about the headwaters of the Susquehanna and the Delaware, in the
spring of 1769, speaks of the appearance of these burnt tracts, and I
have been told on reliable authority that in the lower Delaware region
the Indians burned the tops and slopes of the hills, leaving the land
along the river bottoms untouched.
The clearing of land in the progress of settlement had the same
effect as the burning off of the forest—it virtually converted a wide
area of primitive forest-covered country into prairie, though inter-
spersed with tracts of woodland. Our pastures are in reality prairies
so far, at least, as their faunal and floral features are concerned. This
fact suggests a very interesting question. When the country was almost
entirely forest-covered, as in the period before settlement, what was the
manner of life of such plants and animals as now inhabit our fields and
meadow pastures? Were they originally forest-dwellers which have
altered their habits to meet the new conditions, or are they migrants
from the western prairie country? In the case of certain birds I think
that the last view embodies what has actually taken place. A large
2 Journal of Richard Smith,” edited by F. W. Halsey.
THE ATLANTIC FOREST REGION 383
number of plant species, however, which are characteristic of our pas-
tures and fallow fields, involves another point of view as to their
former distribution.
The aboriginal flora of the Atlantic slope was unquestionably com-
posed of shade-loving species. Kalm, in a very interesting and suggest-
ive paragraph in his “ Travels,” noted this fact as early as the year
1748. Save along the river marshes and seacoast, or in widely scat-
tered glades and beaver meadows throughout the forest region, there
was little encouragement to the growth of meadow plants as we know
them to-day. A striking fact in the distribution of our eastern flora
is the comparatively large numbers of species that have found their ~
way across the ocean from the shores of Europe and have become
naturalized in our fields. These immigrants are for the most part
“weeds ” which everywhere find congenial surroundings throughout
our cultivated lands, and like the human immigrants thrive apace.
They are rank growers of great fecundity and have gained an ill repu-
tation among the farmers. Some of them, as the big white daisy and
the buttercups, in out-of-the-way districts where the standard of farm-
ing is low, form the chief hay crop, and the daisy is said, by way of
extenuation, to possess milk-making qualities. The names of these
instruders are familiar to most of us, possibly more familiar to many
than those of native growth. Daisy, buttercup, toad-flax, mullein,
burdock, cockle-bur, dandelion, the common St. John’s wort, self-heal,
lamb’s quarters, field-sorrel, smartweed, and many more are among the
throng that early made a new home for themselves in the cleared land.
It is hardly likely that these same plants would have gained a foothold
had the land remained in its primitive forest-covered state, for they are
all light-loving species, thriving in the open expanse of fields. Many
indigenous species, as the Joe-Pye weeds or thoroughworts and the tick-
seeds and others of more or less moist habitats have undoubtedly
greatly increased their range since the days of settlement, spreading
out from river borders into the low meadow lands. One interesting
plant is unquestionably a rather recent migrant from the prairie coun-
try. This is the Black-eyed Susan or cone flower which has found its
way into eastern fields with clover seed brought from the west.
Doubtless it was in some such manner that the host of European
species that now adorn this land found a means of transit, for much grass
seed and grain was brought over by the colonists. Nearly all the grasses
of our fields belong to European species that have become naturalized.
The native grasses appear, for the most part, to have been annual
species that grew in the woods, at least in certain districts. Kalm has
an interesting observation on this point. While staying with the
Swedes at their village on the Delaware in the autumn of 1748 one of
the old inhabitants told Kalm that in his youth “there was grass in
the woods which grew very close, and was everywhere two feet high,”
384 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
but being an annual it was rapidly destroyed by the cattle, that were
turned into the woods by the settlers, before it had time to seed itself.
Kalm further remarks:
However careful economists have got seeds of perennial grasses from
England, and other Huropean States and sowed it in their meadows, where
they seem to thrive exceedingly well.
From the same writer it appears that the woods about this Delaware
region originally had a scant undergrowth, for he speaks of their open
character—“ so that one could ride on horseback without inconvenience
. and even with a cart in most places.”
It is a significant fact that most of the native wild flowers of our
Atlantic region, excepting those that grow along the river banks and in
wet meadows, are woodland species. We go to the woods to find our
early spring flowers—hepatica, bloodroot, the anemones, the may-
flower, dogstooth violet, saxifrage, bluets and spring-beauty. These
species probably acquired the habit of vernal blooming as a necessity
imposed by their forest life—unfolding their blossoms in the sunshine
of bare woods before the leafage cast its heavy shade. It is possible
also that the habit may be, in part, an inheritance from the glacial
time, the then short summer period of vegetative activity correspond-
ing with our present spring.* In certain groups of plants which are
eminently characteristic of eastern North America the larger number
of species are of woodland distribution. This is the case with the
golden-rods and asters. In glancing over these two groups one is
struck by the preponderance of species that are found in woods or
along wood borders. Those that grow in the more open lands, as in
fields, are for the most part either of northern or western distribution
or are inhabitants of moist soil districts, such as meadows and swampy
glades.
Every boy who has indulged a natural propensity to haunt the wild
and delectable spots of his neighborhood, to pursue shy birds and pry
into the secrets of their nests, knows that there are some birds that dwell
in the woods and others that make their homes in the fields. A student
of ornithology, likewise, soon learns that certain species of birds are
peculiar either to the woods or to the fields, and that the structure and
habits of life in each are in accordance with the nature of the sur-
roundings. Among eastern North American birds there are several
species of sparrows, as the vesper sparrow or grass finch, the savanna
and grasshopper sparrows, that are strictly grassland birds. The same
is also true of the meadow lark, the bob-white, the cowbird, the red-
winged blackbird, and the bobolink. These are all birds of open
grassland country.*
8“ The Origin of our Vernal Flora,” Harshberger. Science, Vol. I., p. 92.
New Series.
‘These remarks on the origin of our field birds appeared in an article by
the present writer under the title “ Birds of the Grasslands,” in the POPULAR
Science Montuty, February, 1893.
THE ATLANTIC FOREST REGION 385
The question naturally arises—When the region was one unbroken
forest, as in aboriginal times, where were the birds that to-day are
found only in our fields? Two answers appear possible to this ques-
tion. There may have been a radical change in the habits of these
birds since the first clearing of the land, or they may have come from
the western prairie region. This latter view, is, I think, the more
probable from the fact that all of the above-mentioned birds are found
throughout the prairies and on the Great Plains, or are represented
there by varieties which differ only in slight shades of color. The
three sparrows are widely distributed over the country, though the
savanna sparrow in its choice of localities is not so entirely an upland
bird as are the other two species, haunting marshes along the coasts and
river valleys as well as the higher open country. The familiar meadow
lark of our eastern fields is abundant throughout the prairie region and
is replaced on the drier western plains by a closely related form. The
cowbird is another species that is widely spread over the continent and
its habit of associating with cattle for the purpose of feeding upon the
flies that swarm about them suggests the question—whether this habit
was acquired since the settlement of the country, or did these birds
haunt the bison herds on the plains and begin to straggle eastward
after the cattle were introduced. The bobolink may have been a bird
of the river marshes throughout the Atlantic region long before the
discoverer set foot upon these shores, though from its wide range over
the interior valleys and prairie lands we might infer that it had come
east after the opening of the country. Similar conclusions could be
adduced concerning the red-winged blackbird, but it is a bird more of
-marshland than of upland fields. Certain shore birds seem also to have
taken advantage of the clearing of the country, as the killdeer and the
grass plover, both being frequenters of plowed and fallow land.
A remarkably interesting case is that of the black-throated bunting
or dicksissel. This bird is an abundant species in the glasslands of
the middle prairie region. In the time of the ornithologist Wilson,
and as late as the year 1880, it was not uncommon in certain localities
in the east. Since this latter date it seems to have entirely disappeared
from the Atlantic seaboard. For several years previous to that time
I knew of a few pairs of these birds which nested each spring in certain
fields of timothy and clover in the vicinity of Philadelphia. Their
disappearance from these localities was remarkably sudden and appar-
ently without reason, unless, as was suggested, it was due to the mowing
of the fields and the destruction of nests and young birds. The evi-
dence seems clear, however, that a part of the dicksissel population
spread early into the newly opened fields of the east and abandoned
them later, returning to their original prairie home.
In old, settled lands, as in England and the countries of western
Europe, bird life has in large measure adapted itself to the human
386 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
population. Its background is the domestic landscape—village, hedge-
row and park; no wide tracts of uncultivated land or of wilderness to
lure birds away. In America vast numbers of birds still sequester
themselves in wilderness solitudes undisturbed by men, and even in the
settled districts many of the more shy species find congenial haunts
in the depths of undergrowth some distance from habitations. On
the other hand, there are some like the grackle or crow blackbird, the
robin and the bluebird, the catbird, the chipping and song sparrows
that seem to prefer to dwell about the homes of men. Indeed, it is
quite true, that many of our native birds have found a certain advan-
tage in this affiliation with the human population, at least so far as the
food problem is concerned. The blackbird flocks that swarm over
the corn lands in early autumn have certainly not diminished, rather
have they increased, since the first days of settlement. The bobolink
has probably widened its range with the increased area of cultivation.
The crow, though a wary tenant of the farm lands, nesting and roosting
away from the haunts of men, is still a prominent figure in the land-
scape of agricultural districts. Many sparrows are gleaners in the
shorn fields and pastures, and about the barns and door-yards.
Orchards have become a favorite resort, affording an abundance of
food for numerous bird families. Great numbers of migrating birds,
especially wood warblers, follow the bloom of the fruit trees from
south to north in the spring to feed on the insects that infest the
buds and blossoms. Not so many years ago, before the larger cities
had entirely outgrown their earlier village character, the Baltimore
oriole wove its hanging nest here and there in some shade tree along
a busy street or in some city square or old town garden. Its rich
warble and brilliant color were truly a refreshing sound and sight in
the June days, a touch of the woodland life now rarely if ever to be
met with in the great overgrown centers of trade.
In England one is impressed with the abundance of individuals
among birds which have become dependent upon man and his work.
In America a process of adjustment is going on which will unquestion-
ably bring about a similar status in the bird population as more and
more of the wild land is cleared and cultivated. In the human history
of progress and discovery many delicately adjusted points in the balance
of nature are disturbed, entailing often complex and widespread
changes in the life and habits of the native fauna. Such changes as we
have pictured are small fragments in the history of a country, but
they possess great interest as showing how remotely and by what strange
means causes and effects operate. Man appears in a new land, clears
its face of timber and builds his home. By and by birds from the
distant prairie lands find their way into his fields. The swift forsakes
the hollow tree to build in the settler’s chimney, and the swallow leaves
the overhanging tree-trunk and rocky ledge for the shelter of the eaves
THE ATLANTIC FOREST REGION 387
and barn. The robin nests within handreach of the door-sill, and the
wren and martin, leaving their old homes in the forest to some wood-
pecker more lazy than his fellows, scold and quarrel for the possession
of any hole or box so long as it is near the dwelling places of men.
The effect of forest clearing and settlement on the larger wild
animals of the region was even more striking, since it caused their
rapid disappearance from the vicinity of cultivated land. The wild
animal life of the larger sort is always in inverse proportion to the
increase of an agricultural population. The indigenous fauna increases
in a land of aboriginal hunting folk of low culture, but decreases
swiftly and surely in contact with civilized men. Aboriginal man is
part of the fauna of a region. As a species he has struck a balance
with other indigenous species of animals and as such is a “ natural
race.” Like the lower animals the native man also vanishes from the
region of settlement.
Of the lower mammals which inhabited the Atlantic forest region
in aboriginal times the gray timber wolf was conspicuous, as all early
records relate. It has not entirely disappeared from the wilder tracts,
especially in the remote northern forest, even at this late day. The
bear still lingers in more or less security on the outskirts of settle-
ment, his vegetarian tendencies rendering him a far less formidable
animal than some of his former neighbors. Of these last the cougar,
variously known as puma, panther or “ painter,” was a desperate char-
acter and has been hunted out even from the more remote wilderness.
His relative, the bay lynx or wild cat, may still be met with in deep
mountain woods. Of the deer tribe, the common or Virginian deer
(“buck ” in the colloquial tongue) is fairly numerous in many parts
of the wild country, largely as a result of protection. The case of the
wapiti or “elk,” however, is different. This great deer at one time
dwelt along the wooded ranges of the Appalachians, probably in some
parts extending its migrations to tide-water (upper Chesapeake Rivers)
as witnessed by various local place names. The deep wilderness of
coniferous forest to the north, remote and little disturbed by Huropean
invasion, is inhabited by two species of deer—the moose and the caribou
—which are still fairly numerous. A difference in habits, as well as
in aboriginal distribution, may account for the persistence of these
two deer, as compared with the elk, in the Atlantic region. The
elk is gregarious by nature and in the early history of the country was
found in large herds, sometimes a hundred or more individuals, fre-
quenting the open beaver meadows and the timber of river bottoms
throughout the Appalachians. The moose and the caribou, on the
other hand, rarely associate in any considerable numbers and frequent
more inaccessible places, as tamarack thickets and the heavy growth
of spruce and birch woods.
At the time of the discovery, and possibly long before, the bison
388 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
or buffalo had extended its range eastward into the region about the
headstreams of the Ohio and Tennessee and there is evidence that an
occasional straggler had even reached the upper valleys of streams
flowing into the Atlantic. Remains of the animal found in caves and
deposits in several localities testify to this eastward extension of its
range in pre-Columbian times. The word “buffalo,” occurring as it
does in certain place-names of an early date throughout the middle
Atlantic region, offers further evidence as to the one time presence
of the animal in these localities, and there is at least one well-au-
thenticated notice of its having been killed in central Pennsylvania
as late as 1790.5
Of the smaller animals many, like the beaver and the otter, have
disappeared, though the latter animal is still rarely seen here and there
on remote streams, even in the settled districts. The beaver formerly
built its dams and lodges in many of the streams throughout the
forest region and traces of its occupancy may still be found in certain
woodland meadows as well as in various place-names. Other species
seem to have suffered little if any diminution, as the fox, skunk,
mink, woodchuck, musk-rat, the raccoon and opossum, while rabbits
and squirrels multiply apace. These have all in part adjusted them-
selves to the new conditions, many of them thriving at the expense
of the agriculturist.
VI
A tract published in London in the year 1634 under the title
“ New England’s Prospects,” by William Wood, contains among other
interesting and curious observations the following concerning the
American weather :
The North-West wind coming over the Land is a cause of extreme cold
weather. . . . But as it is an Axiome in Nature, Nullum vwiolentum est
perpetuum, No extremes lasting long, so this cold winde blowes seldome above
three days together, after which the weather is more tolerable, the Aire being
nothing so sharpe, but peradventure in foure or five dayes after this cold
messenger will blow afresh, commanding every man to his house, forbidding any
to outface him without prejudice to their noses.
This is a capital description of the average winter climate of eastern
North America, dominated as it is by the constant succession of high
and low pressure areas moving eastward across the country. William
Penn in like manner writing from Pennsylvania says—“ the weather
often changeth without notice, and is constant almost in its incon-
stancy ”—which, as John Fiske remarks, is “an excellent description
of nearly all weather in the United States, except on the coast of
California.”
Many of these early tracts on the colonies were what might be
® Rhoads, “ The Mammals of Pennsylvania and New Jersey,” page 47. Also
Proceedings of the Academy of Natural Sciences of Philadelphia, 1895, p. 224;
and 1897, p. 207.
THE ATLANTIC FOREST REGION 389
styled in the slang of to-day “land boomers.” “New England’s
Prospects ” was one of these, and it drew a comparison at the expense
of the Virginia region with the hope, no doubt, of inducing families
to come over and settle. Wood says:
Virginia having no winter to speak of, but extreame hot Summers, hath
dried up much Hnglish bloud, and by pestiferous diseases swept away many
lusty bodies changing their complexion, not into swarthiness, but into palenesse:
so that when as they come for trading into our parts, wee can know many of
them by their faces. . . . In New Hngland both men and women keepe their
natural complexions, insomuch as seamen wonder when they arrive in those
parts, to see their country-men so fresh and ruddy.
In another place the same writer says:
The hard Winters are commonly the fore-runners of pleasant Spring-times
and fertile Summers, being judged likewise to make much for the health of
our Hnglish bodies.
There has been considerable speculation on the subject of climatic
influence in the moulding of an “ American type.” The moist climate
of England presents a marked contrast with the drier continental winds
of the region east of the Rocky Mountains, and a certain change in the
physical type, since the settlement of the country is undoubtedly a
fact. Unfortunately, however, there are no exact data and we are still
left in the lurch with only our theories. No doubt the American
atmosphere by virtue of the “cold wave” possesses a higher electrical
potential and a more drying effect upon the tissues than does the
atmosphere of Great Britain and western Europe. This may increase
nerve tension, though it is by no means clear in just what way the
American climate has altered the European type. The different effect
of landscape, which is largely a matter of atmosphere, must have in-
fluenced the European mind in some degree, at least in accentuating
the idea of greater expanse. The contrast between the sky of England
and that of America assuredly is most striking. The English sky
has the appearance of being less wind-swept, and the sunshine has the
quality of having been sifted through cloudy vapors much more
obviously than the sky in America. This has the effect of softening
or toning down the outlines of the typical English landscape, at the
same time making the sky seem more imminent. In the American sky
there is less of this apparent nearness; more of what Lowell would call
the “emancipating spaces.” These landscape and sky effects, at the
same time exist largely in the eye of the beholder. It seems to be a
habit of mind to interpret the facts of nature in terms of one’s own
sense impressions—to see things, as it were, through temperamental
glasses.
The early settlers found spring invading this new land—creeping
up river valleys, touching the meadows and woods with its young
green—and the farmer still finds spring invading this homeland of
the Atlantic slope through the valleys of the Susquehanna, Delaware,
390 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
Hudson and Connecticut. Spring is always appreciably earlier in
such places. It spreads later over the uplands. We are apt to think
of our rivers as flowing eastward to the ocean, when in reality they
flow almost directly southward. This is true, at least, of the more
northerly rivers—the Connecticut, Hudson, Delaware and Susque-
hanna, and of the larger rivers flowing into the Gulf of Maine, as the
Kennebec and the Penobscot. South of the Chesapeake the rivers do
come more directly from the west.
The physical basis of this advent of spring is the northward move-
ment of a definite line of heat (the isotherm of 43.8 degrees F.) that
calls into germinal life the slumbering forces of vegetation, awakens
the hibernating animal and urges the. migratory bird to seek its
northern nesting place. An expanding zone of green marks this
creeping of the vanguard of spring up river valleys, over hill country
and along mountain slopes until all the land is invaded and the frost
giant driven back to his hyperborean realm. In woods almost the
first touch of spring is seen when the branches of the spice-bush break
out in yellow blossoms. In fields, at this time, the plow is turning
over the fallow and the air is redolent of earthy smells. In gardens
the sod-breaking crocus and daffodil appear along the squalid, unkempt
borders. From meadow pools comes the piping chorus of cricket frogs.
Crows are brooding in remote woodlands, and the grackle flocks and
robins have returned. This is spring as we know it on the Atlantic
slope to-day and as our fathers knew it after the first planting of the
wilderness.
Spring waxes into summer and summer wanes into autumn and
after the gorgeous pageant of the leaf has passed there steals over
this land a time of strange stillness. A haze, like the farthest waftings
of some distant forest smoke, broods over the landscape, veiling its
features and filling the responsive mind with a vague sense of mystery.
There is a mellowness of sight and sound; all that was harsh and dis-
cordant seems now blended into one harmonious tone by the enchanted
haze. All too soon these few delightful days are dispelled and we stand
upon the threshold of winter. This charming period, coming in
November, has been called the Indian Summer. The reason for its
name is not obvious. It suggests remoteness, like some old Celtic
tale, and there are those of us who would fain think of it as a heritage
from the aboriginal past. Students who have investigated the matter
will scarcely credit such vain imaginings, but however the name may
have come, it is surely most happily associated with a dreamy spell of
weather in the late days of the American autumn.®
Vil
The influence which this threshold of the new land had upon the
mind and character of the people is perhaps more apparent than are its
8“ The Term Indian Summer,” a pamphlet by Albert Matthews, Boston.
THE ATLANTIC FOREST REGION 391
purely physical effects upon the tissues. It is reflected in many char-
acteristics. As a matter mainly of feeling it finds expression in litera-
ture; as a motor response, in the working out of ideals and in material
progress.
A sense of spaciousness, of being untrammelled by close-set bound-
aries, had worked upon the imagination of the people. More than
anything else was the idea of expanse in the vast extent of territory
that lay to the west. The motor response to this feeling found ex-
pression in that great westward movement of population into the rich
bottomlands and fertile prairies of the Mississippi Basin. Men had
caught the inspiration on the threshold, amid the homely farm-lands
and clearings, and in the growing towns with their semblance of Euro-
pean culture. Here on the threshold they felt the stir of a new life
and moved under its impulse. Daniel Boone, standing on the bluff
edge of Muldraugh’s Hill and gazing out over the vast primeval forest
that lay at his feet, is the prophetic figure of that time; a figure with its
face ever turned toward the west.
The earliest feeling for the natural objects and scenery of the
American land that found expression in literature appears in the
stories, essay and verse of such writers as Cooper, Irving, Bryant and
Thoreau, and in the journals of travelers and naturalists. In the
“ Episodes ” which Audubon interspersed through his “ Ornithological
Biography,” and often, indeed, in the descriptions of various birds, we
find portrayed many scenes of the early American background.
Thoreau was steeped in the natural features of New England and the
fascination of his books is largely in the local color which he reflects
through his peculiar personality. To a less extent both Emerson and
Lowell have reflected this home environment of the Atlantic slope.
Cooper’s “ Novels” emphasize the frontier life as it existed on the
western edge of the threshold—the typical “ backwoods” period in cen-
tral New York and the northern Appalachian region. Washington
Irving, for all his indebtedness to a long residence in England and to
Addisonian sources, found the inspiration for much of his best work in
the Hudson Valley and. the Catskills. English poets and writers had
set the nightingale, the skylark and the cuckoo forever singing in the
hearts of men. Irving, harking back to his boyhood days, im-
mortalized the bobolink, “the happiest bird of our spring.” William
Cullen Bryant, in like manner, gave literary value to many objects
of native growth. To lovers of that English literature that found
expression in the new homeland the “Fringed Gentian” and the
“Yellow Violet ” will hold an equal place in the heart with the “ rathe
primrose” and “daffodils that come before the swallow dares.”
Bryant was under the spell of the aboriginal spirit of the land, and the
haunting mood of the ancient wilderness appears in many of his verses.
In his poem, “ The Prairies,” he has given voice to that sense of dis-
392 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
tance, of vast stretches that lay “ twice twenty leagues beyond remotest
smoke of hunter’s camp,” far beyond those prairies that he was tra-
versing and where he found the bison’s “ancient footprints stamped
beside the pool.” Whittier, too, has left us pictures of the land—the
farm life of a New England winter in “ Snow Bound,” and the bracing
air of an upland road with its late summer bloom of golden-rod in
“ Among the Hills.”
The most sympathetic verse of our native poets is in these touches
of nature; that nature that wrought upon their childhood on hillside
farms, in the woods and fields, and by the streams of the land that
their fathers first set foot upon—the threshold of a new home.
LATIN VS. GERMAN 393
LATIN VS. GERMAN
By Prormssor RALPH H. McKHE, Pu.D.
LAKH FORDST COLLEGH
(ae arguments have from time to time been presented favor-
ing a rule requiring all students to present Latin for entrance
to college, rather than to place the ancient and modern languages
on an equal footing. The following very suggestive data were
obtained from the records of Lake Forest College, Lake Forest, IIl.,
and presented to the faculty of that institution. In the thought that
others might be interested they are now publicly presented, though
with some hesitation, owing to the comparative smallness of the number
of students under observation, the class entering each year being
ordinarily about fifty-five.
Greek and French being but rarely given in the high schools of
Illinois and the adjoining states, the question actually comes to a
question of German vs. Latin.. It was thought that, by a study of the
data available from the college records, evidence of the comparative
value of the two languages, as now taught in the high schools, might
be obtained. ‘The statistics have given an answer showing that German
is unquestionably as desirable as Latin as a requirement for entrance
to college.
1. It has been claimed that the student with Latin preparation for
college does better work in college than the student whose high-school
language preparation has been German.
The records of Lake Forest College show that in so far as grades
indicate the quality of work done in the various departments and that
is the purpose of giving grades they show that the student, whose
language preparation for entrance has been German presents work of
fully as good quality as that of the student whose language preparation
has been Latin.
If Latin were really better than German for preparation for col-
lege entrance, then the students of Group 1 would have the highest
grades, the students of 2A higher than 2B and 2C, and the students
of 3A higher than 3B and 8C. ‘The facts are exactly contrary to the
above, the students whose language preparation has been German
proving to be better students than those who have presented Latin for
college entrance.
2. It has been claimed that the study of Latin is particularly valu-
able as a preparation for work in English, far better than the modern
languages.
VOL. LXxv.—26.
394 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
TABLE I
ENTRANCE RECORDS AND GRADES FOR ALL STUDIES FOR THE YEARS 1903-07
No. Percentage of Each Grade Obtained
Group Years at Entrance Stu-
dents; A B Cc D E
i 4 Latin and 0, 1, 2, 3, 4 other
languages. ie. J.-csccssse-eseeccesnces 102 34.6 | 42.7 | 21.0] 1.0 0.6
2A. | 3 Latin and 0, 1, 2, 3 other lan-
PUALES.csocts sccveaaucewceeeeceeseeee 31 33.2 | 38.5 | 26.5 | 1.1 0.7
2B. | 3 German and 0, 1, 2, 3, 4 other
language sc cocssses-coesdeseseee sec 20 33.1 | 43.4 | 231 | 04 | —
2C. | 3 German and 0, 1, 2, 3 other
TaN PUA SO ceo cexenccnenc eeepc eee 10 41.2 | 43.2) 155 | — —
3A 2 Bae and 0, 1, 2, 3 other lan-
WAG Ox. ceva. kevencgsscdeceasmeertheces 46 25.4 | 45.5 | 249 | 23 1.9
3B. | 2 Ganea and 0, 1, 2, 3, 4 other
language: .cc-.cs<ceeoseseeneceepee ee 57 39.1 | 37.3 | 20.7); 14 | 1.
3C. | 2 German and 0, 1, 2, 3 other
laniounge. uch se eee 29 | 392| 341| 230| 19 | 19
TABLE II
GRADES OBTAINED IN THE DEPARTMENT OF ENGLISH (1903-07)
Percentage of Each Grade Obtained
At Entrance
A B Cc D E
4 Years, Single Language
A Veatiniesine cca aeseebauccenuewousecsaceeonotee 31.4 45.9 | 18.5 14] 2.8
ASGerman, lvcsccsescecusserectseaaceeeeeeee 25.0 41.6 | 25.0 8.3 | —
4 Years, Two Languages
3 Latin and 1 German...............0+00+ 12.5 12.5 | 62.5 | 125) —
2 Latin and 2 German. ..............0.000- 22:2 37.5 | 32.5 5.0 | 2.5
1 Latin and 3 German..................6+- No students
5 Years, Two Languages
4 Latin and 1 German......... ........... 30.2 39.5 | 23.3 7.0) —
2 or 3 Latin and 3 or 2 German........ 43.5 43.5 | 13.0 —| —
6 Years, Two Languages
4 Latin and 2 German................++- 47.1 40.0 | 12.9 —|—
3 Latin and 3 German.................... 60.0 20.0 | 20.0 —| —
2 Latin and 4 German................0+0+- No students
TaBLE III
No. Percentage of Each Grade Obtained
Group Years at Entrance Stu-
dents A B Cc D E
1A. | 4 Latin and 0, 1,2o0r3 German...| 93 34.6 | 42.5 | 19.6 | 2.3 1.0
1B. | 4 German and 0 Latin? ............ 2 25.0 | 41.7 | 25.0 | 8.3 —
2A. | 3 Latinand0,1,2o0r3German...| 26 26.0 | 42.0 | 28.0} 2.0 2.0
2B. | 3 German and 0, 1, 2, 3 Latin...| 20 25.0 | 42.3 | 30.8] 1.9 —
3A. | 2 Latin and 0,1, 2,3 German...| 38 20.2 | 45.2] 31.0] 2.4 1.2
3B. | 2German and 0, 1, 2, 3, 4 Latin 54 31.0 | 45.1 | 204] 1.8 1.8
3C. | 2 German and 0,1, 2,3 Latin ...| 26 29.3 | 39.7 | 24.1 | 3.4 3.4—
1There were only two students in each of these three groups, so they should
be omitted in any generalization. However, it may be noted that in their effects
they balance each other.
LATIN VS. GERMAN 395
It is thus seen that with an increase of language preparation there
is an increase in the quality of the work in English, but that in so far
as there is shown a difference between the value of German and Latin
the advantage is with German.
Grouping the students’ grades in English (1903-1907) after the
method used when the grades of all departments were considered (Table
I.) we have:
It might be questioned whether in group 3B the considerable num-
ber of students who have had 2 years’ German and 4 years’ Latin might
not be responsible for the higher English grades. Omitting those
with 2 German and 4 Latin we have group 3C in which it is seen that
the percentage of high grades is changed but little and is still far better
than the corresponding Latin group 3A.
It is thus plain that, in so far as our experience gives light, and
contrary to the old superstition, a year’s German helps a student’s work
in English more than a year’s Latin.
3. Is the student whose language preparation for college is German
as likely to persevere until graduation as the student whose language
preparation has been Latin?
The classes of 1907 and 1908, as given in the last catalogue, were
taken for study. Of these students the entrance records of 45 were
available, the others having entered from other colleges, etc. At
entrance these two classes numbered 95.
CLASSES oF 1907 AnD 1908
Years at Entrance. Years at Graduation.
Average per Student | Average per Student Ber Centyincress’
Matin’. ccs -choscostovescse 2.83 3.04 7.4
Germany cs nesses sw seet 1.04 1.31 26.0
From Lake Forest’s experience we must conclude that the student
whose high-school language preparation has been German is more
likely to stay through the college course than the one whose language
preparation has been Latin.
4, It has been claimed that the students from the better class of
families study Latin rather than German. It is hard to characterize
just what is meant by “ better class of families.” Perhaps the financial
condition represents this as correctly as any one criterion that may be
used for measurement.
The scholarship lists for last year and this year include a total of
80 names, duplicates not counted.
Latin German
Average entrance credits, scholarship students ....... 2.96 1.04
Average entrance credits, all students last five years .. 2.91 1.16
396 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
In other words, the more Latin and the less German a student has
the more likely he is to need financial assistance.
6. It has been claimed that there are not enough students in the
high schools studying German, who are not studying Latin, to dis-
tinctly increase the number of possible college students.
The Lake Forest records show that the amount of Latin per stu-
dent is not increasing, but that the amount of German is steadily in-
creasing.
Students Bates Lake Total Number AR SKAES qatin per Average Hernan per
1903-4 53 2.93 1.01
1904-5 42 2.69 1.15
1905-6 57 3.21 1.33
1906-7 59 2.97 1.19
1907-8 58 2.65 ie
The United States Commissioner of Education’s Reports show that
the proportion of students taking Latin is not increasing while the pro-
portion taking German is increasing faster than that taking any other
subject.
Letters of inquiry to the high schools in the larger towns of Illinois
and the adjoining states show that with them the proportion studying
German rather than Latin is even larger than is given in the United
States Commissioner of Education’s Report for those states, the small
high schools being included in the Report as well as the larger ones.
Letters from other colleges where the languages are placed on an
equal footing for entrance show that a considerable proportion of their
students, particularly men, enter without Latin. (The colleges where
the languages are placed on an equal footing are nearly all in the north
central states. )
President Hughes, of Ripon College:
We have eighty freshmen. Thirty-six offered Latin for entrance require-
ments. Forty-four did not offer Latin.
President Plantz, of Lawrence University:
This year we have 173 freshmen, of whom 63 presented Latin as an
entrance credit. I think the number presenting Latin is steadily decreasing.
Registrar Densmore, of Beloit College:
Of the class entering in September, seventy-eight had Latin credits and
sixteen were without Latin credits; of the latter the large majority were men.
In general, a large proportion of the men enter without Latin. I do not think
that we feel that the policy of taking in these men has lowered the standard
of the institution.
Registrar Hiestand, of the University of Wisconsin:
I think I may safely place the number of students with part or full Latin
preparation, entering the College of Letters and Science, as between 60 and
70 per cent.
LATIN VS. GERMAN 397
Registrar Pierce, of the University of Minnesota:
We have 548 freshmen in the College of Science, Literature and the Arts,
and 131 did not present Latin for admission.
Lake Forest, while nominally requiring four years of language, two
of which must be Latin, has actually not attempted to enforce the re-
quirement of Latin, but instead has, for a number of years, placed
the ancient and modern languages on a parity. By this action of its
entrance board in allowing students to enter with other languages in
place of Latin the above comparisons have been made possible. It is
possible, though quite improbable, that the students under observa-
tion at Lake Forest were exceptional and that conclusions drawn from
their records are not capable of general application. It would be very
valuable, if in a community where a modern language is taught in the
high school to an extent approximating that of Latin (for French,
Massachusetts or New Hampshire; for German, Wisconsin, Minnesota,
Pennsylvania or New York), a large institution, where the languages
are on a parity regarding entrance, would present similar records.
398 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
THE LAST CENSUS AND ITS BEARING ON CRIME
By Ture Rey. AUGUST DRAHMS
CHAPLAIN OF THE STATE PRISON, SAN QUENTIN, CAL.
ee latest published report of the criminal census of the United
States, recently issued, gives an aggregate prison population of
81,772, five hundred and fifty-seven less than a like report for the
previous decade ending with the year 1890.
By states the figures present an equally exceptional showing, un-
explainable upon the basis of any known law of criminal variation.
Thus, among the foremost states that have shown an actual increase
in the number of offenders, we have Kansas, 58.2; West Virginia,
50.6; Florida, 40.7, and Washington, 26.6. Twenty of the states,
many of them under similar civic, social, climatic and economic con-
ditions, register a marked falling off in the number of such defalcants,
notably, New York leading with an actual decrease of 1,606; followed
successively by North Carolina, 848; Illinois, 756; Arkansas, 589;
Tennessee, 454; Alabama, 450; Arizona, 359; Missouri, 40, and Cali-
fornia, 43 prisoners. |
The above showing as a whole, would seem to indicate upon the
surface a healthy diminution in crime within the last ten years, es-
pecially when we consider the fact that the general population of the
country has increased during the same period 29.84 per cent. and the
criminal status had grown steadily during every previous decade, as
set forth by those reports successively, that of 1880, for instance,
showing an increase of 78.14 per cent. over that of the previous re-
port; while that of 1890 gives us 40.47 per cent. over that of 1880.
The cause assigned for this apparent falling off in crime, however,
is set forth in the body of the report as due to the introduction and
spread of the probationary system by which the more youthful, and
first offenders, are placed under suspended sentences dependent upon
good behavior under proper supervisoral care appointed by the court,
a wise tentative measure, not without its faults, but infinitely superior
to the unconditional detention of this class of offenders at the risk of a
still greater immurement in crime at the most impressionable period
of their existence.
As to the actual number thus passing under probationary methods
we have no way of knowing save from the records of the courts them-
selves, but they must necessarily be considerable and help to swell
materially the general criminal record.
LAST CENSUS AND ITS BEARING ON CRIME — 399
Moreover, a large number of offenders are now sent to the juvenile
reformatories who were heretofore included in the jail and peni-
tentiary population, the number in 1890 being 14,846, while in 1904
they had grown to 32,034, an increase of 55 per cent.
These both represent decided movements in advance in the pen-
ological systems of the land, approaching more nearly a rational proc-
ess in the line of treatment and certainly more in accord with the
best thought in tentative methods. At least it has this advantage
over the old process in that it may cure while the latter is sure to
solidify irrevocably into criminal characterization.
A curious study in the variation of the criminal psychological
wave that sweeps over the land, is afforded in tracing the rise and fall
of the various grades of offences throughout the different geographical
divisions of the United States. A wide divergence in the ratio of the
same offences is thus presented with apparently slight differentiation
in the social, climatic or economic conditions as manifestly operating
causes.
Commencing with grand larceny, which may be considered as a
representative type of crime as standing for attack upon property,
and we have a wide divergence in the criminal barometer. That form
of offence constitutes about 16.8 per cent. of the general bulk of
offences in the United States. It finds its lowest manifestation at
12.4 per cent. in the North Atlantic Division, reaching its highest
point at 27.1 per cent. in the South Central, and its medium at 15.9
per cent. in the extreme Western Division. In the report of ten
years previous it found its maximum in the Western at 61.7 per cent.,
and its minimum (as at present) in the North Atlantic Division at 24
per cent.
Assault, which may stand for the primitive (atavistic) form of
crime in attack upon the person, and we have the lowest in the North
Atlantic (5.5 per cent.), and its highest in the South Atlantic at 14.9
per cent. Burglary seems to be the least frequent in the North At-
lantic (3.0 per cent.) and most rife in the South Central, where it
reaches 11 per cent.
Robbery, the more aggressive form of mixed offenses, contrary to
general acceptation, is least rife in the Western Division (1.2 per
cent.), and most prevalent in the South Central (18 per cent.), other-
wise maintaining a remarkable uniformity throughout the other geo-
graphical divisions. In the report of the previous census it reached
its climax (13.6 per cent.) in the Western Division. The same may
be said of forgery and rape, the latter reaching its apogee in the
South Central Division (1.0 per cent.), as against a lesser showing
(.05 and .03 per cent., respectively), in the other divisions.
Homicide, the atavistic element in the criminal test, runs its en-
400 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
sanguined thread through the North Atlantic Division at the rate of
-04 per cent.; in the South Atlantic, 4.3 per cent.; in the North Cen-
tral, 1.4 per cent., and 9.2 per cent. in the South Central, while the
“wild and woolly west,” contrary to the generally accepted reputation,
gives us but 1.5 per cent. of homicides. It has improved in this re-
spect since the date of the previous census (1890) which assigns to
that section 27.8 per cent. and to the South Central 22.7 per cent.
against its present 4.3 per cent.—a marked veering in the mercurial
tendency accountable upon no known law in criminal anthropology.
EERGE NINE or CRIMES To PoPULATION BY ae Division.
32
DRUNKENESS
The total number of homicides in the United States for the year
1904 is given at 10,744, as against 7,351 in 1890, an increase of over
20 per cent. during that period.
As a general rule, the excess of given offences in the southerly
divisions is due to the preponderance of the negro element, 67 per
cent. of minor offences being attributable to whites, and 83.8 per
cent. to the negro race.
Among minor offences drunkenness adds its quota of interest
to the general perturbation, oscillating from 5.0 per cent. in the South
Atlantic to fever line in the North Atlantic Division at 32.3 per cent.,
and falling to blood heat at 21.6 per cent. in the North Central,
thence to 3.8 per cent. in the South Central and gradually tapering off
the mathematical debauch in 6.3 per cent. accredited to the Western
Division.
The variation in crime in this respect is no indication of the fre-
quency of the offence, however; it rather reflects the public policy of
the given section as expressed in the manner and form of the punish-
ment for this particular offence. There is no special table of the ex-
isting habits of the prisoners enumerated, hence no way of reaching
LAST CENSUS AND ITS BEARING ON CRIME 401
any approximate conclusion upon the basis of facts. The census of
1890 gives 23.38 per cent. drunkards among its aggregate prison popu-
lation, after deducting the number whose habits are “not stated.”
Drunkenness is the prevailing habit of criminal offenders, fully 50
per cent. of crimes being due to that habit in this and European
countries, perhaps 20 per cent. of the crime in this country being
actually committed in the saloons themselves, which are the hotbeds
of the criminal propaganda.
The great bulk of crime in the United States, proportionately, is
upon the side of the foreign-born population. Succinctly stated,
the 13 per cent. of the whole population, representing the foreign-born
element, commit 23 per cent. of the crimes in the United States.
Precisely the same ratio was reported by the census of 1890. The
parentage of this foreign-born element aggregates 29.8 per cent., with
a mixed parentage of 6.9 per cent. as against 63.3 per cent. of native-
born. The leading nationalities thus represented are Ireland, 36.2
per cent. out of a representation of 15 per cent.; Germany, 12.3 per
cent. out of 25 per cent.; Canada, 10.1 per cent. out of 11.4 per cent.,
and England and Wales, 9.2 per cent. out of 9.10 per cent., of the
whole population. As to the more recent arrivals, the Italians furnish
6.1 per cent., with 3.5 per cent. of Russians, and 3 per cent. of Poles.
This foreign element is not indigenous to the soil, but belongs to old
world criminalism, a form of accretion that does not help swell, but
diminishes, proportionately, the list of the country whence it comes.
It is characteristic of no other country in making up the criminal con-
sensus.
A careful study of the statistics of the various states show un-
equivocally the vital relation crime sustains to the two great negative
centers of the social disease, viz., ignorance and want. As to illiter-
acy, that relation is not so apparent in the present as is usually shown
by the reports of local institutions. Of the 144,597 committals for the
year 1904, 83 per cent. were literates, and 12.6 per cent. were given
as illiterates, and 4.3 per cent. not stated. The total percentage of
illiterates in the United States was 10.7 per cent.
The occupation of the prisoner is more suggestive. Over 47 per
cent. of the white offenders belonged to the laboring classes and serv-
ants, and but 3.5 per cent. to the professional and clerical order,
while 27 per cent. were credited to the manufacturing and mechanical
trades. Among these, it is observable, the professional (to the extent
of 2.1 per cent.), and the agricultural portion (to the number of 23.4
per cent.), were more addicted to major than to minor offences, while
the laboring classes and servants were more prone to the lesser than
to the graver forms, the temptations to the latter being much less in
rural districts than in the cities. The largest proportion of offences
402 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
against the person is found in the rural sections (34.2 per cent.),
while those against property predominate in the professional (40.9
per cent.) and the clerical and official (49.8 per cent.) ranks.
These figures present material for the politico-social and economic
philosophers, with whom it is left to discover the true points of causal
relations and to trace the relative virulence of the social disease as it
approaches those great active centers where the struggle for existence
grows constantly more intense. In short, the want line focuses the
brunt of battle, and here, whatever specific form it assumes, the overt
act (that constitutes crime) is most pronounced whether manifested
under the world-old principles of greed against need, or in the more
purely sporadic form, in either case the burden of the attack may be
said to be committed by those who stand nearer the want end of the
economic problem, hence the solution must fall more largely to the
social and economic phases of the question.
No clear understanding of the criminological problem from either
a concrete or academic standpoint is possible without a table of re-
cidivists. This has been omitted from the twelfth census. It renders
it valueless to the student of crime. The recidivist table is a method
by which we may roughly measure (approximately) the bulk of the
criminal aggression and presents the only stable criterion upon which
anything like a reliable estimate of the force of the criminal disease
may be based with any degree of certainty. Upon its figures alone —
both the protective and corrective agencies may be’ said to operate
with perfect safety. The repeater has earned his place in the crim-
inal category by inherent right. Recidivism is the classification in
the rough by which he is assigned sui generis. The generalization
may be crude and not always fair, but it presents the only rule possible
under the circumstances. The subtler psychological conditions that
underlie human conduct escape utterly any and every analytical proc-
ess. Every attempted classification upon the basis of accredited con-
duct must of necessity be but crudely inductive, but it is the only
feasible method whereby to differentiate the true criminal from the
offender by circumstance.
The latter may not repeat the same act under similar conditions,
his inhibitory powers coming to the rescue, the former is almost cer-
tain to do so, owing to their lack, or total absence. It is the demarca-
tion between the instinctive and accidental malfeasant. The separa-
tion may waste some gold in the process, but in the main the method
is correct. At any rate, it is necessary to a complete understanding of
the criminal problem and the tentativeness of criminal and corrective
measures. It clarifies the former and helps to simplify the latter.
The first offender represents an invasion upon the healthy social
tissue; the recidivist stands for the already diseased. hence their
LAST CENSUS AND ITS BEARING ON CRIME 403
treatment implies essentially different methods; to the one proper
remedial initiatives under wise supervisoral care; to the latter a simple
process of sequestration under practical life detention.
The latter cuts off at a single blow the fountain of criminal propa-
gandism, protects both society and the offender himself, and is the
sole remedial dispensation against the infection. If for no other
reason than this, tables that present the problem in clear numerical
proportion are a great gain from both a theoretical and a practical
standpoint, and its omission is at the expense of both. A marshalling of
figures is like the marshalling of an army, it contains the potentiali-
ties of victory or defeat, though in the absolute these may be de-
termined by subtler factors.
404 THH POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
SIMPLE LESSONS FROM COMMON THINGS
By Proressor FRANCIS HE. NIPHER
WASHINGTON UNIVERSITY
eee has long been a feeling which is still more or less strongly
pronounced, that matter is not worthy of very serious attention
from mind. Some have had the feeling that matter was the source of
all our woes. Although all conscious beings are embodied in masses
of matter, it was thought to be a prison-house which seryed mainly to
quench those higher feelings to which we should aspire. The world,
the flesh and the devil were all put in one class, and we were advised
to have as little as possible to do with any of them.
In the meantime there have been many who have given their
undivided attention to the study of the material things which surround
us, and with which we must deal. The chemist and the physicist have
undertaken to study the structure and the composition of matter. And
the more minutely it has been studied, the more wonderful does it seem
when it is considered as a specimen of engineering and architectural
construction. We were formerly told that the varied forms of matter
which surround us were composed of a comparatively few elementary
substances, each of which was composed of particles called atoms; that
these atoms were all alike for the same substance, and that they exist
everywhere as far as the astronomer can penetrate, into the infinite
space which the stellar systems occupy. To give some idea of the size
of these atoms as determined by the army of men who in various ways
have indirectly measured their dimensions, Lord Kelvin made this
illustration. If a rain drop were increased in volume, until its volume
equaled that of the earth, the molecules of the substance being propor-
tionately enlarged, the water molecules would then be larger than fine
shot, and not larger than cricket balls. -
But during the last decade another great step has been taken. A
study of radioactive substances has shown that the atom itself is a
structure of wonderful complexity. A radioactive substance is one
whose atoms explode into their more elementary constituents. There
are a number of substances which do this, radium being the most con-
spicuous of the group. Hach of these substances yields one kind of
corpuscle or particle which is common to them all. Hach atom is com-
posed in part of minute particles having a mass of about one thousandth
that of the hydrogen atom. These particles have apparently been iden-
tified as negative electricity. They constitute what Franklin called the
SIMPLE LESSONS FROM COMMON THINGS 405
electric fluid. They are a component of every atom of every kind of
matter. We have only to rub any two unlike pieces of matter together,
and one of them takes this negative fluid from the other. The piece of
matter which has lost the electric fluid is said to be positively electrified.
One question before us to-day is this: Should not this positively electri-
fied matter be called positive electricity? It seems certain that there
is no positive electrical fluid, and that there is no positive electrical
current. What we have been calling the negative current is then the
real current. It flows through our trolley wires and lights our cities.
In other words, it seems very probable that all matter is composed of
a combination of positive and negative electrical particles.
St is also certain that the positive and negative electrons are by no
means simple in their structure. They are in some way linked with
each other through the agency of the ether of space, and can act upon
each other at a distance.
This may seem very complex and it may seem to be a complete over-
turning of the atomic theory of matter. In fact it is not in any sense
an overturning of any theory of matter. The chemist still deals with
atoms and combining ratios, and he will continue to do so.
If a house builder should suddenly learn that the bricks which he
uses are not the final elements in his houses, it would in no way disturb
him. The fact that his bricks are composed of molecules, and these
molecules of atoms, and these atoms of negative and positive electricity,
would in no way change his professional practise in the design of houses.
The fact that we now find that every atom of any kind of matter is nor-
mally the abiding place of a certain definite number of negative elec-
trons, each having a mass of about the one thousandth of that of the
hydrogen atom, does not make these atoms behave differently from what
they did before.
The fact that atoms of certain substances are exploding and giving
off energy is no more remarkable than the fact that nitroglycerin and
limestone behave differently. It is no more remarkable than the fact
that some houses fall to pieces and give off energy. And it is in no
way unexpected that an advance in our knowledge of matter has vastly
increased the complexity of our conceptions of its structure. The phe-
nomena around us with which we are in a certain sense familiar are by
no means simple. For example, let us assume that some stranger from
the regions which Dante described should now visit our earth, after an
absence of thousands of years. When he was here before he dwelt in a
cave. He sees our houses and he observes that empty houses attract
homeless families. He tries to explain how this attraction is to be
accounted for. He becomes acquainted with Newton’s law of gravita-
tion and he at first thinks that this is the clue which he is seeking. He
soon learns that the size of the house has little to do with the attraction
406 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
which makes a family move into it. He is satisfied that houses do
gravitationally attract people, but this is not in any way the attraction
which produces the observed motion. He finally learns that it is the
architectural features and the internal arrangement of the houses, and
the landscape features immediately about the houses, which appeal to
the minds of the people. Being a philosopher, he straightway forms
an explanation which involves the existence of a mental field of force,
emanating from these conscious beings, and laying hold of these archi-
tectural and other characteristics of the houses. Next he finds that
ether waves are involved in the phenomenon. ‘The people must see the
houses before the attraction begins. This involves the existence of an
all-pervading ether through which waves due to molecular agitation on
the sun may pass. These waves, which we call light waves, fall upon
these houses. From thence they pass into the eyes of the people, where
they form images of the houses. The people do not see these images
in the same sense that they see the houses, but in some unknown way
these images make it possible for them to become conscious of those
things, which determine for them the attractiveness of these houses.
It is through this complex train of machinery that the mental action
is aroused, which results in this mental attraction. But this is not all.
There must be involved in this transaction a transfer of the value
equivalent of a certain number of foot-pounds of mechanical work pre-
viously done. The value equivalent of this work is produced by the
family about to move into the house, and is delivered to the former
owner who has moved out. This value equivalent of work is delivered
in the form of a definite quantity of some valuable substance, as gold.
He next finds that this transfer may also be made, by means of written
entries on the books of two banks, through the agency of a check, which
passes through the clearing house. By this means a credit to one cus-
tomer at one bank is transferred to another customer at another bank.
This value equivalent of work previously done exists potentially in the
form of credit at a bank, and its quantity may be increased or drawn
upon, as energy itself may be stored in a pond of water, which may be
drawn upon to drive a mill.
The average citizen will tell you that we do not know what elec-
tricity is, and that the sending of wireless messages, and the driving of
our street-cars, are operations which are full of mystery. But it never
oceurs to him that there is anything mysterious about the attraction
which empty houses have for homeless families. He would think it
wonderful that a balloon could be controlled by wireless methods, from
a station on the earth, but it would never occur to him that there was
anything remarkable about one conscious being influencing the outward
action of another conscious being, by talking to him or by looking at
him. We are surrounded on every hand by phenomena which we think
SIMPLE LESSONS FROM COMMON THINGS 407
too commonplace to deserve a moment of our attention, and which we
are, nevertheless, utterly unable to understand. In a crude way we can
understand the machinery of sound waves. We can see the action of
the vocal organs, by means of which they are produced. We can learn
something of the nerve fibers of the ear upon which these sound waves
fall. But what else is there at the two ends of this line of action?
What is there within these two masses of matter, which enables either
one of them to hold wireless communication with the other?
Let us assume that we are wholly familiar with the motion of each
molecule of air involved in the sound waves; that we are able to make
drawings of all the delicate modulations of muscular motion which are
involved when the organs of speech produce these sound waves. Our
drawings are to show precisely how these motions of the vocal organs
are different, when English words are spoken with Irish and with Ger-
man accent. Our knowledge is to be similarly complete concerning the
receiving apparatus at the hearing end of the line. We trace these
motions finally along nerves leading to two brains at opposite ends of
the line. We may assume that we know all of these structures and
their motions in the most minute detail. What do we then know of the
phenomenon that one conscious being, embodied in a mass of matter,
may determine or influence the thoughts and actions of another con-
scious being, by formulating thoughts in words, and delivering them to
him through the air? How are we to explain the fact that he can plan
and deliver a sentence, which will, unknown to the receiver, change the
frequency of his heart beats?
He may even do this by sending to him through the mails a sheet of
paper upon which he has made certain marks in ink. On the enclosing
wrapper are certain other marks, images of which, by means of ether
waves, are formed on the retinal membranes of clerks in the post office.
By such means the muscular motions of these clerks are determined.
The letter is delivered to the particular person whom the sender had
in mind.
When the receiver of this paper has also allowed ether waves from
these ink marks and the paper which bears them, to fall upon the nerves
of his retinal membranes, ne knows the mental attitude of the man who
sent that paper. He makes some computations. He does some think-
ing. And, by the way, what is doing some thinking? He makes a
response to the wireless message. The result is a mental agreement
between two minds. A check and a deed of transfer of title to property
are drawn, and are exchanged, and a family moves from one house to
another.
What would the former cave dweller think of these amazing phe-
nomena? I venture to assert that this transaction is vastly more com-
plex than any electrical action. The man who talks of the mysteries of
408 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
electricity and who can not discover anything mysterious about the
operations on the floor of a business exchange is in need of a mental
shaking.
Tt is useless for us to attempt to answer such questions as, what is
electricity? Or, what is a conscious being? Or, what is hydrogen?
We can only answer such questions in unknown terms. But we have
learned much about all of these things. Whether we consider matter
in the minutest details of its structure or in the larger fields into which
the telescope and the spectroscope have led us, we find the same array
of wonders. How many of those who talk to us of the work of the
Creator have the faintest idea of what those words mean? Have all
of these electrons, and atoms and molecules and worlds and stars and
stellar systems been created ?
We are dependent on molecular vibrations on the sun for the con-
ditions which make life possible. That heat energy which we receive
from our sun will finally fail. The sun will become cold. The earth
will freeze. Our atmosphere will become liquid and finally solid. The
stars are also going through the same history. Their heat is also being
continually radiated into space. The operation is like that of a clock
which has been wound up and is running down. There must have been .
a beginning, and there will be an end, in cold and universal night.
Now and then two dead stars may collide and vaporize into a nebula.
This nebula may finally become a planetary system which may become
the habitation of conscious beings; but it will go through the same
history. And the number of bodies capable of colliding and forming
world systems will have been reduced by one. To be sure, the probabil-
ity of the occurrence of such collision happening during a given time
interval will diminish continually, but there will evidently be an end
of the present order of things. The results of recent work on the
phenomena of radioactive bodies make it probable that the beginning of
life on this earth may be much farther back in time than was formerly
supposed. The heat which has been radiated from our earth has been in
part supplied by the energy of these atomic explosions. It may be that
the temperature of our sun may be thus maintained for a longer time
than was formerly thought possible. But such considerations do not in
any way change our ideas concerning the nature of the operations
which are going on. Here also, in these radioactive bodies we find a
store of energy which is being continually drawn upon. It is manifest-
ing itself finally as heat which is being continually radiated into space.
It may be that we must place a higher estimate than was formerly
thought necessary upon the vast store of energy which the visible uni-
verses of to-day have possessed in the remote past. It may be that the
work of creation was greater than we have supposed. It may be that the
end is more remote than we now think. But even if we assent to the
ee ae
a Se
SIMPLE LESSONS FROM COMMON THINGS 409
conclusion that in theory the end is in the infinite future, it seems cer-
tain that so far as the possibilities of human life are concerned there
will be an end. When a battery circuit is closed, the equations show
that the current never reaches the value which Ohm’s law demands,
although it continually approaches that value. Practically it reaches
that limiting value in a very small fraction of a second, and this result
is also in exact harmony with the equations.
Consider the mechanical work that would be required, to take the
stellar universes of to-day, as raw material, in the condition to which
they are tending, and put them in the condition in which they now are.
To take a minute sample of this work of creation: let us assume
that the moon were in tangential contact with our earth. How much
work would be required to separate them to their present distance from
each other? A very simple calculation shows that to do this amount of
work would require a million steam engines, of a thousand horse-power
each, working continuously for between fifteen and sixteen million
centuries.
Each molecule of matter is composed of a swarm of minute par-
ticles and the chemist has never been able to detect any variations in the
composition of molecules of the same material. Hach molecule is a
complete closed system, vastly more complex than our planetary system.
What shall we think of the work which is involved in the creation of a
system of stellar universes, so vast that the human eye can never hope
to see any limit to its extension in space, and composed of particles
existing in endless duplication, which are so small that the human eye
can not hope to see them?
And we must add to these wonders of the material world, the still
greater mysteries which are involved in life and consciousness. We may
devote a lifetime to the study of these things, and we shall then feel
how insignificant is our knowledge of these revelations which we are
continually receiving. And we are more and more impressed with the
feeling that a being capable of producing such results, must differ in
many respects from an oriental despot. We may become more and more
inspired with a feeling of profound admiration and wonder, as we think
on these things which our eyes behold. But we can not feel that such
a being is anxiously seeking for flattery and praise. If we were to
seek by such means to secure from him personal favors which we do not
deserve, we should be paying him a very doubtful compliment. Such
methods are not even considered proper at our city hall.
The highest type of man of which we can conceive is one who does
not deserve any credit for shunning iniquity or for doing the works of
righteousness. He does not refrain from murder in order to escape
the gallows and the lake that burns with fire and brimstone. He never
feels any temptation to commit murder. He does not murder and he
VOL. LXXvV —27
410 THH POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
does not steal, because he is neither a murderer nor a thief. Society
does not need to surround him with policemen in order that he may
be led to conclude with some reluctance and regret that honesty is the
best policy! And when he goes about doing good, when he helps the
fatherless and the widow in their affliction, he is not doing such deeds
in order that he may secure to himself personal advantages in the nature
of titles to valuable celestial properties. He thinks not of himself when
his brother calls for help. He has within him the instincts of a gentle-
man. ‘They were born in him. ‘They have been bred into his very
bones. These instincts prompt him to respect the rights and property
of others, and to lend a hand when others need his help. He is ready
to do his part in providing the children who are living amid brutal
surroundings, with those influences which will inspire them with
admiration for that which is pure and good and manly.
The highest type of man of which we can conceive deserves no more
credit for being what he is, morally, than he deserves credit for having
a white skin. It is precisely this which makes him a man of the
highest type. He does not need to waste his strength in resisting
temptation to do wrong. When we come to consider the character of
the Creator of these wonders, which so far as we know find their highest
expression in the human race, on this little insignificant earth, we can
not think of him as claiming or deserving any credit for being what he
is, or for doing what he has done.
We can not think of him as having been sorely tempted to do wrong
and having resisted the temptation. We can not think of him as
having struggled into his present position, under adverse and discour-
aging conditions, in a manner which entitles him to praise. We can
not think of him as an oriental despot, who demands -praise of his
creatures, most of whom have never studied physics or astronomy or
chemistry or biology, and who are therefore unable to properly appre-
ciate the wonders which surround them on every hand.
We have, however, made progress, and we can all see that the pos-
session of such knowledge as we possess, by the masses of the people,
during those dark and brutal periods of religious intolerance, would
have made impossible those bloody quarrels over questions to which we
give not the slightest thought.
SIMPLE LESSONS FROM COMMON THINGS
4II
THE PROGRESS OF SCIENCE
THE WINNIPEG MEETING OF THE
BRITISH ASSOCIATION FOR THE
ADVANCEMENT OF SCIENCE
Tuer British Association has in re-
cent years taken seriously its imperial
Twenty-five years ago it first
The
duties.
met outside the British Islands.
step was not taken without long con- |
sideration and considerable opposition,
but the meeting in Montreal in 1884
proved remarkably successful, no fewer
than 910 members crossing the sea.
In 1897 the association met in Toronto,
and after an intervening meeting in
South Africa in 1905, it has now for
the third time visited Canada. The
registration of members at Winnipeg
was about 1,400, of whom about 500
erossed the Atlantic and about 150
came from the United States. The at-
tendance at meetings of the British
Dr. A. E. SHIPLEY,
of Cambridge University, President of
the Zoological Section.
Association is always greatly increased
| by local and visiting associate members
who join for the year from interest in
the general and social events or from
public spirit. The meetings of the
British and American associations are
of about the same size, but there is a
noticeable difference in the composition
of the membership. In the case of the
| British Association there are a large
number of amateurs dominated by a
few leaders, whereas at the annual
meeting of our association and the
affiliated societies the average working
man of science is the main factor.
This appears to represent a typical
difference between an aristocracy and a
democracy, for though Great Britain
may be in its government more demo-
cratic than the United States it re-
tains its social aristocracy.
Dr. ARTHUR SMITH WoopWaAnpD,
of the British Museum (Natural His-
tory), President of the Geological
Section.
412 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
Dr. T. G. BONNEY,
Professor Hmeritus of Geology, University College, London, President of the
British Association for the Advancement of Science.
THE PROGRESS OF SCIENCE
Dr. E. H. STARLING,
of the University of London, President
of the Physiological Section.
It is certainly a remarkable fact that
with a much smaller number of work-
ing men of science than Germany or
the United States, Great Britain is
able to produce so many great leaders.
Lord Rayleigh was president of the
Montreal meeting twenty-five years ago
and Lord Kelvin president of the see- |
It
tion for mathematics and physics.
might be supposed that Great Britain
could not again furnish two physicists
of the same class, but at Winnipeg Sir
J. J. Thomson presided over the asso-
ciation and Professor Rutherford over
the section, both recipients of Nobel
prizes and commanding the course of
modern physics.
Thomson
referred first to the local conditions
of the meeting and the great develop-
In his address Professor
ment of Manitoba, reminding his hear-
ers that even the enterprise and energy
of the people and the richness of the
country could not have accomplished
this without the resources coming from
the labors of men of science. After
educational prob-
lems, including the dangers from the
discussing certain
| intimately
AT3
examination system and early special-
ization, the speaker reviewed the more
recent developments of physics and the
new conception of physical processes
he himself has been so
concerned. As he aptly
said in his concluding sentences: “ The
with which
| new discoveries made in physics in
the last few years, and the ideas and
potentialities suggested by them, have
had an effect upon the workers in that
subject akin to that produced in litera-
ture by the Renaissance. Enthusiasm
has been quickened, and there is a
hopeful, youthful, perhaps exuberant,
spirit abroad which leads men to make
with confidence experiments which
would have been thought fantastic
twenty years ago.”
Professor Rutherford naturally chose
for discussion one of the subjects in
the newer physics with which his own
work—largely carried on in a Canadian
university
ly, the present position of the atomic
theory and the values of certain funda-
Before the
has been concerned, name-
mental atomic magnitudes.
Sir WILLIAM HENRY WHITE,
formerly Director of Naval Construction
of the British Navy, President of
the Engineering Section.
414
chemical section Professor Armstrong
covered a wide range of topics.
charges Ostwald with filling his test
He |
tubes with ink; but he himself writes ©
some 35,000 words, going at times con-
siderably beyond the ascertained facts
of science, as in discussing “ the revolt
THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
SCIENCE AND ADVENTURE
REACHING the North Pole and flying
across the British Channel are sporting
events of the first magnitude. They
stir the imagination and unite the
‘whole world in healthy interests and
generous enthusiasms.
of women against their womanhood.” |
Dr. A. 8. Woodward before the geolog-
ical
topics and the old age of races largely
in the light of American discoveries.
Professor A. E. Shipley opened with
some references to Charles Darwin,
discussed methods of organizing zool-
ogy, with its 600,000 known species,
and concluded with a discussion of in-
ternational oceanic research. Sir W.
section treated paleontological |
H. White treated the engineering en- |
terprises and commerce of Canada and
Great Britain. Professor E. H. Star-
ling applied physiology and biology to
sociological questions. Addresses of
equal interest were given before the
other sections and at four general
meetings, the speakers in practically
all cases emphasizing those aspects of
science which are likely to hold the
attention
those who are not professionally en-
gaged in scientific work.
As always, the excursions and social
events were arranged in a way that it
does not seem possible to rival in this
country.
appropriated $25,000 and the city of
Winnipeg $5,000 toward the expenses.
It is only necessary to mention the
excursion to the Rocky Mountains and
the Pacific coast with 150 invited
guests. When the association met at
Montreal 300 English members attend-
ed the Boston meeting of the American
Association, but there does not appear
to have been this year any concerted
effort to bring the foreign men of sci-
ence south of the Canadian border.
The Rev. T. G. Bonney, the eminent
geologist, professor emeritus in Uni-
versity College, London, was elected
president of the association for the
meeting to be held next year at Shef-
field.
and affect the conduct of | ay ;
tion and it is unfortunate that patri-
The Canadian government |
iby man
They may also
be regarded as achievements of applied
science. Thousands of workers in the
laboratory and in the field have made
possible the adventures whose culmina-
tion fills the daily papers. To “nail
the stars and stripes to the pole,” as
Commander Peary cabled, or to win
for France “imperishable glory ” by a
flight from Calais to Dover is not in
itself a serious contribution to science.
But these achievements exhibit in
dramatic form the conquest of nature
which science has accom-
plished. Perhaps the only facts of
considerable scientific interest so far
announced in the case of the “ dashes ”
to the pole are Dr. Cook’s statement
that he discovered land in the extreme
north and Commander Peary’s sound-
ing which proved that the sea at the
pole is over 1,500 fathoms deep. Jn
the main the appeal is to the imagina-
otic enthusiasm has been checked by a
certain amount of skepticism in regard
to Dr. Cook’s exploit. It is certainly
unfortunate that Commander Peary
should have so expressed himself.
From the time of Herodotus it has
been the fate of travelers to have their
stories questioned. It is to be hoped
that Dr. Cook’s records may prove
entirely definite, so that all doubts
may be cleared up. In any case the
pole has been reached, and the way has
been cleared for scientific exploration
in the arctic and antarctic regions.
THE POSSIBLE POPULATION OF
THE UNITED STATES
In the last issue of the Monruiy
Professor A. P. Brigham discusses the
capacity of the United States for pop-
ulation and places the maximum num-
ber of people that can be supported by
our resources at 305,000,000. In an
THE PROGRESS OF SCIENCE
earlier volume of the Montuiy (No-
vember, 1900) President Henry S.
Pritchett predicted a population of
over a billion two hundred years hence
and of about twelve billion six hundred
years hence. We may agree with Pro-
fessor Brigham that “population is a
vast and wandering theme.” It is,
however, fascinating and not without
practical interest. Emigration laws
and even birth rates are not unaffected
by such guesses as may be made.
The population of a country is in the
main limited by the food supply. Man
does not live by bread alone, but his
higher needs are increasingly supplied
by an increasing population. With a
given stock and a given environment
the number of men of genius who add
to the social heritage is proportional
to the population. Material supplies
other than food are needed, but they
are not likely to become exhausted.
Metals and clays are inexhaustible;
the increasing difficulty of obtaining
them will surely be met by improved
methods. Metals—also wood and even
the materials of clothing—can be used
over and over again should this become
desirable. Fuel, like food, is con-
sumed, but the sun’s energy is bound-
less and means are already at hand to
obtain all that may be needed. It is
safe to say that the population of the
earth is limited only by its food supply.
The area of continental United
States apart from Alaska is, in round
numbers, two billion acres, of which
one half is in farm lands and one
fourth under cultivation. Probably
three fourths of the total area could
be brought under intensive cultivation
and made to give fifty bushels of corn
per acre or its equivalent. The food
value of a bushel of corn is sufficient
to support a man for nearly a month,
and the product of an acre would about
support four men for one year. If one
half of the grain were turned into ani-
mal food for human consumption, two
men per acre could be fed and the
country would support a population of
3,000,000,000. Apart from the possible
415
synthetic manufacture of food, it may
be regarded as probable that improved
agricultural methods will in the course
of a century double the present maxi-
mum productivity. It should also be
remembered that tropical lands are far
more productive and under an ideal
civilization would export food and im-
port manufactures. The maximum
population that might be supported in
the United States may, a century
henee, consequently be placed at about
ten billions.
Such a maximum figure compares
with a probable figure somewhat as
the theoretically possible efficiency of
a steam engine compares with its ac-
tual efficiency. But a population of
one billion could be supported com-
fortably. Our present food supply
feeds about a hundred million. Better
methods would double the production
from the area at present under cultiva-
tion and less wasteful methods would
halve the consumption. If the area
under cultivation were increased from
25 per cent. to 62.5 per cent. there
would be food for a billion people.
Allowing for a reasonable exchange
with tropical countries and an ever-
increasing efficiency in production such
a population would have an ample food
supply with a reasonable amount of
meat and fruit and even as much alco-
hol, tobacco and coffee as may be de-
sirable for health. Such a population
would not mean in any sense living
under the conditions of the Asiaties.
The more dense the population within
the limits stated, the greater would be
the per capita wealth. Nor will the
country be crowded. Doubtless most
of the people would prefer to live in
villages or cities and for the quarter
that might prefer the country there
would be thirty acres for each family.
What the actual population of the
United States will be a hundred years
hence is a very different question. In
a state of nature the number of 4
species may be reduced by enemies or
disease, but as a rule they are limited
only by the food supply. But with
416
man a change more significant than
any other in history has taken place
within the last fifty years. Thanks to
the applications of science, the food
supply is ever increasing; but the sup-
ply of children decreases in an ominous
manner. The population of a country
is no longer limited by the food supply,
but by a conflict between instinct and
rationalism, and by physiological fer-
tility under the conditions of modern
civilization. It is not likely that the
population of any country will ever
again be so large as its food supply
would support.
SCIENTIFIC ITEMS
WE record with regret the deaths of
Professor Emil Hansen, the eminent
physiological botanist of Copenhagen,
and Dr. Otto von Bollinger, professor
of pathology at Munich.
Dr. C. M. GarieL, professor of med-
ical physics at Paris, has been elected
president of the French Association for
the Advancement of Science for the
meeting to be held next year at Tou-
louse.—At the celebration of the fifth
centenary of the University of Leipzig
some ninety honorary degrees were con-
ferred, including a doctorate of medi-
cine on Professor E. B. Wilson, of
Columbia University, and doctorates of
philosophy on Professor Jacques Loeb,
of the University of California, and
Professor A. A. Michelson, of the Uni-
versity of Chicago.—At its recent cele-
bration the University of Geneva con-
ferred one hundred and fifty honorary
doctorates. Among the men of science
included were Lord Lister, Professor
Haeckel, Professor Ostwald and Pro-
fessor Engler.
_ Proressor R. C. ALLEN, of the Uni-
versity of Michigan, has been elected
state geologist to succeed Mr. A. C.
Lane, who resigned to accept a chair
in Tufts College —Dr. Juan Guitaras
has consented to remain director of
sanitation and chairman of the Na-
tional Board of Health for Cuba, in
THE POPULAR SCIENCE ores s
‘versity of Cincinnati.
Neary ba oe ae i
for the work of the department
sanitation—Dr, E. D. Durand, t!
the appointment of experts in statisties
economics, agriculture and manv
tures to cooperate with him in
formulation of the census schedules |
which the enumerators will enter the
information they obtain next April.
The conferees on the agricultural —
schedule are: Dr. J. L. Coulter, in
the University of Minnesota; Dr. |]
C. Taylor, professor of agricult
economics in the University of |
ae
Wuite the British are reorganizing
the College of Medicine and the Tech-
nical Institute at Hong Kong into a
university, the Germans have estab-
lished a school of university grade at —
Kiao-chau. It is said that the Germ:
government has appropriated $160,000
for its establishment and will con-
tribute $50,000 annually for the sup- —
port of the institution—The assemb
of Iceland has decided to establish
university at Reikjavik, with four
faculties and sixteen professors and
lecturers.
By the will of Cornelius C. Cuyle
the New York banker and a trustee |
Princeton University, $100,000 is be
queathed to Princeton University. T
residue of the estate, which is said ~
after the death of Mrs. Cuyler —The Re,
council of the city of Cincinnati has a
appropriated the sum of $576,000 to
erect three new buildings for the Uni- —
- The Future of Astronomy.
CONTENTS OF AUGUST NUMBER
Professor EDWARD C,
PICKERING.
The Future of Mathematics, Professor G. A. MILLER,
The “Druid Stones’ of Brittany. Professor J. S,
KINGSLEY,
The Origin of the Nervous System and its Appropria-
tion of Effectors, Professor G, H. PARKER.
The Variational Factor in Handwriting. Dr, JuNEE,
Downey. :
Jane Lathrop Stanford. President DAvIp STARR
JORDAN.
Life from the Biologist’sStandpoint. Professor WILLIAM
E, Ritter.
Josiah Willard Gibbs and his Relation to Modern Science.
Dr, FIELDING H, GARRISON.
The Progress of Science:
The Death of Simon Newcomb; The Darwin Com-
memoration; The Winnipeg Meeting of the British
Association ; Scientific Items,
|The Popular Science Monthly
Dntered in the Post ane in Lomoaster, Pa., as second-class matter.
CONTENTS OF SEPTEMBER NUMBER
Capacity of the United States for Population. Pro-
fessor ALBERT PERRY BRIGHAM,
Peale’s Museum. Dr. HAROLD SELLERS COLTON.
The Theory of Individual Development. Professor
FRANK R. LILLIE.
The Origin of the Nervous System and its Appropri-
ation of Effectors. Professor G. H. PARKER.
Another Mode of Species Forming. LUTHER BURBANK:
Henri Poincaré and the French Academy. M. FRED-
ERIC MASSON.
Collecting and Camping Afoot. A.S. HitcHcock.
The Necessity for an International Language, Dr,
Ivy KELLERMAN.
What is a Living Animal? How much of it is alive?
Dr. A. F. A. KING.
Abandoned Canals of the State of New York. ELy
VAN DE WARKER,
The Progress of Science:
Tennyson and the Science of the Nineteenth Cen™
tury; The Reminiscences of Sir Francis Galton;
The Eugenies Laboratory of the University of
eencens The Inheritance of Vision; Scientific
ems
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MONTHLY.
NOVEMBER, 1909
THE SHIFTING OF THE EARTH’S AXIS
By Dr. SIDNEY DEAN TOWNLEY
STANFORD UNIVERSITY
ae HE earth has two principal motions, one of revolution about the
sun, the other of rotation upon an axis. The revolution about
the sun is accomplished in 3654 days at an average speed of nineteen
miles per second, or thirty-three times the speed of the swiftest modern
projectile. The rotation upon its axis is accomplished in twenty-four
sidereal hours, and since the equatorial circumference of the earth is
nearly 25,000 miles, a point on the earth’s equator has a speed of rota-
tion of over one thousand miles per hour.
In form the earth is an oblate spheroid, a flattened sphere, and the
axis about which it rotates coincides very nearly with the shortest axis
of the body. If a plane be passed through the center of the earth
perpendicular to the axis upon which it rotates, not perpendicular io
the shortest axis, this plane will cut the surface in a circle which is
known as the equator. One of the two coordinates by which the loca-
tion of a place on the earth’s surface is designated is its distance north
or south of the equator—measured in degrees, not in miles—and this
coordinate is called latitude.
Let the small circle-at the center of Fig. 1 represent a section of
the earth through the plane of any meridian and the large circle the
line in which this plane extended cuts the celestial sphere, supposedly
at an infinite distance, P’P” being the direction of the axis upon which
the earth rotates and CH the line in which the plane of the equator cuts
the given plane. Let O be the place of observation and NS the line in
which a plane through the center of the earth parallel to the horizon
plane at O cuts the plane of the meridian. According to the definition
the arc EO is the latitude of the place O and it is easily seen from the
figure that this are is equal to the corresponding arc on the sky LZ,
VOL. LXxv. 28.
418 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
the declination of the zenith—declination being defined in a way
exactly similar to latitude, 1. e., the angular distance of a point on the
sky north or south of the celestial equator. Latitude is usually desig-
nated by the Greek letter ¢@ and it may be seen from the figure that a
third definition of latitude is the angular distance of the celestial pole
above the horizon—the altitude of the celestial pole.
Many methods of determining latitude have been devised, some of
them coming down to us from the ancient Chaldean and Egyptian
astronomers. The simplest method is to measure the altitude of the
sun at noon on the day it passes through the equinox. On that day,
the sun will cross the meridian at the point H’, and its altitude will then
be 90° — ¢, as may be readily seen from the figure. A rough value of
Fig. 1.
this angle may be obtained by measuring the shortest shadow of a
vertical stick on a level piece of ground on the day of the equinox. The
height of the stick divided by the length of the shortest shadow is the
tangent of the complement of the latitude.
If the earth be considered a rigid body and the axis upon which it
rotates be fixed within the body of the earth, the latitudes of all places
upon its surface will remain always the same. If, however, the axis
should shift its position within the earth, then the equatorial plane,
which must be always perpendicular to the axis, must shift and conse-
quently the latitudes of all places on the earth’s surface must change
accordingly.
It is well established that, at least during historic times, no changes
of any considerable magnitude have occurred_in the latitudes of places
on the earth. It has long been suspected by astronomers, however, that
SHIFTING OF THE EARTH'S AXIS 419
minute changes of latitude were taking place, but it is only during the
last quarter century that the methods of observation and calculation
have reached that degree of refinement necessary to detect these small
changes.
Tn 1884 and 1885 Dr. Kiistner, astronomer at the Royal Observatory
of Berlin, made a series of observations upon certain stars for the pur-
pose of determining the constant of aberration—the maximum apparent
displacement of a star due to the finite ratio between the speed of the
earth in its orbit and the velocity of light. One of the quantities used
in the reduction of these observations is the latitude of the place of
observation. Dr. Kiistner found his results to be discordant, much
more so than he had good reason to believe that they should be from
the known care and precision with which the observations were made.
Upon investigation it was found that these discrepancies could be
almost entirely explained away by assuming a change in the latitude.
Dr. Kiistner, therefore, in 1888, made the bold announcement that the
latitude of the Berlin Observatory had changed during the period over
which his observations extended.
This announcement aroused wide-spread interest and steps were
immediately taken by the International Geodetic Association: to test
the reality of the announced variation. ‘Through the cooperation of
the observatories at Berlin, Potsdam, Prague and Strassburg, observa-
tions for latitude were begun in 1889 and carried on continuously for
over ayear. ‘These observations agreed in showing a minute but appre-
ciable change in the latitude. In order to test the matter still further,
an expedition was sent in 1891-2 to Honolulu, and observations for
latitude were made there simultaneously with others made at the
observatories just named. As Honolulu is on the opposite side of the
earth from Europe, it is seen at once, from Fig. 1, that if the latitude
were increasing at the Huropean observatories a corresponding decrease
_ should be shown at the Honolulu station. The results came out as
expected and this was generally accepted as a complete demonstration
of the reality of this phenomenon. Fig. 2 gives a graphical representa-
tion of the results, time being measured along the horizontal and lati-
tude along the vertical line.
The observations thus far made showed that the changes in latitude
were periodic in character, that is, the latitude of, any place would
increase for a certain length of time and then decrease to a minimum
value and so on, continuing to oscillate between certain limits. It is
easily seen that such changes in the latitude of any place may be
1The International Geodetic Association has its headquarters at Potsdam,
Germany, and is supported by the principal governments of Europe, the United
States, the Argentine Republic and Japan. It carries out pieces of geodetic and
astronomical work which are international in their scope.
420 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
:
LILA
, : i 1392 5
Hat Junt Juli August September October Novenber December Januar Februar Marz April. Mai Juni
“wnt 9 3 3 0 2 8 19 8 20 TRIE ORE 2 ew @ 8 8 eS
oa &
et a 2 vy 6 6 es Se
Fic. 2. The upper figures denote the number of stars observed, the lower
figures, the number of days on which observations were made.
explained through the assumption of a revolution of the axis of rotation
about the shortest axis of the earth, or the axis of figure as it is called.”
In Fig. 3 let PP, be the axis of figure and P’P,’ the position of the
axis of rotation at a time when P and P’ lie in the meridian of the
place of observation O, and let H’H,' be the line in which the plane of
the equator cuts the meridian plane of this place. If now the axis of
rotation is given a motion of revolution about the axis of figure, then
when one half a revolution has been completed the axis of rotation will
be in the position P’P,’, the equator line will have shifted to H”E,”,
and the latitude of the place O will have changed from H’O to E”O,
the whole change in the latitude, H’H” being 2i, or twice the angle
between the axis of figure and the axis of rotation. After a complete
revolution of the axis has been accomplished the latitude of the place
O will again be E£’O and it will oscillate between the maximum value
E'O and the minimum value #’O. ‘The reader should bear in mind
that the figure is grossly exaggerated, the actual value of the angle 1
being less than one half of a second of arc. If the angle 1 remains
constant and the axis of rotation revolves about the axis of figure with
a uniform speed then the place of observation will apparently swing
back and forth in its meridian through an are equal to 21. If the
2The usual statement of the problem is the converse of that just given, that
is, that the axis of figure revolves about the axis of rotation, but the effect is
the same, provided the distance from O to the end of the shortest axis remains
constant, and for purposes of illustration the above statement of the problem
seems simpler. The direction of the axis in space remains nearly fixed, but its
position within the earth is not fixed. *
SHIFTING OF THE HARTH’S AXIS 421
values of the latitude be plotted along a vertical line and time along
the horizontal, we shall obtain the representation of a simple harmonic
motion, the crest of the wave corresponding to a maximum value of
the latitude and the trough of the wave to the minimum value.
About the time of the expedition to Honolulu, Dr. Seth C. Chandler,
of Cambridge, Mass., one of America’s foremost astronomers, took up
the subject of the variation of latitude and through a brilliant series of
Guess
researches, published in the Astronomical Journal, succeeded in setting
forth a number of very ‘interesting results. Dr. Chandler examined
all the astronomical observations made with transit instruments,
meridian circles, zenith tubes and allied forms of instruments, which
were at all suitable for throwing light upon the subject. The first and
most interesting result obtained by Dr. Chandler was that the period
of the latitude variation was about 427 days. He showed that the
observations of the eighties and nineties could be represented very well
by assuming that the axis of figure of the earth revolves about the axis
of rotation in a circle of thirty feet radius in a period of 427 days.
Dr. Chandler’s investigations of earlier observations, which run
back as far as Bradley’s classic observations for the determination of ~
the constants of precession and nutation made with a zenith tube in the
early part of the eighteenth century, seem to show that the period of
variation was formerly considerably shorter than at present, the observa-
tions of the eighteenth century seeming to demand a period of about
370 days. Later observations showed also that the amplitude of the
change is not constant, so that the change in latitude can not be accu-
rately represented by assuming that one axis revolves about the other
in a circle of thirty feet radius. Chandler’s later conclusion is that
422 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
the motion of the earth’s pole may be conveniently separated into: two
motions, one an annual revolution in a narrow ellipse about thirty feet
long and eight feet wide, but varying in form and position, the other a
revolution in a circle about twenty-six feet in diameter with a period
of 427 days; both motions being counter clockwise. The resultant of
these two motions is quite irregular, as may be seen by referring to
Fig. 6, which will be explained later.
From Dr. Chandler’s investigations and from the observations for
latitude made during the early nineties, it became evident that the
movement of the earth’s pole was a very complicated one and that an
accurate determination of its motion could be obtained only through
continuous observations of the latitude at various places on the earth’s
surface. In 1896 a plan was promulgated by the International Geo-
detic Association whereby it was proposed to establish stations for the
express purpose of observing the latitude. For reasons to be stated
later these observatories were all to be located on the same parallel of
latitude and in selecting them, social, hygienic, seismological and
meteorological, as well as mathematical, conditions were considered, the
prime requisite being, of course, that all of the stations have a fair
proportion of clear nights at all seasons of the year. Seventeen dif-
ferent combinations of stations lying between latitudes + 36° 48’ and
+ 44° 50’, and including two combinations in the southern hemisphere
on parallels — 33° 54’ and — 33° 24’, were considered. The parallel
of + 39° 8’ was finally chosen with the stations located in Japan, in
Italy and the eastern and western parts of the United States. Two
other stations were subsequently added, one in Central Asia and the
other in the central part of North America, at Cincinnati.
The preliminary work of establishing the stations occupied about
three years and observations were begun at all of them in the fall of
1899. The Japanese station is situated very close to the city of
Mizusawa (10,000 inhabitants), which lies in a fertile valley 290 miles
north of Tokio. The valley is nearly enclosed by two ranges of moun-
tains, having a general northerly and southerly direction, the highest
peak of which is 6,700 feet above sea-level. ‘The meteorological condi-
tions at this station are not especially favorable. ‘There is a large range
between summer and winter temperatures and the percentage of cloudi-
ness is greater than at any other station. Nevertheless, the two ob-
servers, Dr. H. Kimura, director, and Dr. T. Nakano, observer, who
have served continuously since the observatory was established, have
obtained a most excellent series of results. The number of earth-
quakes at Mizusawa is large, but the locality is not affected by these
disturbances as much as some other portions of Japan. Since the
observatory was established there has been none of sufficient intensity
to seriously affect the observations.
The Central Asian station is located in the Russian possessions east
SHIFTING OF THH HARTH’S AXIS 423
of the southern end of the Caspian Sea, six miles northwest of the
city of Tschardjui and two miles from the left bank of the Amu Daria,
or River Oxus. The observatory is located on an oasis in a sand-waste
traversed by many canals. There is a greater range in the annual
temperature at this station than at any of the others. ‘I'schardjui is
affected by very few earthquakes. ‘The observations at this station are
made by a single observer, several having taken part thus far, all of
them officers of the Russian army.
The Italian station is very picturesquely located on an old tower,
San Vittorio, close to the city of Carloforte, on the island of San
Pietro, which lies west of the southern end of the island of Sardinia.
The tower is located on a peninsula on the east side of the island, so
that the meridian of the observatory les almost entirely over the
Mediterranean Sea, and anomalies in refraction would seem to be
absolutely excluded. The island is free from mountains, the highest
point being some 650 feet above sea-level. Carloforte has 8,000 in-
habitants and can be reached from Cagliari, the chief city of Sardinia,
in eight hours. The meteorological conditions at Carloforte are very
favorable. The annual variation of temperature is less than at any
other station and over 70 per cent. of the nights are clear, a condition
which prevails, I believe, in no other section of the world than that
surrounding the Mediterranean Sea. The island is free from earth-
quakes, there having been only four in nearly four hundred years of
any considerable intensity, and none of these destructive. The ob-
servations at this station are made by two observers, who alternate with
the nights. Several changes in the staff have taken place thus far, but
all its members have been Italian astronomers.
The station in the eastern part of the United States is located half
a mile south of the village of Gaithersburg, Maryland, twenty-one miles
northwest of the city of Washington. The surrounding country is
hilly, the observatory has an altitude of 540 feet above sea level and the
meteorological conditions are fairly favorable. Mr. Edwin Smith, of
the Coast and Geodetic Survey, made the observations at this station
during the first year; Dr. Herman 8. Davis during the succeeding
five years. The work is now in charge of Dr. Frank E. Ross.
After the parallel of 39° 8’ had been selected for the location of
the latitude observatories it was found that this parallel passed through
the grounds of the Observatory of the University of Cincinnati, and
Professor J. G. Porter, director of the observatory, volunteered to
carry on observations if he were provided with an instrument. The
observatory is located on a hill, five miles northeast of the city, and
one mile east of the Ohio River. The altitude of the observatory is
800 feet above sea-level and the meteorological conditions are fairly
favorable. Thus far all of the observations, except a few during the
summer months, have been made by Professor Porter.
424 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
The sixth station is situated in California, 112 miles north of San
Francisco, one mile south of the city of Ukiah, the county seat of Men-
docino County. The observatory is located toward the western edge of
one of the numerous small valleys in the Coast Range of mountains.
The valley, which is traversed by the Russian River, is about ten miles
long and from two to three miles wide, and surrounded by mountains
of an average height of about 1,300 feet above the floor of the valley.
The altitude of the observatory is 700 feet above sea-level. The meteor-
ological conditions at this station are very favorable, standing next to
those of Carloforte in this respect. Snow seldom falls and, although
CES
ieneeeemeenialin ae
(SPREE Rd
seeiemneeniememanen!
eee ateneeniemiaenininn
TTT NTI
miei |
iiceiemnenenniesmemnti!
ee
INTERNATIONAL LATITUDE OBSERVATORY, UKIAH, CALIFORNIA. (Looking South.)
the summer temperatures are sometimes extreme, the nights are al-
ways cool, which adds much to the comfort of the observer if not to
the accuracy of the observations. Up to May, 1903, the observations
at this station were made by Dr. Frank Schlesinger, now director of
the Allegheny Observatory; from that time until September, 1907, the
observations were made by the writer of this article. The work is
now in charge of Dr. James D. Maddrill.
From a seismological point of view, all the American stations are
favorably located. Although, the Pacific Coast of the Americas is well
recognized as a region of seismic activity, yet the mountainous nature
of the country surrounding Ukiah seems to afford a measure of pro-
tection from these disturbances. No-earthquake since the observatory
was established, not even the great shock of April 18, 1906, has been of
sufficient intensity to interfere in any way with the progress of ob-
servations.
SHIFTING OF THE HARTH’S AXIS 425
The four stations first established, Mizusawa, Carloforte, Gaithers-
burg and Ukiah, are provided with zenith telescopes of exactly the
same pattern, and constructed especially for this work of observing
latitudes by the Talcott method.*
These instruments, illustrated in Fig. 4, were made by Wanschaff,
of Berlin, and have objectives of 44 inches aperture and focal lengths
of fifty-one inches. The instru-
ments at T'schardjui and Cincin-
nati are of similar design by the
same maker, but smaller. From
the figure it may be seen that
the telescope is fixed perpendicu-
lar to the end of a horizontal
axis. By placing this axis in an
east and west direction the tele-
scope will move only in the plane
of the meridian as the horizontal
axis is rotated in its supports.
The whole instrument may be re-
volved about the vertical axis,
m, and by properly adjusted stops
on the base-piece the amount of
rotation may be limited to 180°,
thus giving two east and west posi-
tions for the horizontal axis,
one, telescope east, the other, tele-
scope west. It is readily seen that
if the telescope is set to point
say 10° north of the zenith when
east of the vertical axis, then,
without disturbing the setting of
the telescope, if the whole instru-
ment be revolved about the ver-
tical axis, the telescope will, Fic. 4.
when it comes into the posi-
tion west of the axis, be pointed 10° south of the zenith. It is
thus possible to measure the difference of zenith distance of two stars,
’ Descriptions of this method may be found in any work on practical astron-
omy. The following statements concerning the method may be of help to those
who are not familiar with its details. In order to make a determination of the
latitude by this method it is necessary to measure, by means of an eye-pieec
micrometer attached to the zenith-telescope, the difference of zenith distance of
two stars of known declination which culminate at nearly equal zenith-distances,
one north of and the other south of the zenith. The telescope is set at the mean
of the zenith-distances of the two stars and the first to culminate will pass a
little above or below the middle of the field of view. The distance from the
426 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
one of which culminates on one side of the zenith and the other at
nearly the same distance on the opposite side of the zenith, by means
of an eye-piece micrometer rather than a graduated circle, and herein
lies the chief advantage of the Talcott method over all others, the
micrometer being a much more delicate and accurate instrument than
the graduated circle.
The program of work calls for sixteen determinations of the lati-
tude each night, which means the observation of sixteen pairs of stars.
Particular stars have been chosen in such a way as to give convenient
intervals: between the culmination times of each and the work con-
sumes four hours of time each night. As the stations are all located
on the same parallel of latitude the zenith of each observatory will
traverse the same path in the sky and the same stars may therefore be
observed at each station. Exactly the same program of work, weather
and other conditions permitting, is carried out at each station every
night of the year. About 12,000 determinations of the latitude are ob-
tained each year, the total to the beginning of 1908 being 99,313. The
greatest number of observations are obtained at the Italian station, the
next greatest at Ukiah, as may be seen from the following table:
ToTAL OF LATITUDE OBSERVATIONS UP TO 1908
NOBVAUISENWEN gy0s ease on akaoean 13,561 Cimemmatiey ee ae ee 12,190
Eschardywil —eetaa eater cose 14,901 JUNSIEN TT Nerhoioten ob 0 Ob ao e060 6 18,676
@anlotonter 2 asc ees ae 25,302 Mot aleeext aie meat ean eee 99,313
(Cetcaverds bys 455555 5505000e 14,683
middle is measured by means of the micrometer. The instrument is then
reversed about its vertical axis, without disturbing the setting, and the telescope
will then point as far south as it did north of the zenith before reversal, or
vice versa. ‘The second star will then pass through the field of view as far below
or above as the first star was above or below the center, and this distance from
the center is again measured by means of the micrometer. The proper combina-
tion of the micrometer settings on the two stars gives the actual difference of
their zenith-distances, which may be turned into are measure, provided the value
of one revolution of the micrometer-screw be known. The latitude, ¢, of the
place of observation is computed by means of the formula,
$= (dn + 5s) + (Mn — ms) KR + 3(In + 1s) +3(1—Ts);
in which the first term of the right-hand member of the equation represents one
half the sum of the declinations of the two stars of the pair observed; the
second term one half the difference of the zenith-distances of the two stars as
measured by means of the micrometer; the third term a small correction for
any change in the pointing of the telescope after reversal, detected by means of
two very delicate levels attached to the telescope; and the last term a small
correction for the difference in the atmospheric refraction affecting the rays ot
light coming from the two stars. It might be noticed that if the two stars are
at exactly the same zenith-distance, and the instrument is reversed without dis-
turbing the pointing, then the second, third and fourth terms each become zero
in the equation above, and the latitude is simply the mean of the declinations
of the two stars, or the declination of the zenith, as may be seen by referring
to Fig. 1.
SHIFTING OF THE HARTH’S AXIS 427
The percentage of nights upon which observations were obtained,
during the first five years at the various stations, is given in the fol-
lowing table:
PERCENTAGE OF OBSERVING NIGHTS
Per Cent. Per Cent.
INNATEP AWE 8g o eceidero eae trails cao 50 Griese Soon clos eolse op odor 42
PSMA GUL sis wshe toe cancels alsye 7s rstis) ve 35 Gam eranmaytys ek ase hee ae ebeseye sels 32
ORUAIGHOIRUEY Ae alee ekais os cncic asia einer 72 LOPS CURL. A seit ilcn Meee ica os See Cea Seet 48
The conditions at Carloforte, in the Mediterranean Sea, must be al-
most ideal from an astronomical standpoint, still the above tabulation
can not be taken as a true index of the weather at the stations. At
Carloforte and at Mizusawa two observers are constantly employed,
and probably nearly every favorable night is utilized. At the other
stations, where all the observations are made by a single observer, some
favorable nights must of necessity be allowed to pass. At Ukiah, for
instance, the percentage could be increased by at least ten, perhaps
fifteen, if two observers were employed. In considering the above
table, the further fact should be taken into consideration that Professor
Porter, who makes the observations at Cincinnati, has many other
duties in connection with his position as director of the Cincinnati
Observatory and professor of astronomy in the University of Cincin-
nati. We should also consider the still further fact that at some sta-
tions—for instance, Mizusawa—many nights are rendered incomplete
by fog or clouds, and a night upon which only one pair is obtained
enters into the above tabulation with the same weight as a complete
night of sixteen pairs.
On account of the uncertainties of the weather it seldom happens
that observations are obtained at all the stations on the same night—
and a complete set of sixteen determinations at all stations on the same
night is indeed a rare event. During the first five years that observa-
tions were made, there were but nineteen nights upon which some ob-
servations were obtained at all the stations, and not a single night on
which a complete set of sixteen determinations was obtained at every
station.
This seems a little strange at first thought, but a simple computa-
tion according to the principles of probability shows that such a result
should be expected. Let us ask, first, What is the probability of ob-
taining at least some observations at each station on the same night?
If we assume that observations are made on the average on fifty per
cent. of the nights, then the probability of obtaining observations at
any one station on any particular night will be one half, and mani-
festly the probability of obtaining observations at two stations on the
same night will be 4 X 3, or 4, and the probability of obtaining ob-
servations at three stations on the same night 4x4 4, and the
29
probability of obtaining observations at six stations (4)° =.
428 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
Observations would therefore be made at all six stations on the same
night on an average of once in every sixty-four nights. The assump-
tion, however, that observations are made upon fifty per cent. of the
nights is somewhat in error, the true percentage being almost exactly
46.5. The probability of this event occurring would be therefore
(4654 000),° which equals %». The event would occur on an average
therefore of once in every ninety-nine days, or nineteen times during
the five years under consideration. This result is in exact agreement
with the observed number.*
Let us now ask, What is the probability of obtaining a complete
night’s work at all six stations on any particular night? The ratio
between the number of complete nights and the total of nights is not
given in the published results, but is probably not far from one half.
At Ukiah about sixty per cent. of the nights upon which observations
are made are complete, but the percentage is known to be less at some
of the other stations. If now we assume that observations are made
upon fifty per cent. of the nights, and fifty per cent. of these are com-
plete, then a process of reasoning similar to that just used will bring
us to the result that the probability of the occurrence of the event under
consideration is (4%4)?=="“%4o9g. That is to say, a complete night’s
work will be obtained at all six stations on an average, in round num-
bers, of once in every 4,000 nights, or once in about eleven years, so
that it is not at all surprising that this rare event did not occur at all
during the first five years of observations.*®
The observations made during the first five years after the interna-
tional latitude stations were established, and the results deduced from
them, have been published in two quarto volumes.® ‘These observations
show periodic changes in the latitude similar to those found from
earlier observations. The results obtained at the various stations,
from the beginning of 1902 to the end of 1905, are represented
graphically in Fig. 5, taken from the second volume just mentioned.
All the observations obtained at each station during a certain period,
about a month, are combined into an average value, these mean results
are plotted, and represented in the figure by the small circles. The
small figures standing adjacent to the circles indicate the number of
The exact method of computing this probability is, of course, to take the
product of the six separate probabilities rather than the sixth power of the
average probability. The result comes out sixteen rather than nineteen.
>If more exact figures were used in this computation it is certain that the
probability of this event would be much reduced, perhaps by nearly one half, so
that the event would not occur more than once in twenty years.
° Resultate des Internationalen Breitendienstes. Band I. (1903), von Th.
Albrecht. Band II. (1906), von Th. Albrecht und B. Wanach. Centralbureau
der Internationalen Erdmessung; neue Folge der Verdffentlichungen, Nos. 8
und 13. A review of these volumes was published by the writer in Publications
of the Astronomical Society of the Pacific, Vol. 19, pp. 139-58.
SHIFTING OF THE HARTH’S AXIS 429
observations entering into each average. The small circles are con-
nected by straight lines. The smooth curves in each case are obtained
‘by combining, by means of a mathematical analysis, the results at all
Verlauf der Polhohe auf den einzelnen Stationen.
Wie. 5. Observations taken at Mizusawa, Tschardjui, Carloforte, Gaithersburg,
Cincinnati, Ukiah. (Reading from the top, down.).
of the stations into a general result, and then from this general result
computing the variation of the latitude for each individual station.
The vertical distance between any small circle and the smooth curve
will be, very nearly, the actual error of the average result represented
430 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
by the circle. The station where these vertical distances are the small-
est will, in general, have obtained the most accurate results. An in-
spection of the figure shows that the best agreement was obtained at
Mizusawa. It is rather significant that at Carleforte, where more than
twice as many observations are obtained than at some of the other sta-
tions, and the meteorological conditions are exceptionally fine, yet the
agreement between the observed and the computed curves is not so close
as at some other stations. This is a good illustration of the precept
that, in general, little or nothing is to be gained by increasing beyond
a certain moderate amount the number of observations made with the
same instrument under similar circumstances. In fact it is quite pos-
sible that just as good results could be obtained by limiting the number
of observations taken at each station to a monthly average of a hundred
or thereabouts.
As Tschardjui and Ukiah are separated by nearly 180° of longitude,
the curve of the one is almost the counterpart of the other. It may
be seen from Fig. 5 that the maximum change in the latitude, during
the time represented, is less than 0”.5, which corresponds to about fifty
feet on the surface of the earth. The observatory then apparently
swings back and forth in the meridian to a distance of twenty-five feet
on either side of the mean position.
Having now the actual observed variations in the latitude at six
different stations, separated widely in longitude, it is a comparatively
simple problem in mathematical analysis to compute what the actual
motion of the pole, with respect to its mean position, must be in order
to produce the observed changes in the latitudes. If the difference
between an instantaneous value of the latitude and the mean value be
represented by Ad; the rectangular coordinates of the instantaneous
pole, with respect to the mean position of the pole, by w and y; and the
longitude of the observing station by A; then the following equation,
the derivation of which is given in the review mentioned above, may be
written,
A¢g=z cos r+ y sin X.
Early investigations showed that the observations were not repre-
sented to the highest degree of accuracy by this equation and Dr.
Kimura, the Japanese astronomer, suggested the addition to the equa-
tion of a third term, z, independent of the longitude. The observa-
tions are satisfied much better by an equation of this form, and z turns
out to be a small variable quantity of an annual period. No satis-
factory physical explanation of this term has as yet been given.
Several have been suggested, one of which is that perhaps there is a
small annual shift in the position of the center of gravity of the earth.
In order to solve the problem connected with this term, two addi-
tional latitude stations were established in the southern hemisphere in:
SHIFTING OF THE HARTH’S AXIS 431
1906. They are both located in south latitude 31° 55’—one at Bays-
water, near Perth, West Australia, and the other at Oncativo, in the
Argentine Republic, about forty-five miles from the National Observa-
tory at Cordoba.‘ Definite results from these observations have not
yet been obtained, but Dr. Albrecht has recently published a short note
stating that a provisional reduction of the observations obtained at
the two southern stations shows that z has the same sign at the south
parallel as at the north, and probably the same magnitude. If this is
true the hypothesis of a shift in the center of gravity of the earth must
be abandoned. This term is zero about ten days before the equinoxes
and reaches its maximum values, —0”.048 and + 0”.044, about ten
days before the summer and winter solstices, respectively. ‘These facts
would seem to favor the meteorological explanation of origin of this
term.
The motion of the earth’s north pole, from the time the Interna-
tional Latitude Stations were established in the fall of 1899 to the be-
+ 0°20 +0.10 0°00 -010 ~0°20
+0/'20 +010 0°00 0.70 -0"20
Fic. 6.
"In addition to these eight stations under the International Geodetic Asso-
ciation regular observations for latitude are made at Poulkova, Russia, in lati-
tude + 59° 46’; at Leiden, + 52° 9’; and at Tokio, + 35° 39’.
432 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
ginning of 1907 is represented in Fig. 6 taken from the Astronomische
Nachrichten, No. 4187. The large square represents a piece of ground
fifty feet on a side. The small circles represent the position of the pole
for each tenth of a year beginning with 1899.9 and ending with 1907.0.
By starting at the beginning and following out the motion of the pole
a roughly spiral path is found with a clearly marked period of about
seven years, the position of the pole at the beginning of 1907 almost
coinciding with the initial position, 1899.9.
The observations made at the International Latitude Observatories
have determined the motion of the pole with a degree of refinement and
continuity never before attained, and it is now found that the laws de-
duced by Chandler fifteen years ago are no longer sufficient to ac-
curately represent the observed motion. Dr. Kimura has recently
made a harmonic analysis of the variation of latitude and finds, in
addition to the two principal motions of periods of fourteen months
and one year found by Chandler, two smaller motions with periods of
0.75 and 0.6 of a year. Kimura also finds that the principal motion of
fourteen months is in an ellipse and not in a circle as found by Chand-
ler, the interpretation of which would be, that the equator is an ellipse
and not a circle, if we assume the earth to be made up of homogeneous
layers, or, in technical language, that the equatorial moments of in-
ertia are unequal.
The change of latitude being so very small is, of course, of no con-
sequence whatever to the navigator who has to determine his position
at sea. It is, however, of great interest and importance from a scien-
tific standpoint, and it is hoped that the work at the various stations
may be carried on long enough to make a definitive determination of
the laws of the polar motion possible, so that a mathematical formula
may be constructed from which the position of the pole, or the latitude
of any place, may be computed for any time past or future.
One way in which the variation of latitude might have political or
commercial significance is in cases where a certain parallel is designated
as the boundary line between two countries, states or counties. For
instance, the forty-ninth parallel is, for a portion of the distance, the
boundary line between the United States and the Dominion of Canada.
If any question should be raised, however, a court of arbitration would
probably decide that, inasmuch as the actual line shifts its position, the
one already established, if not egregiously in error, should continue to
be considered the boundary line. A case similar to this has recently
been decided by the courts of California. The boundary line between
Mendocino and Trinity counties is defined as being the fortieth parallel
of latitude. When the counties were first established a surveyor was
employed to locate this line, but some score or so of years afterward
other surveyors found that the established line lay about two miles too
far south. Thereupon Mendocino County brought suit against Trinity
SHIFTING OF THE EBARTH’S AXIS 433
County to have this two-mile strip taken from the latter and added to
the former. After dragging through the courts for a number of years
the matter was finally decided in favor of Trinity County, the argument
being that, inasmuch as it is impossible, by ordinary processes of sur-
veying, to locate the parallel with absolute accuracy, the original survey,
made by due process of law and accepted by both counties, although
admittedly largely in error, should remain the official boundary line.
The amount of territory, mountainous and sparsely settled, is a com-
paratively small part of either county, Mendocino County being nearly
as large as the state of Connecticut. The question was, however, of
considerable importance to the property owners of the two-mile strip.
After the land was claimed by Mendocino County, it was assessed and
taxed by both counties, and the taxpayers who cast their lot with
Mendocino County now have several years of back taxes to pay in
Trinity County.
Doubtless most of the readers of this article have already wondered
what may be the cause of the shifting of the earth’s axis. In 1765,
Euler, a famous Swiss mathematician, demonstrated, as a proposition
in dynamics, that if a free rigid oblate spheroid rotates about an axis
which differs slightly from the axis of figure, or shortest axis, then the
axis of figure will revolve about the axis of rotation in a period the
length of which will depend upon several factors. He computed that,
if the assumed conditions obtained for the earth, then the period of
revolution of the axis of figure about the axis of rotation would be 306
days. Obviously, however, the earth is not rigid; the oceans are quite
plastic and the ground itself is possessed of some elasticity. Professor
Newcomb computed some years ago that, if we assume the earth as a
whole to possess the rigidity of steel, then the period of revolution of
the one axis about the other would be 441 days, as against 306 days
found by Euler on the assumption that the earth is perfectly rigid.
The actual observed period is fourteen months, or 427 days, and the
legitimate conclusion to be drawn is that the earth as a whole is some-
what more rigid than steel—a conclusion that agrees with that derived
by Lord Kelvin and others from entirely different considerations.
Now the question arises, Why does the earth not rotate upon its
shortest axis? The explanation is simple. If the earth ever did
rotate upon its shortest axis it could not continue to do so because of
the shifting of matter upon and within the surface. Winds, rains,
_ rivers and ocean currents are ceaselessly transporting matter from point
to point, and during the winter great masses of snow and ice accumulate
in the temperate and frigid zones only to disappear again in the
summer. Although these effects will, to a large extent, neutralize each
other, the sum total can not be other than to produce at least a theoret-
ical lop-sidedness to the earth; and as soon as this takes place there
must be a shifting of the axis of rotation. The time of revolution of
VOL. LXXv. — 29.
434 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
the one axis about the other could be accurately computed if the exact
form of the earth, the structure of the earth’s interior and its coefficient
of elasticity were known.
In addition there are other phenomena, namely, voleanoes and
earthquakes, through which considerable quantities of matter may be
displaced. That the amplitude of the polar motion might be affected
by earthquakes was pointed out by Professor Milne ten or fifteen years
ago and a French scientist has more recently compiled a table showing
the number of severe earthquakes each year and the amplitude of the
polar displacement. A rough proportionality between the two seems
to exist, that is, the greater the number of earthquakes each year the
greater the amplitude of the polar displacement. Such results, how-
ever, are to be taken with several grains of allowance. ‘The term
“severe earthquakes” is rather indefinite and by modifying its defini-
tion quite a variety of results may be obtained from the given data.
Tt might be pointed out that in 1906, the year of the great earthquakes
in California and Chile, the amplitude of the polar displacement was
small.
We have then a rational explanation of the phenomenon of the
variation of latitude. The axis upon which the earth rotates is not
in exact coincidence with the shortest axis; such being the case, accord-
ing to the principles of dynamics, the axis of figure must revolve around
the axis of rotation giving rise to the changes of latitude. But on
account of the changes incessantly taking place in the distribution of
matter upon the earth’s surface, and perhaps also within the surface,
the amplitude of the polar displacement, and perhaps the principal
period of revolution of the one axis about the other, are changeable, the
changes taking place in a rather complicated way according to laws as
yet not fully determined.
In connection with this explanation we should not lose sight of the
fact that all the material moved through meteorological, voleanic and
seismic agencies is probably almost infinitesimal as compared with the
total mass of the earth, and no one, so far as I know, has as yet shown
that the shifting masses are sufficient in magnitude to properly account
for the observed annual and other unexplained components of the
polar motion.
Indeed, if one desires to follow the path of least resistance, he might
abandon the above explanation altogether and adopt the one given by a
colored preacher living in the oil region of Texas, who met some
brethren at the corner grocery one day and delivered himself of the
following explanation of this puzzling scientific phenomenon:
Ah see by de papers dat de urf’s axis am a wobbling an’ dey dunno wat fo’.
But ah know wat makes de urf’s axis wobble. Do you see all dis oil dese men
am a takin’ out of de urf? Well wat do you spose de good Lord put dat oil in
dere fo’? Wy to grease de axis wif, of couse, an’ when dey take it all out, wat
else can de axis do but to wobble an’ to squeak?
DESERT SCENES IN ZACATECAS 435
DESERT SCENES IN ZACATECAS
By Prorsessor J. E. KIRKWOOD
UNIVERSITY OF MONTANA
BOUT 400,000 square miles of desert lie south and west of the
Rio Grande. Much of this vast area occupies the great table-
land, bounded east and west by long mountain ranges and reaching
southward several hundred miles, where it becomes broken by more
fertile areas; all this being, in fact, a continuation of the great south-
western desert region of the United States which prevails from Texas
to California. The aspects of its southern extension vary with local
conditions within certain limits, and with its lowering latitude new
elements enter into its composition, but on the other hand many of the
features characteristic of a Texas or an Arizona landscape are con-
spicuous in its geological formations, its fauna and its flora. This
region has, however, certain significant peculiarities which give the
central Mexican plateau a character of its own.
Typically representative of the conditions on much of this great
plateau is the northern part of the state of Zacatecas. Traversed by
fragmentary mountain ranges with a general trend from northwest to
southeast, only in a few places do its plains stretch level to the horizon.
On every hand the skyline is formed by the heaving back of some ridge
or group of mountains whose summits rise from 1,000 to 4,000 feet
above the plain. The plain itself is 6,000 feet elevation, more or
less, and the mountains appear as if almost submerged in it. Here
and there are lower ranges whose heads are scarcely lifted above the
plain and whose softly rounded outlines show that leveling forces have
long been at work upon them, or that their softer materials have more
readily yielded to eroding forces. Other peaks rise higher and a few
of these are rugged and sharp with steep declivities, but for the most
part the evenly rounded outline prevails.
The more or less isolated ranges, the Sierras of the Potrero, the
Zuloaga, Zapoca, Guadaloupe, Oratorio, Ramirez, Chivo, Caballos, etc.,
are all on an area some sixty by seventy miles in extent, which consti-
tutes the Hacienda de Cedros, a corner of which the Mexican Central
Railroad crosses southeast of Torreon between Rivas and Carlos. This
Hacienda, which les mostly to the east of the sun-baked village of
Camacho, extends also to the west fully twenty miles. An interesting
estate and sufficiently large from an American standpoint it is, but one
of many of its kind in Mexico, managed in a feudal way. It is to this
particular region that the accompanying discussion pertains.
Looking westward, far across the broad Camacho plain, standing
436 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
Ni Serra “TV iM
Cera Tico
Segoe
mH
MAP OF THE HACIENDA DE CEDROS, a private estate of over two million acres, on
which dwell some two thousand people.
well up on the horizon are the high Mesas del Zorillo. Their broad level
tops lie in the same plane, at their borders a sheer descent is visible to
the point where the talus slope begins and slants off in graceful lines
to the rolling lands below. But such configurations are rare in that
region. Here and there what is left of that stratum which forms the high
floor of these Mesas may be visible, but only as vestiges, for they have
mostly disappeared.
Standing at the edge of one of these wide plains and looking
across, one may survey at a glance twenty to forty miles of moun-
tain barrier along the opposite side, thirty to fifty miles away. Deep
scalloped with cafions and ravines which divide and subdivide into
successively smaller branches as we follow their course upwards, they
are ultimately lost in the rounded brow of the mountain. Below the
steeper slopes the low-lying, far-outreaching butresses of the range
finally sink into the plain. At the mouths of the cafions, broad fans of
silt, gravel and other detritus from the heights above, spread out and
meet their neighbors on the right and left until a long, slightly undu-
lating footslope is formed, and gradually merge into the floor of the
valley. Thus the wide valley is gradually being made wider by the
building up of its floor, which is the accumulation of ages of the wash
from the mountains; the nature of the process is obvious. Where a
deep arroyo cuts down through the land a section of the deposit shows
DESERT SCENES IN ZACATECAS 437
in places stratification of clay, sand and gravel. Here and there a
well is bored and the same story is told. Every valley between these
mountain ranges presents the same features, a gentle slope for miles
from either side, so gentle that in walking over it one hardly realizes
that it is not level, and in the center is—not a stream—but a shallow
basin, frequently lined with salty incrustation. Such is the character
of the Bolson, as it is called, which is also a marked feature in the
physiography of southern Arizona.
Into these basins the arroyos pour the floods from the mountains.
One finds the arroyo in the higher parts of the plain nearer the moun-
tain where the steeper incline gives more velocity and erosive force to
the stream. Lateral valleys which lie between high slopes usually de-
velop the arroyo to a marked degree. The deep basin between the
ridges, filled with the detrital wash from the slopes, is readily eroded
by the swift streams which are produced frequently by the torrential
rains of these regions. Running lengthwise through the midst of an
apparently level valley floor, these arroyos are often invisible a few feet
away, and the traveler may be entirely unconscious of the presence of
a ditch thirty feet deep and possibly fifty wide, with perpendicular
walls, hardly fifty paces away. The walls of these arroyos are being
constantly undermined, and the materials, caving into the channel, are
carried out with the rest of the wash; at the same time the head of the
arroyo is receding toward the higher land and the channel becomes
more and more shallow as the underlying rock comes nearer the sur-
face. As the arroyo extends out into the plain its fall becomes less, the
power of erosion by the water decreases and the channel is finally lost
on the lower slope.
Thus the composition of the mountains is responsible for the compo-
sition of the valley floor. Limestone is the predominating material.
Rocks of igneous origin are less conspicuous, but are present, and min-
eral-bearing veins are plentiful. Occasionally heavy formations of
calcareous tufa may be found where springs issue from the hills, as at
the village of Cedros, situated at the end of a short range. In deep
and sheltered ditches salts collect on the clay and hang in slender
glistening crystals to its surface. The ooze of calcium solutions is
everywhere visible in the formation of caliche, which forms a hard,
impervious and impenetrable layer on or near the surface of the ground.
Here and there it cements together stones and gravel in a solid mass,
resistant to weathering and erosion.
But few springs are found and these usually at the foot of the higher
slopes. At the western end of a small range, the Sierra del Potrero,
water comes to the surface in numbers of strong springs, and on this
oasis is built the village of Cedros, the administrative seat of the
Hacienda of the Cedars. From the limestone rock, cropping out on the
toe of the range, the springs issue forth. One at least of these is warm,
438 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
SoTOL ON THE HACIHNDA DE SANTA INEZ. Photo by F. BH. Lloyd.
the others cold; some feed a small rivulet, across which one might step
with ease, that passes through a series of reservoirs and is used in irri-
gating the gardens, some supply the baths, and others the troughs where
the cattle come to drink.
But this wealth of water, for wealth it is in such a country, is not
general. One would go far to find so splendid a supply as feeds the
industries of this place. Here and there wells are sunk in the valleys
and water is found at a depth of forty feet more or less, but often
drilling goes much deeper without finding any.
The sites of these springs are here, as everywhere else in deserts,
oases of fertility, visible sometimes a day’s journey across the broad
valleys, and marked in the broad expanse of desert landscape by dark
tops of huge cottonwoods, and the light reflected from the white-
washed walls of adobe houses. The number and quality of the springs
determine the size of the hamlet and sometimes the nature of its
operations. Upon arrival we may find also ash and pepper trees,
pecans, avocadoes, figs, pomegranates, apples and grapes, rows of
magueys and hedges of tuna-bearing nopals. Onions, garlics and
DESERT SCENES IN ZACATECAS 439
chilis are the principal garden crops, and flowers (poppies, asters, roses,
ete.) in pots or beds in the patios or dooryards of nearly all dwellings,
however humble. Fields of corn and barley, with calabasas (squashes) ,
are scattered about the plain not far away, where crops are matured in
the short season of the summer rains. Their corn planted in July is
harvested in October, its growth hastened by irrigation of a primitive
sort; running a ditch along the face of the slope, the ranchero collects
the run-off from the rains and directs it on to his field. On some of
these fields corn grows to the height of ten feet with a degree of luxuri-
ance that would gladden the heart of a northern farmer.
Althovgh no permanent streams of any consequence exist, yet the
rapid drainage of the land makes feasible a mode of existence other-
wise impossible. The herdsman pushes out away from walls and springs
and establishes himself in the midst of the desert. Choosing a place
where the land lies to form a basin or wide valley, he throws a dam
across the mouth and collects the run-off from a large area. Yor this
purpose a gently sloping drainage basin is preferred, else the labor of
building the dam will come to naught in a few years by the reservoir’s
becoming filled with silt and drift; moreover, the rushing torrent may
eut through the embankment and drain the tank dry. I have seen old
tanks which had been filled to a depth of fifteen feet or more, and as the
earthen dam was finally cut through, the later floods had sluiced down
an arroyo through the flat sedimentary plain above. So the tanks in
such situations are short lived, but where fed by the gentle drainage of
a gravelly plain they may last indefinitely and supply water the year
round to large herds. Frequently these tanks hold water covering sey-
eral acres at the height of the dry season, and when at its deepest it may
assume the proportions of a small lake. Some of the dams are strong
and well-built structures of stone masonry a half mile or more in
length and ten to twenty feet in height. To the “tanques” come the
horses, the mules, the burros, the sheep, the goats and every other
animal of the desert; they drink the turbid liquid, they wade in it, they
bathe in it, they discharge into it, and all around the margin is a fringe
of greenish drift and scum, but it is water in a thirsty land and man is
grateful for it. It is the objective camping point in the day’s travels
and at noonday the cool shade on its banks is the favorite resting-place
for man and beast.
From one to two and a half feet of rain falls on this land in a year,
depending partly on the altitude and local conditions. Records of rain-
fall at Chihuahua and San Luis Potosi show 10.86 and 10.41 inches,
respectively, for one year (1901), and at the city of Zacatecas the aver-
age for ten years (1897-1907) was thirty-one and a half inches. The
precipitation at Cedros for one year (1907-8) was about eighteen
inches.
440 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
ses
PALMA CHINA (Yucca australis) IN THE VILLAGE OF CEDROS. Photo by H. A. Crane.
The heavy rains, sometimes as much as an inch in a few hours, run
off with great rapidity through the drainage channels and twenty-four
hours later the sides of the mountains and the footslopes appear as if
not having known a rain in six months. Here and there in the bot-
toms of the canons a pocket in the rock holds a gallon or two of sweet
pure water, and out upon the plain pools may linger for a few days on
the clay.
Here the summer months are the months of rain, but in most
months of the year a little rain may be had. As springtime advances
clouds may be seen along the distant slopes and among the peaks with
a trailing haze of rain beneath. ‘Though in the summer-time the rain
clouds are partial to the highlands, yet more often do they wander out
across the plain. Scarce a day of summer passes but showers may be
seen falling on some part of the landscape, but the amount falling on
any particular area is relatively small.
DESERT SCENES IN ZACATECAS 441
The isolation of these places is intense. The light of midday
dazzles the eyes as it is reflected from the walls of the houses, the dust
of the road, or the whitish soil of hill or valley. Heat is a liberal ac-
companiment of the fierce glare of light, as blistered lips may abundantly
testify after a few hours riding across the desert. The Mexican knows
the value of his broad-brimmed sombrero and is seldom to be found
without it, if indeed we may induce him to leave the shade of the tree
or the dark interior of his adobe dwelling at the middle of the day.
But the shade, even the thin shade of the mesquite, is a place of comfort,
affording some shelter from the direct rays of the sun. Even alongside
a thermometer registering over 100° in the shade, no discomfort may
be felt in the thin and relatively dry air of this climate.
The most suggestive feature of the desert is its vegetation and the
variety of the plants which it supports. The great number of species
which by some peculiar fitness of their own are able to maintain them-
selves in the midst of seemingly impossible conditions, must certainly
impress one accustomed to the abundant vegetation of the green fields
and woodlands of the better-watered sections of the country, though the
number of individuals of a race may be considerably less. This is not
true of all species, but the fact is quite patent to any one who has seen
even a little of desert vegetation, having in mind the almost impen-
etrable vegetation of some of our northern woodlands. Across the
desert of Zacatecas one may ride in any direction, limited only by the
perpendicular banks of arroyos, or mountain barriers. The floor of the
desert here also is bare and clean for the most part, which means a
paucity of herbaceous plants. Such herbaceous forms as do exist are
found usually in shaded situations, under the shelter of woody per-
ennials. |
The vegetation of this region as it appears to one at a casual glance
seems to be composed of Yuccas, shrubs and small trees, Agayes and
cacti and these constitute the predominant features of the plant life
in varied arrangements and conditions.
The most conspicuous element in this vegetation is the palma, so
called, which may be seen on every hand. Two kinds are usually met
with; one a straight-stemmed plant, six to ten feet in height, with a
crown of stiff radiating sword-like leaves, much prized for the fiber or
ixtli which it yields. This plant, Samuela carnerosana, which the na-
tive calls palma zamandoca, grows in great abundance on the higher.
lands, from the upper footslopes a thousand feet up the mountainside.
On the high rolling land south of Saltillo, from Carneros to Fraile and
beyond, thousands of acres are covered with this splendid plant. In
March and April they are in full bloom and one may go far to find a
more pleasing picture than these tall plants with their erect panicles of
creamy-white flowers, two or three feet in height. This plant grows so
442 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
A GOOD COLLECTION OF DESERT PLANTS: VEGETATION OF THE PLAIN.
Photo by F. H. Lloyd.
slowly that the increment of one season can not be marked without pre-
cise measurements, but year by year the lower leaves of the foliage
crown die and add to the thatch of dry leaves that cover the trunk be-
low. The trunk itself is six inches to a foot in diameter, a mass of
spongy tissue with a more dense outer rind. Of these stems the peon
makes fences, or sets them palisade-like for the walls of his hut, or hol-
lows them out for bee-hives. The leaves of the plant make the most
convenient thatch for his hut, and from the fibers of its leaves he makes
ropes and sundry other articles of convenience. Palma china, as the
native calls it, known to botany as Yucca australis, is a close relative of
the preceding and often occurs in the same situations. Usually, how-
ever, this plant does not ascend to the heights attained by its neigh-
bor, but is a native of the wide va!ley lands, where it often occurs in
great profusion as at Palmas Grandes, a few miles west of Mazapil, and
again on the footslopes some twenty miles east of Camacho. This
Yucca is the most striking of all the plants seen on this desert. Reach-
ing a height of 35 to 40 feet, and having a trunk diameter of two to
three feet, its upper portion is divided into straggling branches clothed
for a foot or two from the tip with rigid outstanding leaves a foot and
a half long. The branching of palma china is never symmetrical, but
usually both trunk and branches are contorted and arched in various
directions. Occasionally one is found straight and tall and beautiful,
DESERT SCENES IN ZACATECAS 443
such as grew by a peon’s hut in the village of Cedros, and one which was
found on the plain near Sym6n was as grand a tree as an oak of two
centuries and probably not much younger. This magnificent palma
must have been close to forty feet in height, with a hundred branches
which filled out the hemispherical top with symmetry and beauty.
The trunk of this palma was near three feet in diameter four feet from
the ground, and its thickened base below was not far from six feet
across. The flower cluster of this plant is about three feet long and the
creamy flowers which abound in June are much prized by the people as
food. This plant also yields fiber, which, however, is not so generally
used as that of its neighbor, owing doubtless to the abundance of the
latter, which has longer and more accessible leaves. Some of the other
desert plants less conspicuous than the Yuccas are hardly less interest-
ing. In numbers the Maguey and its family outrank almost everything
else. From Agave americana down to A. lechuguilla and Hechtia they
are everywhere abundant. While the huge pulque maguey is found in
this region at least only in cultivation, its lesser relatives are on a
thousand hills, sometimes leaving little room for anything else to grow.
Three species of Agave are abundant. Two of these, A. lechuguilla and
A. falcata, are never found on the level plain, but as soon as one begins
the ascent of the low ridges which rise but little above the valley he is
almost sure to encounter A. lechuguilla. We may say encounter ad-
visedly, for their leaves are as so many daggers set at all angles to
impale the unwary. The rigid leaves about a foot long are armed with
terminal spines as sharp as needles and as strong as nails. These in
places, especially on the low limestone ridges, are so numerous that one
with difficulty can make his way through. In June this plant is at the
height of its flowering season and over large areas the flowering shoots,
ten to twelve feet tall, are everywhere conspicuous. The stems of last
year have fallen, and the new ones soon ripen their seed and terminate
the life of the plant. The leaves of this plant are especially valuable for
fiber and it is one of the most important of native Mexican plants.
From it the native also obtains amole, the short stem and leaf bases,
which, when crushed, has marked saponaceous properties, and seems to
justify the esteem in which it is held, if one may judge by results. A.
falcata occupies the slopes of the ridges, but is rare as compared with A.
lechuguilla. Its flower stalk is smaller on the whole than that of its
neighbor and its flowers much darker colored. Its sickle-shaped leaves
are pointed inward and it is, therefore, not nearly so unpleasant to meet
as Lechuguilla. But its aber is little used, probably owing to the
scarcity of the plant and the great abundance of the other species
which is more easily worked.
Agave asperrima is one of the plants which the traveler first notices
in the desert of Zacatecas. Its bluish-green leaves are usually less than
three feet in length as it grows in the desert, but are sharply armed
444 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
PEON HABITATIONS IN THE DESERT. Photo by F. BH. Lloyd.
with stout spines both terminal and lateral, which make them formid-
able objects to meet. ‘These plants spread by stolons and form impen-
etrable masses where they monopolize the ground. This agave grows in
greatest abundance on the plain, where it frequently impedes the prog-
ress of a horseman quite effectually. It also spreads upward on the
ridges and in the canons to points a thousand feet above the plain. Its
flowering season is in June, though it loiters along in this business
through the whole summer. The flowering shoot is similar to that of
A. americana, but hardly exceeds fifteen feet in height. But these
great flowering shoots are of great interest in their strength and
beauty, looming up against the sky on the crest of some ridge, and not
the least in the fact that this huge inflorescence represents the culmina-
ting vital activity of the whole life of the plant. Slowly through the
years the materials have been gathering for this particular task, and
finally in a few short weeks of summer the supreme work is consum-
mated, and the great candelabrum of branches stands forth with its
hundreds of seed capsules, while the erstwhile luxuriant leaves are sere
and withered, their substance, as indeed the whole life of the plant,
sacrificed to this one supreme effort toward the propagation of its kind.
When in bloom the inflorescence is surrounded by myriads of flies and
other insects attracted by the abundant nectar which the flowers se-
crete. These flowers in press, 1f not killed, continue for days to pro-
duce the viscid sweetish fluid which the natives collect and call miél
or honey. When the seeds are ripe the pod splits down from above
DESERT SCENES IN ZACATECAS 445
and spreads apart slightly, so that a few seeds are easily shaken out
by a gust of wind. The inflorescence, though dead, may stand for
a year or more, and the seeds that it bears may be scattered over a
wide area.
Before this plant comes into bloom the tender apex of the short
stem is often used as food. Out in isolated places among the moun-
tains one may come upon a rude circle of heavy stones bordering a
shallow pit. The Mexican would say that here they were preparing
quiote by taking the hearts of the magueys and roasting them in the
pit. Upon further inquiry he will say that these morsels are covered
with earth and stones and the fire built over them and kept for some
hours. The older leaves yield a fiber for cordage, though this plant to a
less degree than its larger relative, A. americana. Many uses are found
for the maguey; in fact hardly any other plant of Mexico serves the
people in so many ways as this one. It provides food and drink, it
yields fine strong fibers for ropes, fabrics and other articles. It has
served in the manufacture of paper and enters into the construction of
fences and buildings. It formerly found use in religious rites and was
part of the material of weapons.
As ornamental plants the cultivated magueys are hard to beat. Dur-
ing its fifteen years’ or more life it produces relatively few leaves, but
towards the close of its span of years one hundred or more of these may
be in evidence, each somewhat narrow, six to ten feet in length and
often weighing as much as one hundred pounds. Most of them are a
dull dark green, some are margined with yellow or yellowish green.
They are often planted as hedges or borders, and as such they are very
attractive to look at. The short stem which in all the years has not at-
tained a height of two feet now suddenly shoots up to thirty feet, its
outstanding branches in symmetrical order enhancing its dignity and
beauty beyond that of most other plants.
On the slopes of many foothills that rise from the edge of the desert
plain and often on the higher slopes in great profusion, one finds a
stately plant which is always conspicuous and always beautiful. Some-
thing about the sotol makes it especially attractive, with its pale green
leaves an inch wide and a yard long, the tips of which often overtop a
man’s head. But these leaves, though beautiful to look upon, are well
armed against any invader by means of many forward set teeth along
their margins. In fact, a leaf of Dasylirion is like a piece of double-
edged band saw.
Under the hot sun of May and June the flower stalk ascends from
the center of the crown of leaves and carries its topmost flowers to
twice the height of the horseman riding by. These flowers, unlike
those of the maguey, are small and borne on a long and slender, though
compact panicle; they are moneecious, therefore not all the tall stems
446 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
LF
Pico TEIRA FROM TANQUE DE LA PIEDAD. Photo by F. E. Lloyd.
Xv
are destined to bear the small triangular fruits that often remain the
following winter on the stalk that bore them.
This plant, besides being one of the most attractive of the whole
desert flora, is not without its uses, both legitimate and otherwise.
From the leaves of sotol the natives weave mats and various other
articles of utility. They split the long leaves into narrow strips which
they weave into hats. But this plant, like the maguey, also furnishes
food and drink. The central cabbage-like bud is cooked and eaten.
This central bud, and the thick top of the stem below it, are used much
in the manufacture of a fiery liquor called Sotdl, of rank intoxicating
power.
While the plants above cited are striking and characteristic fea-
tures of this desert vegetation, yet even more common and more char-
acteristic of deserts in general are the cacti, which abound in species
and individuals. Cactus, Echinocactus, Cereus, Echinocereus, Mamuil-
laria and Opuntias of both divisions are everywhere. Down on the open
plain the nopals (Platopuntias) abound, as one soon discovers who
tries to ride across country. The broad flat joints of these plants are
everywhere. Here and there a cluster of bisnaga colorada (Hchino-
cactus pilosus) shows the top of its cylindrical body bristling with red.
spines above the low bushes, for this bisnaga, as the native calls it, does
not grow very tall, five feet being about its maximum. It blooms in
June and successions of yellow fruits follow the flowers. These lemon-
yellow fruits about the size of a lime are possessed also of the lime’s acid
DESERT SCENES IN ZACATECAS 447
properties. But this plant is not content with the lowlands, but climbs
to the top of the mountain above, where I saw some of the largest of
its kind.
Echinocactus ingens, like nearly all of the cacti of this desert, pre-
fers the hills, and there its thick trunk, bristling with long straight
spines, grows to a diameter of a barrel and as much as five feet in height.
This bears its flowers in a furrow across the top. The pulp of this
plant is said by the peons to be sweet, but one who has tasted other
cacti which they eat, may be content to leave the appraisal of this
delicacy to others.
The opuntias which cover the plain and mountain are of abundant
interest in their variety and numbers. The cylindropuntias abound in
forms of cholla, cardencia and tazajillo, according to native terminol-
ogy, with spines long and sharp and barbed, which penetrate with ease
thick leather leggings, and where they stick they stay. In this the
tazajillo, which grows as high as a horse’s back, is especially to be
dreaded, with its stiff slender spines; it separates its joints at a touch
and sends them along with the passer-by. Under and around these
plants scores of these joints are busy taking root, though one seldom
finds thickets of tazajillo. Few of these young plants really have a
future before them, though there are enough of them as it is. But the
cardencias, arborescent opuntias like the species mammilata, spinosior,
ete., of the Arizona desert, are not so savage as the cholla, nor so un-
expectedly met with as their more slender and less conspicuous rela-
tives, the tazajillos, as above described. In its varied forms the nopal,
or flat-jointed Opuntia, is of more interest to the native than all the
other cactus forms. This is about the only kind of cactus that may
serve as fodder for cattle, and it is a common sight to behold some
hundreds of pounds of one of these species carried on passing ox-carts.
At the last camp where these travelers rested one could probably find
the remains of a fire where they had burned off the spines of a number
of nopals, which indeed is the principal diet of their oxen.
Some of these nopals are of imposing size and aspect, but mostly
they are low procumbent forms, branching out in all directions, pushing
forth segment after segment from the lower forward margin of the
laterally compressed joint. Along the upper margin occur the flowers
and the succession of fruits in varying shades of yellow and red. Here
and there at higher altitudes are forms which produce edible fruits not
unlike the edible tunas which are produced under cultivation. It seems
quite possible that these may be the forerunners of some of the culti-
_vated varieties, inasmuch as the preponderance of evidence points to
Mexican origin for the tuna-bearing nopals. Again we find on the hills
a small and compact species which has little to recommend it. This,
Opuntia microdasys, has branches closely set with coarse spicules which
are easily detached and are said to be a frequent cause of blindness
448 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
A DESERT LANDSCAPE IN ZACATECAS, Photo by F. BH. Lloyd.
among horses and cattle. The animals nosing about among the
branches of this plant for some tuft of grass or other morsel, dislodge
the glochids and get them in their eyes. Every well-appointed door-
yard or garden has one or more species of the cultivated cactus which
produces edible fruits of which the Mexican is very fond. These are of
many varieties, differing in the characters of the branches and the
fruits, the latter varying in color from the deepest red to lemon color
and in form entirely distinct. They form a very important item in the
short list of foods upon which the poorer classes live.
In this desert region one can not but be impressed with the number
and variety of the woody plants, shrubs and small trees, which are to be
seen on every hand. Many of these are common in our own southwest
—mezquite, ocotillo, creosote bush, Ephedra, Condalia, Koeberlima,
species of Atriplex and Acacia are among the most conspicuous, some
are the same species and others different, and the less obvious things are,
Lippia, Buddleia, Mortonia and many others. In all these the families
of the Leguminose, Labiate and Composite are especially prominent,
as they are elsewhere in desert regions. The shrubby growth gives color
to the landscape, and in many places its whole aspect and character is
due to these plants more than to the yuccas, agaves or cacti. Very
few trees in this desert are more than fifteen feet high and the majority
of them are much less, so that in no sense does the country seem
wooded, except upon the highest ranges where pines and oaks occur.
Among these desert shrubs are some of unusual beauty. There is
DESERT SCENES IN ZACATECAS 449
Cassia wislizeni, quite common, a tall graceful bush with large panicles
of orange-colored flowers, a plant which might well be valued by horti-
culturists of the north. All through July and August these delight
the eye and stand out in conspicuous contrast with the surrounding
vegetation. Pinacate they call it, though the reason is not obvious.
Again if we walk out over the lower slopes not far from the banks of
some arroyo we may come upon the beautiful “huisache,” Acacia far-
nesiana, in full bloom if the time is summer. This plant with its small
delicate leaves, its white spines, its little balls of yellow flowers scattered
in profusion along the younger branches, is a beauty to behold, but the
casual passer-by, if insensible to the beauty of the flowers, may per-
chance be attracted by their sweet and delicate perfume. Farther along
in a shallow wash where the waters occasionally take their way from the
higher land, appears Chilopsis saligna in slender graceful form, sway-
ing to every breeze. Its clusters of red flowers need not be seen to be
aware of their presence, for their sweet fragrance is borne on the breezes
far beyond that of most flowers. There are few desert flowers equally
conspicuous in color and perfume, and few as well supplied with either
as the desert willow. But where the way leads down into the bottom of
the arroyo, almost hidden under the overhanging bank, one comes un-
expectedly upon the beautiful “tronadora,” to use its Spanish name.
Few plants of the desert are more striking in their beauty than this,
with its dark, deeply compound leaves and its conspicuous cluster of
orange-colored flowers, which reminds one in their form and attitude of
those of the trumpet-creeper, and well it may, for it is Tecoma stans, a
member of the same genus. If we thread along still further through
the tangle of “charnis” (Morrestiera) with its load of mistletoe, and
“junco” (Holacantha) and “ huisache,’ with lacy trimmings of the
vine, Nissolia, where the dry stream bed is flanked by Triais, and some-
times Tatalencho (Gymnosperma) on upward to where the steep banks
of the arroyo give way to less precipitous rocky slopes and into the
deeper cahon beyond, Asclepias linaria springs from the sandy wash at
our feet with its sheaf of slender stems, each capped by its umbel of
white flowers. Now just to the right where a limestone cliff faces the
north and receives little light from the sun that scorches the ground
just beyond, is a patch of resurrection plants with their star-like forms
expanded to full view by the moisture acquired from the recent shower.
The day before when we passed this same way these plants had coiled
themselves together into compact balls and were hardly visible in the
crevices of the rock. But with the drenching shower came the resur-
rection to renewed activity. Near at hand some shrubs are covered with
a furry growth of grayish grassy-looking plants, which upon nearer ap-
proach are seen to be a dense growth of Tillandsia recurvata, a sort of
Florida moss, which finds in the moister air of the cafion floor or the
von. Lxxv.—30.
450 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
mountain top the conditions favorable to its growth and it attaches
indiscriminately to any woody plant that furnishes a convenient hold.
But of the many things that we brush by in this ramble we have not
the time to tell, but in this narrow space of moisture between zones of
perennial drought, occur ferns of the genera Pellea, Notholena and
Chetlanthes. Under the neighboring tocks their prothallia are growing,
and young sporophytes of all ages are coming on. Climbing out of the
bed of the cafion in a few steps we find ourselves again among the ocotil-
los and the agaves and the cacti.
Among the shrubby plants none are so important as the guayule,
the native name for Partheniwm argentatum. It is one of the most
abundant of all the desert plants, especially on the limestone slopes, and
its grayish color gives a distinct character to the landscape where it
abounds. A small shrub or dwarf tree, it seldom exceeds four feet in
height or a stem diameter of four inches. Its leaves are covered with
silvery hairs and its flowers are in inconspicuous heads of composite
structure not over one fourth inch across. Its hght seeds—one hundred
would not fill half an ordinary thimble—are supplied with a papery
bract by the aid of which they are driven easily by the wind. Matur-
ing in late summer and autumn, the seeds are dropped to the ground
beneath the parent plant, or by some strong gust of wind are borne to
a distance, where some find lodgment in a sheltered spot—a crevice of
the rock or the cover of some friendly shrub. Here, when the rain
comes, it is kept moist for time enough to send down a long, slender,
thread-like root before drought again overtakes it. After the fitful
showers of summer have passed a long dry season awaits the young
plant, so it behooves it to make as much root as possible while the grow-
ing conditions are favorable. ‘These slender roots will make a growth
of six inches in about a week, before the first true leaf has appeared
lifted on the short stem half an inch high, and in six weeks the tap
root has been observed fifteen inches long. Thus the plant insures
itself against the dry season, and by hardening its stem and leaves,
makes still further provision against the vicissitudes that await it.
And this example serves, doubtless, for many other desert plants.
We find that the seedlings spring up in abundance under the shelter
of bushes and cacti and other perennials. In fact, elsewhere there is
almost no chance for the survival of a tender seedling, since the hot
sun dissipates so quickly the moisture of even a heavy rain that the
surface of the soil is again dry in less than a day. The chances of
survival of a seedling are exceedingly remote, and considering the
great number of seeds produced and distributed, probably only a very
small fraction of one per cent. even germinate.
But interest in this guayule which covers the desert slopes is not
alone in relation to its environment, but in the hule or gum which
it produces, forming no small part of the rubber production of Mex-
DESERT SCENES IN ZACATECAS 451
ico. Two and a quarter millions of dollars’ worth of this product came
from one district in one year recently and much more is following.
Back in the middle of the eighteenth century it was discovered that the
source of the rubber in the balls with which the Indians were wont to
amuse themselves, was this guayule. As the Indians formerly did, so
one now may extract this rubber in the same crude way by chewing the
bark and rejecting the fiber until sufficient gum for the purpose has
been accumulated.
That this gum is a by-product in the physiological processes of the
plant and stored in its tissues in the form of granules, is not the least
of its interesting features, for most of the rubber-bearing plants
known to the public are trees yielding a milky fluid from which the
rubber is obtained by coagulation. But in this case the rubber is not
obtained by tapping, but by the immediate destruction of the plant.
Besides the mesquite and the greasewood and other shrubs that
clothe the valleys and lower slopes, the steeper acclivities abound in
Jatropha, Buddleia, Salvia, Bahia, Ephedra and many other woody
plants, members of other genera to the number of a hundred or more,
are scattered among the agaves, the palmas and the cacti up and down
the mountainside.
One who has not sought these plants where they grow can have
little idea of their number and variety, nor of their varied structural
and physiological attributes which make for complete fitness in the
stern environment of the desert. Here they grow and flourish where it
would seem there is no chance for life. But they thrive in these barren
wastes—league on league of plain and mountain, where there is neither
spring nor pool nor forest shade, blistering heat and glare above and
hot dry stones beneath, and find it sufficient.
452 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
THE WORLD OF LIFE AS VISUALIZED AND INTERPRETED
BY DARWINISM?
By ALFRED RUSSEL WALLACE, Esq., O.M., D.C.L., LL.D., F.R.S.
HE lecturer began by stating, that, although the theory of Darwin-
ism is one of the most simple of comprehension in the whole
range of science, there is none that is so widely and persistently mis-
understood. This is the more remarkable, on account of its being
founded upon common and universally admitted facts of nature, more
or less familiar to all who take any interest in living things; and this
misunderstanding is not confined to the ignorant or unscientific, but
prevails among the educated classes, and is even found among eminent
students and professors of various departments of biology.
Darwinism is almost entirely based upon these external facts of na-
ture, the close observation and description of which constituted the
old-fashioned “ naturalists,’ and it is the specialization in modern
science that has led to the misunderstanding referred to. ‘Those who
have devoted years to the almost exclusive study of anatomy, physi-
ology or embryology, and that equally large class, who make the lower
forms of life (mostly aquatic) the subject of microscopical investiga-
tion, are naturally disposed to think that a theory which can dispense
with all their work (though often strikingly supported by it), can not
be so important and far-reaching as it is found to be.
NUMBERS, VARIETY AND INTERMINGLING OF LIFE-FORMS
Coming to the first great group of facts upon which Darwinism
rests, the lecturer calls attention to the great number of distinct
species both of vegetable and animal life found even in our own very
limited and rather impoverished islands, as compared with the more ex-
tensive areas. Great Britain possessed somewhat less than 2,000
species of flowering plants while many equal areas on the continent
of Europe have twice the number. The whole of Europe contains
9,000 species, and the world 136,000 species already described; but
the total number, if the whole earth were as well known as Europe,
would be almost certainly more than double that number or about a
quarter of a million species. The following table showing how much
more crowded are the species in small than in large areas, was exhib-
ited on the wali. It affords an excellent illustration of the fact of the
great intermingling of species, so that large numbers are able to live
in close contact with other, usually very distinct, species.
* Abstract of a lecture before the Royal Institution of Great Britain.
THE WORLD OF LIFE 453
NUMBERS OF FLOWERING PLANTS?
Square Miles. Species.
Woe (COW Oy SWAY os bos do debt gonnd eos 760 840
A portion) contaiming’ ....................- 60 660
A portion containing ..................... 10 600
A pPontion! Combaiming =). f.s 55 gee we nile als 1 400
The above figures were given by the late Mr. H. C. Watson, one
of our most eminent British botanists, and as he lived most of his life
in the country, they are probably the results of his personal observation,
and are therefore quite trustworthy.
Continuing the above enquiry to still smaller areas, one perch
equalling 14¢ acre, or less than the Yoooo0 of a square mile, has been
found to have about forty distinct species, while on a patch 4 feet by
3 feet in Kent (or about %5o00000 Of a square mile) Mr. Darwin found
twenty species.
The same law of increase of numbers in proportion to areas applies
to the animal world, if we count all the species that visit a garden or
field during the year, though those that can continuously live there
are not perhaps so numerous in very small areas.
Tur INCREASE OF PLANTS AND ANIMALS
The powers of increase of plants and animals were next discussed,
and were shown to be enormously great. An oak tree may produce
some millions of acorns in a good year, but only one of these becomes
a tree in several hundred years, to replace the parent. Kerner states
that a common weed, Sisymbrium Sophia, produces about three
quarters of a million of seeds; and if all these grew and multiplied for
three years, the plants produced would cover the whole land surface
of the globe.
Equally striking is the possible increase in the animal world.
Darwin calculated that the slowest breeding of all animals, the ele-
phant, would in 750 years from a single pair produce nineteen millions.
Rabbits, which have several litters a year would produce a million
from a single pair in four or five years, as they have probably done in
Australia, where they have become a national calamity. As illustra-
tive of this part of the subject, the lecturer referred at some length
to the cases of the bison and the passenger pigeon in North Amer-
ica, and the lemmings of Scandinavia. In the insect tribes stil!
more rapid powers of increase exist. The common flesh-fly goes
through its complete transformations from egg to perfect insect in
two weeks; and Linneus estimated that three of these flies could eat
up a dead horse as quickly as a lion.
2 Other tables illustrating similar facts in other parts of the world were
prepared, but not exhibited, as being likely to distract attention from the lec-
ture itself.
454 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
It is these enormous powers of rapid increase that have ensured
the continuance of the various types of existing life from the earliest
geological ages in unbroken succession; while it has also been an im-
portant factor in the production of new forms which have successively
occupied every vacant station with specially adapted species.
INHERITANCE AND VARIATION
The vitally important facts of inheritance with variation was next
discussed, and their exact nature and universal application pointed out.
The laws of the frequency and the amownt of variations, and their
occurrence in all the various parts and external organs of the higher
animals, was illustrated by a series of diagrams. ‘These showed the
actual facts of variation in adult animals of the same sex obtained
at the same time and place, which had been carefully measured in
numbers varying from twenty to several thousand individuals.
The general result deduced from hundreds of such measurements
and comparisons, was, that the individuals of all species varied around
a mean value—that the numbers became less and less as we receded
from that mean, and that the limit of variation in each direction was
soon reached. Thus, when the heights of 2,600 men, taken at
random, were measured, those about 5 feet 8 inches in height were
found to be far the most numerous. About half the total number had
heights between 5 feet 6 inches and 5 feet 10 inches, while only ten
reached 6 feet 6 inches, or were so little as 4 feet 10 inches, and at 6
feet 8 inches and 4 feet 8 inches there were only one of each.
The diagrams from the measurements of various species of birds
and mammals were shown to agree exactly in general character; and
the further fact was exhibited by all of them, that the parts and
organs varied more or less independently, so that the wings, tails,
toes or bills of birds were often very long, while the body, or some
other part was very short, a point of extreme importance, as supplying
ample materials for adaptation through natural selection.
Tue Law or NatTurAL SELECTION
The next subject discussed was the nature and mode of action
of natural selection. It was pointed out that since the glacial epoch.
no decided change of species had occurred. This showed us that
the adaptation of every existing species to its environment was not
only special but general. The seasons changed from year to year,
but the extremes of change only occurred at long intervals, perhaps
of many centuries, with lesser, but still very considerable variations
twice or thrice in a century. It was by the action of these seasons
of extreme severity at long intervals, whether of arctic winters, or
summer droughts, that the very existence of species was endangered ;
THE WORLD OF LIFE 455
and it was at such times that the enormous population of most species
and their wide range over the whole continents, always secured the
preservation of considerable numbers of the best adapted in the most
favored localities. Then the rapidity of multiplication came into play,
so that in two or three years the population of each species became as
ereat as ever; while, as all the least favorable variations had been
destroyed, the species as a whole had become better adapted to its
environment than before the almost catastrophic destruction of such
a large proportion of them.
It is the fact of the adaptation of almost all existing species to a
continually fluctuating environment—fluctuating between periodical
extremes of great severity—that has produced an amount of adapta-
tion that in ordinary seasons is superfluously complete. This is shown
by the well-known fact that large numbers of adult animals that have
not only reached maturity but have also produced offspring and suc-
cessfully reared them, continue to live and breed for many years in
succession, although varying considerably from the mean, while almost
the whole of the inexperienced young fall victims to the various causes
of destruction that surround them.
THe Nature oF ADAPTATION
The next subject discussed was the complex nature of adaptations
in many cases, and probably in all; a subject of great extent and
difficulty. The lecturer directed special attention to the relations
between the superabundance of vegetation in spring and summer, the
enormous, but, to us, mostly invisible, hosts of the insect tribes which
devour this vegetation, and the great multitudes of our smaller birds
whose young are fed almost exclusively on these insects. Without
these hosts of insects the birds would soon become extinct; while
without the birds, the insects would increase so enormously as to de-
stroy a considerable amount of vegetable life, which would, in its turn,
lead to the destruction of much of the insect, and even of the highest
animal groups; leaving the world greatly impoverished in its forms of
life.
The vast numbers of insects required daily and hourly to feed
each brood of young birds was next referred to, and the wonderful
adaptation of each kind of parent bird which enables it to discover
and to capture a sufficient quantity immediately around its nest, in
competition with many others engaged in the same task in every
copse and garden, was next pointed out. The facts were shown to
involve specialities of structure, agility of motions, and acuteness of
the senses, which could only have been attained by the preservation
of each successive slight variation of a beneficial character throughout
geological time; while the emotions of parental love must also have
456 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
been continuously increased, this being the great motive power of the
strenuous activity exhibited by these charming little creatures.
Lorp SALISBURY ON NATURAL SELECTION
As illustrating the strange and almost incredible misconceptions
prevailing as to the mode of action of natural selection, the lecturer
quoted the following passage from the late Lord Salisbury’s presiden-
tial address to the British Association at Oxford in 1894. After de-
scribing how the diverse races of domestic animals have been produced
by artificial selection, Lord Salisbury continued thus:
But in natural selection, who is to supply the breeder’s place? Unless the
crossing is properly arranged the new breed will never come into being. What
is to secure that the two individuals of opposite sexes in the primeval forest,
who have been both accidentally blessed with the same advantageous variation,
shall meet, and transmit by inheritance that variation to their successors?
Unless this step is made good the modification will never get a start; and yet
there is nothing to ensure that step but pure chance. The law of chance takes
the place of the cattle-breeder or the pigeon-fancier. The biologists do well to
ask for an immeasurable expanse of time, if the occasional meetings of advan-
tageously varied couples, from age to age, are to provide the pedigree of modi-
fications which unite us to our ancestors, the jelly-fish.
Here we have the extraordinary misconception presented to a
scientific audience as actual fact, that advantageous variations occur
singly, at long intervals, and remote from each other; each statement
being, as is well known, the absolute reverse of what is really the case.
It totally ignores the fact, that every abundant species consists of tens
or hundreds of millions of individuals, and that as regards any faculty
or quality whatever, this vast host may be divided into two portions
—the less and the more adapted—not very unequal in amount. It
follows that at any given time, in any given country, the advantageous
variations always present are not to be counted by ones and twos, as
stated by Lord Salisbury, but by scores of millions; and not in indi-
viduals widely apart from each other, but constituting in every locality
or country, somewhere about one half of the whole population of the
species.
The facts of nature being what they are, it is impossible to imagine
any slow change of environment to which the more populous species
would not become automatically adjusted under the laws of multipli-
cation, variation and survival of the fittest. Almost every objection
that has been made to Darwinism assumes conditions of nature very
unlike those which actually exist, and which must, under the same
general laws of life, always have existed.
PROTECTIVE CoLOoR AND MIMICRY
The phenomena of protective coloration and mimicry were very
briefly alluded to, both because they are comparatively well known and
THE WORLD OF LIFE 457
had formed the subject of previous lectures; while they are very easily
explained on the general principles now set forth. The explanation is
the more easy and complete, because of all the characters of living
organisms, color is that which varies most, is most distinctive of the
different species, and is almost universally utilized for concealment, for
warning or for recognition. And further, its useful results are clear
and unmistakable, and have never been attempted to be accounted for
in detail by any other theory than that of the continuous selection of
beneficial variations.
THE DISPERSAL OF SEEDS
The subject of the dispersal of seeds through the agency of the
wind, or of carriage by birds or mammals in a variety of ways, and
often by most curious and varied arrangements, of hooks, spines or
sticky exudations almost infinitely varied in the different species, was
also briefly treated, since they are all readily explicable by the laws
of variation and selection, while no other rational explanation of their
formation has ever been given.
CoNCLUSION
In concluding, the lecturer called attention to a series of cases which
had shown us the actual working of natural selection at the present
time. He also explained that these cases were at present few in num-
ber, first, because they had not been searched for; but perhaps mainly,
because they only occur on a large scale at rather long intervals, when
some great and rather rapid modification of the environment is taking
place.
In the following paragraph he endeavored to summarize the entire
problem and its solution:
It is only by continually keeping in our minds all the facts of nature which
I have endeavored, however imperfectly to set before you, that we can possibly
realize and comprehend the great problems presented by the “ World of Life ”
—its persistence in ever-changing but unchecked development throughout the
geological ages, the exact adaptations of every species to its actual environment
both inorganic and organic, and the exquisite forms of beauty and harmony in
flower and fruit, in mammal and bird, in mollusc and in the infinitude of the
insect-tribes; all of which have been brought into existence through the unknown
but supremely marvelous powers of life, in strict relation to that great law of
usefulness, which constitutes the fundamental principle of Darwinism.
458 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
MENTAL INHERITANCE!
By Dr. MADISON BENTLEY
CORNELL UNIVERSITY
UR chapter of Sigma Xi has recently invited to its membership
some two score persons who have shown themselves to be pos-
sessed of such talents and aspirations as the society honors and rewards.
Of these new members many have finished their preparatory studies,
and are entering upon the independent work of science. It is there-
fore suitable upon this occasion that we should consider some one of
those qualities that distinguish the person who is engaged in the
scholarly pursuit of knowledge. The quality which I have selected is
the possession of temporal or historical perspective; and I propose to
use, by way of illustration, the subject of mental inheritance.
Nothing is easier than to exalt beyond its due the present moment.
The present is so vivid, so impressive, so intimate, so important for
action, as to compel attention; and current means of communication
succeed so well in bringing distant lands and deeds within our field of
vision that the whole world contributes to the fascination of the passing
scene. We all realize this fascination, however much we may set our
faces against the vulgar homage paid to the latest mode, the most recent
invention, or the last political experiment. We realize it, and, if we
are wise, we perceive that the philistine passion for being “ up-to-date ”
(as the street-phrase has it) contains an element of great value—the
element of enthusiasm. Scholarly work demands enthusiasm, and
every epoch of science has, and, I suppose, will have, its sanctions and
its rewards for enthusiastic endeavor. In this regard our own time
certainly is not wanting. At a period when the constitution of matter
and its elementary forms have, by the discovery of new facts, been
brought to the focus of attention ; when the development of living forms
through their various stages of growth is observed by methods un-
dreamed of by the earlier historians of nature; when the study of evolu-
tion has advanced to the stage of analysis and experiment; when the
earth is revealing significant traces of primitive man and his works;
when psychology proposes new methods for the study of thought and
action and for a comparison of the human with the animal mind; when,
finally, philosophy rests less upon the authority of great names and
systems than upon the immediate data of experience, no ardent noviti-
ate in science can complain that fate has thrown him upon an age of
> An address delivered before the Cornell Chapter of Sigma Xi, June 9, 1909.
MENTAL INHERITANCE 459
platitude and dogma, or has denied to him the opportunity of spending
his energies in the cultivation of a land of promise.
The kindling enthusiasm of the man of science must not, however,
be confused with the philistine’s boast that history is a wreck from
which only he and his time have been saved. Opportunity which in-
spires the scholar inflates the time-server and intoxicates the anarchist.
The difference between these persons rests at last upon temporal per-
spective, or the want of it; for it is the apprehension of new opportuni-
ties and new needs in the light of old accomplishments that leads to
profitable reconstruction of human knowledge. In mechanical inven-
tion, the new model may cause the old to be cast upon the rubbish-
heap; but in man’s interpretation of the world, old theories and old
points of view which have served their generation are never discarded ;
they still mark the stages of human acquisition and take their place in
the development of science. Without a knowledge of them, and of their
relation to present problems, no man, however ingenious or fertile,
should hope to do more than a journeyman’s work in the free advance-
ment of learning.
But even when we know the general history of thought and the spe-
cial histories of our own small divisions of human knowledge, we are
apt to overlook the fact that, in a large sense, civilization itself is a
matter of the moment, which may be viewed in the light of a broader
perspective. Civilization we measure by hundreds and thousands of
years. For example, we trace the Mediterranean cultures eight or ten
or twelve thousand years, and then we lose the thread; but the whole
history of man we reckon in geological epochs. We find his footprints
stamped everywhere upon the Quaternary earth, and we find what appear
to be vestiges of him in the deeper deposits of the Tertiary. Through-
out the brief day of his written history we study him in a long series of
related disciplines which we call “the humanities”; while we hand
over the unmeasured period of his whole antecedent career to the single
science of anthropology. We glance with admiration at his morning
work in iron and bronze and brass, his noontime of Athenian culture,
his late hours of reflection and invention, and we seek however feebly
to illumine the night of his future; but we tend to overlook the an-
tiquity of man, the record of other days and years, and to avoid the
question whether civilization is not, after all, still in the experimental
stage—whether we ourselves are not next-door neighbors to the
barbarian.
When we regard the rapid accumulations of a few thousand years
of culture, we realize that civilization lays upon the human mind a
staggering load of traditional knowledge and traditional duty. In
“ Darwinism and Politics” the late Professor Ritchie has defined civil-
ization as “the sum of human contrivances which enable human beings
460 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
to advance independently of heredity.” Contrast man and other ani-
mals. ‘The animal carries over from his parents and from his racial
stock the physical equipment and the functional tendencies which en-
able him to fight the battle of life precisely as his ancestors fought it.
If his type varies under natural conditions, it varies so slowly that, as a
rule, many generations are required to disclose the change. With man
all this is different. As I just now observed, nurture is cumulative.
Each succeeding generation takes up its heritage, not where the pre-
ceding generation began, but where it left off. Each has to advance by
first absorbing the new attainments of its immediate ancestors. In a
real sense, therefore, because he has language and books and institutions
and traditions, man is
the heir of all the ages.
Notice, however, that man comes into his social heritage only by
acquisition during his individual life, by his own individual efforts. Is
he, now, as a conscious being, better and better endowed as time goes
on for the process of absorption? Does talent grow as knowledge
grows? Does mental capacity keep pace with social accumulation ?
May we not suppose that the men and women of some distant glacial
age, who dwelt upon the ice, wore the skin of the seal, and ate raw fish,
had as much brain and as generous a measure of talent as have their
remote descendents who wear sealskins, and eat ices and caviare? We
can not say that they had not. On the contrary, our records, so far as
they go, indicate that the social heritage has outstripped the hereditary
growth of mind—that, as regards mental endowment, we begin very
much as our distant forbears began ; only, we proceed at once to burden
ourselves with information and obligation which for them did not exist.
To compass languages and sciences and histories and arts, and a com-
plicated social and political régime, we are supplied with virtually the
same minds that primitive man used for his primitive wants. Is it any
wonder, then, that education is the central problem of an advanced
civilization ?
The question has been raised, however, whether it is not time to
look beyond education to the possibility of improving the human stock ;
whether education is, after all, the only way of civilizing the individual.
When the garden vegetable or the domestic animal fails to meet our
needs, we improve its breed—so the argument runs; we breed for
size, for strength, for flavor, for color, for endurance, for speed, or for
general service. When we find that the part of our human stock which
is best fitted to carry the cumulative load of civilization is weak, or
degenerate, or inclined to sterility, why do we not look to the im-
provement of those strains that are mentally fittest and to the elimina-
tion of the bad? The argument, you observe, assumes that mental
endowment and mental capacity are heritable possessions. Is the as-
MENTAL INHERITANCE 461
sumption warranted? We can not say until we have examined the
present status of the problem of inheritance; but whether or not we
are pessimistic as regards the future of the race, we must agree that
the sudden and increasing burden which culture places upon the hu-
man mind raises this problem to the first rank of importance.
Suppose that we look, then, at the grounds of belief in the heredi-
tary transmission of mind. The belief itself stands among the fixed
convictions of common sense. In our every-day thinking we take it
for granted. The child, we maintain, inherits its father’s bad temper
just as it inherits its mother’s good looks. We consider twice before
we adopt the foundling, which may be of dull or vicious parentage.
We shake our heads over the wayward son, remembering that his
father “sowed his wild oats,” and we observe “like father like son,”
or “blood will tell.” We expect to find talent in the children of the
gifted, thrift or dwarfed intellect or high purpose, according as these
qualities are “bred in the bone.” The folk-tale of paupered prince or
stolen princess who never, though reared as swineherd or scullion, loses
regal bearing and courtly demeanor, the wide respect for royal blood,
and the easy belief in the “ born criminal,” alike testify to the common
and venerable persuasion that minds, and even morals, are subject to
hereditary transmission.
It is only when we stop to inquire precisely what is inherited in all
these instances, and how it is conceivable that mind should pass from
parent to offspring, that we leave the highway of common sense and
enter the more difficult path of critical observation and induction. It
is obvious that a clear statement of the problem and a forecast of
method are of the first importance.
Inasmuch as the notion of “inheritance” involves both the process
and the products of transmission, the inheriting and the thing in-
herited, a choice of methods is at once suggested. Shall we—that is
to say—seek to describe the mechanism of inheritance, or to discover
the like qualities that have actually appeared in successive generations
of blood-relatives? It is quite impossible to state the alternatives
without adverting to the fact that biology has, for a half-century, been
absorbed in the parallel investigation of physical inheritance. Nor are
we likely to forget, in the midst of our commemoration of Darwin’s
birth and of “The Origin of Species,” that the whole doctrine of or-
ganic evolution rests upon the facts of heredity. Whatever the factors
that determine racial descent—fluctuating variation, or the sudden
change of type, use and disuse, natural, artificial, sexual or organic
selection—both continuity in the process of bionomic change and main-
tenance of the change once produced, demand the conception of a
hereditary likeness. Without inheritance the establishment of a stock
would be impossible, and without a stock, variations and mutations
462 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
would be chaotic and without significance. Thus, ever since Darwin’s
own attempt at a theory of heredity, we find the students of organic
evolution and the breeders of plant and animal races alike devoting
themselves to the problems of racial and individual inheritance.
Now it is plainly futile for the psychologist to pretend to first-
hand knowledge in a field which is not his own; but, on the other hand,
it is equally foolish for him to proceed to the question of mental in-
heritance without a conception of the methods used, and of the general
progress made, by the biological sciences in like inquiries. He must at
least bear in mind that the days of pangenesis were followed by the
days when Weismann challenged the Lamarckian doctrine of use and
disuse, these by the days of rapid development in cytology (the science
of the cell and its development), and these days, in turn, by the estab-
lishment of the science of genetics and of a revised, if tentative, doc-
trine of heredity. He must also keep in view the general march of
events that led up to the rediscovery of Mendel, the attempt to estab-
lish “unit characters” and to segregate the elementary factors in
descent, the exploitation of sudden or discontinuous variation at the
expense of fluctuation, and the wide use of Quetelet’s discovery that
individual variation follows the law of probability.
But what, you may ask, has psychology to learn from the doctrine
of physical inheritance, when bionomic orthodoxy is overgrown with
speculation, when evolutionists themselves are asking, fifty years after
Darwin, whether the time is yet ripe for a discussion of the origin of
species, when they are raising the doubt whether there has yet fallen
from the tree of knowledge the apple that shall suggest the discovery of
the universal law of inheritance; when Strassburger affirms that the doc-
trine of heredity must rest upon the study of the cell, and Bateson replies
that the student of evolution is “ still, as a rule, quite unable to con-
nect cytological changes with any genetic sequence,” and that the direct
examination of parent and offspring, not of the germinating cell, is the
present key to the problem? What can the psychologist hope to learn
about method when the biometrician and the follower of Mendel stand
at sword’s points; the one fighting for measurements, and schemes of
distribution, and coefficients of correlation, and the other for segrega-
tion, unit characters and laws of dominance and recession ?
My reply is, first, that, in spite of his keen enjoyment of the battle,
even the observer from the outside can appreciate the invention and
application of clever and useful methods and the advancement of
knowledge through conflict; and, secondly, that the student of mental
inheritance must get at least half of his equipment from the antecedent
studies of biology. To be sure, he finds his material within psychol-
ogy; but he sees that the strict dependence of mental upon physical
derivation calls for an alliance with both the biometrician and the
student of physiological genetics.
MENTAL INHERITANCE 463
Let us be more concrete in this matter. If I catch the drift of
biological discussion (a hazardous assumption, it may be, for the lay-
man in biology to make), no current and generally accepted doctrine of
heredity is able to trace in an unbroken series of structures or events
the details of the parental organism through the stages of reproduction
to the corresponding details of the offspring. The nuclear and non-
nuclear substances that are supposed to represent the “vehicle” of
heredity do not, I think (except, perhaps, in a few cases) show varia-
tions that represent and correspond to the likeness or difference in given
characters as these appear in parent and offspring (e. g., differences in
height, in shape of leaf, or in color of hair). If, at some future time,
these variations are discovered, then they will, I suppose, represent or
correspond to mental as well as physical likeness and difference. At
present, however, degree of likeness in blood-relations must be de-
rived from description or measurement of corresponding characters or
qualities to be observed in succeeding generations. And the point at
which we are here aiming is this: the establishment of inheritance of
these qualities, whether physical or mental, must, in principle, rest
upon one and the same basis. The inheritance of eye-color and the in-
heritance of memory-type, the inheritance of an “athletic build” and
the inheritance of a bad temper are facts of the same order, and similar
methods may be laid under prescription for their establishment.
The great difficulty les here: how are the characters, mental
and physical, to be conceived? and how are they to be described and
measured ?
We have just seen that upon this question of analysis and measure-
ment, quite apart from the problem of mechanism, the schools of evo-
lution show wide differences of opinion, the biometrician basing his
method upon the doctrine of probabilities and proceeding quantita-
tively, the Mendelian basing his method upon the doctrine of unit
characters and segregation and proceeding analytically and by distinc-
tion of qualities.
Which of these methods, if either, is psychology to adopt? It
happens that psychology has already made a provisional choice; or
rather, a choice has been made for her. Biometry has been predom-
inantly concerned with human, Mendelism with non-human, inherit-
ance. It is scarcely an accident, then, that biometrical methods were
the first to exploit the mind of man. As you know, biometry’s inspira-
tion came from Francis Galton, traveler, explorer, geographer, anthro-
pologist, student of evolution, psychology and sociology. The grandson
of Erasmus Darwin, a representative therefore of one of the highly
gifted strains of English blood, Galton has devoted himself to a quanti-
tative study of the inheritance of talent and intellect, and to practical
measures for purifying and improving the race. His interests revolve
464 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
about the central theme of human ability and its dependence upon the
stock. In a study of three hundred eminent English families, Galton
found the descent of great mental capacity to be far more intensive
than ia less eminent families; and found, further, that the closer the
blood-relationship, the greater was the number of eminent individuals.
Later studies, for example, Galton’s own recent inquiry into the family
history of Fellows of the Royal Society, have likewise shown that the
person of superior mind is much more likely than the average to pos-
sess superior ancestors and descendants. These facts are justly inter-
preted as an indication that mental endowment depends in large meas-
ure upon direct inheritance.
This kind of inquiry then—the kind that takes human beings in the
mass and applies a rough unit of measurement—reveals in a striking
way the importance of the hereditary factor in mental ability. How-
ever, the method does not constitute a science of heredity. No evolu-
tionist would be satisfied to know that large horses beget large horses,
and small horses small horses. It is the degree of likeness of some
particular organ, or quality, or function, or peculiarity that the student
of heredity now attempts to state, and to state often in numerical
terms.
So the present psychological problem of heredity comes back to the
question of mental characters and of the best methods for their descrip-
tion and measurement. The psychologist may answer this question in
either one of two ways. First, he may fall back upon the distinctions
of every-day or popular psychology and say that “a good memory,”
“sound judgment,” “ conscientiousness,” “ affability,” “ sentimental-
ity ” and “industry ” are mental characters, and that the way to cal-
culate their heritability is to take a large number of persons, related
and not related, estimate the eminence of these qualities in each, note
their distribution and derive laws of resemblance. If you find that a
good memory, or affability, or industry “runs in families,” and is not
to be attributed to a common environment, you may conclude that the
characteristic in question is heritable. As a matter of fact, this is the
method that, for the most part, has been employed within the last ten
years; and it has been used either by biometricians themselves, or by
the psychologist who has followed their initiative.
~ Let me cite two or three instances. Professor Karl Pearson, of the
University of London, the leader of the biometrical school, collected
from teachers data regarding some four thousand children. Color of
hair and eyes and cephalic index were among the physical characters
graded, and conscientiousness, temper and assertiveness among the
mental traits. The degree of likeness between brothers and sisters was
found to be substantially the same for physical and mental qualities ;
in Pearson’s terms, each showed a correlation of about 0.5. Again,
MENTAL INHERITANCE 465
Professor Thorndike, of Columbia University, in a study of fifty pairs
of twins, by the use of tests and measurements, derived nearly the same
degree of correlation (just exceeding .75) for mental and physical
characters—a much higher degree of resemblance, by the way, than he
found in brothers and sisters not twins. The result is noteworthy, even
though we may doubt the full validity of the method. The most ex-
tensive and painstaking investigation of this order was recently made
by two Dutch psychologists, Heymans and Wiersma, of the University
of Groningen. Some four hundred physicians responded to a ques-
tionary, each giving the results of his intimate acquaintance with a
single family. The questions asked pertained to the ardor, impulsive-
ness, resolution, persistence, generosity, temperance, wit, patience, in-
dustry, ete.—about ninety topics in all—of each member of the family
selected. The results when thrown into tabular form indicate a
high degree of resemblance between parent and child—a higher re-
semblance between father and son, mother and daughter, than between
father and daughter and mother and son. Even after allowance had
been made for cultural influences, the degree of likeness was about the
same as the inheritance of bodily stature, and the result seems, more-
over, to stand in close agreement with Galton’s law of ancestral in-
heritance, which accords to the average parent one quarter the heritage
of the offspring.
It is, now, a matter of interest that these studies and others that
might be brought under survey suggest that our mental traits and
capabilities are derived, very much as are our bodily characteristics,
from hereditary endowment. You must, however, have been struck by
the grossness of the method of collecting facts. What is the scientific
value, you may have asked yourselves, of a teacher’s or physician’s
opinion that A is more vivacious or less generous than B? Well, the
outcome does show, I think, that careful mathematical treatment of
extensive data thus collected will yield noteworthy and valuable re-
sults. But the more important the results, the greater the demand for
refinement of method. Can the method be improved? [I think that it
can. The biometrician having shown that the problem is capable of
solution, let us see if his arch-enemy, the follower of Mendel, can not
suggest the improvement in procedure. The improvement that I find
suggested is this: the exclusive inheritance of Mendel lays emphasis
upon the analysis and separate treatment of individual characters.
Now without presuming to decide whether inheritance takes place in
all cases, or even as a rule, through the recombination of “ unit char-
acters,” mental or physical, psychology may profit by the Mendelian
principles so far as to insist that inheritance be studied, not in the
gross, but in terms of definite and measurable mental structures and
functions.
VoL. XXLV.—31.
466 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
This insistence involves the substitution of a doctrine of mental
characters for the popular conception of vague and indefinite traits and
peculiarities. How is this doctrine to be derived? Obviously from
psychology itself. Neither biometry nor biology nor common sense
can furnish the materials.
Look with me for a moment, if you will, to see what psychology has
to offer. It is evident that the general psychology of the average
normal mind will not suffice when the matter is one of defining differ-
ences among minds of the same class. Just as physical inheritance
must take account of arrays and schemes of distribution, and not of
averages, so must mental qualities and magnitudes be arranged with
respect to definite individual variations within the class.
A psychology of individual differences is thus invoked; and a
psychology of individual differences does exist; or rather, it is in
process. The way of scientific description is first to reveal uniformities
hidden in the mass, and afterward to seek the rule of variation from
the average. General psychology, taken in this sense, is accordingly
the older branch of the science—the psychology of what is common to
all minds—individual psychology, the newer. So it happens that
although the older branch of the science has a well-developed metrical
technique, established at almost the same moment that “The Origin
of Species” appeared, its quantitative determinations are determina-
tions of psychophysical constants and not laws of individual variation.
These laws can not then be used (at least not directly) for the statis-
tical study of inheritance. What is needed is a psychology of typical
differences, and this it is that individual psychology is by way of sup-
plying. Let me, in a word, indicate its method. It proceeds by ex-
periment to take the dimensions of mind as regards variable functions,
e. g., the maximal amount read in a given time and under given con-
ditions, or the number of words remembered or of figures added. The
first results show typical differences as between mind and mind. ‘The
experimenter next proceeds to factor the performance into elementary
processes and functions. By drawing his conditions closer and closer
he discovers that the capacity for reading depends upon such simple
factors as the range of consciousness, the degree of attention, and the
temporal rate of visual processes, factors all capable of measurement
and exact description. He discovers that remembrance depends upon
the employment of visual or auditory or kinesthetic processes, 7. e., that
in one observer an eye-mind, in another an ear-mind and in a third a
muscle-mind is employed. Of these factors, he can predicate heritabil-
ity. It is as if “ criminality ” were reduced to a lack of motor control
plus an abnormally intensive passion or lust. “ Criminality” would
then never be inherited, but the constituent factors might very well be.
The method of individual psychology, however, goes farther. After
MENTAL INHERITANCE 467
having reduced a conscious experience to simpler terms, the process of
reconstruction begins. The functions and processes that have been re-
duced to numerical terms are recombined in their several amounts
and the integration when complete represents an individual in so far
as that individual is typical. With the absolute and exhaustive de-
scription of the individual as such, science is not concerned. Typical
minds thus derived are, so to say, minds of different length and breadth
and thickness. They are analogous to the variable organs and func-
tions of the body. Their scientific description differs from the crude
characterizations which we pass upon our friends and enemies as the
law of falling bodies differs from an observer’s account of a balloonist’s
accident.
The steps, then, in the procedure of individual psychology are
(1) the measurement of a group of mental processes or functions,
(2) analysis for the discovery of elementary or fundamental dif-
ferences, (3) integration of these differential factors, and (4) a classi-
fication of types; measurement, analysis, integration, description, a
common and justified sequence in the general methodology of science.
Compare with this procedure the instances taken a few moments ago
from the psychology of common sense—the method employed, let us
say, by Pearson. The first and the last steps are combined (“ con-
scientiousness ” or “ assertiveness ” represents the type), analysis and
integration are omitted, and an offhand estimate is substituted for care-
ful measurement.
I fear that I have been tedious and that I have perplexed you over-
much with matters remote from your primary interests. My excuse is
that I have given you in part a program for the future, and that methods
in the making are notoriously self-conscious and awkward of expression.
If it were ten years later doubtless I could display more product and
vex you less with the process. I could, I have reason to believe, show
you this psychological problem of ours, which already at the early stage
of crude quantification has proved itself extremely fertile, in a much
more mature and fruitful state.
Now that you have before you, in outline, the problem of mental
inheritance, its debt to biology, and the present necessity—if the prob-
lem is to advance—for the analytical treatment of traits by a science of
individual differences, let me in closing return to my earlier remarks
touching the import of inheritance in human history. I urged that
human knowledge and human obligation have grown out of proportion
to human talent. So far as we can tell, the child of to-day possesses
the same nervous system, the same sense organs, evinces the same
instinctive tendencies, in short, develops with the same physical and
mental equipment as the child of unnumbered generations ago. If, so
far as education went, the primitive boy was ready for man’s estate at
468 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
twelve or fifteen, can we wonder that at present the candidate for an
advanced university degree has often passed his thirtieth birthday?
We should rather marvel at the elasticity of the mind’s response to new
needs. We know that Quaternary man sometimes possessed artistic
ability—perhaps as great ability as the modern European; but what a
difference in the product. We can not conceive a medieval musician—
to go no further back—producing or comprehending our operas and
symphonies; but who would say that native ability in music has grown
in the meantime? Are we not then driven to the admission that no
principle of selection has for a long time been sufficiently active to raise
the level of mental endowment? We live on capital gathered and
hoarded by the race. Suppose that we turn spendthrift! Francis
Galton reckons that England at its best falls two grades below the
highest intellect of Athens; that England produces one man of supreme
eminence where the older culture produced two hundred. Suppose that
by improving the breed our mental endowment should recover those
two grades. The effect, direct and indirect, upon the race is not easily
estimated. It is conceivable that it should give to every generation a
Homer or a Dante or a Shakespeare, and to each of the European states
and America a dozen Newtons and Darwins. Eugenics rests upon a
scientific basis and it proposes a well-considered program for future
activity. Whatever differences of opinion we may hold regarding the
probable success of its methods, we must agree that civilized man may
not indolently regard himself as “ God’s domestic animal”; that he
will, on the contrary, do well to examine and to estimate the hereditary
factor in his own mental development and to seek to combine for his
improvement the conjoint forces of nature and nurture.
ASTRONOMICAL SUPERSTITIONS 469
ASTRONOMICAL SUPERSTITIONS
By JOHN CANDEE DEAN
INDIANAPOLIS, IND.
qe great majority of our superstitions had their birth in attempts
to interpret natural phenomena from erroneous ideas which
consist of fancies suggested by the imagination. In other words, most
superstitions are attempted short cuts to explain phenomena while
omitting natural causation. The average man loves superstition, loves
the fictitious, both loves and fears the supernatural and is fascinated
by the incomprehensible. From the infancy of the human race men
have attempted to explain things according to their external appear-
ances, and whatever was strange or vast, especially if it had visible
motion, impressed the beholder with the fear of invisible powers.
During September, 1908, a score of people called the writer by
telephone to ask about a brilliant star that had appeared in the eastern
morning sky. They had been informed that it was the star of Bethle-
hem, which appears only once every 300 years. They generally seemed
disappointed when told that it was not the star of Bethlehem, but the
planet Venus, which instead of becoming visible only once in 300
years, regularly appears twice in a period of 584 days. On attempting
to impart further information it soon became evident that their interest
was in the mystery of the star of Bethlehem and not in any facts re-
lating to Venus.
Fashionable society will enthusiastically discuss telepathy, astrology,
christian science, psychic force, palmistry, spiritualism, etc., but if one
should introduce a subject relating to astronomy or physics, he would
be regarded as a pedantic bore. Du Maurier illustrated the indifference
of society to science by a drawing in Punch entitled “Science and
Music at an Evening Party.” The scene was in a large London draw-
ing room. In the foreground was a professor earnestly talking to a
gentleman, while at the back of the room all the rest of the company
were eagerly crowding around a piano. Chesterfield wrote to his son:
Pocket all your knowledge with your watch and never pull it out in com-
pany unless desired; the producing of one unasked, implies that you are weary
of the company, and production of the other will make the company weary
of you.
While it is true that there is but a small circle of people interested
in what is called physical science, yet that science now rules the world
and is nearly as despotic as nature herself. Human progress is almost
entirely scientific and even our industrial progress is based on applied
science.
470 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
Even before man essayed to group the stars into constellations he
naturally raised the question of the origin, and the manner of the pro-
duction of the world itself. He then believed it to be flat and immoy-
able, and its seagirt disk supported the sapphire vault above. Gods,
men, monsters and heroes familiarly associated and acted their parts,
before man had learned to judge by evidence and to place a limit on
probability. The sun, the moon and the earth were living beings filled
with demons, and sorcery governed belief. Under these conditions
there arose no astronomical or geographical difficulties, for where
superstition rules evidence becomes useless.
The astronomical ideas of primitive people have been similar the
world over. The cosmogony of the Mahometans, as presented in the
Koran, is so puerile as to be unworthy of serious consideration. It
teaches that the earth is flat and floats in the sea. It is kept in bal-
ance by the mountains, and the sky is supported above by a huge dome
so perfect that it is impossible to discover a crack in it. Above are
the seven heavens, ranged one over the other, the uppermost being the
abode of God, which does not rest on the earth, but is supported by
winged animals. Meteors are red-hot stones thrown by angels at bad
spirits, when they approach too near the seventh heaven. Of the many
creation myths, the Jewish story is the one most familiar to us. <Ac-
cording to this narrative the universe was miraculously created in six
days. The earth is the fixed center enclosed in a great hemisphere
called the firmament, which divides the seas above it from those below.
More space is devoted to describing the creation of the firmament—now
known to be an optical illusion—than to the creation of man himself.
The sun, moon and stars were made “to give light upon the earth,”
and the whole universe was purely anthropocentric, that is, man was the
preordained center and aim of all creation. This anthropocentric
dogma is closely connected with all three of the great Mediterranean
religions, Mosaic, Mohammedan and Christian, hence it has for cen-
turies dominated the beliefs of the greater part of the civilized world.
Many of the most charming legends of Greek and Roman mythology
were drawn from astronomical subjects. There is no more beautiful
illustration of Roman superstition than that shown in Guido’s familiar
fresco of “ Aurora.” Why this picture is called Aurora and not Apollo
is difficult to explain. The noble sun god is the most important figure
of the picture, and he dominates all the rest. He is surrounded by the
light tripping Hours, each a very queen of loveliness. Aurora, the god-
dess of the dawn, leads the throng. From the crown of her beautiful
head to the soles of her rosy feet, she is grace incarnate. As she flies
she scatters flowers and dew from her hands upon the verdant fields
below.
The Roman child was taught that the sun was the actual wheel of
Apollo’s chariot. In the morning this god arose from the eastern sea
ASTRONOMICAL SUPERSTITIONS 471
driving his four wonderful horses across the heavens; in the evening
he descended into the western sea; at night he slept in a golden boat
which was borne along the northern edge of the earth to the rising
place in the east. The moon was the abode of the lovely goddess Luna,
sister of Apollo, who guided its course in the heavens.
Thus mythology explained astronomical phenomena; the sun, moon,
planets, clouds, dawn, and night with its black mantle bespangled with
stars, became animated things. The sun, when setting in the brilliant
evening clouds, then became Hercules in the fiery pile.
While mythology obstructed
scientific progress by finding sacred =
—
explanations for every natural ZZ
event, there were a few gifted, in- Ze FHE BLESSED ZF
quisitive minds among the Greeks CRYSTALLINE HEAVE, S—
iF Ss
that sought for knowledge behind Et
the painted curtain of superstition. 4 p HEAVEN OF THE FIRM AME n>
Thales of the sixth century B.c., fe SPHERE OF SATURN —~
was the father of Greek astronomy. Cog SPHERE OF TPT
Heiaught that the earthiigepher-
ical and that the moon receives her _-& SPHERE OF MaRS
light from the sun. Anaxagoras as-
cribed eclipses of the moon to nat- Ee
ural causes and taught the existence es ae
of a creative intelligence. He fell CEE Ew
a victim to the superstitions of his
age. Sentence of death was passed
on him and his family, which re-
quired all the eloquence of his
friend Pericles to commute to ban-
ishment. :
Pythagoras of the fourth cen-
tury B.C. was a most assiduous en-
quirer. He is said to have been
the first to propose the system of a
globular earth and of planets, re-
volving around the sun. When the
Church condemned the theory of
Copernicus the indictment was that
it was heathenism and Pythagorean.
Modern astronomy may be said to have arisen in the third century
B.c., under the patronage of the first king of the Greek dynasty, at
Alexandria, Egypt. Euclid, Eratosthenes, Hipparchus and Ptolemy
were among the illustrious astronomers of the Alexandrian era. It
was in the second century A.D. that Ptolemy published his great work
on astronomy called the “ Almagest,” which during the following four-
een SCOR
ANCIENT THEORY OF THE UNIVERSE
472 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
teen centuries was universally regarded as a kind of astronomical bible.
One of the curious astronomical superstitions that originated with
the Chaldeans, and which persisted almost to our own times, was that of
the crystalline spheres. The idea of a spherical universe was a very
natural one. It was difficult to see how thousands of bodies could re-
volve around the earth for generations, without change in their rela-
tive positions, unless there was something to retain them in their
places. It was believed that the planets and stars were set in a series
of concentric orbs or spheres, each so perfectly transparent that bodies
in the outer ones were visible through all the intervening ones. The
drawing shows the order of the spheres and the system of the universe
according to Ptolemy. The earth is in the center enclosed by the
sphere of the moon, beyond are the concentric spheres of Mercury,
Venus, the sun, Mars, Jupiter and Saturn. Outside of all are the crys-
talline heavens and the abode of the blessed.
The revolution of the spheres was supposed to produce the most
exquisite music which filled all celestial space, but such was its refined
quality that it was inaudible to mortal ears. One of the most sublime
passages of Shakespeare describes this music:
Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven
Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold.
There is not the smallest orb which thou beholdest
But in his motion like an angel sings,
Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubims:
Such harmony is in immortal souls;
But while this muddy vesture of decay
Doth grossly close it in, we can not hear it.
The following parallel lines are from Milton’s “ Arcades”:
In deep of night when drowsiness
Hath lock’d up mortal sense, then listen I
To the celestial Sirens harmony,
That sits upon the nine infolded spheres.
Such sweet compulsion doth in music lie,
To lull the daughter of Necessity
And keep unsteady Nature to her law,
And the low world in measured motion draw
After the heavenly tune which none can hear
Of human mould, with gross unpurged ear.
Astronomy has always been the favorite science of the poets. The
frame-work of Dante’s “ Paradise” is constructed on the Ptolemaic
system. His ten heavens are arranged in the exact order of those
shown in the drawing. The crystal orbs are rotated by angels. He
says:
The virtue and motion of the sacred orbs,
As mallet by the workman’s hand must needs
By blessed movers be inspired.
It may be said that during the Christian era, up to the thirteenth
ASTRONOMICAL SUPERSTITIONS 473
century in which Dante lived, there had been no progress in scientific
knowledge. He still held to the four elements of the Greeks:
Thou sayest, the air, the fire I see,
The earth and water, and all things of them
Compounded, to corruption turn and soon
Dissolve.
Although Shakespeare was not born until twenty years after the
death of Copernicus, all allusions made by him to the heavens are
either astrological or Ptolemaic.
The tendency of a superstition to persist even after closely allied
phenomena have been explained on a purely natural basis, is illustrated
in the belief that planetary motion was due to “blessed movers.” Al-
though Copernicus discovered that the planets revolve around the
sun instead of the earth, he still believed that their motion was con-
trolled by guiding spirits. Galileo conclusively confirmed the correct-
ness of the heliocentric theory, but faith in the supernatural motion of
the planets was undisturbed. Not until the genius of Newton had dis-
covered and formulated the law of universal gravitation and provided
a mathematical foundation for Kepler’s laws, were these conducting
spirits dismissed. It required the discoveries of three men of genius
and two centuries of time to overthrow the foolish superstition of
mediocre man.
From the end of the fourth to the beginning of the fifteenth cen-
tury superstition had given to society a form that prevented the man
of genius from being heard. Buckle says that from the sixth to the
tenth century there were not in all Europe more than three men who
dared to think for themselves, and through fear of punishment even
they were obliged to veil their meaning in mystical language. The
remaining part of society was sunk in degrading ignorance. Progress
became possible only when science essayed to explain observed phe-
nomena by depending on natural causation.
For ages the superstitions of astrology ruled the world by the
terror that they inspired. The figure of a man, with entrails exposed,
in the front of the family almanac is a survival of Egyptian astrology.
Around the figure are the twelve signs of the zodiac with lines extend-
ing to the parts of the body supposed to be influenced by the celestial
signs. Aries the head, Leo the heart, Capricornus the knees, Pisces the
feet, etc. Faith in the influence of the signs of the zodiac remained
unshaken in spite of knowledge that the inconstant stars were shifting
from one sign to another by the precession of the equinoxes. When the
pyramids were built, what is now known as the pole star was so far from
the celestial pole that the Egyptians saw it rise and set in the Medi-
terranean. The Southern Cross was then visible not only in northern
Egypt but throughout Europe as far north as London.
Coincidences have ever been mistaken for causes. Owing to the
474 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
unparalled brilliancy of the Dog Star, astrologists assigned to it power-
ful influences, and because it rose just before the sun, at the season
when the Nile overflowed, it was supposed to be the mystic cause of the
inundation. They gave it the name of Sirius, from the river Nile,
which was called Siris in their hieroglyphics. They also called it the
Dog Star because, like a faithful watch-dog, it warned them of the
approaching overflow, and they waited for its appearance with deep
solicitude, for on the overflow of the river depended agricultural pros-
perity or blighting drought. They computed the length of the year
from the heliacal rising of the Dog Star and this is still known as the
Canicular year. The Romans were equally solicitous and were ac-
customed to sacrifice a dog to Sirius, to render his influence beneficent
to agriculture. Virgil says:
Parched was the grass, and blighted was the corn:
Nor ’scaped the beasts; for Sirius from on high,
With pestilential heat infects the sky.
The time of the year when the Dog Star rose with the sun and
appeared to combine its influence with the solar heat they gave the
name “dog days” (dies canicularis) which began August 4 and ended
September 14. Owing to the displacement of the constellations by pre-
cession, the time of the heliacal rising of the Dog Star is continually
accelerated, hence modern dog days have no connection with this star,
and furthermore, recent study of rabies proves that more dogs go mad
in winter or early spring than in summer time.
A favorite prediction of astrologers was of cataclysms that would
destroy all mankind. Such a catastrophe was foretold to occur in 1186,
and a universal deluge was predicted for the year 1542. In the latter
year there was to be a conjunction of three planets in the watery sign
of the “ Fishes.” The prophecy was generally believed and the terror
was wide-spread. A Noah’s ark was built at Toulouse, but the year was
distinguished for its drought.
Ridicule is sometimes more efficacious than argument in over-
throwing false theories. A skit by Dean Swift discredited astrology,
in England, more than all the evidence of science. Swift published a
satirical pamphlet under the title of “ Predictions for the Year 1708,
by Isaac Bickerstaff, Esq.,” in which he predicted the death of a well-
known astrologer and almanac maker by the name of Partridge. He
claimed to have consulted the stars and calculated the exact hour of
the astrologer’s demise. This was followed by a letter to a man of
rank, giving complete particulars of Partridge’s death on the day and
almost at the very hour foretold. The angry astrologer denounced the
pamphleteer, employed a literary friend to write up proofs of his ex-
istence and published his almanac for the year 1709. Swift answered
all of the arguments, claiming that the denial of death was spurious,
and that the deceased was a gentleman who would never have used the
ASTRONOMICAL SUPERSTITIONS 475
abusive language employed; as for the almanac, everybody knew that
almanacs were frequently published under the names of people who
had long been dead.
An adequate account of the superstitions of astrology would make
a volume, and it would be easy to compile a list of one hundred lunar
superstitions that still govern the actions of the uninformed. For
example, the new moon if first seen over the right shoulder will bring
good luck. If seen over the left shoulder, bad luck. Meat killed when
the moon is waning shrinks in the pot. Whatever grows above ground
must be planted when the moon is waxing. Whatever grows under-
ground must be planted when the moon is waning. One of the com-
monest lunar superstitions is that the changes of the moon, at the quarter,
affect the weather, and many of our almanacs still publish so-called
“ Herschel’s weather tables,” for foretelling changes of the weather, not
only throughout all the lunations of the year, but for all future time.
We are assured by the almanac makers that the tables are the result
of careful consideration of the attractions of the sun and the moon
“and so near the truth as to seldom or never fail.” Belief in the
moon’s influence over terrestrial conditions is a mild lunacy by no
means wholly confined to the ignorant. A tabulated meteorological
record, kept at Greenwich running back for forty years, shows that
there are no constant relations between the moon’s columns and those
recording the readings of the instruments. In other words, lunar
meteorological influences are almost inappreciable. Idle fancies are still
cherished that the mind and body are affected by the light of the moon,
that the rays sometimes produce blindness by shining on the sleeper’s
eyes, and that death occurs at the time of the changes of tide.
When Copernicus published his work on the “ Revolutions of the
Heavenly bodies,” in 1543, he was already on his deathbed. A few
men of learning read it, the doctors of the church rejected it, and it
received but little attention until the time of Bruno, Galileo and
Kepler, half a century later. During the previous thirteen hundred
years the astronomical system of Ptolemy had been regarded with super-
stitious reverence. It was natural that a geocentric and anthropocentric
universe should be drawn, because these errors were conducive to man’s
interests, pleasing to his extreme egotism, and resulted in the apotheosis
of himself. The anthropocentric dogma culminated in the belief that
man was the preordained center and aim of all creation, while the
new heliocentric mechanism of the planetary system relegated both
the earth and man to subordinate positions.
In 1610 Galileo ascended the tall campanile of St. Mark’s, in
Venice, and with his newly devised telescope showed the assembled
noblemen and senators that Venus was a crescent, Jupiter the center
of a miniature Copernican system, the moon had tall mountains casting
dark shadows across her surface, that the star cluster of the Pleiades
476 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
contained not seven stars but thirty-six and that the milky way was
powdered with stars. In reward for his discoveries the Venetian Sen-
ate doubled his salary of professor at Padua, and secured that position
to him for life. He was made philosopher extraordinary to the grand-
duke of Tuscany, and the next year visited Rome, where he exhibited
the wonders of the heavens to the eminent personages of the Pope’s
court.
But war on Galileo soon flamed forth. The spiritual authorities saw
that established dogmas were endangered. He was accused of heresy
and atheism. The story of his summons before the inquisition, his
trial, conviction and suffering, has been told too often to be repeated
here. The triumph of superstition over his astronomical discoveries
was for the time complete. This great genius lived to see his works
expelled from all the universities of Europe, their publication pro-
hibited, and he knew that he was doomed to face all posterity as one
who had committed perjury to escape torture.
Sixteen years previous to Galileo’s first summons to Rome, poor
Giordano Bruno was burned in that city. In his wanderings to escape
persecution Bruno had visited England and while there published his
exposition of the Copernican system. Prudence frequently obliged
him to change his place of residence and it is not strange that he finally
drifted to Venice. Here greater religious liberty was permitted than
in other Italian cities, and here the stake had never been erected. It
was at the Palazzo Mocenigo, on the Grand Canal, that emissaries of
the inquisition finally ran him to earth. The first indictment of the
inquisition charged him with teaching that there were innumerable
worlds. He was burned to death in the Piazzo Campo di Fiore in the
year 1600. Galileo’s greatest contemporary was Kepler, who discovered
the laws of planetary motion which paved the way to the greater dis-
coveries of Newton. Kepler was abused, imprisoned and warned that
he must bring his theories into harmony with the scriptures. Astron-
omy was then so poorly patronized that to increase his meager income
he was obliged to pay homage to the astrological superstitions of
Rudolph II. and Wallenstein.
One of Kepler’s most terrible experiences arose from the prevailing
superstition of sorcery. His aunt and his mother were charged with
being witches and sentenced to be burned alive. Through Kepler’s
indefatigable efforts, and the influence of powerful friends, his mother
was saved, but the suffering which she endured during more than a
year’s imprisonment resulted in her death a few months later. Kep-
ler’s aunt was burned at the stake.
The writings of all ages up to the eighteenth century show that
comets were believed to be dire messengers of woe. Stars and meteors
were generally thought to foretell happy events, especially the birth of
heroes and great rulers. Eclipses expressed the distress of nature over
terrestrial calamities, while comets portended greater woes than all the
ASTRONOMICAL SUPERSTITIONS 477
other celestial signs combined. Those who did not recognize them as
warnings from God were stigmatized as atheists and Epicureans. John
Knox believed them to be tokens of the wrath of heaven, others saw in
them warnings to the king to extirpate the Papists. Luther declared
them to be the work of the devil and called them harlot stars. Milton
says that the comet “from its horrid hair shakes pestilence and war.”
Whole nations from the king down to the lowest peasant were fre-
quently plunged into the direst alarm by the appearance of these mes-
sengers of misery. The comet that appeared the year after the assassi-
nation of Czesar was supposed to be his metamorphosed soul armed with
fire and vengeance. It is said that the comet of 1556 had a powerful
influence in causing the Emperor Charles V. to abdicate and retire to
the monastery of San Yuste. Queen Elizabeth, in 1580, issued an
order of prayers to avert God’s wrath, and referred to comets, eclipses
and heavy falls of snow as evidences of His great displeasure. The
periodic comet known as Halley’s probably caused more consternation
than any other within historic times. One of its early appearances was
the year of the Norman Conquest and it was supposed to presage the
defeat of the Saxons and the death of Harold. At the South Kensing-
ton Museum is a copy of the Bayeux Tapestry on which may be seen
the comet of 1066. Its return in 1456 spread a wider terror than was
ever known before. The belief was general that the judgment day was
at hand. People gave up all hope and prepared for their doom. Again
in 1607 it alarmed the world by its appearance and the churches filled
with terror-stricken multitudes. Kepler, who was then imperial as-
tronomer at Prague, quietly traced its course and discovered that it
was outside of the moon’s orbit. Tycho had made the same observation
respecting a bright comet that appeared thirty years earlier. The an-
nouncement of Kepler’s discovery caused a great outcry because it at-
tacked the very foundations of the cometary superstitions. It also
assailed the dogma of the crystalline spheres, because the motion of a
superlunar comet would send it crashing through the spheres. It was
hard for superstitious man to give up the “signs of the heavens”
that had so long misguided him. As late as the latter part of the
seventeenth century a book was published by Father De Angelis, of the
Clementine College, Rome, in defense of the old cometary faith. He
claimed that comets originate in our atmosphere below the moon.
Everything heavenly is eternal. We see the beginning and ending of
comets, hence they are not heavenly bodies. They are emanations of
dry, fatty matter from the air and may be ignited by sparks from
heaven or by lightning. Every one knows that they cause war, pesti-
lence and famine. He had observed a comet at Naples which was so
close that its tail almost touched Vesuvius, and it would have destroyed
Naples but for the blood of the martyr Januarius.
People were so wedded to ancient errors that it required one hun-
dred years of telescopic work to bring the Copernican system out of
478 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
the realms of hypothesis. For generations the universities taught both
the geocentric and the heliocentric systems, leaving the student to de-
cide which was right. During more than a thousand years previous to
Galileo’s discoveries, superstition and wnreason had prevented all hu-
man progress. ‘They were the source of untold mischief and suffering
and are still man’s greatest enemy, while science and reason are his
greatest friends. Modern superstitions are often the best comment on
ancient astronomical errors.
Newton’s astrophysical discoveries placed the solar system on a
mechanical basis and dispensed with the planetary guiding angels.
Empirical science has since shown that every phenomenon has its me-
chanical cause, while Darwin’s “ Descent of Man” has shattered the
dogma of anthropocentricism. In the operation of cosmic forces it
may now be said that events occur by mechanical necessity regardless
of man’s interests. During the latter half of the nineteenth century,
by the telescopic study of the vast and the microscopic study of the
small, a splendid record of accumulated truths was attained. The
discoveries of the laws of the indestructibility of force and matter, the
unity of nature, the mechanical theory of heat; inorganic and organic
evolution and the universality of law, have explained many mysterious
phenomena, and forced them out of the darkness of the supernatural
to the light of the natural. It has been said that mystery has now been
driven from the universe. JBelief in the miraculous and the tran-
scendental rests on the assumption that outside and beyond the natural
world active forces exist that have no material basis, and of which we
can learn nothing by experience, or by any natural means. Such
dualistic beliefs are purely idealistic and are evolved from the activity
of the brain called emotion. Emotion has nothing to do with the at-
tainment of truth and all doctrines, or opinions, are to be suspected,
that are favored by our passions.
Philosophy is the science of which all others are but branches, hence
philosophy lies in the province of physical science and not in that of
letters. Haeckel says: “ All true natural science is philosophy and all
true philosophy is natural science.” The astronomical errors of the
past have arisen from attempts to explain the cosmos out of the inner
consciousness, rejecting all scientific methods and substituting faith.
While faith may supplement observation in the search for truth, we
must not confuse supernatural faith with the natural faith of science.
Mark Twain has defined the former as “ believing something that you
know is not true.” The natural faith of science and of practical life is
drawn from experience. Kant, Hume, Huxley and Haeckel agree that
all knowledge of the reality of phenomena is limited to that revealed
to us by experience. Belief must rest on evidence. That belief which
is not founded on evidence is both illogical and immoral.
GHOGRAPHICAL INFLUENCES IN OHIO 479
GEOGRAPHIC INFLUENCES IN THE DEVELOPMENT
OF OHIO
By Prorpssor FRANK CARNEY
DENISON UNIVERSITY
HIO leads the states in its clay products, and its workable clays are
practically inexhaustible. Ohio leads also in the number of
presidents furnished the union, with unimpaired prospects for the fu-
ture. Both ratings are consequences of geographic causes, as will appear
in later discussion.
This state lies between 38° 27’, and 41° 57%’ north latitude; it is
bounded by the meridians reading 80° 34’ and 84° 49’. For its width
in latitude and its lack of great range in altitude, it has a marked range
in mean annual temperature; in southern Ohio the mean annual range
is 54°, while in northern Ohio it is 49° ; its range in average temperature
is about 40°. Lake Hrie exerts an appreciable influence on climatic con-
ditions for the northern part of the state.
The Ohio River bounds the state for 436 miles, and the lake shore
gives it 230 miles more of natural boundary. About one half of the
state line is artificial.
A rock section of the state gives in its lower half a predominance of
limestone and shale formations; above this are wide-spread horizons of
sandstone and conglomerate. These more resistant formations, belong-
ing to the late Mississippian and early Pennsylvanian periods, are reg-
istered in the relief by a mild escarpment or cuesta sweeping to the
south and west from the northeastern corner of the state. The north-
ern and western parts consist of shale and limestone formations. There
is slight relief particularly in the shale areas. The region of the lime-
stone extends across the western portion of the state coinciding in
longer axis with the orientation of the Cincinnati anticline. The
drainage pattern resulting from this arching has given the west and
southwest part of the state much more relief than would be the case
with more horizontal strata.
The general dip of these formations is to the south and east. It is
probable that the original consequent streams flowed in this direction.
It would be futile, however, at the present time to attempt to sketch the
drainage history of Ohio from the Pennsylvanian period, since which
time the area has been continuously subject to stream work. Dias-
trophic movements have introduced some complexity. Several erosion
cycles have been inaugurated, but there is evidence that few were
480 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
normally terminated. The distribution of the Pennsylvanian forma-
tions coincides with the most irregular topography of the state. The
average altitude is about 770 feet, and the range in altitude is approxi-
mately 1,100 feet.
The present watershed crosses the state from east to west, trending
slightly to the south, at an altitude of about 1,100 feet. Drainage
lines have divided the upland portion into north-south trending blocks
progressively more widely spaced towards the west. These low tracts
have been used by the canals and railroads connecting Lake Erie and
Ohio River.
The larger part of Ohio is an almost completely severed portion of
the Allegheny plateau, extending westward from the northwestern part
of Pennsylvania like a great spit into the Mississippi lowlands; the
broad valley of the Ohio resembles a bay between this spit and the
western slopes of the Appalachians. This somewhat peculiar relation-
ship of topography is the combined result of drainage adjustments due
to stratigraphy, and slight diastrophic movements.
Using natural boundary lines, it would be difficult to divide North
America into many states. Where such lines do exist, they have not
always been utilized. Lake and river, however, form over half the
border of Ohio. In general, a water boundary is an asset to a com-
monwealth; it may be a protection from disputes, and a transit to
trade. The reaction varies with other natural boundaries: high alti-
tudes, sometimes barriers, may impose aloofness, or almost complete
isolation, whereas water boundaries invite commercial relations.
Geographically Ohio is the back door of the middle and north At-
lantic states. This relationship has been of reciprocal value to both
areas; as population became more and more dense in the early settle-
ments, and knowledge of the broad lands across the Appalachians spread,
a movement in that direction was natural. The easiest route for the
more northern of the Atlantic states was through New York via the
Mohawk valley, out and along Lake Erie; for the more southern states,
through passes in the mountains. Possibly on account of the narrow
coastal lands to the south, or possibly because of the greater enterprise
there in watching the movements of the French, the southern routes
were first explored, and the earliest movements into the Ohio valley
came either by way of Pittsburg or by the course of the Cumberland
road.
A gross classification of the factors in the development of any re-
gion is (1) internal and (2) external. The external include the
boundary itself in case the region is a natural one; but geographic
situation is frequently very important. When avenues of travel and
traffic converge and pass through a state benefit follows. Advantage
always comes from proximity to great centers of business or culture
GHOGRAPHICAL INFLUENCES IN OHIO 481
whence energy radiates. Contiguity to activity is an incentive to en-
deavor. We can scarcely find an area of the earth so void of possibilities
as not to experience some stimulation from without. The internal fac-
tors in this development are generally obvious. Mineral wealth, energy-
producing waterfalls, broad rich fields, varied uplands, a gently blend-
ing topography, constant rivers, and a range of climate, make a state
self-assertive. Ohio has never been conspicuous for mineral resources :
in the early days relative importance might be granted its output of
iron ore; the annual production of bituminous coal, while of great ad-
vantage to the state, has never been very large, and even now its rank is
fourth; natural gas and petroleum have been of much importance to
the state, but these resources are always temporary ; the supply of clay was
great enough even under partial exploitation to stimulate the manufac-
ture of clay products in which the state will be apt to hold a permanent
position ; in the coarser abrasives, as grindstones and pulpstones, Ohio
has always been a foremost producer; with the increasing use of con-
crete for structural work, greater importance will be given still other
natural resources.
But the human responses to natural resources and to geographic en-
vironment vary with the people. The same inorganic conditions have
elicited a variety of reactions under shifting populations; this variation
may after all be the best testimony of geographic influences. Move a
people into a different physiography and for some time they will still
be the children of their former surroundings. Adaptation is slow, but
the law is relentless.
When population becomes too dense for the economic development
of a people, the more sturdy among them are the first to emigrate. With
few exceptions the earlier settlers in the Ohio area represented the very
best colonizing material of the seaboard states. These hardy volunteers
in a contest with unbroken lands and unfriendly Indians led to the
foundation of one of our most important commonwealths. Among them
were not only yeomen, but the enlarged outlook of the land between the
lake and the river attracted many of the best schoolmen of the thickly-
settled parts. These pioneers not only cherished and perpetuated the
place names of New England, but transplanted also the New England
zeal for education. In testimony of this spirit among its founders, Ohio
possesses more institutions of higher learning than any other state of
the union. There was a time in the development of our frontiers when
many centers of higher education were needed. ‘Travel was difficult,
money was scarce and barter to quite an extent entered into financing
these primitive college courses; the colleges and seminaries in Ohio
were once even more numerous than now. Advanced standards in edu-
cation, by a process akin to natural selection, have eliminated many.
But the cumulative results of about a century of opportunity for gen-
VoL, LXXv. —32.
482 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
eral culture must be reckoned among the assets of this state; its dozens
of small colleges made it possible for thousands to obtain a training
they otherwise would not have received. This inheritance of the better
eastern culture, which was stimulated and nurtured by the natural ad-
vantages of the region their ancestors were geographically guided into
for settlement, accounts for the position won by Ohioans in public life
as well as in arts and letters.
The geographical development of any state is usually a complicated
problem. Some light, however, is generally thrown on the question by
accounting for its particular city that leads all other centers of popula-
tion. Sometimes the metropolis shifts; if so, a geographic law is always
involved. For several decades Ohio was an agricultural community,
pure and simple. Wealth increased slowly because there were no ready
markets for disposing of products. The first important outlet for farm
products came with the introduction of steamboats on the Ohio River
in 1810. Naturally the river town that was the most accessible to the
agricultural areas became the shipping port. Cincinnati was the earliest
clearing house for products that Ohio had to sell. Buying and selling
are correlative transactions. A ready market stimulated a desire for
things that were counted luxuries in the primitive days, consequently
Cincinnati became a manufacturing town, and ever since it has been the
leading manufacturing city of Ohio.
Until recent years there has never been any doubt as to which city
was the metropolis of Ohio. In the vicinity of what is now Cincinnati
a settlement, the second in the state, was made in November, 1788; the
next month another handful of men built their cabins on the north
bank of the Ohio opposite the mouth of the Licking; this became Cin-
cinnati, whose location assured its growth; on the river, the shipping
facilities were considered excellent, and, buttressed by the river flats,
the farming lands of the Miami valleys, their development into a city of
trade and manufacturing, was speedy and permanent. Before the mid-
dle of last century it was stated that:
The trade of Cincinnati embraces the country from the Ohio to the lake,
north and south; and from the Scioto to the Wabash, east and west. The
Ohio River line, in Kentucky for fifty miles down, and as far up as the Virginia
line, make their purchases here. Its manufactures are sent into the upper and
lower Mississippi country.?
Cincinnati attained city rank in 1820; during the next decade it
became the eighth city in size in the union; from 1830 to 1850 it
ranked sixth; by 1880 it had dropped again to eighth place, and at the
last census to the tenth place.
The greatness of Cincinnati and the assurance of even marvelous
progress in the years to come was prophesied by the editor of the
Toledo Blade, in 1841:
* Henry Howe, “ Historical Collections of Ohio,” Cincinnati, 1847, p. 221.
GHOGRAPHICAL INFLUENCES IN OHIO 483
I venture the prediction that within one hundred years from this time,
Cincinnati will be the greatest city in America; and by the year of our Lord,
2000, the greatest city in the world.’
This thought now sounds extravagant, but at that time there was
ample reason for feeling sanguine about the future of Cincinnati. No
one dreamed that railroads to Baltimore, Philadelphia and New York
would in a few years handle the commodities then passing through Cin-
cinnati. Sir Charles Lyell visited this metropolis of Ohio in May,
1842; his explanation of the commercial basis of the city, and its cul-
ture is worth repeating:
The pork aristocracy of Cincinnati does not mean those innumerable pigs
which walk at large about the streets, as if they owned the town, but a class of
rich merchants, who have made their fortunes by killing annually, salting, and
exporting, about 200,000 swine. There are, besides these, other wealthy pro-
prietors, who have speculated successfully in land, which often rises rapidly as
the population increases. The general civilization and refinement of the citizens
is far greater than might have been looked for in a state founded so recently,
owing to the great number of families which have come directly from the highly
educated part of New England, and have settled there.*
However great may be the commercial initiative of frontier peoples,
as an asset of the nation their value is largely contingent upon the
means of trade and social intercourse. The construction of highways
by governments was an old idea in Europe though not widely practised.
In this country its advantages to the seaboard states appeared at once
upon the drift of population into the trans-Appalachian region. After
long agitation the federal government undertook the construction of a
roadway westward from Cumberland on the Potomac River; the Chesa-
peake and Ohio canal later reached this point, and the road became a
traffic-feeder to the canal. On the other side of the Ohio River, the
government continued this highway across Ohio; this is known as the
“national road.” Its advantages were obvious, and were duly appreci-
ated. Commodities that had usually passed down the Ohio River were
seen on the wharves at Baltimore. News traveled more rapidly along
this highway; residents along or near it were envied; the towns it
passed through were enlivened; the equipages of aristocracy took this
route through the state. Cambridge, Zanesville, Columbus and Spring-
field each owed something of their rating in that day to the advantages
of their location on the national road.
The canal-digging fever struck Ohio shortly after its outbreak in
Atlantic states. In 1817 its legislature considered the matter of con-
structing waterways; the subject came up regularly in the following
years, culminating in 1825 in a law that commenced operations. In
this same year Clinton’s “ditch” tapped Lake Erie. The Ohioans,
3 J. W. Scott, quoted in Howe’s “ Historical Collections of Ohio,” 1847,
p. 221.
4“ Travels in North America,” New York, 1845, Vol. II., p. 61.
484 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
therefore, did not wait for proof positive of the advantages of improved
waterways. The evidence was forthcoming had it been necessary, for
at once after the Erie canal had wedded the lake and the ocean north-
ern Ohio felt a new throb of commercial life. Lake trade was stimu-
lated, harbors were improved, wharves and warehouses constructed ;
and prices advanced on all commodities that could be conveniently
reached. The Ohio legislature had taken the initiative without these
evidences. In seven years the Ohio canal, connecting Portsmouth on
the river at the mouth of the Scioto with Cleveland on the lake, 306
miles long, was completed. The Miami canal joining Cincinnati and
Toledo was commenced in the same year, reached Dayton in 1830,° but
was not completed to the lake till 1845. Along either canal route trade
activity shortly developed the sleepy villages into thrifty towns and
cities. Later adjustments have left some of these places only a retro-
spect; the canal period was their heyday. Others, however, as Newark,
Coshocton, Massillon, Akron, Hamilton, Troy and Defiance, have con-
tinued to prosper under the conditions incident to the transfer of
shipping from the canals to railroads.
The Ohio canal, the course of which was controlled by other con-
siderations than merely joining the river and the lake, makes an ascent
of almost 500 feet. Its construction, relative to its length, was much
more expensive than the Erie canal which ascends only 445 feet. The
maintenance of the Ohio canal also involved greater expense. For
this reason, with the extension of railroad lines in the state, we find that
by 1856 the canals of Ohio ceased to earn running expenses.® During
about twenty years, however, these canals were of great commercial im-
portance to the contiguous parts of the state. Even upon the opening
of the canal from Dresden to Cleveland the price of wheat advanced
from $.25 to $1.00 per bushel.’
When we speak of railroads to-day we at once think of one or
another of the great through lines. In the early days of railroad con-
struction no one dreamed of even a trans-state road. Until recent
years a through line always meant the consolidation of short inde-
pendently owned segments. Local interest in railroad building in
Ohio was lively from the start. Thrifty commercial relations empha-
sized the inadequacy of boating facilities. The efficiency of the Lake
Erie and Erie canal route was not questioned, but there were few canals
in Ohio to give access to the lake. The first steam road to operate in
the state (1836) had one terminus on the lake at Toledo, the other
being at Adrian, Mich. Sandusky had no canal, but by 1839 it com-
5 The Ohio Gazetteer, Columbus, 1839, p. 528.
5 Poor’s ‘Manual of the Railways of the United States,” 1881, p. xvii.
7Henry Howe, “ Historical Collections of Ohio,” Columbus, Vol. II., 1891,
p- 326.
GHOGRAPHICAL INFLUENCES IN OHIO 485
pleted several miles of a railroad, “The Mad River and Lake Hrie,”
towards Dayton, which point it reached in 1844. Ohio capital and en-
thusiasm for railway construction were abundant, as shown by the fact
that in 1837 forty-three railroad companies were organized by state
charters.2 Many of these roads were never built, but some of them
have become the best lines in the state. By 1846 a road was completed
from Cincinnati to Springfield, and by 1848 through steam connection
was made between Cincinnati and Sandusky.® Columbus and Cleve-
land were connected in 1851, and during the same year a railroad was
finished between Cleveland and Cincinnati.*° The next year a line was
opened from Cleveland to Pittsburg.
Geographically Ohio needed transverse railroads; the lake and the
river were its natural thoroughfares to markets; the wide, fertile major
valleys of the state trend north-south, and its products move almost by
gravity to one outlet or the other. Ohioans, except the immigrant an-
cestors, never gave further thought to the “Appalachian Barrier” ;
their commercial friends on the seabooard looked after building the
east-west lines.
The rivalry of the Atlantic ports in establishing through railroad
transportation to the Mississippi basin was thus an advantage to Ohio.
The Hudson-Mohawk valley made the construction of a line a child’s
task for New York, but the Appalachians imposed on Baltimore and
Philadelphia a herculanean undertaking; the former city early recog-
nized the limitations of canals. A citizen of Baltimore in urging the
undertaking said:
Baltimore lies two hundred miles nearer to the navigable waters of the
West than New York, and about one hundred miles nearer to them than Phila-
delphia; to which may be added the important fact, that the easiest and by
far the most practicable route through the ridge of mountains, which divides
the Atlantic from the western waters, is along the depression formed by the
Potomac in its passage through them.*
In 1828 construction was commenced at Baltimore on a line headed
for the Ohio valley, but twenty-five years elapsed before this destina-
tion was reached by the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, the difficulties of
construction having been underestimated.
The next year, 1854, the Pennsylvania line reached Pittsburg, with
which city Cleveland had been joined the preceding year. In 1852 a
road was opened from Buffalo to Cleveland; the same year, one from
Toledo to Chicago; and the next year through traffic was made possible
8 Olio Gazetteer, Columbus, 1839, pp. 531-33.
°Olio Archeological and Historical Society Publications, Vol. IX., 1901,
p- 190.
* Tbid., p. 190.
“Philip E. Thomas, quoted in Johns Hopkins University Studies in His-
torical and Political Science, Third Series (1885), p. 99.
486 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
from Buffalo to Chicago. In 1857 a road across southern Ohio and on to
St. Louis was completed ; this was practically a continuation of the Balti-
more and Ohio Railroad. By 1860 Ohio had what was considered in
that day very ample railway facilities, a condition that contributed
largely to the position the state at once took in manufacturing.
Ohio ranks fifth among the states in the gross value of its manu-
factured products. The state has always been quick in appreciating the
demands of its trade environment. Its waterways, natural and artificial,
before the period of steam roads, gave it an advantage. No state re-
sponded more promptly and effectively to the era of railroad construc-
tion. A study of the evolution of railways in this country shows that
the network pattern first appeared in Ohio. Manufacturing is invari-
ably stimulated by shipping facilities. Excellent transportation service
for decades has been available for producers in this state.. Furthermore,
the geographic center of population, now in Indiana, has been in and
near Ohio for sixty years. Convenience of raw material, accessibility
of markets through shipping facilities for finished products, and stabil-
ity in the supply of labor insured by a normal equilibrium between
wages and the cost of reasonable living are essential conditions to a
state’s maintaining its rank in manufacturing.
The first blast furnace in Ohio was built in 1804 in Mahoning
County. The number of furnaces gradually increased throughout the
area of the Logan and Pottsville formations which contain the meager
iron ore. Limestone is also quite liberally distributed in this same
region. Charcoal was used in these furnaces for over two decades, after
which coal slowly supplanted wood. Local demands for cooking stoves
and other simple necessities stimulated the initial working of these
ores. To some extent, the finished product was shipped outside the
state. Ohio, ever since these early days, has continued to give an annual
output of iron ore, but the supply ceased years ago to be of relative im-
portance.
While fertility of soil insuring a cheap food-supply, and easy topog-
raphy inviting modern transportation methods, and mobility of labor
sustaining manufactories, are of prime importance to industrial growth,
nevertheless environment has had much to do in the development of
states. The environment here referred to involves the extent to which
adjacent commonwealths have either responded to their physiography
vr have made progress in spite of it. Up to the present time, however,
Ohio owes but little of its development to mere geographic situation.
But extraneous influences will be of increasing importance in the com-
mercial future of the state. I refer especially to the midway position
that Ohio’s lake ports occupy in reference to its own and the Appalach-
ian coal fields, and the Superior iron areas. At the present time Ohio
stands second only to Pennsylvania in its annual output of steel and
GHOGRAPHICAL INFLUENCES IN OHIO 487
iron products. If physiography is the arbiter, the southern shore of
Lake Erie, before many years, will be the center of steel and iron pro-
duction in this country.127 The Pennsylvania center of this industry
has a momentum and a capital investment that will enable it to stand
out long against the logic of geography. Allied with this conservatism
are the artificial combinations which tend always to restrain the devel-
opment of new manufacturing centers. But such commercial egoism
will in time recognize the greater advantage in conforming to geo-
graphic laws. In reference to a particular nation it is probable that
ultimate stability will be reached in the industries concerned largely
with the inorganic. After the resources of a country have been thor-
oughly exploited, equilibrium should come, and be disturbed only
by responses made to world-wide influences of commerce. But in this
country we are still far from stability in the localization of industries ;
for example, the center of shoe manufacturing has steadily progressed
westward; flour milling left Baltimore for Rochester, and moved later
to Minneapolis whence it promises to shift again before many years;
slaughtering and meat packing, once centered at Cincinnati, later at
Chicago, probably now centers west of the Mississippi.
But an almost equally important factor in the shifting of the steel
industry is associated with shipping facilities for the finished products.
In this respect, northern Ohio has even now an advantage. With the
insured growth of New Orleans as a transfer port for marine cargoes a
larger relative proportion of finished steel products will go southward.
The earliest effort in this country to facilitate transportation found
expression, as already described, in highway construction. This move-
ment was side-tracked when attention was given to canals and later to
railroads. These larger needs, involving the final and longest haul for
agricultural products, at least, so monopolized thought that we forgot
the first step in the route between the farmer and consumer. Early last
century Ohio was given an object lesson in highway construction when
the national road from Wheeling, W. Va., crossed the central part of
the state. Ohio should have excellent roadways. The state now ranks
first in the annual production of road-making limestone. This fact
should exert an important influence in the future agricultural progress
of the state.
The pasture lands of Ohio have always been important and even at
the present time they constitute about one third of the area of the tilled
lands. The eastern and southeastern parts of the state, the portion
encompassed by the Pennsylvanian formations, contain relatively a
larger amount of pasture lands. For several decades Ohio was the
™W. M. Gregory, “The Industries of Cleveland, Ohio,’ Journal of Geog-
raphy, Vol. VI. (1908), pp. 183-87, gives data on the magnitude of the steel
industry at this one lake port.
488 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
leading state in the production of wool. At the present time it still
leads among the states outside of the ranching regions. Its rank is
ninth in neat cattle, seventh in swine, and sixth in horses. Associated
with its standing in live stock is the corollary fact that in Ohio slaught-
ering and meat packing is still the fourth industry, while in the whole
country it ranks ninth in dairy products, and in the gross value of
agricultural products it is third in the union.
The trend of scientific agriculture arising from the work of our
colleges and from the federal department of agriculture indicates that
there will be greater diversity in products as well as more stability in
yield. The present marvelous output of the Mississippi basin is bound
to be greatly increased. With the prospect of new markets through
shorter hauls made possible by the Panama Canal route, and the im-
provement of waterways, supplementing the inadequate railroad facili-
ties to New Orleans and other gulf ports, the Ohio River states will be
stimulated as never before. The probable diversion of trade from the
present great shipping ports on the Atlantic does not necessarily imply
shrinkage in their business; it means a compliance with physiographic
conditions that naturally divides the output of this great agricultural
region, between the gulf and the ocean. A large part of the great in-
terior looks to the gulf; geographically, it is a mediterranean country ;
such was its geologic origin. Its natural affiliations were aborted when
the French were supplanted by the British. The history of commerce,
the world over, shows how adjustments are inevitable so long as scien-
tific progress is made in farming and manufacturing, and in transpor-
tation itself.
From the standpoint of agriculture, however, still another factor
will be conspicuously influential before many years. Immigrants to
this country in recent times have largely increased our urban population
where employment without capital is found, chiefly in the manufac-
turing centers. A large percentage of these immigrants are farmers in
training, and, as they accumulate money, they gravitate to the country.
In the east especially these provident foreigners find no trouble in ac-
quiring land because the natives are glad to get out of the country and
into villages or cities, preferring to take their chances on earning as
good a living there as they were accustomed to on the farm. The de-
serted farms in the east do not attest a serious impairment of the soil;
they indicate an incapacity on the part of the original farmer to adjust
himself to changing conditions in agriculture.
In nearly all parts of Ohio one may find holdings which afforded the
original farmers a very doubtful living now yielding a constant profit
under the tillage of immigrants. European methods of agriculture
combined with ability to reef expenses to the vacillations of income
make them successful. During the decade 1890-1900 the average
GHOGRAPHICAL INFLUENCES IN OHIO 489
size of a farm in Ohio was decreased 29.3 + per cent. Particularly in
the northern part of the state, throughout the lake-plain belt, specialized
and intensive agriculture is now common.
I believe that farming will continue to be one of Ohio’s chief sources
of wealth. Two thirds of its surface bears glacial soil which contains
an abundant and various plant diet. Improved methods of preparing
foods for distant markets, and the promise of these markets becoming
more accessible through the River-Gulf-Panama Canal route will stimu-
late cultivation. The advantages of the Ohio River as a means of
transportation elicited an early response. In 1794 regular trips, one in
four weeks by keel sailboats, were begun between Cincinnati and Pitts-
burg ;1° this was only six years after the former city was founded. In
1801 a one-hundred-ton vessel for sea trade, built at Marietta, made its
first trip down the river, loaded with produce ;** this was the logical
shipping route for the surplus products of southern Ohio.
As early as 1746, six hundred barrels of flour were shipped south-
ward from the Wabash country.*® French affiliation then dominated the
Mississippi valley. The French observed the geography of this interior
country in approaching it from either the St. Lawrence or-the gulf.
New Orleans should be a great port. Logically it is the doorway to
nearly half of North America. The aggressive Briton built firmly to
the north along the Atlantic; he built so well that it would have been
folly to rearrange his structure upon falling heir to the rest of the
continent. In extending the commercial structure inland he has not
neglected even the slightest natural advantage. But after all, physio-
graphically, the structure is somewhat awkward, and its maintenance
expensive. In the organic world, man alone on occasion ignores physiog-
raphy, but in time he finds it to his highest advantage to comply with
the principles of topography. The gulf is the natural outlet of a large
part of the Mississippi basin.
*% Henry Howe, “ Historical Collections of Ohio,” Cincinnati, 1847, p. 215.
4 Tbid.
~*~ B. A. Hinsdale, “ The Old Northwest,” 1889, p. 50.
490 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
THE DECIMAL SYSTEM OF NUMBERS
By Dr. L. C. KARPINSKI
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN
T S there a limitation placed upon our thought by the language which
we use? Do the Germans take to philosophy more easily than
other people because of some peculiarly philosophical bias of their lan-
guage? ‘These are speculative questions which can never be satisfac-
torily answered. It may, however, safely be asserted that the literature
of a language is immediately dependent upon the written alphabet.
It is impossible to conceive of a novel having been written in Baby-
lonian cuneiform characters or in Egyptian hieroglyphics. Romance
was the same, in its larger outlines, then as now, but writing was too
serious a matter to be undertaken for such fleeting fancies. With a
difficult alphabet and lack of facilities for writing, general culture was
impossible. The Chinese, in modern times, furnish a striking illustra-
tion of the deadening effect of a difficult alphabet.
As literature and general culture are related to the alphabet and
written language, so scientific advancement is related to the number
system in use and to the system of writing numbers. A slight study
of the Roman numerals gives the clue to the reason why the advance-
ment along scientific lines lagged so far behind the general advance-
ment achieved by the Roman peoples. The Greeks had a peculiar
genius for arithmetical research, but with them long division was a
difficult operation, on account of the symbols. Only an Archimedes
could overcome the clumsiness of an unscientific method, and even he
could solve but comparatively simple problems.
In order to comprehend the essence of our own number system, it
is necessary to distinguish between a number system and a place system.
A ten system involves having symbols for 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 and 10
groups of objects, respectively, and beyond that separate symbols for
the successive powers of 10—100, 1,000, 10,000, 100,000... . A five
system would involve separate symbols for 1, 2, 3 and 4 groups of ob-
jects and further symbols for 5 and for the successive powers of 5—25,
125, 625, 3,125, 15,625. ... A logically complete 5 system has not been
developed among any people of the earth. In fact no other complete
system, than a decimal system has ever been developed. Among the
Mayas of Central America a 20 system was partially developed. Among
the Babylonians there was in use a sixty system interwoven with a
decimal system.
A decimal place system involves symbols for 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9
and 0. The ideas of 10, 100, 1,000 and successive powers of ten are
THE DECIMAL SYSTEM OF NUMBERS 491
involved, but the symbols are given by combination of the symbols for
1 to 9, with the symbol for zero. As our development will show the
symbol for nothing was the great stumbling block in the development
of a scientific method of writing the numerals. A place system to the
base five would require only the addition of a symbol for zero to the
symbols for 1, 2, 3 and 4. Leibnitz occupied himself with the binary
system, as this required only two characters, one for unity and one for
non-entity. To illustrate a binary place system the numbers from 1
to 16 are written, using only 1 and 0.
Three written as 11, means one, two and one unit. Nine written as
1001 represents one cube of two, no squares of two, no first powers of
1 1 3 l
2 10
3 11 4 .01 repeating
4 100
We) 101 4 01
6 110
7 111 4 .0011 repeating
8 1,000
9 1,001
10 1,010 3 .001
11 1,011
12 1,100 Multiply 8 x 9
13 1,101 1,000
14 1,110 1,001
15 1,111 1,001,000 annex three ciphers.
16 10,000
two, and one unit. The construction of the arithmetic universe out of
the single unit afforded Leibnitz some philosophical satisfaction in con-
nection with his system of monads. All the operations of ordinary
arithmetic are possible in this system. We catch a glimpse of our
slight comprehension of the infinite totality of numbers in noting that
any number that can be expressed with our ordinary ten digits can also
be expressed with these two digits, and that even though we used a
thousand digits we could add no new numbers. Doubtless it would
afford Leibnitz some gratification to know that his binary system is
used in modern mathematical analysis in certain delicate proofs. The
study of these number systems is not wholly foreign to the history of
the decimal system, as traces of the binary and quinary systems appear
among primitive peoples.
Among the South Australian tribes the binary system of numera-
tion is almost universal. This is undoubtedly due to the fact that the
hands and feet and eyes and ears occur in groups of two in each
normal individual. These tribes are not advanced enough to have a
system of symbols; such a development would imply a degree of intel-
ligence which would proceed to a higher and more convenient number
base. The system is seen in their words; three is given as two and one,
492 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
four as two and two, five as two and two and one, and six as two, two,
two. ‘This system is found also among South American tribes. The
quinary system is the most frequent of all the systems occurring in the
numerals of American languages, although the twenty system is com-
mon along the Pacific. A study of the words of various American
Indian tribes reveals traces of a five system in the formation of the
words for six, seven and eight which are given as five and one, five and
two, and five and three. The higher numbers, however, are formed on
the decimal scale. The word for twenty signifies two tens and the
higher tens are similarly constructed. Among some of the African
tribes a partial five system is in use. Other tribes of northern Africa
have borrowed the decimal notation from their civilized neighbors.
Without a single exception the ancient civilized peoples of all the
world—Kgyptians, Babylonians, Hebrews, Chinese, Greeks, Romans,
Hindus—all used the decimal systems. Such striking uniformity
among all the races of the earth requires a natural origin for the
decimal number base. As Herodotus first suggested, man counts by
tens because he has ten fingers. While there may be logical grounds
for the advocates of a duo-decimal system, the ten system is too deep-
rooted to be dislodged. Were we to acquire numbers as adults with
mature minds, a duo-decimal system might be possible, but with chil-
dren the acquisition of a twelve system may be said to be almost a
psychological impossibility.
Among the Babylonians existed a sixty system mixed with a deci-
mal system. Separate symbols and words are found for 60, 3,600 and
21,600 (60, 602, 60%) and also for 10, 600 and 1,000 and 36,000.
The ingenious hypothesis is advanced by M. Aures that the Baby-
lonians having originally a decimal system, gradually changed from
that system of numeration to the duo-decimal and then to the sexa-
gesimal in order to make the number system accord with their systems
of measurements. This is the reciprocal movement to that which is
taking place with us to-day and that which was effected for France by
the French Revolution, the change from duo-decimal and what not else
systems of measurements to a decimal system in conformity with our
number system. The hypothesis of Aures is justified by the existence
of the special symbols and names for 10, 100 and 1,000, and many
other curious mixtures of decimal, duo-decimal and sexagesimal sys-
tems in the Babylonian measures. There is some comfort to be found
in the reflection that ours is not the first civilization to struggle with
diverse systems of notation and measurement.
The most striking fact of Babylonian mathematics is that they were
in possession of a sixty place system. The famous tablets of Senkereh,
discovered by the English geologist, W. K. Loftus, give tables of
square and cubic numbers in cuneiform characters. In these tables the
numbers proceed regularly up to 8%, which is given as 1.4, 9° is given as
THE DECIMAL SYSTEM OF NUMBERS 493
1.21, 10? as 1.36, 20? as 6.40—naturally all in cuneiform characters.
The only possible interpretation of this is that the 1 in the left hand
place stands for 60. The table of cubic numbers bears out this inter-
pretation as 30? — 27,000. is given as 7.30, meaning 7 X 3,600 or 7 X
602 + 30 X 60 = 25,200 + 1,800 which makes the total of 27,000. Up
to date no documents have been found which show the presence of the
zero in this system. Even though a zero, and with it thus a full place
system, had existed the unwieldiness of the large base would have
operated against a universal adoption of the system; a number system
must be adapted to child mind.
Our division of the day into 24 hours is probably a heritage from
the Babylonians; the division of the hour and minute into sixty parts
is certainly a survival from this hoary system. So also the division of
the are of the circle into 360° and the further subdivisions have come
to us from this extinct civilization. Greek astronomers and through
them all European astronomers borrowed much from the same source,
and for over fifteen hundred years of the Christian era sexagesimal
fractions were used in all arithmetical computation. The first tables
of trigonometric functions were on the basis of a radius of 600,000,
later 6,000,000, finally to be discarded by Regiomontanus in 1470 for
the base 10°, later for 10°, and then by the great Vieta, in 1579, for
the base one with decimal values.
It is entirely within the bounds of possibility that the first develop-
ment of the Hindu, commonly called Arabic, place system was due to
some oriental scholar who was familiar with the writings of these an-
cient Babylonians. Abundant testimony exists tending to prove the
communication between Europe and the east. Having special symbols,
such as existed in India for 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 and 9 as early as the
second century, acquaintance with this advancement of the Babylon-
lans may have suggested the step to a decimal place system and the in-
novation of a zero. The existence of a Babylonian zero symbol would
strengthen this hypothesis; even a blank space may have been the first
symbol.
The Egyptians were in possession of a complete decimal system,
with separate symbols for 1, 10, 100, 1,000, 10,000 and higher powers
of 10. The famous Papyrus Rhind of the British Museum gives us a
practically complete Egyptian arithmetic. The striking peculiarity of
their arithmetic consisted in the work in fractions which was confined
almost entirely to unit fractions. The Ahmes Papyrus of date about
1700 B.c. gives a table for a conversion of fractions from %% to %9 into
unit fractions. The tremendous inertia of even the clumsiest system
once established is seen in the fact that Greek manuscripts of date 700
A.D., at least 2,200 years later, contain this same bungling system of
fractions. Aside from this malign influence European arithmetic was
not affected by the Egyptian.
A494 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
Among the ancient Semitic peoples we find separate symbols for 1,
10, 20 and 100. Noteworthy is the use of twenty in forming the
higher powers of ten; sixty is written as three twenties. The use of
twenty as a unit of higher order goes back to primitive counting on
fingers and toes, which operation still exists among Pacific coast tribes
of Indians, Mexicans and Esquimaux. Persistence of the unit twenty
is seen in our word for score; more markedly in the French quatre-
vingt for 80.0.
Some time before the Christian era, the Phoenicians changed to an
alphabet system of numbers. The first nine letters of their alphabet
were given the number values 1 to 9; to the second nine attach the
values 10—90; and similarly with the hundreds. From the Pheenicians
this method was taken by the Hebrews and the Greeks. In any nu-
merical work the order hundreds, tens, units is strictly observed.
Nevertheless, as to each word there was a definite number value the
Hebrews indulged in secret writing by giving one name with the hint
to the wise to substitute some other well-known name with the same
number value. This near-punning occurs in the Book of the Revela-
tions, “the number of the Beast is 666,’ referring to the Roman
Emperor whose name written in Hebrew letters had the numerical
value, 666.
A different type is presented by the Attic system of numbers in use
among the ancient Greeks, in which the symbols are the first letters of
the corresponding Greek words.
i ==1;
5 —=TII or I from were for five.
10 =A from da for ten.
100 =H from éxarov for hundred.
1,000 =X from xAvu for one thousand.
10,000 —M from prpix for ten-thousand.
Combinations P4, T#, PX, ™ were used for 50, 500, 5,000 and 50,000.
The advantage in numerical computation of this system over the alpha-
bet system is great as the connection between 50, 500 and 5,000 is
brought out by the symbols. Deceived by the apparent simplicity of
the alphabet system, the Greeks abandoned the Attic in favor of the
alphabet form.
yt6=6 Dae Ts
A+ p—o, 30-+ 40=— 70,
t+vu=y, 300 + 400 = 700,
are apparently simple, but they fail to show any trace of the underlying
decimal system.
m+ IW. 84+ 4= ¥.
AAA + AAAA=T4AA. 30+ 40= 70.
HHH + HHHH —T¥ HH. 300 + 400 = 700.
THE DECIMAL SYSTEM OF NUMBERS 495
These second forms are organically connected, whereas the first forms
exhibit no connection.
During the first thousand years of the Christian era, the alphabet
system held full sway; then for a period of nearly five hundred years
the Roman and the Greek systems vied with each other for popular
favor among European arithmeticians.
The origin of the Roman numerals is lost in obscurity. Un-
doubtedly the symbols are from Htruscan sources changed gradually
into the similar Roman letters. It is to be noted that such changes in
the forms of letters were most easily effected by copyists previous to
the invention of printing. Just as the Babylonians operated with the
common denominator sixty, so the Romans confined themselves to the
denominator 12 (and powers of 12). The twelfth represented at first
a definite concrete unit of weight or length, the uncius, which later ac-
quired a numerical sense.
List oF RoMAN 12THS
Name Value Symbol
as 1 I There were further names and
bes 4= & S== symbols for +3, 42, %& or #, xs, x,
semis 2 SS S fe or 3, or th oy dey dey thy rhe
quadrans 4—% —— These were used to apply to any
uncia ts —_— measurements.
sextula wy =
The connection between the uncie and our inches and ounces is evident.
The Roman numerals like their prototypes in the Attic system of
Greece and the more ancient semitic systems, left no traces upon our
current arithmetic. However, the Roman system of calculating upon a
reckoning table was one of the vital factors in the development of the
decimal place system. This system was not peculiarly Roman, as ancient
Greek reckoning tables are found in several continental museums. The
Chinese suan-pan, in popular use in Chinese laundries, is familiar to
most readers. A similar instrument is found in Russian elementary
schools.
A series of parallel grooved spaces and a goodly number of pebbles
constitute the simplest form of one of these primitive calculating ma-
chines. Any right-hand column is chosen as the units column and the
successive columns to the left are designated by the symbols for the
successive powers of ten. Ten pebbles in any one column are replaced
by one pebble in the next column to the left. Addition and subtraction
are simple operations and even multiplication with small integers is
not a difficult operation. Division was an accomplishment which only
masters achieved ; the complicated rules given by some medieval writers
on the subject lead one to suspect that the writers were concealing
ignorance in obscurity. On the Roman abacus the extreme right-
hand column represented twelfths (unciz) and three smaller columns
496 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
denoted 24ths, 48ths and 36ths respectively. On the Greek abacus also
the right-hand columns were of mixed systems which serve to make the
calculating more difficult.
A late development of the same nature was the reckoning on lines
which continued into the sixteenth century. The essentials are similar.
A glance at the accompanying diagram explains the connection be-
tween this system and the decimal place system. The upper part rep-
resents the number 4,063, the lower part the number 3,251. It seems
such a slight step, after acquiring special symbols for the groups of one
M C x I
0 0 0
0 0 0
0 0 0
0 0
0
0
0
0
0 0
0 0 0
0 0 0 0
to nine to construct a symbol to indicate a blank space, but that step
took centuries to achieve.
Of all ancient peoples the Hindus occupied themselves most deeply
with numbers. To some of their scholars came the conception of a
connection between the infinite of the universe and the infinite of num-
bers. This longing for the infinite found expression in the construc-
tion of ever increasing numbers. Buddha calculates the number of
grains of sand in a mile and shows how to compute the number in a
sphere whose radius is the distance to one of the fixed stars. Not con-
tent with this, the Buddha goes on to show how even greater numbers
may be expressed, arriving at the equivalent in modern exponential no-
tation of 10‘7+°-46 — 10471, The numerals of the ancient Tamils, who,
like the mountaineers of Appalachian America, conserve the traditions
of a more remote civilization, show us that the Hindu peoples origi-
nally had special symbols not only for the first nine units, but also for
the nine tens, the nine hundreds and even the nine thousands. The
formation of the sequences of large numbers revealed the futility of hay-
ing separate signs for the mixed tens and hundreds, with the conse-
quent result that they dropped the separate symbols for 20 to 90, 200
to 900, and used the pure decimal units in connection with the symbols
for one to nine. A similar development took place in quite early times
—pre-Christian—among the Chinese but their clumsy notation ob-
scured the realization of the possibility of a simpler place system.
The reading of a large number in Hindu style reveals how close
their nomenclature brought them to the place system.
THE DECIMAL SYSTEM OF NUMBERS 497
In modern notation, 8,443,682,155, 8 billion, 443 million, 682 thou-
sand, 155.
In Hindu, 8 padmas, 4 vyarbondas, 4 kotis, 3 prayoutas, 6 lakchas,
8 ayoutas, 2 sahasra, 1 gata 5 dagan 5.
In Arabic and in later German, eight thousand thousand thousand and
four hundred thousand thousand and forty-three thousand thousand
and six hundred thousand and eighty-two thousand and one hun-
dred fifty-five.
In Greek, eighty-four myriads of myriads and four thousand three
hundred sixty-eight myriads and two thousand one hundred fifty-
five. |
It is well established that in different parts of India the names for
some of the higher powers took different forms, even the order was
interchanged. However, as the significance of the name was further
given by the order in reading, the variations did not lead to error.
Indeed, the variation itself may have necessitated the introduction of a
word to signify a vacant place or a lacking unit, with the ultimate intro-
duction of a zero symbol for the word. The use of a special word to
indicate absence of a unit is not hypothesis, but is found in verses in the
ancient Indian book on astronomy, the Sourya-Siddhanta, and in
numerous other ancient Hindu writings.
Brockhaus has well said that if there was any invention for which
the Hindus by all their philosophy and religion were well fitted it was
the invention of a symbol for zero. This making of nothingness the
crux of a tremendous achievement was a step in complete harmony
with the genius of the Hindu. The exact date of the birth of the zero
symbol is not known, doubtless never will be known. The burden of
proof points to a use of this symbol towards the beginning of the fifth
century of our era. Wide-spread use in India did not occur until to-
wards the ninth century. With nations as with individuals, the com-
plete significance of great idea is not achieved in a moment; even as this
idea itself in its unfolding required the labor of master minds of many
centuries, so the appreciation and application of this advance required
centuries for its completion.
The intellectual awakening of the Arabs beginning about the middle
of the eighth century, manifested itself in the appearance of numerous
translations of Greek, Syrian and Hindu works. Barbarians as they
undoubtedly were at the period of their first conquests, the Arabs dis-
tinguished themselves by their desire for the further conquests of the
science and literature of the subjugated peoples. The Persian invasion
brought them close to the civilization of the Hindus and here the
scholars went further than the flag. Hindu astronomy and astrology
accompanied by the Hindu arithmetic were given to the scientific public
in translations made at the command of one of the first great Mahome-
498 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
tan patrons of learning, the Caliph Almansur, who reigned during the
second half of the eighth century.
For a period of five hundred years the intellectual activity of the
Mediterranean countries was well nigh confined to the Arabs. With
what extraordinary diligence the pursuit of foreign learning was made
by these erstwhile wanderers is evidenced by the thousands upon
thousands of Arabic manuscripts. The library of Hakam at Cordova
in Spain contained 400,000 manuscripts; the catalogue alone is in 44
volumes. Original work in science and mathematics did not come from
Arabic hands, but the debt of civilization is none the less great as they
were long the conservors of the learning of the Greeks and Hindus.
The revival of Euclid was brought about by translations made from the
Arabic; indeed many important Greek works in all the sciences have
come to us only from Arabic sources.
The points of contact of Europeans and the Ottomans were numer-
ous. From Asia Minor at the east to Greece was a well-traveled route;
Sicily, Sardinia and Africa were in constant communication with Italy.
Moorish Spain was for centuries a meeting place of English, French,
Polish and German scholars.
The church played an important role in the spread of the Hindu
numerals over Europe, and at the beginning of the thirteenth century
in England, France, Germany, Italy and Poland, the arithmetic of the
far east was explained by churchmen who had learned of Moorish
teachers. However, it remained for a commercial traveler (line he
handled is not known) to write the epoch-making work explaining the
new doctrine. Leonard of Pisa traveled for business purposes in Africa,
Syria, Egypt, Greece and Sicily and incidentally he acquired enough
mathematics to make him the greatest mathematician since Archimedes.
His Liber Abaci, or book of the abacus, first edition written in 1202,
gave the first masterful exposition of the better way to reckon. It was
for four centuries the great work of reference in this field.
With the knowledge of the Hindu method spread over all Europe
at the beginning of the thirteenth century the acceptance of the im-
provement might be presupposed, but as late as 1520 arithmetics were
published entirely in Roman numerals. The logically self-evident step
to the right, to decimal fractions, required further centuries for its
completion. The step up, to exponents to base ten, was made rather
quickly, but has not yet taken its proper place in commercial work.
It is not too much to say that the present development of modern
science would be impossible without our number system, yet how slow
the world was to accept the reform. Is not the same story being re-
peated in the United States and England with the decimal system of
weights and measures? But the optimistic soul regards chiefly the final
acceptance with the comfortable assurance that the forward movement
is as sure as it is slow.
THE ORIGIN OF SPECIES 499
THE ARGUMENT FOR ORGANIC EVOLUTION BEFORE
“THE ORIGIN OF SPECIES ”
By Prormssor ARTHUR O. LOVEJOY
THE UNIVERSITY OF MISSOURI
I
iE this year of the Darwin centenary it is worth while to raise
two questions which have, in the mass of literature elicited by the
occasion, received less consideration than they merit. At what date can
the evidence in favor of the theory of organic evolution—as distinct
from the hypothesis of natural selection—be said to have been fairly
complete: in other words, how early were the facts and principles from
which the truth of that theory is now ordinarily inferred sufficiently
known to all competent men of science, to require the inference, even
though it was not, in fact, generally made? And by what English
writer was a logically cogent argument for the theory first brought
together and put before the public? ‘The interest attaching to these
questions is much more than merely historical. The answer to them
will afford a sort of object-lesson in the logic of scientific reasoning.
Here is a doctrine now accepted by all naturalists: at what point, in
the century-long accumulation, through half a dozen separate sciences,
of the evidences inclining to that doctrine, ought we to say that the
balance of logical probability turned decisively in its favor? The in-
quiry will also be found, I think, to throw a somewhat instructive light
upon the psychology of belief, and to show how far, even in the minds
of acute and professedly unprejudiced men of science, the emotion of
conviction may lag behind the presentation of proof.
By this time, no doubt—though it has not long been so—every
schoolboy knows that Darwin did not invent the theory of evolution.
The Darwin centenary itself has served to remind the public of the
names and works of at least some of the earlier protagonists of the
doctrine: of the elder Darwin, namely, of Lamarck, of Geoffroy St.
Hilaire, of the author of the “Vestiges of the Natural History of
Creation,” and of Herbert Spencer. It is less commonly remembered,
but perhaps not universally forgotten, that among English-speaking
naturalists, the theory was a commonplace topic of discussion for two
or three decades before 1859, and especially after the publication and
immense circulation of the successive editions of Robert Chambers’s
“Vestiges,” of which the first appeared in 1844. Geological text-books
of the period referred to the “theory of transmutation of species ” as
500 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
a matter of course, though usually only to reject it as an exploded
hypothesis. Thus the “ Elements of Geology,” of Alonzo Gray and C.
B. Adams, 1852, enumerates three theories which have been advanced
respecting the origin of animal species: (1) Successive special crea-
tions; (2) “transmutation, which supposes that beings of the most
simple organization having somehow come into existence, the more
complex and the higher orders of animals have originated in them by
a gradual increase in the complexity of their structures”; (3)
generatio wquivoca of individuals and species. The first is adopted,
but the second is discussed at greatest length; on it the authors re-
mark that “ those who have adopted the theory of transmutation have
generally detached it from Lamarck’s theory of appetency, and not
attempted to explain how the process of transmutation goes on.” The
argument for evolution is similarly discussed and “ refuted ” in “ Geo-
logical Science,” a popular text-book by D. T. Ansted, F.R.S., 1854.
To this refutation, indeed, the greatest of English geologists had de-
voted three chapters of his “ Principles of Geology ”? before 1835.
But though such facts as these are, as I have said, now fairly
familiar, the notion still widely prevails, even among biologists, that no
serious proof of evolution either existed or had been published before
the appearance of the “Origin of Species ”—or at all events, before
the late 1850’s.* Professor Joseph Le Conte,.indeed, in his “ Evolution
and Its Relation to Religious Thought,”* made it a reproach against
both Lamarck and Chambers that they had unscientifically embraced
the hypothesis before the evidence for it was ripe; and considered it
fortunate for science that their notions died still-born, under the
weight of the great authority of Cuvier and Agassiz. “I know,” wrote
Le Conte, “that many think with Haeckel that biology was kept back
half a century by the baleful influence of Agassiz and Cuvier; but I
can not think so. The hypothesis was contrary to the facts of science,
as then known and understood. It was conceived in the spirit of base-
less speculation, rather than of cautious induction; of skilful elabora-
+JT quote from the reprint of 1854, p. 87.
2 The writer’s copy of Lyell’s “ Principles” is the first American from the
fifth London edition, 1837.
8’ This opinion has, for example, been expressed by Poulton in his “ Charles
Darwin and the Theory of Natural Selection.” “The paramount importance of
Darwin’s contributions to the evidences of organic evolution are [sic] often
forgotten in the brilliant theory which he believed to supply the motive cause
of descent with modification. Organic evolution had been held to be true by
certain thinkers during many centuries; but not only were its adherents entirely
without a sufficient motive cause, but their evidences of the process itself were
erroneous or extremely scanty. It was Darwin who first brought together a
ereat body of scientific evidence which placed the process of evolution beyond
dispute, whatever the causes of evolution may have been” (p. 100).
“Second edition, 1905, pp. 33-35.
THE ORIGIN OF SPECIES 501
tion, rather than of earnest truth-seeking. Its general acceptance
would have debauched the true spirit of science... . The ground must
first be cleared . . . and an insuperable obstacle to hearty rational ac-
ceptance must first be removed, and an inductive basis laid.” This
last, Le Conte goes on to argue, was largely the work of Agassiz, oppo-
nent of evolutionism though he was. Now, it is, of course, undeniable
that the premature adoption of a hypothesis is a sin against the sci-
entific spirit, and that the chance acceptance by some enthusiast of a
truth in which, at the time, he has no sound reason for believing, by
no means entitles him to any place of honor in the history of science.
But what constitutes prematurity in this particular matter? And was
the evolutionary hypothesis “ contrary to the facts of science, as known
and understood ” at any time after 1840?
The prevalent belief that it was is cniefly due to two things. The
first is the fact that before 1859 few English naturalists of high stand-
ing accepted, and almost none publicly avowed, the theory of descent;
whereas, after the publication of the “ Origin,” such notable names as
Huxley, Lyell, Hooker and Asa Gray were speedily numbered among
the disciples of the doctrine, and in the ensuing five years it was well
upon its way towards its eventual complete triumph. The other
source of the supposition that Darwin presented the first adequate
grounds for believing in evolution is the express testimony of Huxley,
whose paper on the reception of the “ Origin of Species ”> has come to
be the principal source of information on its subject. In that article,
and in several letters and other writings, Huxley takes credit to him-
self for his rejection of the transformation-theory until he became ac-
quainted with Darwin’s work; and he never expressed any sentiment
far short of contempt for Chambers’s “ Vestiges.” He wrote in 1887:
I must have read the “ Vestiges” . . . before 1846; but if I did, the book
made very little impression on me, and I was not brought into serious contact
with the “species” question until after 1850. ... It seemed to me then, as
now, that “creation,” in the ordinary sense of the word, is perfectly conceivable.
... I had not then, and have not now, the smallest a priori objection to raise
to the account of the creation of plants and animals given in “ Paradise Lost.”
... Far be it from me to say that it is untrue because it is impossible. I con-
fine myself to what must be regarded as a modest and reasonable request—for
some particle of evidence that the existing species of animals and plants did
originate in that way, as a condition of my belief in a statement which appears
to me highly improbable. And, by way of being perfectly fair, I had exactly
the same answer to give to the evolutionists of 1851-58. . . . The only person
known to me whose knowledge and capacity compelled respect, and who was, at
the same time, a thorough-going evolutionist, was Mr. Herbert Spencer... .
But even my friend’s rare dialectic skill and copiousness of apt illustration
could not drive me from my agnostic position. I took my stand upon two
grounds: Firstly, that at the time the evidence in favor of transmutation was
wholly insufficient; secondly, that no suggestion respecting the causes of the
5 Published as Ch. XIV. of “ The Life and Letters of Charles Darwin.”
502 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
transmutation assumed, which had been made, was in any way adequate to
explain the phenomena. Looking back at the state of knowledge at the time, I
really do not see that any other conclusion was justifiable. ... As for the
“‘Vestiges,” I confess the book simply irritated me by the prodigious ignorance
and thoroughly unscientific habit of mind manifested by the writer. If it had
any influence at all, it set me against evolution. .. . Thus, looking back into
the past, it seems to me that my own position of critical expectancy was just
and reasonable. ... So I took refuge in that tatige Skepsis which Goethe has
so well defined; and, reversing the apostolic precept to be all things to all men,
I usually defended the tenability of received doctrines, when I had to do with
the transmutationists; and stood up for the possibility of transmutation,
among the orthodox.
In this matter Huxley is assuredly a witness whose testimony should
not lightly be set aside; for to his attainments as a naturalist he ordi-
narily joined singular logical acumen and rare openness of mind. Yet
I think it possible to show that the passage just quoted gives a
thoroughly misleading view of the logical status of the argument for
evolution, as it existed in the light of the science of the period; that the
attitude which Huxley assumed from 1850 to 1858 was contrary to all
sound ideas of scientific method; and that he does the reputations of
both Spencer and Chambers serious injustice. I shall attempt to es-
tablish these conclusions mainly by showing that the arguments and
facts chiefly relied upon by Huxley himself and other early champions
of transformism were entirely familiar and well authenticated from
fifteen to twenty years before 1859, and had virtually all been clearly
noted and pertinently used in the published evolutionary reasonings of
Chambers or of Spencer. The truth is—as the evidence to be adduced
will make clear—that Huxley’s strongly emotional and highly pugnaci-
ous nature was held back by certain wholly non-logical influences from
accepting an hypothesis for which the evidence was practically as
potent for over a decade before he accepted it as it was at the time of his
conversion. These influences did not in Huxley’s case, as they did in so
many others, proceed from religious tradition or temperamental con-
servatism. But Huxley had unquestionably been strongly repelled by
the “ Vestiges.” The book was written in a somewhat exuberant and
rhetorical style; with all its religious heterodoxy, it was characterized
by a certain pious and edifying tone, and was given to abrupt transi-
tions from scientific reasoning to mystical sentiment; it contained
numerous blunders in matters of biological and geological detail; and
its author inclined to believe, on the basis of some rather absurd ex-
perimental evidence, in the possibility of spontaneous generation. All
these things were offensive to the professional standards of an en-
thusiastic young naturalist, scrupulous about the rigor of the game,
intolerant of vagueness and of any mixture of the romantic imagina-
tion with scientific inquiry, a little the victim, perhaps, of the current
scientific cant about “ Baconian induction,” and quite incapable of
wee till es an
THE ORIGIN OF SPECIES 503
taking, towards any doctrine or movement, any attitude intermediate
between contemptuous hostility and ardent partizanship. Full ad-
vantage, moreover, had been taken, by the eminent scientists who were
also champions of religious orthodoxy, of the faults of Chambers’s
book; they contrived very successfully to put about the impression that
to be a “ Vestigiarian ” was to be “ unscientific” and sentimental and
absurd. These were three qualities which Huxley would have been
peculiarly averse to being charged with. Finally, he seems to have been
exasperated most of all by a single loose piece of phraseology that now
and then recurs in the “ Vestiges.” Chambers, namely, was prone to
speak of “laws” as if they were causes and, more particularly, as if
they were secondary causes to which the “ Divine Will” delegated its
agency and control. To Huxley, from the beginning of his career, this
hypostatizing fashion of referring to “laws of nature” was a béte
noire; and in 1887 we still find him pursuing the author of the
“ Vestiges ” with ridicule because of his “ pseudo-scientific realism.”®
He, therefore,” in 1854, almost outdid the Hdinburgh Review in the
ferocity of his onslaught upon the layman who had ventured to put
forward sweeping generalizations upon biological questions while
*“Science and Pseudo-science,’ 1887. Huxley’s criticisms are curiously
beside the mark. He argues that, whether you suppose that the Creator operates
uniformly but directly “according to such rules as he thinks fit to lay down
for himself,’ or that “he made the cosmical machine and then left it to itself,”
in either case his “personal responsibility is involved” in every result into
which this uniform operation works out. But Chambers, so far from denying
this, was especially anxious to insist upon it. What he equally insisted upon,
however, was the uniformity of this agency. When he spoke of the Creator as
working “through” law, the expression, doubtless, was infelicitous; but his
essential idea was plain and unexceptionable, viz., that neither organic nor
inorganic phenomena “result from capricious exertions of creative power; but
that they have taken place in a definite order, the statement of which order is
what men of science term a natural law.” These last words are Huxley’s own,
uttered in 1862, in an address before the Geological Society. It is, he added,
logically possible to regard such a law as “simply the statement of the manner
in which a supernatural power has thought fit to act”; the main thing is that
“the existence of the law and the possibility of its discovery by the human
intellect ” be recognized. This was exactly the essence of the view for which
Chambers was contending. Huxley was so unduly enraged by a bit of unscien-
tifie looseness of language that he actually overlooked the important idea which
that language was manifestly intended to express.
TT have not had access to this article, published in the Medical and Chirurg-
ical Review; but its character is sufficiently indicated in the correspondence of
Huxley and Darwin. The former speaks of it as “the only review I ever have
qualms of conscience about, on the ground of needless savagery.” Darwin
thought it “rather hard on the poor author”; and added a curiously mild
intimation of his own belief: “I am perhaps no fair judge; for I am almost
as unorthodox about species as the ‘ Vestiges’ itself, though I hope not quite
so unphilosophical” (“ More Letters of Charles Darwin,” I., 75).
504 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
capable of errors upon particular points which were palpable to every
competent specialist.
Yet the layman was, after all, sound in his main thesis; and, what
is far more significant, his thesis was based upon sound and sensible
arguments, substantially the same arguments that Huxley was destined
before long to use in the same cause, though with far superior skill as
a debater. It will, I think, appear impossible to acquit the young
Huxley of a certain measure of scientific Pharisaism in this episode.
He was so shocked by minor breaches of scientific propriety, in the
“ Vestiges,” that he forgot the weightier matters of the law of scientific
method. In his irritation at Chambers’s incidental slips in zoology,
he became blind to the importance and suggestiveness of the general
outline of that writer’s reasoning. Quite other was Alfred Russel
Wallace’s reaction upon the little book. As early as 1845 he wrote:
I have rather a more favorable opinion of the “ Vestiges ” than you appear
to have. I do not consider it a hasty generalization, but rather as an ingenious
hypothesis, strongly supported by some striking facts and analogies, but which
remains to be proved by more facts and the additional light which more research
may throw upon the problem. It furnishes a subject for every observer of
nature to attend to; every fact he observes will make either for or against it.*
By 1847 Wallace had become thoroughly convinced of the truth of
transformism ; and from that time forward his mind was occupied with
the problem of explaining the cause and modus operandi of evolution.
At this time, he writes:
The great problem of the origin of species was already distinctly formulated
in my mind... . I believed the conception of evolution through natural law,
so clearly formulated in the “ Vestiges,” to be, so far as it went, a true one;
and I firmly believed a full and careful study of the facts of nature would
ultimately lead to the solution of the mystery.
Wallace thus escaped the fatal error in logical procedure into which
Huxley fell. For Huxley, in the passage already cited, gives as one of
his two reasons for refusing to accept, even provisionally, the evolution-
ary hypothesis, the fact that “no adequate suggestion respecting the
causes of the transmutation assumed” had then been made. But, that no
causal explanation of a fact is at hand, is not good reason for denying
the fact, if serious evidence of its reality is presented. Wallace properly
discriminated the two issues; becoming first convinced that there was
an established balance of scientific probability in favor of the fact, he
then set himself upon the quest of a hypothesis that would explain it.
He verily had his reward; a decade later he appeared, with Darwin, as
joint author of the doctrine of natural selection.
8 Wallace, ‘ My Life,” I., 254. Writing sixty years after, Dr. Wallace adds
his final judgment of the “ Vestiges,” “a book which, in my opinion, has always
been undervalued, and which, when it first appeared, was almost as much abused,
and for much the same reasons, as was Darwin’s ‘ Origin of Species’ fifteen
years later” (ibid.).
THE ORIGIN OF SPECIES 505
It is time to proceed to the proof of the contentions of this paper.
In presenting it, I shall first recall to the reader passages—some of
them, doubtless, already familiar—from Huxley or other post-Dar-
winian defenders of the evolution theory, and then exhibit the parallel
arguments found in Chambers, Spencer and other pre-Darwinians.
Since, in such a case, textual precision is of some importance, it is
hardly needful to apologize for copious citation of the ipsissima verba
of the authors in question. The arguments for evolution will be taken
up in the order of their generality or of their logical interconnection.
It is necessary first of all, however, to remind the reader of the gen-
eral outlines of the situation in the science of the time. It wasa situation
essentially different from that in which Lamarck had carried on the prop-
aganda of transformism. The difference was due to two changes that
had taken place in the intervening period. First, the science of geology
had gone through a brilliant development, and had fought and won its
battle against religious orthodoxy ; and in England, though not all geol-
ogists were consistent uniformitarians, all geology had been profoundly
influenced by the principles and the methods of Hutton and Lyell.
Second, the two allied subsidiary sciences of paleontology and strati-
graphic geology had been created, through the work of Cuvier and of
William Smith. One result was that the recognized age of the planet
had been vastly extended; enough time was thus granted for the evo-
lutionary process. A still more significant result was that the Mosaic
cosmogony had been entirely abandoned by even the most orthodox of
men of science. The doctrine of creation which such men defended
against the hypothesis of development no longer bore any close re-
semblance to the narratives of Genesis; it was no longer a question of
a single, original creation of all things, but of a large number of re-
peated acts of “ special creation,” separated from one another by wide
intervals of time, and confined to the production of organisms. Mean-
while, it was assumed, in the organic realm things were going on in an
orderly and normal manner, in accordance with natural laws of geologic
change; even the Cuvierian “catastrophes” were “natural” phenom-
ena. The effect, in short, of the triumph of geology had been, curiously
enough, to increase the resort to supernatural agency in the current
accounts of the genesis of the existing order of nature. In place of one
great, obscure miracle at the origination of the universe, the revised
version of the doctrine of creation assumed a large number of petty
and definite miracles ; it supposed, in Chambers’s words, “ an immediate
exertion of the creative power, at one time to produce zoophytes, at
another time to add a few marine mollusks, another to bring in one
or two crustacea, again to produce crustaceous fishes, again perfect
fishes, and so on to the end.’’® Creationism, to conform to the accepted
principles and accumulated knowledge of geological science, had been
° Chambers, “ Vestiges,” 1844, Ch. XI.
506. THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
compelled, like the Ptolemaic astronomy before it, to interpolate some
very singular epicycles in its hypothesis. And while all these miracu-
lous interpositions were taking place in order to keep the organic king-
dom in a going condition, the Creator was not for a moment allowed by
the orthodox geologists to interfere in a similar manner in their own
particular domain of the inorganic processes. Their attitude was like
that of the French authorities who, a century earlier, suppressed the
“miraculous cures ” of the Jansenist abbé at the church of St. Médard
in Paris, and, in a famous lampoon, were represented as posting the
following proclamation on the church doors:
De par le roi, défense 4 Dieu
De faire miracle en ce lieu.?°
So, in the ruling science of 1830-60, the only officially licensed place
(outside of Palestine) in which miracles might be performed by the
Creator was the domain of organic phenomena. Here, as a meas-
ure of compensation, the number of miracles scientifically sanctioned
had been materially increased.
It was a further consequence of these changes in the scientific situa-
tion that the men who, in the name of orthodoxy but under the mantle
of science, attacked the pioneers of evolutionism, themselves taught
doctrines no less completely at variance with the usual—and with any
natural—interpretation of Scripture. Accommodations and forced
interpretations had, indeed, been devised in abundance, to “ harmon-
ize” the new science with theology; but if these could be invented to
justify geology, others could as well be, as they since have been, in-
vented to justify evolutionary biology. Any consistent scriptural be-
liever could make out as good a case of heresy against Cuvier, Owen,
Sedgwick, Agassiz, or Hugh Miller, as against the author of the
“ Vestiges ”’ or Herbert Spencer. These writers, therefore, occupied a
position of a strange and rather damaging incongruity, as Chambers
did not fail to point out:
Strange to say, those who every day give views of physical cosmogony alto-
gether discrepant in appearance with that of Moses, apply hard names to my
book for suggesting an organic cosmogony in the same way liable to inconsid-
erate odium. ... The views which I gave of this history of organization stand
exactly upon the same ground upon which the geological doctrines stood, fifty
years ago. ... If the men newly emerged from the odium which was thrown
upon Newton’s theory of the planetary motions, had rushed forward to turn
that odium upon the patrons of the dawning science of geology, they would
have been prefiguring the conduct of several of my critics, hardly escaped from
<< By the king’s order, God is hereby forbidden to perform miracles in
this place.”
™ The reader will find amusing examples of this inconsistency in President
Hitcheock’s “The Religion of Geology,” 1852, pp. 164-165, 339-340. Cf. also
Gray and Adams, “ Elements of Geology,” 1854, pp. 16 and 89.
THE ORIGIN OF SPECIES 507
the rude hands of the narrow-minded, yet eager to join the rabble against a
new and equally unfriended stranger, as if that were the best way of purchasing
immunity for themselves. The public must soon see that if a literal inter-
pretation of scripture is an insufficient argument against the true geognostic
history of our earth, so also must it be against all associated phenomena, sup-
posing they are presented on good evidence.”
In view of this situation, the arguments for evolution, in 1844 or
1859, were primarily significant, not as direct evidences in favor of one
hypothesis, but as touchstones for deciding between the claims of two—
the only two—rival hypotheses: that of the ready-made production of
species, with their known characteristics and relations, by repeated
special acts of creation; and that of their production through the
gradual modification, in the course of natural descent, of earlier and
simpler forms. Huxley, it is true, refused to face the alternative, and
-eried, “a plague o’ both your houses!” Nothing can be said, however,
in justification of such a position on the part of a man of science.
Hypotheses non fingo has never been a sound or serviceable maxim; it
had certainly not been by following it that the sciences of astronomy
and geology had developed.1* Now, if other hypotheses, beyond the
two in question, were conceivable in 1844, certainly no others were
seriously advanced. The first concern of a biologist of the period
should, then, have been to compare the two hypotheses of the origin of
species, in the light of the then known principles and facts, hereafter to
be enumerated. This comparison, if made honestly, by a logically com-
petent mind, must necessarily have led, at almost any time after 1840,
to the conclusion to which Spencer tells us that he found himself forced
somewhere about 1850. By this time, he says:
The belief in organic evolution had taken deep root [in my mind] and
drawn to itself a large amount of evidence—evidence not derived from numerous
special instances, but derived from the general aspects of organic nature and
from the necessity of accepting the hypothesis of evolution when the hypothesis
of special creation had been rejected. The special creation belief had dropped
out of my mind many years before, and I could not remain in a suspended
state; acceptance of the only possible alternative was imperative.“
After these preliminaries, the reader is prepared for viewing the
arguments for evolutionism, now to be recalled in a more detailed
manner, in their proper historical and logical perspective.
1. Argument from the General Presumption of Science against
“ Supernatural’ Explanations of Phenomena.—In his “ Belfast Ad-
dress,” 1874, Tyndall pointed out that the main argument for evolu-
12 Chambers, “ Explanations,” 1846, p. 120.
13 Huxley later expressed this general truth forcibly enough; e. g., “The
Progress of Science,’ 1887. “ Physical science rests on verified or uncontra-
dicted hypotheses; and, such being the case, it is not surprising that a great
condition of its progress has been the invention of verifiable hypotheses ”
(“ Method and Results,” 1902, pp. 61-62).
* Duncan, “ Life and Letters of Herbert Spencer,” 1908, II., 317.
508 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
tion lay in the superior congruency of the hypothesis—as contrasted
with the special creation doctrine—with the methodological presupposi-
tions of modern science and with the general view of nature which in
most of the other provinces of science had already been accepted.
The basis of the doctrine of evolution consists, not in an experimental
demonstration—for the subject is hardly accessible to this mode of proof—but
in its general harmony with scientific thought. From contrast, moreover, it
derives enormous relative strength. On the one side we have a theory which
converts the Power whose garment is seen in the visible universe into an
artificer, fashioned after the human model, and acting by broken effects, as
man is seen to act. On the other side, we have the conception that all we see
around us and feel within us—the phenomena of physical nature as well as
those of the human mind—have their unsearchable roots in a cosmical life,...
an infinitesimal span of which is offered to the investigation of man. Among
thinking people, in my opinion, this last conception has a higher ethical value
than that of a personal artificer.
Reviewing the past triumphs of the scientific method over super-
naturalism, he concludes:
We claim, and we shall wrest, from theology the entire domain of cosmolog-
ical theory. All schemes and systems which thus infringe upon the domain of
science must, in so far as they do this, submit to its control. . . . Acting other-
wise proved always disastrous in the past, and it is simply fatuous to-day.
Similarly Romanes put in the fore-front of the arguments for evo-
lution
The fact that it is in full accordance with what is known as the principle
of continuity—by which is meant the uniformity of nature, in virtue of which
the many and varied processes going on in nature are due to the same kind of
method, 7. e., the method of natural causation. . . . The explanations of .. .
phenomena which are at first given are nearly always of the supernatural kind.
. .. Now, in our own day there are very few of these strongholds of the miracu-
lous left. . . . No one ever thinks of resorting to supernaturalism, except in the
comparatively few cases where science has not yet been able to explore the most
obscure regions of causation. . .. We are now in possession of so many of these
historical analogies, that all minds with any instincts of science in their com-
position have grown to distrust on merely antecedent grounds, any explanation
which embodies a miraculous element. . . . Now, it must be obvious to any mind
which has adopted this attitude of thought, that the scientific theory of natural
descent is recommended by an overwhelming weight of antecedent presumption.
This “overwhelming weight of antecedent presumption” against
special creation, and in favor of evolution, was pointed out by Cham-
bers with entire clearness; his arguments present in part an almost
verbal parallel to the passages I have quoted from Tyndall and
Romanes. In the already established results of geology and astronomy,
he writes in the “ Vestiges”:
We have seen powerful evidence that the construction of the globe and its
associates was the result, not of any immediate or personal exertion on the part
of the Deity, but of natural laws which are expressions of his Will. What is to
hinder our supposing that the organic creation is also the result of natural
THE ORIGIN OF SPECIES 509
laws, which are in like manner the expression of his Will? . .. The fact of the
cosmical arrangements being an effect of natural law, is a powerful argument
for the organic arrangements being so likewise; for how can we suppose that
the august Being who brought all these countless worlds into form by the simple
establishment of a natural principle flowing from his mind, was to interfere
personally whenever a new shell-fish or reptile was to be introduced in one of
these worlds? Surely this idea is too ridiculous to be for a moment entertained.
This would certainly be to take a very mean view of the Creative Power—in
short to anthropomorphize it.
In his “ Explanations,”’!* 1846, he puts the considerations urged by
Romanes far more tellingly than Romanes put them forty years later.
Chambers wrote:
The whole question stands thus: For the theory of universal order—that is,
order as presiding both in the origin and administration of the world—we have
the testimony of a vast number of facts in nature, and this one in addition—
that whatever is reft from the domain of ignorance and made undoubted matter
of science, forms a new support to the same doctrine. The opposite view, once
predominant, has been shrinking for ages into lessér space, and now maintains
a footing only in a few departments of nature which happen to be less liable
than others to a clear investigation. The chief of these, if not the only one, is
the origin of the organic kingdoms. So long as that remains obscure the
supernatural will have a certain hold upon enlightened persons. . . . One after
another the phenomena of nature, like so many revolted principalities, have
fallen under the dominion of order and law; but here is one little province still
faithful to the Beotian government; and as it is nearly the last, no wonder it
is so vigorously defended. As in the political world, however, men do not trust
in the endurance of a dynasty which is reduced to a single city or nook of its
dominions, so we may expect a speedy extinction to a doctrine which has been
driven from every portion of nature but one or two limited fields.
Huxley, it is true, seems in his pre-Darwinian period to have dis-
approved of this type of argument; creation being “ perfectly conceiv-
able . . . the so-called a priori arguments against the possibility of
creative acts ” appeared to him “ to be devoid of reasonable foundation.”
This, of course, was a perverse misapprehension of the issue. It was
not a question of conceivability, but of the relative probability of the
only two available hypotheses. And the first criterion of probability in
such a case must be the agreeement of any proposed hypothesis with
the general type of hypothetical explanations which the whole previous
experience of men of science has found to be capable of fruitful appli-
cation, and of the sort of verification which comes through fruitful
application. By such a criterion, no hesitation between the two
hypotheses was admissible. “Special acts of creative volition” had
never been found by science to be a vera causa at all; the hypothesis was
vague, sterile, impossible of verification, contrary to all the principles
of method by the use of which the past successes of science had been
achieved; “ gradual development through natural descent” was, as a
* This supplement to the “ Vestiges” seems to be little known; it is in
many respects superior to the original volume.
510 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
working theory, definite, suggestive of precisely formulable problems
to which inductive tests could be applied, harmonious with the initial
assumptions through which several other disciplines had already been
converted from mere masses of information into sciences. Huxley
later saw this clearly enough, and expressed it forcibly, though he
never seems to have confessed the unreasonableness of his earlier posi-
tion. The publication of Lyell’s “ Principles of Geology” in 1830,
wrote Huxley*® in 1887, “ constituted an epoch in the modern history
of the doctrine of evolution, by raising in the mind of every intelligent
reader this question: If natural causation is competent to account for
the not-living part of our globe, why should it not also account for the
living part?” If every intelligent reader had this question in his mind
after 1830, it is a little smgular that Huxley himself, and almost every
other naturalist of the period, saw no importance whatever in the
reasonings of Chambers, Spencer, Baden Powell, and a few others, who
were the only writers of the time to press the question home.
2. The Argument from Uniformitarianism in Geology.—Huxley,
indeed, from the time of his conversion to Darwin’s views, always set
great store by the argument from the presumptions of scientific method ;
but usually in a more specialized and less philosophical form of it.
Geology was, in England, the dominant and the most brilliantly suc-
cessful science of the first half of the century; and Lyell had made it
a working principle of geological reasoning that past phenomena, not
directly open to experiment, were, so far as possible, always to be re-
ferred to the operation of “causes” similar to those now at work.
Whether the uniformitarian doctrine was not, as some contemporary
geologists hold, a good deal overstrained by Lyell, it does not lie within
the purpose of this paper to ask; at all events, the doctrine was ac-
cepted by Huxley and most of the men of science of that time. And in
uniformitarianism evolutionism seemed to Huxley—after 1858—to be
directly implied. We find him writing Lyell in June, 1859:
I by no means believe that the transmutation hypothesis is proven, or
anything like it. But I view it as a powerful instrument of research. Follow
it out, and it will lead us somewhere; while the other notion is, like all the
other modifications of “final causation,” a barren virgin. . . . 1 would very
strongly urge upon you that it is the logical development of uniformitarianism.
In the self-same paper in which we saw Huxley justifying his re-
fusal for some twelve years to adopt the doctrine of transformation,
even as a working hypothesis, there is also to be found the following
passage:
I have recently read afresh the first edition of the “ Principles of Geology ” ;
and when I consider that for nearly thirty years this remarkable book had been
in everybody’s hands, and that it brings home to every reader of ordinary intel-
ligence a great principle and a great fact—the principle that the past must be
16“ Method and Results,” “The Progress of Science,” p. 99.
THE ORIGIN OF SPECIES 511
explained by the present unless good cause can be shown to the contrary; and
the fact that, so far as our knowledge of the past history of life on our globe
goes, no such cause can be shown—lI can not but believe that Lyell was, for
others, as for myself, the chief agent in smoothing the road for Darwin. For
consistent uniformitarianism postulates evolution as much in the organic as
the inorganic world. The origin of a new species by other than ordinary
agencies would be a vastly greater “catastrophe” than any of those which
Lyell successfully eliminated from sober geological speculation.”
But however much Lyell may have “smoothed the road,” Huxley,
and most of the biologists of those thirty years, declined to go in
thereat. It remained for an anonymous amateur, whom they there-
upon with one accord fell to abusing, to point out the practicability of
that highway. In the “ Vestiges” and the “ Explanations ” Chambers
urged the presumption from geological uniformitarianism with an ef-
fective use of concrete examples.*®
If there is anything more than another impressed on our minds by the
course of geological history, it is that the same laws and conditions of nature
now apparent to us have existed throughout the whole time. Admitting that
we do not now see any such fact as the production of new species, we at least
know that, while such facts were occurring upon earth, there were associated
phenomena of a perfectly ordinary character. For example, when the earth
received its first fishes, sandstone and limestone were forming in the manner
exemplified a few years ago in the ingenious experiments of Sir James Hall.
. . . It was about the time of the first mammals that the forest of the Dirt Bed
was sinking in natural ruin amidst the sea sludges, as the forests of the Plan-
tagenets have been doing for several centuries upon the coast of England. In
short, all the common operations of the physical world were going on in their
usual simplicity, obeying the laws which we now see governing them; while the
supposed extraordinary causes were in requisition for the development of the
animal and vegetable kingdoms. There surely hence arises a strong presumption
against any such causes.
It is a curious circumstance, however, that the argument from uni-
formitarianism cut both ways. As Wallace says:
One of the greatest, or perhaps we may say the greatest, of all the diffi-
culties in the way of accepting the theory of natural selection as a complete
explanation of the origin of species, has been the remarkable difference between
varieties and species with respect to fertility when crossed.”
This difference, as Darwin said in the “ Origin,” seemed, on the face
of it, “to make a broad and clear distinction between varieties and
species.” And the apparent existence of such a radical distinction
between the varieties produced under domestication and true physio-
logical species was an objection, not only against natural selection, but
also against evolution itself; for it meant that we do not see now, nor
within the limits of human observation, organisms actually getting
™“Tife and Letters of Charles Darwin,” Ch. XIV. The letter to Lyell is
in “Life and Letters of Thomas Henry Huxley,” I., 174.
* “ Vestiges,’ reprint in “ Morley’s Universal Library,” 1890, p. 114.
*»“ Darwinism,” p. 152.
512 THE POPULAR SCIENCH MONTHLY
transformed, through the accumulation of variations, into new species
differing from their progenitors by the final test of specificity of char-
acter. In the 1850’s such a radical distinction seemed to hold; even by
the sixth edition of the “ Origin,” dated 1872, Darwin was able to
point to only four somewhat debatable instances, in plants, of the
infertility of varieties when intercrossed. If this difficulty appeared
to Huxley and other zoologists an insuperable objection to evolutionism
before 1858, it was not, in Huxley’s opinion, removed after that date.
Yet he no longer found the difficulty insuperable; it was purely a nega-
tive argument, e silentio, and he had faith to believe that by further
investigation it would be removed. In his Edinburgh lectures of 1862,
“he warned his audience of the one missing link in the chain of evi-
dence—the fact that selective breeding has not yet produced species
sterile to one another. But it is to be accepted as a working hypothesis,
like other scientific generalizations, ‘subject to the production of proof
that physiological species may be produced by selective breeding.’ ”
In the same year Huxley wrote Darwin:
I have told my students that I entertain no doubt whatever that twenty
years’ experiments on pigeons, conducted by a skilled physiologist, instead of by
a mere breeder, would give us physiological species sterile inter se from a com-
mon stock, ...and I have told them that when these experiments have been
performed I shall consider your views to have a complete physical basis.”
It is certainly interesting thus to observe that, as Huxley, before his
conversion, saw no potency in arguments which afterwards seemed to
him conclusive, so also he was able, in his second phase, to pass over
by an act of faith one of the most serious of the pre-Darwinian objec-
tions to evolutionism. This provisional disregard of the “ missing
link” in an argument otherwise impressively well concatenated was,
under the circumstances, far from unreasonable. But it would have
been equally reasonable in 1846 or in 1851.
Leaving these antecedent considerations in favor of evolutionism
drawn from the general principles of scientific method, I turn to the
more specific facts which—when illumined by those principles—pro-
vide the now usual and familiar arguments for the theory. All the
more essential of these facts were known before 1844; and attention
was duly called to their bearings by the neglected prophets of evo-
lutionism during the fifteen years preceding the publication of the
“ Origin of Species.” In speaking of these “ facts,” it is well to ex-
plain what is meant, in this connection, by the expression. The theory
of evolution does not rest immediately upon an induction of individual
phenomena; and the evidence for it did not increase by a slow arith-
metical progression, through the accumulation of observations of indi-
vidual phenomena. It is a generalization established inferentially, by
2° Huxley’s “ Life and Letters,” I., 193, 195.
THE ORIGIN OF SPECIES 513
virtue of the fact that it unifies and explains a number of lesser gener-
alizations, themselves for the most part established by direct induction,
in several special sciences. When, in these separate sciences, the sub-
sidiary generalizations underlying the theory of the transformation of
species were well established, and generally accepted by specialists, the
evidence for evolution must be said to have been logically complete.
This does not mean that more facts were not subsequently added; it
does mean that the argument was adequate without them, and that no
one who found the original evidence unconvincing had any logical
ground for being convinced by any of the considerations adduced in
the “ Origin of Species” or in Huxley’s earlier evolutionary writings.
3. Argument from the Homologies in Vertebrates.—This argument
was, by 1844, already so old and even hackneyed a one, that it may, in
a consideration of the status of the evolutionary argument at that
special period, be passed over very briefly. The facts upon which the
argument rests had been in the possession of zoologists ever since Buffon
and Daubenton had laid the foundations of the science of comparative
anatomy (1749). These facts chiefly had, before the end of the eight-
eenth century, made evolutionists of Diderot,?* of Kant, and (but for
perfunctory reservations in favor of religious orthodoxy) of Buffon
himself. It can, therefore, scarcely be necessary to cite evidence to
show that the argument was familiar a quarter of a century after the
whole conception of homologous organs had been clearly elaborated by
E. Geoffroy St. Hilaire.” Nor, for the purposes of the present paper,
is it necessary to estimate the precise logical weight of this argument
when it stands alone. At the time with which this inquiry is concerned,
it did not stand alone, but had been complemented by a number of con-
siderations more recently brought to light by scientific discovery.
4. Argument from the Variability of Existing Species—Not less
old than the last-mentioned was the argument from the fact that exist-
ing—and, especially, domesticated—species have a marked tendency
to variation, exhibit an extensive diversity of form, and are capable of
transmitting variations to their descendants. It was mainly this
group of facts that had caused Maupertuis* to embrace the evolutionary
hypothesis before 1751. The same argument, with that from the homol-
ogies, is set down by Erasmus Darwin in the “ Zoonomia,” 1794, as
among the principal reasons for believing in the transformation of
species. We are led to such a belief, wrote the grandfather of the
author of the “ Origin,”
When we think of the great changes introduced into various animals by
artificial or accidental cultivation, as in horses, ... or in dogs, .. . or in the
“Cf. Lovejoy, “Some Eighteenth Century Evolutionists,’ Tue PopuLar
Science Montuty, August, 1904, pp. 323-327.
“In his “ Philosophie Anatomique,” 1818.
* Cf. Lovejoy in THE Poputar Science Monruty, July, 1904.
VOL. LXXv.—34,
(fi ae THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
changes of form in cattle. Add to these the differences we daily see produced
in smaller animals by our domestication of them, as rabbits or pidgeons, or
from the differences of climate or even of seasons. . . . Add to these the various
changes produced in the forms of mankind by their early modes of exertion, or
the diseases occasioned by their habits of life, both of which become hereditary,
and that through many generations.*
The argument had often been repeated in the nineteenth century;
and in the period under consideration we find Spencer observing that
The supporters of the Development Hypothesis . . . can show that the
degrees of difference so produced [through structural changes under altered
conditions] are often, as in dogs, greater than those on which distinctions
of species are in other cases founded. They can show that it is a matter of
dispute whether some of these modified forms are varieties or separate species.”
This argument, it is true, if taken by itself, suffered from two
serious limitations. One has already been adverted to, in another con-
nection: the absence of evidence that variation can produce varieties
sterile inter se, as species are sterile. But we have already seen that
this difficulty, upon the testimony of Huxley himself, was not removed
in 1859. The other limitation of the argument was that, before the
promulgation of the hypothesis of natural selection, it was commonly
associated with a belief in the inheritance of acquired characters. But
this association was not logically necessary; and in any case, the whole-
sale denial of such inheritance is a doctrine of neo-Darwinism unknown
to the pre-Darwinian period and to Darwin himself; and was in that
period, therefore, not a ground of difficulty.
In a subsequent instalment of this inquiry it will remain to con-
sider, somewhat more minutely, four more of the principal general
arguments for evolutionism, three of these being, in 1844, of a much
less venerable age than the two last mentioned.
(To be concluded)
74“ Toonomia,’ 1794, pp. 500-501. The elder Darwin, it will be noted,
believed in the inheritance of acquired characters; he might be called an
eo-Lamarckian.
<< The Development Hypothesis,” 1852.
THH PROGRESS OF SCIENCE
- THE PROGRESS OF SCIENCE
LORD KELVIN
THE two great advances of modern
science, perhaps the two most notable
human achievements, are the doctrine
of organic evolution and the doctrine
of the conservation of energy. All the
world has this year been celebrating
the hundredth anniversary of Darwin’s
birth. William Thomson, born fifteen
years later, occupies in the physical
sciences a position almost equal to that
of Darwin in the biological sciences.
It is a striking fact that Great Britain
should have produced these two great
men in the same rank with Newton, by
whom, and near Darwin, Kelvin nearly
two years ago was. buried in West-
minster Abbey.
Thomson, like Darwin, appears to
have been impressed with hereditary
genius; his father was professor of
- mathematics and his brother professor
of engineering. Unlike: Darwin, typify-
ing a distinction which seems to obtain
between the mathematical sciences and
the sciences of observation, Thomson
was precocious. He matriculated at
Glasgow University at the age of ten
and attended his father’s classes in
mathematics. He published a mathe-
matical paper of consequence before
going to Cambridge as a student at
the age of seventeen, and during his
years as an undergraduate at Peter-
house, he published a number of papers
on mathematical physics, which fully
represented the direction and charac-
teristics of the work which was con-
tinued for more than sixty years. He
became professor of natural philosophy
at the University of Glasgow at the
age of twenty-two. At Cambridge
Thomson rowed on his college boat and
won the Calquhoun sculls, one of the
chief athletic competitions of the uni-
versity. He was one of the founders
of the musical society of the university
and played at its concerts.
This vigorous versatility was main-
tained to the end of his long life. The
laying of the Atlantic cable, the fixing
of units on which electrical engineer-
ing is largely based, the invention of
electrical and other instruments, many
of which were patented and produced
a large fortune, seem almost incom-
patible with his theoretical work in
mathematical physics, though it is true
that his mathematical analyses were
| kept in close touch with actual facts.
| It seems odd to an American that he
|should have changed the name that
had become familiar and famous, if
indeed the peerage itself is worth while
when there are no heirs to whom it can
be bequeathed. Darwin, to whom no
peerage was offered but who bequeathed
his name and a large measure of his
scientific genius to his sons, seems in
this respect to have enjoyed the better
fortune. Kelvin visited this country
three times and is associated with it
both by his work on the Atlantic cable
and by the fact that some of his most
important theoretical deductions were
made known in the form of lectures at
the Johns Hopkins University.
An admirable account of Kelvin’s
scientific work has been contributed to
the Proceedings of the Royal Society
by Sir Joseph Larmor. From this
monograph we reproduce three por-
traits—the two earlier ones on a re-
duced scale. It would be fortunate if
it were possible to reproduce the lucid
exposition of the development of Kel-
vin’s contributions to science and their
relations to the work of his predeces-
sors and contemporaries.
In 1848 it was possible for Thomson
to maintain the view that heat is a
substance which may produce energy
THE PROGRESS OF SCIENCE
WILLIAM THOMSON
in 1854.
in falling to a lower temperature or
may diffuse passively. But in 1844
Joule had made known his experiments
establishing the transformation of heat
into work, and in 1847 Helmholtz had
published his classical memoir on the
conservation ofenergy. Mayer’s earlier
paper was first brought to general
notice by Joule in 1849. Maxwell pub-
lished his first paper in 1856; but did
not reach the electric theory of light
until eight years later. Clausius pre-
sented his paper on the motive power
of heat to the Berlin Academy in 1850.
It was indeed a marvelous period in
the history of physics. Among the
giants of those days, Thomson stands
almost or quite preeminent. His great
paper on the dynamical theory of heat
was published in 1851, and laid firmly
the foundations of the scientific treat-
ment of energy.
In 1849 Thomson published his me-
moir on the mathematical theory of
magnetism, on which subject he had
already written four years earlier. This
was followed by his remarkable con-
tributions to the theory of electricity
and light. In later years his attention
was directed to the structure of the
ether and of matter. His limitation of
the age of the earth gave much concern
7
to geologists and biologists, which the
more recent advances of physics has
again relieved, though the episode was
probably of advantage to the natural
| selences.
Even in the briefest note, reference
should be made to Thomson and Tait’s
|“ Treatise on Natural Philosophy,” an
| epoch-making text,
whieh Helmholtz
translated into German, and to the
-admirable popular lectures which fill
| electrical
three volumes. The contributions to
engineering have already
been mentioned. Thomson was the
‘leader in the advances by which steam
is being supplanted by electricity.
An adequate appreciation of Kelvin’s
personality is quoted by Sir Joseph
Larmor from the address of Lord Rose-
berry when installed as Kelvin’s suc-
cessor in the chancellorship of the
University of Glasgow: “In my per-
sonal intercourse with Lord Kelvin,
what struck me was his tenacity, his
laboriousness, his indefatigable humil-
ity. In him was visible none of the
superciliousness or scorn which some-
times embarrass the strongest intel-
lects. Without condescension, he placed
himself at once on a level with his
WILLIAM THOMSON
in 1877.
518 THH POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
companion, That has seemed to me a
characteristic of such great men of
science as I have chanced to meet.
They are always face to face with the
transcendent mysteries of nature. .
Such labours produce a sublime calm,
and it was that which seemed always
to pervade Lord Kelvin. Surely in an
age fertile in distinction, but not lavish |
of greatness, he was truly great.”
A PHOTOGRAPH OF HALLEY’S
COMET
EpmunpD HAtiry, born in 1656,
Savilian professor of geometry at Ox-
ford and later Flamsteed’s successor as
astronomer royal, made notable contri-
butions to astronomy and cosmical
physics. He was the first to catalogue
the stars of the southern sky; he
studied the orbits of Jupiter and Sat-
urn; he detected the acceleration of
the moon’s mean motion; he used the
transit of Venus to determine the solar
parallax; he discovered the proper mo-
tion of the fixed stars; he suggested |
the magnetic origin of the aurora.
borealis; he studied terrestrial mag-
netism and located magnetic poles;
he surveyed the tides and coasts of the
British Channel; he cooperated with
Newton in the publication of the
“ Principia.”
But outside the circle of astron-
omers, Halley’s name is known because
it is attached to a comet whose orbit
he calculated and whose return he pre-
dicted. This was in 1682, when Halley
computed its parabolic orbit, and com-
paring this with the imperfect observa-
tions of comets which had appeared in
1456, 1531 and 1607, concluded that
each was the same body returning
from the outer region of the solar sys-
tem beyond the furthest known planet.
He wrote: ‘ Wherefore, if it should
return according to our predictions
about the year 1758, impartial pos-
terity will not refuse to acknowledge
that this was first discovered by an
Englishman.”
This was not only a great advance
in astronomy and important in its
relation to the theory of gravitation,
but was a forward movement in the
conception of the orderliness of the
universe. Comets had been portents of
war, pestilence and famine. It was
indeed Halley’s comet which appeared
in 1066 at the time of the invasion of
William the Conqueror and again in
1456 when Constantinople was besieged
|by the Turks and the crescent-shaped
tail was a mighty omen.
Halley’s comet duly appeared “in
1759, somewhat retarded by the attrac-
tion of Jupiter and Saturn, its per-
turbations having been accurately cal-
culated by the French astronomer,
Clairaut. It appeared again in 1835
and is now once more rapidly ap-
proaching the earth and the sun, hav-
ing passed the orbit of Jupiter in April
last. It has been observed by Pro-
fessor Max Wolf, of Heidelberg, and
we are able to give here photographs
taken by Mr. Oliver J. Lee with a two-
foot reflector at the Yerkes Observa-
tory. These are printed by the cour-
tesy of Dr. Edwin B. Frost, director
of the observatory and editor of the
Astrophysical Journal, where they are
also printed.
The plate of September 16 was taken
with an exposure of 180 minutes, stan-
dard central time of mid-exposure
being 14"745™ (2:45 a.m. Sept. 17).
The comet’s position, as measured on
the plate, was R.A. 6°18" 56°, Dec.
+ 17° 923”. The plate of September
17 was exposed for 130 minutes, mid-
exposure at (central standard time)
14°10", (2:10 Aw. Sept. 18). The
right ascension had increased by 4*,
and the declination had decreased by
23”, The arrows indicate the position,
and also the components of the direc-
tion of the comet’s motion.
The original negatives are magnified
about ten times, and the scale of the
pictures here is about 8.5 to the milli-
meter, or 3.5 minutes of are to the
inch; in other words, the width of
each picture is about one seventh of a
degree. The new Lumiére “Sigma”
plates were used, a fresh and clean
i. —_—" =
THE PROGRESS OF SCIENCE
&
IN THESE PHOTOGRAPHS HALLEY’S COMET IS
emulsion haying been provided by the
manufacturers. The faintness of the
comet on the plate of September 17
was due to the poor sky, and not to
INDICATED BY THE ARROWS.
The comet will be visible to the
naked eye early next year and will
|attain its greatest brightness in the
/month of May.
any change in the comet’s brightness. |
The brightest star shown in the pic- |
tures, near the left-hand edge, slightly
above the center, is of magnitude 8.7,
or about ten times fainter than the
limit of naked-eye visibility. Stars at
least as faint as the seventeenth mag-
nitude, or twenty-five thousand times
fainter than naked-eye visibility, are
shown on the original negatives, and
the comet’s brightness must have been
considerably less than this, more accu-
rate determinations being now in prog-
ress at the hands of Mr. Parkhurst.
The comet was first observed visually
by Professor Burnham, with the forty-
inch telescope, on September 15. It
was also observed visually by Professor
Barnard on September 17 and several
subsequent nights. Professor
nard’s visual estimate of the comet’s
brightness at his last observation be-
fore the moonlight interfered, on the
early morning of September 27, was
that it was of magnitude 14 or 14.5.
His measures indicated a diameter of
about 10”, but the object was without
definite boundary.
Bar- |
i
SCIENTIFIC ITEMS
WE record with regret the death of
Dr. Washington Stringham,
professor of mathematics in the Uni-
versity of California; of Dr. Leonard
Pearson, dean of the Veterinary School
of the University of Pennsylvania, and
of Professor Anton Dohrn, the eminent
zoologist, founder and director of the
Naples Zoological Station.
Irving
Dr. A. LAWRENCE LOWELL was in-
stalled as president of Harvard Uni-
versity on October 6, and Dr. Ernest
Fox Nichols was installed as president
of Dartmouth College on October 14.
The inaugural addresses, which are
devoted to the condition of the Amer-
ican college, are printed in Science
| for October 15.
Dr. EpMunpD C,. SAnrorp, A.B. (Cali-
fornia, *83), Ph.D. (Johns Hopkins,
°88), professor of experimental psy-
chology in Clark University, has been
elected president of Clark College to
succeed the late Carroll D. Wright.—
Dr. J. F. Anderson has been appointed
eS ee
) De Se
Pres
“
i
*S
SP cre
a
io THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY —
director of the Hygienic Laboratory,’
Washington, D. C., to succeed Dr. M.
J. Rosenau, who retires from the Pub-
lic Health Service to accept a pro-
fessorship of preventive medicine and
hygiene at Harvard University.
Dr. Irs ReEMSEN, president of the
National Academy of Sciences, has con-
sented, at the request of Dr. H. F.
Osborn, president of the American
Museum of Natural History, and Mr.
Archer Huntington, president of the
American Geographical Society, to ap-
point a scientific commission to ex-
amine the records of Lieutenant Peary
and Dr, Cook, in case they are ready
to present them to such a commission.
Lieutenant Peary has accepted the sug-
gestion.
Proressor GrorG LuNGE, the emi-
nent chemist of Zurich, was presented
on September 19 with a gold medal
bearing his portrait and the sum of
40,000 franes to celebrate his seven-
tieth birthday and the jubilee of his
doctorate. Chemists were present from
many countries and addresses were de-
livered by a number of delegates. Pro-
fessor Lunge in his reply announced
his intention of giving the money to
the Polytechnic Institute for the aid
of students of chemistry.—On the occa-
sion of the recent Leipzig celebration
Dr. Wilhelm Wundt, the eminent psy-
dress, was given the title of excé
He was also made an honorary
of the city of Leipzig.
was Sapouneed thee: a Chemists’ Build e's :
ing Company had been organized, for i
the purpose of ns pitas! ae ee of
ists’ Club on a long lease, to con
scientific meeting rooms, a library
facilities required by a social orga:
tion, including sleeping apartments for —
its members. The upper floors as
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THE
PoruULAR SCrTEN CE
MONTHLY.
DECEMBER, 1909
THE PLANET VENUS?
By Dr. PERCIVAL LOWELL
FLAGSTAFF, ARIZ.
3 ae special object of the observatory which I have the honor to
4 represent is the study of planets of our solar system, beginning
with their present state and passing thence to their evolutionary his-
tory. So extended to-day is the astronomic field that to do good work
one must specialize his endeavor, restricting himself to one particular
ranch of it and incidentally refraining, we may add, from discussing
that of which he has not expert knowledge. Now research on the
planets constitutes one such division, making as it were an entity in
itself. For diverse as the planets are to-day, they are all the result of
one particular evolutionary process and knowledge of each member
throws light upon the development, past or present, of the others.
It is popularly imagined that our gaze is concentrated on Mars, to
e exclusion of much else, and that we are particularly concerned with
s habitability. That this is a popular fallacy I shall show you to-
night. For we shall contemplate together another planet in the light
that study of the past thirteen years at the Lowell Observatory casts
on it, and we shall see not only that such a study has indicated it
not to be habitable, but that the question of habitability has not in the
least affected our research. In short, to us habitation by organic life
or non-habitation is merely an incident in the study of a planet’s his-
tory, which we view with as strict scientific impartiality as we do the
presence or absence of water-vapor in its air. We are concerned solely
vith the facts, a romantic enough revelation in themselves.
_ + An evening lecture at the vicennial of Clark University.
L. LXXV.— 39.
522 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
paling Jupiter when seen near him by almost the like amount. Her
incomparable splendor is partly the result of propinquity; nearness to
ourselves and nearness to the sun. Relatively so close is she to both
bodies that to show she does not need the abetting background of the
night, but without waiting for the sun’s withdrawal may nearly always
be seen in the daytime in clear air if one knows where in the sky to look.
Situate about seven tenths of our own distance from our common giver
of light and heat, she gets about double the amount of solar radiation
that falls to our lot, so that her surface is proportionately brilliantly
illuminated. Being also relatively near us, she displays a correspond-
ingly large disk.
Nevertheless, until recently astronomic inquiry regarding her has
proved singularly baffling. The beauty of her face was equaled only
by the blankness of her expression. Hers proved one of those counte-
nances that dazzle on a first glance, to tell you nothing on a second.
From the time when Galileo first saw her phases, little was learned of
her for two centuries and a half, and even the little she seemed to show
proved misleading. The few traits thought to be discerned there were
so faint and fugitive that, while some observers deemed them substan-
tial, others ascribed them in whole or part to cloud. A cloud-en-
shrouded planet Venus in consequence was considered to be; a covering
not so much for her own sins of commission as for the sins of omission
of observers to see.
It was not until Schiaparelli attacked the subject that any real
light was shed on her who reflected so much. Through a new departure,
by choosing daylight for his observation time, that most eminent ob-
server first solved one riddle she had read astronomers so long, the
length of her day. Hitherto she had been scanned chiefly for a few
moments at twilight and the recurrent aspect her disk presented on
successive days had been for much in imputing to her a rotation not
differing substantially from the earth’s in length. Schiaparelli’s
method allowed of repeated scanning during several hours at a stretch
and in this manner he learned that the periodic punctuality of the same
features night after night was not because they managed so nearly to
keep pace with our own, but because they failed to move at all in the
meantime. In other words, her day must be immensely long. He then
critically examined the older observations and found that they could
all be thus explained. Six years later he repeated his observations and
with the like result.
In 1896 the subject was taken up at Flagstaff. Very soon it became
evident that markings existed on the disk, most noticeable as fingerlike
streaks pointing in from the terminator, faint but unmistakable from
the positional identity of their successive presentation. A projection
near the south cusp was also clearly discernible, as well as two others,
one in mid-terminator, one near the northern cusp. Other dark mark-
THE PLANET VENUS 523
ings also came out, developing into a sort of collar round the south-
ern pole. Spots, too, small, not large, stood blotched upon the disk.
In this investigation not only was care taken to guard against illusion,
but no regard at the time was paid to any previous observations.
The configurations thus disclosed proved permanent in place. By
watching them assiduously it was possible to note that no change in
position occurred in them upon the face the planet showed, first through
an interval of five hours, then through one of days, then of weeks. It
thus became evident that they bore always the same relation to the
illuminated portion of the disk. ‘This illuminated part, then, never
changed. In other words, the planet turned always the same face to
the sun. The fact lay beyond a doubt, though of course not beyond a
doubter. The fundamental importance of this primary fact upon the
world of Venus we shall note as we proceed.
In character these markings were peculiar and distinctive. In ad-
dition to some of more ordinary form were a set of spoke-like dark rays
which started from the planet’s periphery and ran inwards to a point
not very distant from the center. he spokes began well-defined and
broad at the edge, dwindling and growing fainter as they proceeded, re-
quiring the best of definition for their following to their central hub.
They were most noticeable on the edge of the disk which marked the
boundary of light and shade, the sunrise line the terminator, as it is
called ; less so on that which the sky cut off, called the limb.
From so much of the planet as was then presented earthwards, it
‘was possible to make a map giving the chief features of Venus’s globe.
In addition to demonstrating the durational identity of the axial rota-
tion and the orbital revolution, the markings showed the planet’s poles
to be practically perpendicular to the orbital plane. Thus the central
equatorial longitude lay in perpetuity directly under the sun.
The difficulty in seeing these tell-tale marks lies in their faintness.
A very good reason for such astronomic concealment on the part of
Venus will appear as we go on. In consequence, the contrast must be
intensified as much as possible and to secure it a small aperture and
low powers are best. It is only in very good air that these helps to
definition can be disregarded.
Corroboration of these markings has been obtained at Flagstaff in
the years that have since elapsed. In 1903 a bulletin giving drawings
of that year was published, showing confirmation, and in 1907 and
1909 other drawings afforded like witness to their actuality. Markings
have been seen by almost every member of the staff and independent
observations made on identical dates show remarkable agreement.
But the most telling testimony is the concordance in results be-
tween different methods of investigation. The first of these we shall
mention is the spectroscope.
The spectroscope is primarily an instrument for analyzing light.
524 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
SKETCHES OF THE PLANET VENUS.
The sketches at the top were made on November 1, 1907, by Dr. Lowell (on the
left), and on November 2, 1907, by V. M. Slipher (on the right). ‘The sketches in the
middle were made by V. M. Slipher and HE. C. Slipher, on February 27, 1909. The
sketches at the bottom by Dr. Lowell and EK. C. Slipher, on April 12, 1909.
Light is due to wave-motion of the ether, and ordinary light consists
of a mixture of light of various wave-lengths. By means of a prism or
erating these are refracted differently and so sifted into a colored rib-
bon or band, the longer waves lying at the red end of the spectrum, as
the ribbon is called, the shorter at the violet. Now the spectroscope is
such a prism or grating placed between the image and the observer, by
means of which a series of colored images of the object are produced.
In order that these may not overlap and so confuse one another, the
light is allowed to enter the prism only through a narrow slit placed
across the telescopic image of the object to be examined. Thus suc-
THE PLANET VENUS 525
cessive images of what is contained by the slit are presented arranged
according to their wave-lengths. In practise the rays of light from the
slit enter a small telescope called the collimator, and are there rendered
i Ai
~ \
| Le i
\ / Zé
\ f ‘i
e
\ : f
ee
ee
Diawwty I fp See:
SKETCHES OF THE PLANET VENUS.
Sketches of different observers showing agreement, made at Tacubaya,
Mexico, on February 7, 1897.
526 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
each according to its kind, into a spectral image band which may then
be viewed by the eye or caught upon a photographic plate.
One of the interesting applications of the spectroscope lies in its
ability to detect motion in the line of sight, or in just the direction in
which the eye can not.
It was reasoned by Doppler in 1842 that if an object be coming
toward the observer emitting light as it does so, each wave-length of its
spectrum should be shortened in proportion to the relative speed of its
approach as compared with the speed of light, because each new wave
is given out nearer the observer than would otherwise be the case and
its wave-length thus seemingly decreased. Reversely it will be length-
ened if the object be receding from the observer or he from it. This
would change the color of each wave-length and so of the object, were
it not that while each hue moves into the place of the next, like the
guests at Alice’s tea-party in Wonderland, some red rays pass off the
visible spectrum, but new violet rays come up from the infra violet and
the spectrum is as complete as before. This unfortunate infecundity of
his principle in Doppler’s own hands was remedied in 1848 by Fizeau,
who pointed out that the dark lines in the spectra can be used as meas-
ures of the shift. In all spectra are gaps where individual wave-
lengths are absorbed or omitted and these, the lines in the spectrum,
tell the tale.
This principle is applicable not only to a body moving as a whole,
but to differing motions of its parts if the body be large enough to
show a disk. Now, if a body be rotating, one side of it will be ap-
proaching the observer, while the opposite side is receding from him,
and if the slit be placed perpendicular to the axis about which the spin
takes place, each spectral line will appear not straight across the spec-
trum of the object, but skewed, the approaching side being tilted to the
violet end, the receding side to the red.
This principle was put in practise by one of the observatory staff,
Dr. Slipher, to determine spectrographically the rotation of Venus. By
placing the slit parallel to the ecliptic or, more properly, to the orbit of
Venus, which is practically the same thing, it would find itself along
what we have reason to suppose the equator of the planet and thus by
its tilt give evidence of the rotation period capable of measurement.
Even a considerable error in the position of the equator would make
little difference in the rotational result. In order that there might be
no question of illusion or personal bias, photographs instead of eye
observations of the spectrum were made.
Dr. Slipher began by considering the take off before he jumped.
His sagacity greatly influenced the result. It might seem as if the best
time to examine the planet for rotation. were when it is farthest from
the sun and is best seen. This indeed was the time selected by
Belopolsky, who examined Venus spectrographically between the time
THE PLANET VENUS Seah
of the inception of the investigation at Flagstaff and its execution and
thought he had detected a short rotation for it.
Belopolski made his attempt at elongation in spite of knowing what
I shall now explain. For elongation, although the time when the planet
is easiest seen, is not that in which it is best examined spectrograph-
ically for rotation.
In the case of a body reflecting light, the shift varies from what it
is if the body be emitting it, from twice as much in some positions to
nothing at all in others. This is because the reflecting surface itself
moves to or from the waves. Thus if a planet be on the side of the sun
away from the earth, the rim of it which is approaching the earth ad-
vances to meet each new wave and so shortens it by just the amount
THER PLANET VENUS.
October 15, 1896. February 12, 1897. Mafch 26, 1897.
of its own advance, thus doubling the shortage which would result if it
emitted the waves itself. The receding side in the same manner
doubles the recession. If the planet be at right angles to the sun the
wayes are affected as if they were emitted and we have a single shorten-
ing or lengthening, as the case may be. If the planet be between us
and the sun, the rim is running from the sun at just the pect it is
approaching us and the total effect is nil.
Thus in the case of Venus, the evidence of tilt obtained depends
entirely on where you take her. Superior conjunction or when she lies
beyond the sun is the best time spectrographically and it was this that
Dr. Slipher chose. He caught the planet just as she was coming out
from behind the sun as evening star. In this he was abetted by the
clear and steady air of Flagstaff, which enabled him to get her while
she was still not far from the sun himself.
“hey cep ee VI a1/
weft
ZL Ih L
: : “f ~ 2
ree? f
—’
THE PLANET VENUS 529
Another favorable circumstance accrued to his choice of time, the
then diminutive disk she showed. One might suppose at first that this
would be a drawback. But the exact reverse is the case. Provided a
planet shows any appreciable disk, the smaller that disk the better for
spectrographic rotation purposes. For it is the actual velocity that
registers itself upon the plate, in the displacement of the several parts
of the spectral lines. The greater the diameter, therefore, for a given
rotational velocity, the smaller the angular tilt, and reversely, the
smaller the diameter the greater the seeming inclinations of the lines.
The effect is very striking in the case of Jupiter.
By his choice, then, he began by securing the most favorable con-
ditions for disclosing a tilt if any existed, and for thus revealing a
parallei, in which condition they fall upon the prism. ‘This spreads
them out into the spectrum and another small telescope focuses them,
short period rotation if such actually were the fact.
After the spectrum of Venus had been secured on a plate there was
taken on either side of it for reference and check the spectrum of iron
by means of a spark sent through a tube containing its vapor. As the
iron-vapor was stationary with regard to the observer, its lines were
necessarily without motional tilt. When a plate had thus been made,
the photographic part of the instrument was reversed, the camera be-
ing placed above the collimator instead of below it, and the process
repeated. This had the effect of reversing the tilt in the resulting
spectrogram as compared with the first one. Still other checks were
used by Dr. Slipher, such as placing the slit in some cases perpendicular
instead of parallel to the supposed equator, which need not be gone into
here. They all proved corroborative of his final result.
Fifteen plates with their comparison spectra of iron were thus ob-
tained: seven with the camera above, eight with it below. To prevent
any bias on his part, Dr. Slipher had the numbers on the plates con-
cealed and the plates. handed him for measurement without his knowl-
edge of which was which. The plates were thus made to tell their own
story without prompting or prejudice. The story they told they agreed
in within the margin of error accordant with their possible precision.
It was: that a rotation of twenty-four hours or anything like it was out
of the question. They yielded, indeed, testimony to a negative rotation
of three months, which being interpreted meant that so slow a spin as
Venus’s was beyond their power to disclose.
For just what their power to precise might be Dr. Slipher was at no
less care to determine. Not content with knowing that on a globe the
size of Venus the velocity due to spin in twenty-four hours should be
spectroscopically measurable, being actually a thousand miles an hour
and by the principle explained above giving spectroscopically a shift of
over a mile a second, he determined to test the matter directly by the
performance of the spectroscope on Mars. For this purpose seven
530 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
so" vee Gon Ayo" hor
ed So stial M ielecaes EY
Lol (ic reelong
Ler 1G fe
CHART OF THE PLANET VENUS.
plates were made in like manner on that planet. Now Mars is an ob-
ject which by reason of its smaller size is twice as difficult a test for
rotation in twenty-four hours as Venus. The plates too did not happen
to be so good. Nevertheless, on measurement they yielded a result
within a twenty-fourth part of what we know to be the Mars day. For
we know this time to within the hundredth of a second. Now in conse-
quence of the smaller quantity to be measured an error of 55 minutes
in the case of Mars corresponds to one of 31 minutes on Venus. To this
precision, then, the day of Venus would have been determined had it
been of twenty-four hours’ duration.
Another test of like character was forthcoming in Dr. Slipher’s
spectrograms of the rotation time of Jupiter. Inasmuch as Jupiter’s
day at the equator is 9 hours 50.4 minutes long, while Jupiter’s diam-
eter is some twelve times that of Venus, the precision possible is here
thirty times as great. Thirty-one minutes’ error on Venus would mean
about one minute for Jupiter. The spectrograms did even better than
this. The known speed of rotation at Jupiter’s equator is 12.63 km.;
Dr. Slipher’s spectrograms gave 12.62 km., or within half a minute of
THE PLANET VENUS 531
See be ee ee Pe, eas.
Oa OA a
Te ee ee ee ee | a
1@1eer te 8 ore ee Pree
SPECTROGRAM OF JUPITER ABOVE AND OF VENUS BELOW, SHOWING IRON COMPARISON.
the true rotation period. This means that they would have shown
Venus’s to within 14 minutes if the conditions were as good. As
Jupiter’s spectrograms are easier to measure than Venus’s, while Mars’s
are more difficult, we may take 25 minutes for the mean of the two
criteria. I need perhaps not tell you that no previous spectrograms of
Jupiter for rotation had come up to this precision.
From these two determinations on Jupiter and Mars we may de-
termine the utmost period of rotation for Venus which the spectroscope
could disclose. This would be the period for which the probable error
was just equal to the quantity to be measured. From Mars we have
for a 24-hour period on Venus a probable error of 31 minutes. This is
one forty-eighth of the quantity measured on the supposition of a day’s
period. One of 48 days, therefore, would have its probable error equal
to the quantity itself. From Jupiter we get in the same way 96 days.
Thus from two to three months would be the limit of leisureliness the
spectroscope could be got to note, and it was just this quantity that the
investigations on Venus themselves expressed.
The spectroscope, therefore, definitely asserts that the rotation of
Venus does not take place in anything approaching twenty-four hours,
and by negativing any period up to two or three months long corrobo-
rates to the limit of its ability that shown by eye observation, one of
225 days.
The care at Flagstaff with which the possibility of error was sought
to be excluded in this investigation of the length of Venus’s day and
the concordant precision in the results are worthy of notice. For it is
by thus being particular and systematic that the accuracy of the de-
terminations made there in other lines besides this has been secured.
Now a certain peculiarity of Venus’s appearance of a totally dif-
ferent kind from those so far spoken of, here comes in to corroborate
both of the previous determinations: the perfect roundness of her figure.
For this very rondure has something to disclose. If Venus rotated in
anything like twenty-four hours her disk should be perceptibly flattened
at the poles, her figure becoming squat in consequence of her spin. For
though as rigid as steel to sudden impulses she would be like putty at
Be THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
the hands of long-continued ones. We can calculate about how much
that flattening would be. That of the earth is 493, that of Mars Yoo,
and both planets rotate in approximately twenty-four hours. That of
Venus for a like spin would he between the two figure, because in mass
and density she falls between the earth and Mars. Let us say 475 for
it, which would be close to the truth.
Now Venus on occasion offers peculiar opportunity to measure any
such flattening if it existed. For at times she passes in transit across
the sun’s face. At that moment she presents an absolute absence of
phase and in consequence any correction due to asymmetrical illumina-
tion is self-eliminated. Furthermore, she then shows the largest of all
planetary disks, one of 60 seconds in diameter. A flattening of %475
would amount therefore in her case to 0”.22. Such a quantity could
not possibly miss of detection. For that of Mars, which is only half as
much and is not so well displayed, has nevertheless been measured.
Yet no divergence from perfect sphericity has ever been found in the
globe of Venus, though diameters at all azimuths have been carefully
taken when she is seen silhouetted in transit against the sun.
I may have seemed to dwell at unnecessary length upon the time
that Venus takes to turn. But there is cause. The rotation time of
Venus, the determination, that is, of the planet’s day, is one of the
fundamental astronomical acquisitions of recent years. It is not a ques-
tion of academic accuracy merely, of a little more or a little less in
actual duration, but one which carries in its train a completely new
outlook on Venus and sheds a valuable sidelight upon the history of our
whole planetary system. For upon it turns our whole knowledge of
the planet’s physical condition. More than this, it adds something
which must be reckoned with in the framing of any cosmogony.
To this we shall now proceed and if the deductions and the phe-
nomena which corroborate them appear almost romantically strange it
is in the facts themselves that the romance exists.
In the first place such isochronism gives us a glimpse into the
planet’s past. That the day should coincide with the year means that
it has been brought to this condition. For that it can always have been
so is mechanically highly improbable. On the other hand, there is a
cause continually tending to bring about such a result; tidal friction.
Under the immense forces at work the planetary masses behave as if
they were plastic. In consequence tides of the whole substance are set
up in them if they rotate, and these tides act as a brake upon the rota-
tion until they finally retard it to coincidence with the orbital revolution.
That Venus now turns the same face in perpetuity to the sun, lets
us look down a long vista in her career, and gives us a very instant idea
of a phase in a planet’s history: that long slow change by which a day
is lengthened to infinity. That Venus should have suffered such action
is in keeping with theory, though it could not have been predicted in
the absence of facts. For Venus falls exactly on debatable ground, on
THE PLANET VENUS 533
the line as it were. Tidal action depends, for the time necessary to
produce a given result, on the square of the radius of the body acted
on and as the sixth power of its distance from the exciting cause. In
consequence for solar action the nearer planets would show its effect
first. Now Mercury already turns the same face always to the sun;
the earth, as we know, does not. Venus comes between the two in dis-
tance and might therefore a priori do either, depending upon how long
the action has been going on. ‘That she agrees with Mercury in con-
tinuously staring at the sun thus affords valuable evidence on the gen-
eral evolution of the solar system.
Interesting as this information is, it is second to what we learn in
consequence about the body itself. To have the same hemisphere ex-
posed everlastingly to sunlight while the other is in perpetuity turned
away, must cause a state of things of which we can form but faint con-
ception from what we know on earth. Baked for eons without let-up
and still baking, the sunward face must, if unshielded, be a Tophet
surpassing our powers adequately to portray. And unshielded it must
be, as we shall presently see. Reversely, the other must be a hyper-.
borean expanse to which our polar regions are temperate abodes. For
upon one whole hemisphere of Venus the sun never shines, never so
much as peeps above the star-studded horizon. Night eternal reigns
over half of her globe! The thought would appall the most intrepid of
our arctic explorers, and prevent at least everybody from going to the
pole; or rather what here replaces it “ through the dark continent.”
Deduction from our known premises enables us to go further in
sketching the picture of Venus’s globe. Venus we know has an atmos-
phere. The effects of it are patent at the times when she passes be-
tween, or nearly between, us and the sun. She is then seen haloed by a
rim of light due, as Wilson has shown, to reflection chiefly, not to refrac-
tion as was formerly supposed, from an atmosphere about her. Now
the intense heating to which the center of her sunward side is exposed
must necessarily expand the air there, causing it to rise funnel-wise up
in a world-wide western cyclone. ‘To fill the space thus depleted cur-
rents must set in toward the center from all points of the compass, con-
tinuing out to the ighted rim. Their place in turn would be occupied
by surface indraughts from the dark side. Meanwhile the heated air
would spread like an umbrella round into the cold hemisphere there to
descend and replace the outgoing superficial current back to the sunlit
face. A regular aerial round of travel is thus started, which is the same
forces that began it must keep up. The course is surface-wise from
the dark to the illuminated hemisphere; aloft from the sunlit to the
night one.
Now this simple, regular and reliable meteorological service explains
a feature of the visual observations which has deterred many timid souls
from crediting their reality. One of the most striking features of
Venus’s disk are the tongues of shading that make in from all parts of
534 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
the lighted rim toward the center. They are the beginnings of those
spoke-lke markings the methodical oddity of which makes their actu-
ality so difficult of belief. They seem a thought too peripherally posi-
tioned to be other than optically evolved. Their recurrent showing in
the same places marks them-as facts, however, and as such we must
regard them. Now when we consider them in the light of Venus’s
meteorology their cause at once suggests itself. And with this index-
finger to guide us we perceive that far from being surprising they are
just the phenomena we ought to expect. For consider the surface
indraught along the bounding rim of constant sun-exposure. With the
immense temperature gradient which exists between the day and the
night side of Venus, the power of these winds must be enormous. Being
essentially surface ones, they must sweep the face of the planet with
irresistible force and, what is more, having once found a pathway of
preference, must from the general unchangeableness of the conditions
continue to follow it perpetually. For the only thing to alter their
direction, the libration, is from the circularity of Venus’s orbit negli-
gibly small. Sweeping in originally through valleys or mountain passes,
the points offering the easiest access, they must eventually have polished
the surfaces over which they passed to a differentiation of appearance
visible even across millions of miles of intervening space. Hssentially
surface currents at the rim, they would become less and less so as they
neared the center of the lighted side and furthermore would converge
as they approached it. They would seem to us to narrow and become
at the same time less salient as they advanced. This is just what their
spoke-like character shows. Thus the peculiar look of the Venusian
markings proves to be in exact keeping with what the conditions de-
mand, and by so doing bears testimony that those conditions actually
exist.
Not less strange on its face and equally interesting for its disclosure
is another phenomenon connected with the planet which also has been
deemed incredible—the exceeding brightness of Venus’s disk. Her
great luster is, as we saw above, in part attributable to her proximity
first to the sun and secondly to us. But this is not the sole cause of it.
Though a part of her splendor is due to her position, a part is her own.
Her intrinsic brightness, her albedo, as it is called, has been found by
Miller, of Potsdam, who has made the last and most authoritative
determination of it, to reach the excessive figure of .92 of absolute
reflection. This figure has seemed to many impossible, but we shall
see from consideration that it simply reflects the conditions.
The rising currents on the sunward side must from their great heat
be capable of holding much water-vapor in suspension. This they
would take over with them in large part to the night side and becoming
chilled there deposit it as snow. Being cold on their return they would
reenter the warm side relatively dry and thus be fitted to act again as
water-carriers from that side to the other. This process of depletion
THE PLANET VENUS eh
on the one and accumulation on the opposite hemisphere must end in
taking the whole supply, surface or aerial, from the day side to pile it
up in perpetual ice upon the night one. Dry air more or less laden
with dust must therefore constitute now the atmospheric covering of
the sunward hemisphere. Now this is what gives Venus her excessive
luster—an atmosphere devoid of cloud. It is precisely because she is
not cloud-covered that her luster is so great. She “ clothes herself with
light as with a garment” in consequence of a physical fact of some
interest. As becomes the Mother of Loves, this drapery is gauze of
the most attenuated character, and yet on that very account is a great
heightener of effect. For it is a well-known property of matter that a
substance when comminuted reflects much more light than when
massed as a solid or an opaque cloud. Now an atmosphere is itself such
a comminuted affair and especially is made lucent by the dust of one
sort and another which it holds in suspension. This would particu-
larly be true of Venus for the reasons we have exposed and thus stands
explained her albedo of .92 which were she cloud-covered could not
exceed .72, the albedo of cloud. This brightening character of an
atmosphere stands corroborated by what we perceive of the other planets.
Mercury and the moon, which are airless bodies, have an albedo of only
.17; Mars, which has some air but not much, one of .27; while Venus,
whose sky is clear, one of .92.
Another phenomenon which has greatly puzzled astronomers stands
accounted for by what we have learned latterly of the world of Venus.
For years by one observer or another a sort of faint phosphorescent
shine has been reported of the unilluminated part of her disk; the ashen
light, it has been called. ‘The side of her which should be dark has
appeared ghostly lighted up. The phenomenon has seemed the weirder
for the difficulty of explaining it. It is like what dimly reveals the old
moon in the new moon’s arms. With the moon this is earth-shine; the
moon-shine the earth herself lends her satellite. But Venus has no
neighbor to act as mirror near her, though such be her astronomic
symbol. The earth is too far off and the stars inadequate to the occa-
sion. But the state of things we have sketched furnishes an explana-
tion. If the night side of Venus be a vast stretch of polar ice, here is
just the surface to reflect the starlight with something approaching a
phosphorescent shine. Nor would this necessarily be dimmed by the
dust of ages because of a slow process of glacier rejuvenation constantly
in progress, due partly to the winds, partly to a slow sinking of the
débris to the bottom.
Such are some of the peculiar phenomena presented by the planet.
When we thus reason about them—and even in science reasoning is not
so much to be despised as some mechanical souls would have us believe
—we see that they lose their oddity, becoming the very pattern and
prototype of what we should expect.
Logical deductions from well-established fact has led us to explana-
536 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
tion of what had seemed inexplicable or untrue. Our several results
check one another. or, in conclusion, we may note how full of signifi-
cance it is that the outcomes of such various investigation should fit
into one another to an articulated whole. Their dove-tailing at times
is indeed surprising, so diverse the character of the converging lines of
research. ‘Thus that the planet’s albedo should have anything to say
about the length of its day, should actually come forward in corrobora-
tion of the markings’ own forthright showing, would hardly have been
supposed. Or that the ashen light of the dark side should find inter-
pretation in the same axial rotation through a long chain of concate-
nated circumstance was not to be anticipated. Still less would one have
divined that the cycle would stand complete and that the very markings
which enable us to determine the duration of the Venusian day should
have had their peculiar features determined by it.
The force that such agreement to a common end imparts to the
chain of argument needs no comment. It speaks for itself.
The picture of Venus thus presented to our gaze may seem forbid-
ding—-one hemisphere a torrid desert, the other deserted ice. Which
side strikes us as the worse is matter of personal predilection. But the
portrait has its grand features for all that; features which give us a new
conception of what exists in the universe and lure our thought afield in
space with all the greater insistence for being drawn not from fancy
but from fact.
Not less of interest is the way in which our knowledge has been ob-
tained; for it has been acquired by research along very different lines,
and then by reasoning upon the results of that research to their neces-
sary conclusions. That these conclusions lead to a consistent concep-
tion assures us of their truth. Two things are suggested to us by such
procedure: first, the pregnancy of considering a subject from many
points of view, and secondly, the importance of reasoning upon facts
after they have been acquired.
The fact-gatherer has his uses, but they are not those of the highest
class. It is not enough to have a thing on our plates, we must know
that we have it there and interrogate it for meaning if we would ex-
tract from it the knowledge it is capable of yielding and so most truly
add to the advance of our day.
In the case before us the result is of special interest because it
exemplifies the eventual effects of a force in astronomical mechanics, the
importance of which is only beginning to be appreciated : tidal friction.
It has brought Venus as a world to the deathly pass we have contem-
plated together. Starting merely as a brake upon her rotation, it has
ended by destroying all those physical conditions which enable our own
world to be what it is. Night and day, summer and winter, heat and
cold, are vital vicissitudes unknown now upon our sister orb. There
nothing changes while the centuries pass. An eternity of deadly death-
lessness is Venus’s statuesque lot.
THE ORIGIN OF SPECIES ° 537
THE ARGUMENT FOR ORGANIC EVOLUTION BEFORE
“THE ORIGIN OF SPECIES”
By Proressor ARTHUR O. LOVEJOY
THE UNIVERSITY OF MISSOURI
II
i the former part of this historical inquiry, it was shown that four
of the arguments which rapidly made converts to the theory of
evolution after 1859 rested upon principles of scientific method and
facts of anatomy and physiology which were entirely familiar much
more than fifteen years before that date. A similar examination must
now be made of four more of the most important “ evidences of evolu-
tion.” Here again it will appear that the facts were known at least
as early as 1844, and that their evolutionary implications were pointed
out by Robert Chambers, Herbert Spencer or other pre-Darwinian
writers. It will also appear that the flaws and gaps in the evidence
which could be plausibly exhibited by the opponents of the theory dur-
ing those fifteen years were, for the most part, not removed by the
“ Origin of Species,” nor for a number of years subsequent to its pub-
lication. Substantially, whatever force the arguments for the trans-
formist conception of the origin of the specific characters of organisms
had after 1859, they had before; and whatever weaknesses they had be-
fore that memorable year, they still had after it. In presenting proof of
this I shall, as before, indicate by direct citations the manner in which
the arguments were used by the early Darwinians, and then point out
the parallel reasonings in the evolutionists of the earlier period.
3. The Argument from the Sequence of Types in Paleontology.—
The nature of this argument is, of course, too familiar to need exposi-
tion. The value which Huxley attached to it in 1863 is shown by a
passage in his “ Lectures on the Phenomena of Organic Nature”:
If you regard the whole series of stratified rocks . . . constituting the only
record we have of a most prodigious lapse of time;—if you observe in these
successive strata of rocks successive groups of animals arising and dying out,
a constant succession giving you the same kind of impression, as you travel
from one group of strata to another as you would have in travelling from one
country to another; ... when you look at this wonderful history and ask
what it means, it is only a paltering with words if you are offered the reply,
“They were so created.” But if, on the other hand, you look on all forms of
organized beings as the results of the gradual modification of a primitive type,
the facts receive a meaning and you see that these older conditions are the
necessary predecessors of the present. Viewed in this light the facts of pale-
vol. LXxv.—36.
538 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
ontology receive a meaning—upon any other hypothesis I am unable to see, in
the slightest degree, what knowledge or signification we are to draw from them.
Again, note ... the singular likeness which obtains between the successive
faune and flore, whose remains are preserved in the rocks; you never find any
great and enormous difference between them, unless you have reason to believe
that there has also been a great lapse of time or a great change of conditions.
Just so did Chambers argue in his “ Explanations,” 1846:
Fifty years ago science possessed no facts regarding the origin of organic
creatures upon earth. ... Within that time, by researches in the crust of the
earth, we have obtained a bold outline of the history of the globe. ... It is
shown on powerful evidence that during this time strata of various thicknesses
were deposited in seas; . . . voleanic agency broke up the strata, ete. . . . The
remains and traces of plants and animals found in the succession of strata
show that while these operations were going on the earth gradually became
the theatre of organic being, simple forms appearing first and more complicated
afterwards. . . . This is a wonderful revelation to have come upon the men of
our time, and one which the philosophers of the age of Newton could never
have expected to be vouchsafed. The great fact established by it is that the
organic creation, as we now see it, was not placed upon the earth at once:—it
observed a progress.* . . . There is also the fact of an ascertained historical
progress of plants and animals in the order of their organization. ... In an
arbitrary system we had surely no reason to expect mammals after reptiles; yet
in this order they came.”
Thus the general fact of the gradual appearance of higher types in
the course of geological time, and the existence of a broad parallelism
between antiquity of strata and relative simplicity of the contained
organic forms, was by this time thoroughly established and universally
familiar. True it is, however, that the evidence from paleontology,
when more minutely scrutinized, proved to be by no means so favorable
to the development hypothesis. This was so far the case that the ortho-
dox geologists were able, with some real plausibility, to turn this weapon
against the evolutionists. One of the only two really serious reasons
that could be advanced after 1840 for rejecting the hypothesis lay in
the observation that the facts of stratigraphic geology, as then known,
failed to exhibit, with any consistency, fulness or precision, the se-
quences that the hypothesis required. The principal fighting, between
the time of the “ Vestiges ” and that of the “ Origin,” took place around
this issue; and the battle-ground was well chosen for the conservatives.
For the weakest side of the theory of development then was its paleon-
tological side. But this continued to be its weakest side in the 1860’s;
and it is a side not wholly without weak points even at the present day,
especially when to the theory of development is added the theory of
natural selection. :
The chief objections raised by the paleontologists were five in num-
ber. There was, first, the general difficulty about the “ missing links ”
in the chain of past organisms. Secondly, there was the fact of the
* Op. ctt., p. 21.
7 Op. cit., p. 106.
THE ORIGIN OF SPECIES 539
apparently sudden appearance of groups of allied, and by no means
absolutely primordial, species in the lowest fossiliferous strata then
known. ‘Thirdly, there was the sudden disappearance of whole groups
of species at the end of certain geological periods, and their sudden
replacement in the next period by species different in type from the
former, and closely allied to one another. ‘These two points—the second
and third—were the especial contribution of the Cuvierian school to the
controversy. Out of Cuvier’s doctrine of the abrupt extinction of
faunas at the successive “revolutions of the globe,” his disciples had
elaborated the theory of the radical and world-wide discontinuity of the
faunas and floras of the successive great periods, and had hence inferred
the actual necessity of assuming a definite number of special creations
of fresh organic worlds en bloc. D’Orbigny knew exactly how many
such creations there had been:
The first creation shows itself in the Silurian stage. After its annihilation
through some geological cause or other, a second creation took place a consider-
able time after, in the Devonian stage; and twenty-seven times in succession
distinct creations have come to repeople the whole earth with its plants and
animals, after each of the geological disturbances which destroyed everything
in living nature. Such is the fact, certain but incomprehensible, which we
confine ourselves to stating, without endeavoring to solve the superhuman
mystery which envelops it.”
Fourthly—to continue the enumeration of the paleontological diffi-
culties—it was objected that, especially within the limits of single great
geological formations, the arrangement of fossils in the strata did not
exhibit the required order of progression from lower to higher types,
but sometimes even reversed that order. This was Sedgwick’s principal
point in his Hdinburgh Review article, as it was that of Hugh Miller in
his “ Footprints of the Creator,” 1849, the most widely circulated of
the replies to the “ Vestiges.” Mliller’s argument may be summarized
in his own words.?® The latest discoveries in the Silurian and Cambrian
series, he declared, do not show the
sort of arrangement demanded by the exigencies of the development hypoth-
eses. A true wood at the base of the old red sandstone, or a true Placoid in the
limestones of Bala, very considerably beneath the base of the Lower Silurian
system, are untoward misplacements for the purposes of the Lamarckian; and
who that has watched the progress of discovery for the last twenty years and
seen the place of the earliest ichthyolite transferred from the Carboniferous to
the Cambrian system, and that of the earliest exogenous lignite from the Lias
to the Lower Devonian, will now venture to say that fossil wood may not yet
be detected as low in the scale as any vegetable organism whatever, or fossil fish
as low as the remains of any animal? But though the response of the earlier
geologic systems be thus unfavorable to the development hypothesis, may not
* D’Orbigny, “Cours élémentaire de Paléontologie Stratigraphique,” 1849,
II., 251; cited in Depéret, “The Transformations of the Animal World,” 1909,
pp. 18-19.
Quoted from the American edition, 27th thousand, 1875, pp. 227-8; the
edition has a eulogistic preface by Agassiz, 1851.
540 THH POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
men such as the author of the “Vestiges” urge that the geologie evidence,
taken as a whole, and in its bearing upon groups and periods, establishes the
general fact that the lower plants and animals preceded the higher, . . . that
the fish preceded the reptile, that the reptile preceded the bird, that the bird
preceded the mammiferous quadruped and that the mammiferous quadruped and
the quadrumand preceded man? Assuredly yes! They may and do urge that
geology furnishes evidence of such a succession of existences; and the arrange-
ment seems at once a very wonderful and very beautiful one. Of that great and
imposing procession of which this world has been the scene, the programme
has been admirably marshalled. But the order of the arrangement by no
means justifies the inference based upon it by the Lamarckian.
The reason why, according to Miller, it does not, constitutes the
fifth objection urged against evolutionism from the side of paleontology ;
“superposition,” as Miller put it, “does not mean parental relation,”
any more than the presence of gradually accumulated vegetable and
animal refuse in a farmer’s ditch means that the creatures whose
remains lie at the bottom of the ditch begot those whose remains are
found higher up.
The last argument does not call, and never did call, for serious
consideration ; it is a begging of the precise question at issue, concealed
by a specious but lame analogy. The other four arguments depended,
with respect to their logical weight, upon the way in which they were
applied. If it were assumed that the burden of offering specific proofs
rested upon the transformationist, and that the paleontological evidence
was put forward by him as a proof, the objections of the orthodox geol-
ogists were perfectly sound: the paleontological evidence was not clear
nor complete—though it assuredly pointed toward the probability of the
hypothesis. If, again, transformism were regarded as an hypothesis
which implied the existence of certain geologic facts, then, also, the
objections enumerated were pertinent—with one all-important and
extremely obvious qualification: the implied facts in stratigraphic geol-
ogy had not been verified—so far as inquiry into a record that will
always and necessarily remain fragmentary had then extended. If,
lastly, the objections were advanced as a positive disproof of the trans-
formation of species, they were entirely incompetent, by reason of the
necessity of adding the qualification last mentioned. The record being
notoriously incomplete, it was impossible to infer from mere breaches of
continuity, and from an occasional failure in the general parallelism of
geological antiquity with simplicity of organic type, that the order of
appearance of species had not in fact been progressive, and the result
of gradual modification through natural descent. The difficulties raised
by the conservative paleontologists logically justified, at the utmost,
only a Scotch verdict of “not proven ”—so far as this part of the
testimony is concerned.
This continued to be the logical situation in 1859 and for a number
of years thereafter. Darwin wrote to Quatrefages:
THE ORIGIN OF SPECIES 541
My views spread slowly in England and America; and I am much surprised
to find them most commonly accepted by geologists, next by botanists, and least
by zoologists; ...for the arguments from geology have always seemed
strongest against me.
That the objection from the general absence of intermediate links
between species was a pertinent one he acknowledged with characteristic
candor.
Geology assuredly does not reveal any such finely graduated organic chain;
and this is perhaps the most obvious and serious objection which can be urged
against the theory. ;
He recognized that, so far as geological knowledge then went, whole
groups of species sometimes seemed to make their appearance abruptly ;
though he argued that the increase of such knowledge had steadily
tended to diminish this semblance of abruptness. Wholly eliminated
these sharp transitions have never been, to this day; the latest authori-
tative expositor of the general results of paleontology says of d’Orbigny
that, though “ his ideas” were “too absolute, his observations remain
none the less exact in their broad lines, and the sudden replacing of
marine faunas, when passing from one stage to another, or even from
zone to zone, must be considered almost a general rule.” The same
writer,*° who is, of course, a convinced evolutionist, observes:
After all we can not forget that there exists an immense number of
creatures without intermediate links, and that the relations of the great
divisions of the animal or vegetable kingdom are much less strict than the
theory demands. ... The keenest partisan of the descent theory must admit
that the fossil links between the classes and orders of the two kingdoms exist
in infinitesimally small numbers.
The second argument of the paleontological opponents of the theory
Darwin regarded as still more deserving of serious consideration.
The sudden manner in which several groups of species first appear in our
Kuropean formations, the almost entire absence, as at present known, of
formations rich in fossils beneath the Cambrian strata, are all undoubtedly of
the most serious nature. The difficulty of assigning any good reason for the
absence of vast piles of strata rich in fossils beneath the Cambrian system is
very great. ... The case at present must remain inexplicable, and may be
truly urged as a valid argument against the views here entertained.*
To all these objections, as to that drawn from the absence of a uni-
formly progressive sequence in the superposition of species of certain
classes, Darwin opposed a single reply: “ the imperfection of the geolog-
ical record ”’—an imperfection due not only to the inadequacy of geo-
logical exploration but to the inevitable absence of many chapters from
the rock-history itself. Paleontology thus offered to neither side
materials for a decisive proof of its case. Darwin’s ninth chapter pre-
* Depéret, “ The Transformations of the Animal World,” 1909, p. 22; the
following passage, p. 113.
* Citations are from “Origin of Species,” sixth edition, ch. X., passim;
this was ch. IX. of the first edition.
542 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
sented these considerations in a masterly manner. But there was no
time in the history of paleontology when they were not extremely obvi-
ous and familiar considerations. Chambers, in replying to his critics,
had fallen back upon the argument from the inconclusiveness of nega-
tive evidence. Hven Hugh Miller, without greatly profiting by his own
precept, had pointed out “how unsafe it is for the geologist to base
positive conclusions on merely negative data.”®? And Spencer, in a
brilliant article written in 1858,3* and published in the Universal
Review* in July, 1859, had urged that “ along with continuity of life
on the earth’s surface, there not only may be, but must be, great gaps
in the series of fossils;” and that “hence these gaps are no evidence
against the doctrine of evolution.” He concluded:
It must be admitted that the facts of Paleontology can never suffice either
to prove or disprove the Development Hypothesis; but that the most they can
do is, to show whether the last few pages of the Earth’s biologic history are or
are not in harmony with this hypothesis.
In its later development, it is true, paleontology has been able to
produce some striking supplementary evidences of evolution. In a lim-
ited number of cases, approximately complete and closely graduated
series of forms of single orders or families can be exhibited in due
stratigraphic superposition. But all the elaborate and impressive
“ form-series ” have been worked out since 1859. Darwin himself made
no original discoveries in this field; and as late as the sixth edition of
the “ Origin ” the best evidence of the sort he presented from other
writers is, I believe, summed up in these two sentences :
Several cases are on record of the same species presenting varieties in the
upper and lower parts of the same formation. Thus Trautschold gives a number
of instances with Ammonites, and Hilgendorf has described a most curious case
of ten graduated forms of Planorbis multiformis in the successive beds of a
fresh-water formation in Switzerland.
Of the two instances cited the first is vague—the great studies of
Waagen (1869) and of Neumayr (1871-5) in the Ammonites were still
to come; and the observations of Hilgendorf seem already, by the time
the sixth edition of the “ Origin” was prepared for the press, to have
been shown to be erroneous.*> The best known example, to English
readers, of a form-series is that of the Equide. But Riitimeyer’s
“ Beitrige zur Kenntnis der fossilen Pferde” appeared only in 1863;
and Huxley’s researches in this field, which were the consequence, not
the cause, of his acceptance of the theory of descent, were first pre-
sented to the public in his presidential address before the Geological
Society in 1870.
6. The Argument from Persistent Types.—If good cases of gradu-
2 Footsteps of the Creator,” p. 32.
83 Tife and Letters of Herbert Spencer,” II., 332.
* Reprinted in “ Illustrations of Universal Progress,” 1868, pp. 361, 376.
® Of. O. Schmidt, “ Descent and Darwinism,” 1873, English tr., 1896, p. 96.
THE ORIGIN OF SPECIES 543
ated form-series were not available at the time of the “ Origin” or
before, the evolutionist of the period could still find in paleontology
one sort of evidence decidedly unfavorable to the chief hypothesis then
opposed to his own—that of extensive “revolutions of the globe,”
wholesale obliterations of faunas, and thorough-going new creations of
the entire organic world. This evidence lay in the persistence of many
orders and certain species through more than one geological epoch.
The classic of the special creation doctrine was the introduction to
the third edition of Cuvier’s “ Récherches sur les ossements fossiles ” ;
and the principal argument of that work was, in the words of one of
Cuvier’s disciples,** to the effect that “ no fossil species, at least among
the two classes of mammalia and reptilia, has any analogue among liv-
ing species, or, in other words, that every fossil species is extinct.” If
this could be shown by positive evidence not to be the case, one of the
principal supports of the special creation hypothesis was taken away
from it. Huxley made much of this line of attack in a paper of 1859
and in his address before the Geological Society in 1862. He pointed
out, for example, that lingula and certain mollusca “have persisted from
the Silurian epoch to the present day, with so little change that com-
petent malacologists are sometimes puzzled to distinguish the ancient
from the modern species.” He noted that the “group of crocodilia
was represented at the beginning of the Mesozoic age, if not earlier, by
species identical in the character of their organization with those now
living”; and that, probably, even certain types of the ancient mam-
malian fauna, such as that of the marsupialia, have persisted with no
greater change throughout as vast a lapse of time.”
But the argument Huxley here used had not newly become available.
Cuvier’s generalization had gone far beyond any evidence which he had
offered, or which could, in the nature of the case, be offered. The
proposition was, indeed, insusceptible of proof, save by a sort of
reasoning in a circle. For when the special creationists denied the sur-
vival of species from one epoch to another, they were using the word
“ species ” in a sense different from that in which they, at least, usually
employed it. In their zoology, the final test of specific difference be-
tween two forms was the sterility of the hybrid. But extinct forms can
not be subjected to this test. In paleontology, therefore, differences of
species had to be determined solely on grounds of morphological dis-
similarity; while it was, at the same time, recognized that in living
animals an immense range of such dissimilarity might be consistent
with identity of physiological species. If the pug dog and the grey-
hound had been extinct, it is at least questionable whether paleontol-
ogists would have assigned them to the same species—especially if their
remains had been found at different geological horizons. Under such
%° Flourens, “‘ Analyse raisonée des travaux de G. Cuvier,” 1841.
544 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
circumstances, it was open to the paleontologist to multiply species
almost ad libitum; if he had adopted a theory which required that no
species found in one stratum should be found in another, it was easy to
make the most of slight variations of form. Differentiations of species
thus made, however, were essentially subjective; all that could con-
ceivably have been proven objectively was that no form remained the
same through successive geological periods. Yet even of this no proof
was forthcoming; the geologic record was not the sort of document that
could furnish proof for a universal negative. It furnished, in fact, evi-
dence on the other side. Even Cuvier’s eulogist had been obliged
(1841) to limit the generalization by adding “at least among mam-
mals and reptiles *—and then to make further exception of two orders
of mammals. And Hitchcock in his “The Religion of Geology ”
(1852), while exaggerating the discontinuity of then known types,
could say no more than that, “of the thirty thousand species of ani-
mals and plants found in the rocks, very few living species can be de-
tected.” But a few were as good as a multitude as witnesses to the fact
that there had been no such complete, simultaneous extinctions of
faunas, and radical alterations of terrestrial conditions, as the Cuvier-
ian theory supposed.” And we find Chambers, in 1844, citing specific
examples of persistency, as Huxley was to do fifteen years later.
There is a badger of the Miocene which can not be distinguished from the
badger of the present day. Our existing Meles taxus is therefore acknowledged
by Mr. Owen to be “the oldest known species of mammal on the face of the
earth.” It is in like manner impossible to discover any difference between the
existing wild cat and that which lived in the bone caves with the hyena,
rhinoceros and tiger of the ante-drift era, all of which are said to be extinct
species. . . . There is a persistency of certain shells since the beginning of the
tertiaries. . . . Several shells of the secondary formation straggling into the
tertiaries are not less conclusive, in rigid reasoning, that all the tertiary species
were descended from the secondary, though the wide unrepresented interval
at that point allowed a greater transition of forms. In short, the whole of
the divisions constructed by geologists upon the supposition of extensive intro-
ductions of totally new vehicles of life must give way before the application of
this rule, and it must be seen that what they call new species are but variations
of the old.®
%. The Argument from the Recapitulation Theory.—In charging
Chambers with prematurity in his acceptance of evolutionism, Pro-
fessor Le Conte urged that “the foundation, the only solid foundation,
of a true theory of evolution” is to be had solely in “the method of
57 It was, indeed, possible to restate the special creation theory so as to avoid
this difficulty; extinctions and fresh productions of species, one at a time, might
be supposed to have taken place continuously, without any general or widespread
“revolutions of the globe.” Such a conception was put forward by Bronn in
1857. But when thus amended the theory was pretty manifestly in a state of
hopeless overstrain. It now made miraculous interpositions a matter of, so to
say, almost daily occurrence in the geologic history.
8“ Hxplanations,” 1846, p. 108 f.
THE ORIGIN OF SPECIES 545
comparison of the phylogenic and the embryonic succession,” and in
the resultant principle that “the laws of embryonic development
(ontogeny) are also the laws of geologic succession.” This method
and this principle Le Conte represented as “added” to biology by
Agassiz. Holding such views of the importance and the date of origin
of the recapitulation theory, Le Conte concluded that no one was
reasonably entitled to believe in the transformation of species prior to
the publication of the work of Agassiz; and hence that Chambers’s
evolutionism was a “ baseless speculation.”°® Le Conte’s popular book
has done much to form current ideas on this subject. But its author
was misled by piety towards the memory of his greatest teacher into a
serious neglect of chronology, in a matter where chronology is of the
essence of the question at issue. Even if Agassiz be regarded as the
originator of the doctrine of recapitulation, it must be remembered that
he announced his evidences for that doctrine in his “ Poissons du vieux
grés rouge,” 1842-44, and repeated them in popular form in his Lowell
Lectures of 1848.*° And in point of fact, the doctrine and an impor-
tant mass of evidence for it had then long been familiar; so that one
finds Lyell, before 1835, arguing against the use of it as*a proof of
evolution. In the “ Principles of Geology,’*1 he wrote:
There is yet another department of anatomical discovery to which I must
allude, because it has appeared to some persons to afford a distant analogy, at
least, to that progressive development by which some of the inferior animals
may have gradually been perfected into those of more complex organization.
Tiedemann found, and his discoveries have been most fully confirmed and
elucidated by M. Serres, that the brain of the fetus assumes, in succession, forms
analogous to those which belong to fishes, birds and reptiles before it acquires
the additions and modifications peculiar to the mammiferous tribe. So that in
the passage from the embryo to the perfect mammifer, there is a typical repre-
sentation, as it were, of all those transformations which the primitive species
are supposed to have undergone, during a long series of generations, between
the present period and the remotest geological era.
Lyell’s reply to this argument was brief and dogmatic: he fully ad-
mitted the facts, but denied the inference.
It will be observed that these curious phenomena disclose, in a highly inter-
esting manner, the unity of plan that runs through the organization of the
whole series of vertebrated animals; but they lend no support whatever to the
notion of a gradual transmutation of one species into another; least of «ll, of the
passage, in the course of many generations, from an animal of a more simple
to one of a more complex structure.
To the mind of Darwin the same sort of data presented a very dif-
ferent import. ;
® Le Conte, “ Evolution in its Relation to Religious Thought,” 2d ed., 1905,
ch, II.: The Relation of Louis Agassiz to the Theory of Evolution.
“ Cf. Agassiz’s own words, cited in Marcou, “ Louis Agassiz,” I., 230; and
Morgan, “Evolution and Adaptation,’ p. 61.
“First American edition, 1837, I., 526.
546 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
As it seems to me, the leading facts in embryology, which are second to
none in importance, are explained on the principle of variations in the many
descendants from some one ancient progenitor, having appeared at a not very
early period in life, and having been inherited at a corresponding period.
Embryology rises greatly in interest, when we look at the embryo as a picture,
more or less obscured, of the progenitor, either in its adult or larval state, of
all the members of the same great class.”
Yet poor Chambers is reproached for “baseless speculation ” be-
cause, looking upon facts accepted by all the competent embryologists
of his time, he saw in them the meaning that Darwin afterwards saw,
and that so great a mind as Lyell’s had been unable to see. In the
third edition of the “ Vestiges,” 1845, he wrote:
First surmised by the illustrious Harvey, afterwards illustrated by Hunter
in his wondrous collection at the Royal College of Surgeons, finally advanced to
mature conclusions by Tiedemann, St. Hilaire and Serres, embryotic develop-
ment is now a science. Its primary positions are... (2) that the embryos of
all animals pass through a series of phases of development, each of which is
the type or analogue of the permanent configuration of tribes inferior to it in
the scale.
And in this Chambers found one of his chief evidences of trans-
formation of species. Elsewhere in this edition he devotes several pages
to the elaboration of the argument from recapitulation in the case of the
brain. “ Taking as a basis the scale of animated nature as presented in
Dr. Fletcher’s ‘ Rudiments of Physiology,’ ” he points out “ the wonder-
ful parity observed in the progress of creation, as presented to our ob-
servation in the succession of fossils, and also in the foetal progress of
one of the principal human organs.”**
8. The Argument from Rudimentary Organs.—In his “ Lectures
on the Phenomena of Organic Nature,’ 1863, Huxley mentions as il-
lustrations of this type of evidence the foetal teeth of the whalebone
whale, the rudimentary toes in the horse’s leg, the rudimentary teeth in
the upper jaw of the calf. He concludes:
Upon any hypothesis of special creation, facts of this kind appear to me
entirely unaccountable and inexplicable; but they cease to be so if you accept
Mr. Darwin’s hypothesis, and see reason for believing that the whalebone whale
and the whale with teeth in its mouth, both sprang from a whale that had
teeth, and that the teeth of the foetal whale are merely remnants—recollections
if we may so say—of the extinct whale. . . . The existence of identical struc-
tural roots, if I may so term them, entering into the composition of widely
different animals, is striking evidence in favor of the descent of those animals
from a common original.
But from the same facts Chambers had argued to the same conclu-
sion nearly a score of years earlier.
The baleen of the whale and the teeth of the land mammals are different
organs. The whale in embryo shows the rudiments of teeth; but these not
being wanted, are not developed, and the baleen is brought forward instead.
“2 Origin of Species,” sixth edition, ch. XIV.
43“ Vestiges,” third edition, 1845.
THE ORIGIN OF SPECIES 547
He mentions also the existence of rudimentary toes in the horse,
the rudimentary feet of serpents, the undeveloped wings of the ostrich,
the teats of male mammals, the os coccygis in man. “The single fact
of the existence of abortive or rudimentary organs condemns” the
“idea of a separate creation for each organic form; . . . for these,
on such a supposition could be regarded in no other light than as
blemishes or blunders.” Such a thing was “ most irreconcilable with
that idea of Almighty Perfection” which the special creationists were
at least as anxious as the author of the “ Vestiges” to maintain.
Chambers gave the argument, here, a pious turn which did not increase
its logical force. But he made the main point plain enough. The
special creation theory could make nothing of rudimentary organs;
viewed in the light of the theory of development, as incidental to
natural descent with gradual modification, they appeared normal, in-
telligible and instructive.
It is worth while, perhaps, before concluding, to bring the last six
arguments together, in a single general view of their logical bearings.
No one of them, nor all of them collectively, ever amounted to more
than “ circumstantial evidence” of the transformation of species; none
of them actually exhibits any species in flagrante delicto of transmuta-
tion. These arguments got their force from the fact that, when taken
together, they fitted with striking nicety into the requirements of one
of the two possible hypotheses about the origin of species—a hypothesis
already recommended on general grounds of scientific method; while
they reduced the rival hypothesis to a grotesque absurdity. “ Con-
ceivable” that other hypothesis still remained, as Huxley contended.
It was, and is, possible, by making a sufficient number of supplementary
suppositions, to give to the special creation doctrine a form in which
it is neither explicitly self-contradictory nor explicitly in conflict with
any fact established by pure induction. But when thus fitted out with
the epicycles required by the facts already known to the science of
1840, the doctrine certainly presented a singularly odd and whimsical
appearance. It implied that the Creator had produced the different
types of organisms by fits and starts, strewing them at irregular inter-
vals along the vast reaches of geologic time. Precisely what happened
on one of these interesting occasions, the hypothesis left in a baffling
obscurity ; after a somewhat extensive reading in the literature of the
period, I can not recall that any special creationist replied to Spencer’s
request for particulars on this point. Spencer wrote in 1852:
Let them tell us how a new species is constructed and how it makes its
appearance. Is it thrown down from the clouds? or must we hold to the notion
that it struggles up out of the ground? Do its limbs and viscera rush together
““Vestiges,’ American (—third) edition, 1845, pp. 145-149. Chambers
unluckily adds: “The land animals, we may be sure, have the rudiments of
baleen in their organization.”
548 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
from all points of the compass? Or must we receive the old Hebrew idea that —
God takes clay and molds a new creature?
On these matters the theory remained judiciously non-committal.
But it maintained, at all events, that the vast majority of species, how-
ever created, were destined to be in turn destroyed—and destroyed by
the operation of natural forces. The Great Artificer could fashion, but
he was either unable or unwilling to protect, the creatures his imagina-
tion had devised. When ordinary physical processes were too much for
them, sweeping them off by groups, or even, according to the favorite
variant of the theory, obliterating them altogether, he was obliged to
start afresh; whether this happened four or twelve or twenty-seven or
thirty thousand times was a detail about which the partisans of the
doctrine could not agree. The forms thus later produced did not al-
ways differ markedly for the better from their unfortunate precursors ;
many primitive and rather unsuccessful models continued to be re-
peated. But in general, as time went on, the Creator brought both
more diverse and more complicated beings into existence. In doing so,
he behaved after the manner of a lazy and incompetent architect, who,
instead of “studying” each problem afresh, with reference to the
special uses and situation of the edifice to be erected, is content to make
a few minor alterations in a single conventionalized plan. The “ unity
of type” of organisms destined to the most dissimilar modes of exist-
ence was generally dilated upon with devout enthusiasm by the special
creationists. They seem to have regarded it as an agreeable mannerism
of the Creator’s personal style. But it is the kind of mannerism which,
in a human designer, is commonly ascribed to indolence or limited in-
telligence. Indeed, the parallel of the lazy architect was inadequate to
represent the whole singularity of the Creator’s mode of construction.
He not only used as few general models as possible, but he also—when,
with a cleared field, he created a fresh group of organisms—repro-
duced in them organs and members which had been functional and
useful in their predecessors, but were with the new species useless,
meaningless, and even disadvantageous—like the proverbial Chinese
tailor, who laboriously imitates all the rents and stains in the dis-
carded European garment given him asa model. Finally, the Creator
was supposed to have implanted in all organisms the senseless habit
of mimicking, in the embryonic stages of the individual’s development,
the forms of other and extinct organisms to which that individual bore
no relation of kinship.
Such—with the details absolutely required by the accepted scien-
tific knowledge of the time—was the hypothesis tenaciously held by
most men of science for at least twenty years before 1859. With the
greater number of them the motives for holding it were primarily
theological; yet the thing that now impresses us in the theory is its
extraordinarily irreligious, not to say blasphemous, character. Science
THE ORIGIN OF SPECIES 549
might conceivably, after some fashion, have made shift with a hypoth-
esis of this kind; but it is hard to see how any one could suppose it in
any degree advantageous to religion. It had not even the poor merit
of being anthropomorphic. For no man out of a madhouse ever be-
haved in such a manner as that in which, by this hypothesis, the Creator
of the universe was supposed to have behaved. Ascribing to him both
the ability and the disposition to intervene with absolute freedom in
natural—or, at least, in organic—phenomena, the theory also repre-
sented him as incapable of intervening intelligently or effectually.
That men of great abilities were unable to see the true character of
the hypothesis which great numbers of them so long embraced, is cer-
tainly an interesting, if not an encouraging, fact in the history of the
human intellect. But the capacity of theological prepossessions and
religious feeling to retard and confuse intellectual processes is an old
story. More remarkable, perhaps, is the failure, for an equally long
period, of a number of men not impeded by theological prepossessions
—men who were capable of seeing the absurdities of the special creation
hypothesis—to recognize the methodological superiority and the promise
of scientific fruitfulness inhering in the other hypothesis, or even to
recognize the logical obligation to choose between the only two hypoth-
eses available. Men of science of the present generation have perhaps
little to learn from a consideration of the reasons which prevented a
Cuvier, a Miller, a Sedgwick or an Agassiz from accepting the theory
of evolution. But there may still be for us profitable matter for re-
flection in a consideration of the reasons which prevented a Huxley
from finding, in 1846, anything of value in facts and reasonings which
thirteen years later he was, with unequalled vigor and skill, proclaim-
ing from the housetops.
The only historian of English thought known to me who has quite
truly stated what I believe to be the fact about this episode in the his-
tory of scientific opinion, is Mr. A. W. Benn. In his “ Modern Eng-
land ”’#° he observes concerning the “ Vestiges ”:
Hardly any advance has since been made on Chambers’ general arguments,
which at the time they appeared would have been accepted as convincing, but
for theological truculence and scientific timidity. And Chambers himself only
gave unity to thoughts already in wide circulation. . . . Chambers was not a
scientific expert, nor altogether an original thinker, but he had studied scientific
literature to better purpose than any professor. . . . The considerations that
now recommend evolution to popular audiences are no other than those urged
in the “ Vestiges.”
The truth of this is, I think, by no means sufficiently recognized by
biologists or by historians of science. I hope that the present study may
somewhat contribute to the more general acknowledgment of the cor-
rectness of Mr. Benn’s statement.
1908, II., 307, I., 238.
550 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
AN ARRAIGNMENT OF THE THEORIES OF MIMICRY
AND WARNING COLORS
By ABBOTT H. THAYER
There is every reason to believe that all animals’ eyes see upon one prin-
ciple, an eye being a machine for receiving what we call light vibrations, so that
to receive from any object more of these vibrations is to have it look lighter,
and to receive from it less of them is to have it look darker.
N the last few years, naturalists have received from outside their
ranks, the first scientific analysis of the use of animal’s colors that
has ever been made.
They have been shown the effacing power of the universal counter-
shading in animals’ costumes, and later, they have seen with their own
eyes the equally perfect effacing power of the patterns which up to that
moment they had believed to be factors of conspicuousness.1 They
have thus been forced to perceive that all their own theories prove to
have been built in ignorance. These were made before the world had
perceived the universal importance of employing specialists, and even
Darwin and Wallace failed to realize that in view of nature’s infinity,
one study like their own was all that they could hope to be faithful to.
The laws of visibility reach, like all others, into infinity, and could not
constitute part of the zoologist’s field, while in the science of the
painter, these laws are the very pith of his study.
The following demonstration of the fallacy of the badge and warn-
ing-color theories is not, in the same sense, an attack upon mimicry, al-
though it inevitably calls attention to the fact that the latter can not
survive the demise of these other theories. It does not imply that there
is no case possible of protective resemblance of one animal by another,
but contents itself with bringing forward conclusive evidence that the
great mass of what is now called mimicry is nothing of the kind, but
is, in every respect, the same common concealing coloration everywhere
to be found where there are common habits and environment. This fact
escaped naturalists, simply because it lay out of their special field, 1. e.,
in optics rather than in zoology, and once off the track, they have been
driven step by step into the erection of a wholly fictitious fabric, where
no fabric at all was required.
1T have shown, both to the naturalists at Woods Hole, Mass., and in Lon-
don, the wonderful concealing power of various representative “ conspicuous ”
costumes, from white patterned birds seen against the sky, to the bright red-
black-and-yellow coral snake, supposed to be one of the most conspicuous animals
in nature.
THEORIES OF MIMICRY 551
The universal tendency of common habits and environment to be
accompanied by common form and appearance has long been a familiar
fact, and no one would have conceived of a vast gap in this tendency
but that naturalists thought themselves forced to accept the evidence
that such a gap existed, and set themselves to work to fill it as best they
could. Now, however, the obstacle to their discovering the wholly con-
cealing character of the whole array of costumes that had puzzled them
vanishes, and no power can withhold this array from taking its place
in the ranks of universal procryptic coloration.
The following pages demonstrate that all diversification of the
colors of animals’ costumes tends wholly and unmixedly to conceal
them. This should set the believers in conspicuous species reflecting
that while they are making their records of cases of momentary con-
spicuousness of individuals of one species or another, they are making
no investigation whatever of the possibility that all the while a large
number of individuals of this same species are, through some magic
of their costume, escaping their sight and making no impression
on their minds. It is precisely to such an investigation as this that I
here invite the reader.
Any out-of-door naturalist knows that if he walk through a sunny
field of fairly profuse vegetation, after first studying it, say, from an
upper window, he will flush an immensely greater amount of so-called
conspicuous aerial life than he had detected from the window, and he
will believe that much of this life was all the time within the field of
his vision.
These plates have been prepared with the especial purpose of ex-
posing the weakness of the optical hypotheses upon which the theories
of “ warning-colors,” “recognition,” “mimicry,” ete., so largely rest.
They show that these hypotheses would never have lived a day had their
originators begun by testing them. Darwin’s erroneous supposition
that a conspicuous mark on an object makes the object itself conspicuous
has been built on and rebuilt on by the leaders of zoological research,
even down to the present day. Entomologists, especially, make much
of the supposed power of sharp and strong patterns to render con-
spicuous that particular part of the insect which they occupy. We now
discover that the effect of these patterns is the very opposite. In the
illustrations of this article we see the actual effect of such marks in
several typical situations. Fig. 1 shows two butterflies and several
letters, all of one color, and against one background. On each butterfly
and on several of the letters bright spots or patterns have been painted.
As the spectator recedes, those parts of the butterflies nearest the bright
patterns fade, until, at a short distance, they are invisible, while the
rest of the insect is clearlv distinguishable up to a much greater dis-
552 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
tance.” The same thing is true of the letters, the unmarked ones being
legible much farther than the others. Fig. 2 shows exactly the same
effect with reversed colors. That part of the gray butterfly next the
black ocellus fades, as one recedes, until it becomes pure white like the
background, leaving the rest of the butterfly to continue visible at a
much greater distance. In both these cases the effect of conspicuous
pattern proves to be the exact reverse of the old hypothesis on which the
Bates and Wallace theories so largely rest. Figs. 3 and 4 will, I think,
still more surprise the many writers who, from Darwin and Wallace
down to the present time, are accustomed to say of one or another bril-
liantly pied species, that its patterns are so conspicuous that one can
see it a hundred yards off. It is here shown that it can not be the
brilliancy or conspicuousness of the animal’s patterns that enables them
thus to see him from afar, since these very characters here produce the
opposite effect. The reader will discover, in looking from a greater and
greater distance, that it is the normally colored, strongly pied butterfly
and skunk, respectively, that fade first, and that all of the remaining
six figures can be seen further. (These can be tested not only by
distance, but by decreased illumination, and, especially for the latter
means, a still more satisfactory test of the skunk can be made by using
life-size figures and turning down the lights in a hall, or studying them
out. of doors as night comes on.) He will discover that the supposed
white blazon actually serves to efface the black animal on a nearer view
(especially if seen through the leaves). He can not fail, either, to per-
ceive that an all-white skunk, being exempt from the risk of giving an
impression of two different things, a black one, and a white one, would
in the long run, be, also, the more recognizable when seen against any
ground, except snow.” It is not yet generally perceived that in the
scenery about us every spot means to a casual observer one thing, and
it follows that two different color-patches, as of the skunk, amidst the
million color-patches in sight, tend, especially when more or less eclipsed
by vegetation, to mean, not one pied animal, but two different elements
of the scene. It must be remembered that the skunk’s scene is a night
scene, commonly abounding, in wild places, in black shadow masses
relieved here and there by light spots made by bleached twigs, fragments
of fallen birches, shining wet spots, etc., and, what is by far the most
essential fact, with all visibility whatsoever at the minimum. In fact
the whole “ warning-color ” theory in the case of these nocturnal species
smacks of the laboratory. For instance, although skunks abound all
7In most butterflies, the body itself is wonderfully effaced by having its
color blent off into the wing; yet it profits greatly by the effacing-power of the
strong pattern to right and left.
a To learn the superiority of monochrome for identification, paint a uniform
tone over a chiselled inscription that has become hard to read because of
weather-stains, and instantly it is as legible as when it was first cut.
FIG. 2
Fies. 1 and 2 show that bright sharp pattern obliterates, instead of rendering conspicuous,
the form on which it is painted; and that its details are left to seem to be part of the similar
details of the background. Test these facts by receding from the picture,
FIG. 4
Tics. 8 anp 4. Tere the spectator will find, as he recedes or turns down the light, that all
the monochrome figures, even the dimmest, can be seen further, or in a less illumination, than
the two normally and brightly patterned ones. These latter fade first. They show how con-
trasted juxtaposed color-notes destroy each other, so that, contrary to the current theories,
monochrome is far better both for revealing the wearer, and also for proclaiming his identity
amidst the innumerable details of wild places.
THEORIES OF MIMICRY 553
over the premises of American country folk, it is very rare to see one
of them, except by encountering him in the hen-house. This is the
more significant in view of their well-known temerity and disinclination
to get out of one’s way. Their white pattern, if seen at all, and even
when observed to move, is easily mistaken for some inanimate detail of
the scene, some shifting shine on a wet leaf, or other of the above-
mentioned light-colored details of the place. There seldom pass many
minutes without some breeze to set in motion the many more or less
white details of the shrubbery, so that the disembodied light patch of
this little hunter’s coat may move, even within the short visibility-range
that we have discovered it to possess, yet by no means commonly attract
our attention. It is certainly the universal experience of American
country dwellers that although in their domestic duties they must fre-
quently pass within a few feet of skunks, yet the whole family together
scarcely see one a year. Under shrubbery, moonlight, which might be
expected to reveal these animals, adds, on the contrary, to the scene
hundreds of white patterns, and these often all in motion, so that what
was before a comparatively negative form of concealment becomes a
most brilliant and positive illusion. The skunk’s pattern so absolutely
reproduces the hundred surrounding ones, often all shifting in a thou-
sand directions, that even when the animal is near enough to be seen,
he is almost sure to escape detection. Dr. Merriam first called my
attention to this, and also to a very clear statement of it by Verrill.
Merriam says that spilogales amidst cactus shadows in moonlight are
practically impossible to follow with the eye. It is easy to see that
this must apply to the appearance of all the other top-patterned species
under similar circumstances. This is one more instance of increased
illumination producing increased procryptic effect, such as we also see
in the operation of counter-shading.
These simple diagrams, then, prove that it is not the diversification
into brilliantly contrasted pattern that makes its wearer conspicuous,
or that is the most efficacious way to make him recognizable. It is the
very juxtaposition of the skunk’s black that makes his white fade out
of sight at a short distance, and in a nearer view, amidst the many light
spots likely to be in sight, one more has often no significance to a spec-
tator; but if this ight color took the full shape of a skunk, then, of
course, it would make him recognizable. In the next plates we shall
see what is the main cause of the frequent conspicuousness, during
motion, of all aerial species, or of any that by virtue of being taller than
others, are, to these lower-level observers, practically the same as aerial,
because of looming against their sky.
But let us turn aside to notice the circumstances of the species
already recognized by naturalists as procryptically colored. These are
merely such species as live, or rest by day, in actual contact with their
SVOl XK Ole
554 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
background, and, as now proves to be the case with practically the whole
animal kingdom, wear its colors (or some of them).
Bark moths, terrestrial animals in general, terrestrial habited birds,
etc., all such species, when thus in actual contact with their back-
grounds, share its varying illumination from minute to minute. The
patch of sunlight that falls on the squatting woodcock illumines also
Fic. 5 shows the revealing-effect of being seen against a contrasting back-
ground, and illustrates the fact that no aerial creature can go about at all without
constantly passing across both revealing and concealing backgrounds.
the surrounding ground, so that the bird continues to seem a part of it;
and the same is of course true of the rest of this great class of animal.
But a very different fate attends the life of aerial species destined con-
stantly to appear against more or less distant backgrounds which do not
share their particular momentary illumination, and which constantly
show, now light, when the flying bird or butterfly is dark, and the next
instant dark when he is light. This fate causes all aerial species, in a
very vital sense, to be conspicuous. Fig. 5 illustrates this. On the
white of the sky a white butterfly has been pasted, which, of course,
does not show. In the same way, a black one has been placed upon
the darkest part of the tree’s shadow, and a ground-colored one on the
ground. Both of these, like the white one, are, of course, practically
invisible, and, could they be always seen against these same back-
grounds, they might be classed as cryptic. But their habits preclude
the possibility of this, their own changes of position, not to speak of
those of the spectator, bringing them, as they fly about, across, often in
a single second, the whole gamut of backgrounds, from brightest sky to
deepest tree-shadow, and back. And against every one, except the
single one which they match, they are clearly visible. The black one
shows against the sky, the ground, etc., the white one against the various
THHORIES OF MIMICRY S515
darks, and so forth. Nor is it only their varying background that
dooms them to visibility. Their flight carries them with equal speed
through a series of metamorphoses of their own aspect. Now, for an
instant of their passage, they are themselves practically black, because
of being in deep shadow, and are perhaps seen against a bright sky-
space. The next has brought them out into full sunlight, and they
blaze bright against a new background of perhaps inky darkness. The
principle of the inevitable visibility produced by this swift succession of
visible moments, though alternating with repeated vanishings, is well
illustrated by the complete visibility of landscape through the cracks in
A B
Fic. 6. In this figure the two inconspicuous butterflies in the middle show the
effacing-power of pattern when it repeats the background. At the left a butterfly
of the same costume is represented passing through a moment of illumination too
great to admit of its patterns’ still cutting it apart into notes of the background.
At the right a butterfly of the same pattern is going through the reverse experience,
being for an instant too much in shadow for its pattern to save it from appearing
as one single dark form against the light space beyond. ‘This illustration reminds
one how perpetually such vicissitudes must succeed each other in the life of such
species.
a board fence, to the eyes of any one passing swiftly by. The view
recurs again and again to the retina, in time to keep up the image.
This is why the average observer thinks he sees these butterflies through
all their course. This plate only goes so far as to show how fatal to
invisibility it is to have the wrong background. Fig. 6 illustrates the
above explanation of that perpetual disharmony between flying species
and their background which plays fast and loose, part of every second,
with all their patterns’ power to cut their forms into deceptive shapes,
by making them, so constantly, first so bright against dark that all
parts, even the blackest, fall into one light silhouette, and then so dark
in shadow, against bright light, that even their white parts join the
rest in one dark silhouette. These two climaxes of visibility, first one
and then the other, occur in the flight of a bird or butterfly often at the
rate of several a second, while, during the rest of the second, the creature
is effaced by passing a background that his costume matches, and by
556 THH POPULAR SCIENCH MONTHLY
being, as in the case of the butterflies A and B, midway between the
extremes, favored by the momentary illumination’s being neither too
great nor too small. Even in the climaxes of conspicuousness his
patterns still perpetually lessen his visibility in direct ratio to their
strength. And when he is chased by an enemy every instant of con-
fusion as to where he leaves off and the background begins must often
save him, so that the brighter his ight marks and the deeper his dark
ones, the greater the range of background he can meet without sil-
houetting as an entirety, and being for the instant conspicuous. One
advantage which patterns do certainly sacrifice in purchasing the above
advantages is that, although their wearer is never seen entire until the
background is too dark for his black, or too light for his white, yet it is
true that, on the other hand, some note of a pied costume is always to
be detected moving when the wearer moves. In this respect, monotone,
whenever at rare moments it exactly matches its background, has the
advantage. This fact additionally condemns the aerial animal to detec-
tion when he moves, yet it is often rather his motion than his form that
becomes noticeable, because each of his patterns still has the chance of
passing for something beyond him.
Fig. 7 shows one of the cardinal effects of patterns. .C is a bird
patterned in white, black and gray. Seen against the sky he loses his
white part—against the dark he loses his dark part—and against the
gray, his gray part.
Now when we find that pattern works always for concealment in
direct ratio to its own conspicuousness and elaboration, there remains
no vestige of evidence that the specific recognizability of the of course
constant pattern of each species has had, even to the slightest degree, a
hand in the evolution of such pattern. And those who would still
claim for conspicuous patterns any other reason for being than conceal-
ment of their wearer must first show what patterns could in the slightest
degree better serve procryptic ends, under the circumstances, than the
very ones now in use; and also what ones would less aid identification.*
There are two groups of supposed warningly-colored animals that
seem particularly to lend themselves to the exposure of the weakness of
3 Naturalists confound identification with mere detection. Our identifica-
tion of familiar objects depends, fundamentally, upon unvaryingness of their
appearance. We know the mink just as well by his slim form and sleek dark
monochrome as the skunk by his fatter form and bushy black and white. The
skunk, by the way, varies in appearance far more than the mink, ranging from
nearly all black to half white, and this is another evidence that his pattern is
not for identification. Naturalists’ assertion that patterns serve equally both
purposes is like two men claiming the same dog. The wise judge puts it to the
test as to which man the dog will obey against the commands of the other.
If we call animals’ costumes the dog, we find that he always obeys Master Con-
cealment, but obeys Master Warning-color only when Master Concealment has
commanded the same thing.
THHORIES OF MIMICRY 557
these theories. These are the carnivora which bear anal stink-glands,
and, among insects, those armed with stings at their rear end. In the
first place, very few of these species wear the so-called badge conspicu-
= Fr, Rae TY —>
Iie. 7 shows the fundamental optically disruptive effect of pattern. Against
each background the bird loses that part of its form which matches it.
ously near their weapon, or anywhere that would call attention to the
situation of such weapon. (Entomologists have been keen to cite any
558 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
supposed cases of the contrary arrangement, any apparent association
of “badge” and armament.) In the second place, the coloration of all
the members of these groups proves to be the most perfect imaginable
concealing coloration, picturing the details in the most exquisitely true
colors of the very background against which it is most dangerous for
their wearer to be detected (commonly that of their feeding ground).
While, on the other hand, apparently no brilliant colors at all are found
in any branch of the world of above-ground animal life, either in air or
water, where no such colors are typical of any of the animal’s back-
grounds, no matter how much these animals may need advertising.
The famous black and gold, the supposed blazon of offensiveness, so
characteristic of the wasp and bee family, is the utmost picture of the
sunlit vegetation which they haunt, with the golden stamens of flowers,
the yellow of fruit, and the dark interstices. Were this coloration really
such a blazon, why does nature deny it to the hordes of stinging ants
that often swarm within a few feet of the wasps, but wear only the com-
paratively dull tones that match the bark and earth surfaces to which
their general lack of wings condemns their lives? (Such red as is
found in ants’ costumes is a universal detail of the forest débris. )
So ingrained is the time-honored conception that such a creature as
a golden-patterned wasp, as he bustles among the flowers, owes his con-
spicuousness at least in part to his costume, that only actual personal
experiment with the laws herein shown can dispel it. Not till nat-
uralists give up collecting records of cases of conspicuousness, and begin
to inquire by experiment whether any more procryptic coloration could,
under the animal’s circumstances, be devised, will they have begun at ©
all the study of this subject. One day’s investigation of this kind would
greatly astonish them, and they would end by discovering that it is
unequivocally the wasp’s actions that condemn it to so much visibility,
and this in spite of its wearing, as far as they can discover, every avail-
able form of concealment-coloration.
As to the supposed warningly colored carnivores, the light-colored
marks that are considered as badges are often prominently concentrated
upon the animal’s face and front top, and in no case equally prom-
inently arranged near his rear. Being always on the creature’s sky-lit
surfaces, they obliterate him to the eyes of beholders from a lower level,
such as the seeing portion of his small terrestrial victims. In doing
this they fall into the universal class of concealing coloration. Fig. 12
illustrates this function, and the previous illustrations have shown that
this same white, so perfect an auxiliary of the animal’s feeding opera-
tions, is not, in other views, unfavorable to its concealment. -
Let us now find out what traits and habits in these groups do con-
stantly go together. We find among the stench-bearing carnivores, just
as among the above insects, that the bright patterns are only found on
THEORIES OF MIMICRY 559
such species as have, in their background, colors that these patterns
match, to the eyes of certain other animals whose sight they need to
avoid. ‘They are found on skunks, civets, badgers, teledus, ratels, for
instance, and the animal life devoured by these carnivores is said to
consist largely of worms, insects and mice, most of which are pre-
sumably either caught on the surface or dug out of the turf, 1. ¢., pro-
cured on a lower level than the predator’s head. Such of this list of
Fie. 8. Fig. 9.
Fic. 8 shows that a monochrome figure will continue distinguishable, because
of its continuity of color, even when largely eclipsed by interposed forms.
lic. 9 shows how much less distinguishable an animal would be in the same
situation if his head, feet and tail were light colored.
Fic. 10. Fic. 11.
In Wie. 10 we see simply the skunk’s reproduction of the other light-colored details
which partly form the animal’s background, and partly mask his form, so that both
his darks and his lights tend, as it were, to dissolve their partnership and ally them-
selves to their counterparts in the surroundings.
Fic. 11. Here we see a skunk whose patterns are experiencing exactly the same
over-darkening as that of the right-hand butterfly in Fig. 6. This sketch and that
of the butterfly illustrate one of the greatest uses of pattern in forest species in
combatting the silhouetting propensity universal to animals observed in a dim forest
illumination against lighter regions beyond them.
victims as can see would certainly have much more chance to escape,
were not what would be a dark-looming predator’s head converted, by
its white sky-counterfeiting, into a deceptive imitation of mere sky.
Now let us see whether such stench-gland bearers as hunt in a bolder
way wear the white “badges.” We find at once that minks, martens
and most weasels, though well-armed with the same glands, have no top-
white, and, instead of hunting along the earth’s surface or putting
560 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
merely their heads into holes for their prey, go boldly under ground
and attack such prey as hares and marmots, or fasten upon fowls much
larger than they themselves. From all such prey their foreheads have
nothing to gain by being white, since in the hole all is dark, and in the
case of these large victims attacked above ground, the attacker, if it be
a weasel, is looked down at, not seen against the sky, while the mar-
Fic. 12 shows the animal’s white top performing its perhaps cardinal function,
viz., that of effacing his top contour against the sky to the eyes of inhabitants of
the turf.
This is the only function of the skunk’s white top that is practically unceasing
as long as the animal is above ground. We have already seen that his white and black
cause each other, especially at night, to fade from sight at a short distance, and even
at a near view, confuse themselves with forest details. But the obliterating power of
night itself largely suffices to render all devices for concealment unnecessary, ‘The
great development of the ears of nocturnal animals attests their difficulty in seeing at
this time. On the other hand, the night is scarcely ever so dark but that a solid form
within a foot of one’s eye would show dark against the sky or the light parts of the
forest ceiling, and surely this must be the reason why skunks and the other grubbers
of small surface life wear this wonderful counterfeit of sky on their foreheads. By its
aid, they must constantly come close to many kinds of small surface-life on which they
so largely feed, which would evade them if they could see them. This must be espe-
cially obvious to any one who has often tried in vain to creep within catching-distance
of grass-hoppers. A single night’s out-of-door experimenting will convince students of
the importance of the white top to such an animal as a skunk.*
tens, arboreal, acrobatic, swift and bloodthirsty, catch doubtless much
after the bold manner of the small weasels, and obviously would not
seem to have so much use for concealment from any particular view-
point. The pine marten, however, is enough light-foreheaded to save
his head from too much silhouetting in his above-ground forest
operations against small terrestrial life.
In tall grass, to catch small terrestrial prey hke mice, cats creep
low, and fling themselves high in air, dropping flat outspread upon the
dazed victim. Foxes vary this by coming down head-first upon it.
In neither case would top-white help them—and they hayen’t it.
THEORIES OF MIMICRY 561
The one thing which all these sting and stink bearers haye con-
stantly and in common, with perhaps no exception, even including the
dogs and hyenas which have also anal glands (cats lack such glands and
also lack the habit of digging) is this: In pursuit of food, or in storing
it, they all either go bodily into holes, as bees and wasps into flowers
and fruit cavities, or ants into their galleries, and as do the weasel
family after burrowing mammals, or like the grubbing species above
- mentioned, and foxes, stick their heads into holes for similar purposes.
In all these cases these rear-armed species have a common need to be
so armed, being totally helpless to defend themselves while thus im-
mersed. Of all animal adaptations this stink apparatus was the thing
most to be expected in a part of the animal so entirely defenseless.
Picture a bee deep in a flower, or a badger with his head jammed
deep in a mouse hole—what a chance for his enemy! But these hind
ends have taken care of themselves. Now notice the thing that seems
to bring final ridicule on the “ badge” theory. Take, for instance, the
grison, Patagonian weasel, bridled weasel, the badgers and the skunk,
species whose white pattern is worn upon the head (the skunk’s tail is
normally a mixture of black and white hairs—like a gray cloud) ; the
moment when these animals most need to advertise the offensiveness of
their armament would be when they were most defenseless, and this is,
of course, when their heads are in holes, and at such a moment their
“badges,” being on their heads, are concealed! ‘The apparent reason
for the white patterns’ extending so often along the back nearly to the
tail is very simple. The act of digging or of stepping down into a hole
tends to bring the fore part of an animal lower than his rear, and this,
to eyes upon the turf, brings the whole of his back against the sky, and
an erect white tail (like the upturned plumes of the egret) additionally
blends the wearer into the sky.
To realize how inevitable was the development of special rear pro-
tectors a man has only to conceive what an anxious sensation he him-
self would experience if in a jungle he had to spend much time with
his head down a hole, and the rest of his body a tempting bait for
tigers.
In fine, we find upon certain species of carnivora that we know to
be more or less scavengers and catchers of small fry such as require
rather to be picked up than stalked or chased, and on others that we
suspect of having the same habit, the same sky-picturing patterns that,
from the eye-level of their prey, efface the top contours of most other
slow walking feeders-on-small-life, in all branches of the animal king-
dom. We find, on the other hand, a large number of Mustelide, as
well as a number of other carnivora, well armed with stink-glands, but,
as if because of not feeding in the same manner, entirely without top-
white patterns.
562 THH POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
Among the genera that move erect without crouching in the vicinity
of their prey, and catch it upon surfaces below their level, and which
are commonly effaced as to their top contours, by white in their costume,
are herons, cranes, pelicans and the omnivorous swans, geese and ducks.
And a similar use of white effaces the rear view of an immense number
of widely separated members of the animal kingdom which tend to be
seen by their pursuers against the sky. Among these are hares, deer
and antelopes, ground-nesting birds that commonly spring on wing
from the nest on being flushed, such as waders, ducks and geese, many
passerines, and such hawks as nest on the ground. These all wear some
white rump or tail pattern, which obliterates them in the most magical
way, against the sky, exactly while, in getting under way, they are for
a fateful instant within springing reach of the cougar, lynx or fox that,
with head close to the ground, has crept up to them. White patterns
abound on aerial passerines in general, but even white wing bars are
lacking from such as keep so close to the ground that no enemy sees
them against the sky. And among small rodents none has top-white
unless, like the jerboa, he jumps high enough to be seen by his pur-
suer against the sky.
Now, while these white top patterns seem to be universally employed
wherever they can be of the above service, on the other hand, they are
conspicuously lacking from the rears of such ground-nesters as habitu-
ally run, instead of flying from the nest, and thereby avoid showing
against the sky, to terrestrial eyes. Such are gallinaceous birds, tina-
mou, rails and many other sedge-haunting species. (Gallinules whose
upturned tails present, as they fly, a white sky-picture, probably keep
their tails down when they slink from their nest.)
The white patterns on the breasts of several kinds of bear, which
Mr. Pocock has classed as warning colors, serve perfectly the same
obliterative purpose that we find in all the rest of upward-facing white
patterns. (These patterns face upward when the bear stands erect, 1. e.,
face upward to the degree necessary for catching top light.) Now, we
find that for recognition a monochrome silhouette, especially in a
thicket, is far superior to a patterned one (see Fig. 8), and also we have
small grounds for thinking that such bears, when standing erect in the
jungle, have need to be afraid of being attacked by mistake by any of
their neighbors that would avoid them if they recognized them. On the
other hand, be the bear’s object, in thus assuming man’s attitude, either
aggression or defense, he gets the same general advantage out of escap-
ing detection, and the chance of enjoying this boon is, as we now realize,
greatly increased by the chance of this light patch being, at the right
moment, just sufficiently illuminated to pass for a sky-hole through the
dark mass of shrubbery of which the erect bear forms the dark center.
All woodsmen know that when one has followed with the eye some bird
THEORIES OF MIMICRY 563
or arboreal beast, and lost it in the trees, the eye searches every mass of
foliage silhouetted against the sky, scarcely counting on discerning the
creature’s outline, so much as on noting some mass of unbroken dark—
dark without any sky-hole through it—sufficiently extensive to contain
the animal itself. Into this mass, if one wish to kill the animal, one
shoots, at a venture, and very often with success. In such cases, a single
white mark on the concealed animal has a great chance of showing
through the foliage, and saving the creature’s life by passing for sky,
making the hunter think he can see through the clump as if there were
no opaque animal in it.
This wonderful universal function of top-white will only begin to
have vitality in the minds of students of natural history, when they
begin to take the trouble to spend hours, lying flat on the ground,
studying terrestrial life from the true point of view. They will at last
realize that the terms “ cryptic” and “ conspicuous” can refer only to
the relation of objects to their background, and that a hare is as con-
spicuous, dark outlined against the sky, to the little mouse at his side,
as the white heron looked at on the ground by man; while to the mouse,
this same heron, now seen against the sky, is the perfection of pro-
cryptic coloration, just as is the hare seen from the level of a man’s or
hawk’s eyes.
There is one more point that particularly bears on the skunk matter.
There is not, through all his range, any mammal, unless one counts the
porcupine (an animal to resemble which would be a protection) with
which any other creature could possibly confuse him, except when he is
very dimly seen, either by virtue of darkness or of interposed forms,
and in either of these situations, as this article has shown, the light
pattern only diminishes his recognizability. Do we not, in fact, forget
the evidence that the wild animals know each other by far more subtile
means than we might suppose? The dog, even after all these centuries
of domestication, still keeps the power to recognize his master, not
merely by his scent, but by his foot-fall, when he can not see him. And
the kind of faculty implied by this is even strong in the wild races of
man. :
Many naturalists think that such circumstances in the life of a race
as are of only occasional occurrence have no part in its evolution. His-
tory seems to demonstrate the opposite. It is the stresses that are
formative, and are the weeders-out of weak elements. The men of a vil-
lage, regardless, for instance, of whether all of them could swim, might
go yearly all summer to their meadows, and all come home at night, till
once when some sudden deluge swept their valley, only the strong swim-
mers would escape, and thenceforth that village would comprise only
strong swimmers. How often do we hear some one tell of a small and
half forgotten faculty having saved his life. This seems equally to
564 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
apply to the evolution of all animals. Their races are, in the long run,
subject to great fluctuation of prosperity, many of them coming, oc-
casionally, near to extermination in some part of their range. This,
according to universal belief, is oftenest through famine, and in
that case, plainly, those individuals best able to accommodate them-
selves to new food, and to new methods of procuring it, would be most
apt to survive. For this reason it does not signify whether badgers, etc.,
eat a larger or a smaller proportion of seeing food, since those individ-
uals best fitted to catch it will ultimately constitute the race, because,
while a white-topped animal would be no worse than a plain one at eat-
ing turnips, he would excel him at catching mice and crickets when
turnips chanced to fail; and, as this article shows, his white does not
in any way increase his conspicuousness.*
Patterns of animals are like scars of ordeals, recording what their
wearers have been through. Those hares and antelopes and deer which,
by virtue of a white sky-imitation on their rears, were not too fatally
good a target against the night sky for the stalking feline that flushed
them, have survived to propagate their race. The same record of how
they escaped the eyes of prey or enemy is found on the costumes of
most of the animal kingdom.
Let us try to get a vivid view of the whole field of the world’s ani-
mals ; over the whole earth, all species, of all orders (that ever prey or are
preyed on), wear, regardless of all possible needs of badge or mimicry,
such colors, and nothing but such colors, as are to be found in certain
of their backgrounds. Nothing but failure to perceive this broad fact
has made it possible for all these rootless theories to gain a foothold.
The two most recent theories, Professor Gadow’s, and that of several
experimenters, that humidity is the cause of patterns, both these are
invalidated by the same general arguments. Dr. Gadow, who believes
that it is shadows flickering over a lizard’s back that cause his patterns,
ignores the unmistakable fact that lizards, like all other terrestrial
species, are colored and patterned to match the ground on which they
live, no matter whether there be vegetation over head to cast shadows,
or, as on sea-beaches and bare rocks, nothing but air and sunlight. The
humidity theory has the same defect. It believes that the increased
richness in the colors of a species as one traces it from the arid part of
its habitat to such a region as the moist-aired gulf-state forests, arises
from the increased humidity, not noticing that with the increase of
* This applies to all such cases as the objection that seated butterflies are
apt to have their wings closed, and therefore need no concealment-colors on their
upper sides, and that flamingoes seldom prey on animal food that can see, and
therefore have little need to match the sky against which they loom. The
butterfly’s fitness for opening his wings in safety, when he needs to do so, and
the flamingo’s, for eating seeing-food when he must, are distinct advantages.
THEORIES OF MIMICRY 565
humidity goes always a corresponding enriching of the vegetation which
forms the species’ background. Let these investigators push through
the mangroves that border this sultry aired forest against the bare
sands of the gulf, and they will find, two steps out upon the beach, in a
saturated ocean atmosphere, a beach and ocean fauna of the purest
beach and ocean colors, palest gray and pearl.
Black-and-gold is as truly the background color of the flower haunt-
ing black-and-gold wasp, as is stone-weed-and-sand color of the stone-
and-weed-and-sand colored sandpiper. Scarlet and yellow fruit colors,
sky-blue and green leaf colors, on the macaw, are as absolutely the pic-
ture of this bird’s background while he is dangerously absorbed in feed-
ing in a tropical fruit tree, as is the little terrestrial mammal’s brown
the picture of the universal earth-brown on which he lives. The thou-
sands of species of open ocean fish, the bare sand-dwellers and the
ocean-air-fliers, all wear only the colors that characterize their back-
grounds, often adding for the breeding season bits of the scenery of their
nesting place, as in the case of puffins, whose gaudy breeding-season-
bill on guard at the mouth of the burrow, obliterates the dark hole
itself, and at the same time substitutes a semblance of flowers to com-
plete the deception. The moment these domestic duties are over, and
the puffin back in the open sea, we behold him dressed again in the
universal ocean-and-rock colors of his habitat. (To show that no
physiological difficulty prohibits fish, for instance, from wearing gaudy
colors, we find such colors upon them wherever they live amidst bril-
lant corals and brilliant water-plants. )
To complete the above argument, notice that, as my illustrations
show, it is in the midst of vegetation, or other confusing and more or
less eclipsing surroundings, that monochrome is far the best costume for
identification, while out in the open spaces, the air, the beach; and the
sea, there, where no twigs or other forest details threaten to confuse the
identity of pattern, striking devices of all kinds would have their fullest
chance to effect the identification for which they have been supposed to
exist. And what do we find? We find nature foregoing, from end to
end of the world, every chance to make use of this obvious opportunity.
Furthermore, to show that it is not a matter of regions, notice, as I
have pointed out, the gilded wasps living within a few feet of earth-
colored ants, and little earth-colored rodents swarming on the brown
forest floor, two feet below bright dressed inhabitants of the bright
dressed overhanging foliage. Why do not these rodents, forever preyed
upon, in fact the stand-by diet of carnivora in every order, why do they
not develop unpalatability and badges? All attainable unpalatability
they must possess, after their immeasurable period of being picked from,
but why not the badges? The truth appears to be that all advantageous
attributes have, in every animal, grown side by side, and that the cul-
566 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
minations, for instance, of concealing coloration, such as the trans-
parency of a group of the supposed mimetics, have gone on, in this
group, hand-in-hand with that of unpalatability. Now that we see that
all procryptic coloration (except, of course, the facsimile kind, such as
that of geometers) produces its effect by making the observer seem to
see through the place where the colors are, it follows that actual trans-
parency, as in these “ mimetics,” must, in ever so many situations, be
wonderfully potent for obliteration. It is, of course, the only scheme
for succeeding equally against both the light and the shadow, tending
both to escape showing light against dark backgrounds and dark against
light ones. Here are Bates’s own remarks about the degree of con-
spicuousness of a transparent butterfly. In “A Naturalist on the
Amazons,” on page 39, he writes:
Some have wings transparent as glass; one of these clear-wings is especially
beautiful, namely, the Hetaera Esmeralda; it has one spot only of opaque
coloring on its wings, which is of a violet and rose hue; this is the only part
visible when the insect is flying low over dead leaves, in the gloomy shades
where alone it is found, and it there looks like the wandering petal of a flower.®
As a few hours’ experimenting in obliteration by juxtaposition of
patterns will prove to any student, the optical laws which govern it are
so absolute that one is not surprised to find that the whole world’s
butterflies have scarcely three different schemes of pattern. The prin-
ciple of pattern arrangement in these famous “ mimetic ” groups (shown
in Fig. 6) is out and away the predominant one over the whole globe. If
this is the case, is it strange that in each most swarmingly populated
seat of butterfly life there prove to be a number of species which, living
in the very same station, and with seemingly identical habits, have, in
obedience to this great pattern-law, practically identical patterns and
form? We see in the ocean, for instance, even mammals wearing the
shape and color of fishes ?
The question, now, is, at most, merely why they have the same sta-
tion and. habits.
Let us dwell a moment upon the significance of this finding of the
greatest cryptic coloration in the very midst of the so-called mimetics.
First we must remember that all men agree that it is only persecution
that can have engendered any form at all of protection. It is, as I have
said, inconceivable that any forever preyed-on and picked-from race
should not have acquired all possible unpalatability. And it is equally
inconceivable that any race that either preys or is preyed on should not
during the same periods have become, also, as nearly as possible either
invisible, or at least unrecognizable as any form of animal life. Such
a boon incomparably surpasses any advantage from passing for some
other at the best not wholly inedible animal. Therefore one would
5'lhe deepest forest shades seem to be, everywhere, the typical home of these
transparent species. In Trinidad they bear a popular name that alludes to this
characteristic.
THEORIES OF MIMICRY 567
have expected to find all species of the classes above referred to proving
to be by one means or another at the minimum of recognizability as
animals, and at the same time, at a corresponding minimum of palata-
bility; and behold, that is just what we find! We find in the very
ranks of the supposed mimetics (a term which asserts a protection in-
volving conspicuousness of the protected individual) the actual climax
of invisibility, as Bates practically testifies in the above extract, and as
I too, and all others who have studied these insects in their homes, must
testify. (In deep forest shades the actual illumination is faint, and
objects show most when they come between the beholder and regions of
more lighted foliage beyond or up nearer the forest’s top. In these cir-
cumstances all rank patterns are potent to thwart the revealing-power
of silhouette, and behold, here we find the very prince of silhouette-
thwarters—transparency itself!)
As to the impression that “flaunting flight” (7. e., slow or weak
flight), gaudy costume and unpalatability keep together, they do not do
this to any very impressive degree, as the accompanying table will re-
mind the student. Entomologists will see that this table is sufficiently
correct for my purpose.
ACME OF RESPECTIVE TRAITS
Of Strength Of Gaudiness Of Dulness of Of Alleged
and Speed of | of Costume. | Of Slowness. Costunie. Unpalatability.
Flight,
Morpho. Morpho. Heliconius. The whole Heliconius.
Papilio. Papil o. ‘‘mimetic’’ group The whole
Heliconius. proper. “mimetic”? group.
In fact, one finds, as one would have expected, that every butterfly
has the gait best suited to the kind of place that he lives in. Heliconius,
one of the very slowest genera on our continent, is particularly at home
while flying through the densest copses. It is perfectly natural that
such a butterfly as a grapta, matched to the colors of the ground, should
hurry, in flying from one safe spot on the ground to another, but the
case of Heliconius is very different. He lwes in cover, the very kind of
cover to which small birds fly from a hawk, and through this he sails
and flits in the only conceivable manner, threading its minute alleys
with short wing beats, and at times almost seeming to stop and crawl
through the narrowest places. This is, at least, true of charitonius,
sara and melpomene, in the West Indies and Trinidad, where I have
seen them. As is characteristic of all nature, these insects overflow
from the situations that most nurture them into less favorable places.
Yet it is almost a sufficient answer to the natural question why they
are not there preyed upon, to point out afresh that on the American
continent, at least, no kind of butterfly at all appears often to be at-
tacked on the wing. In Trinidad, one of the keenest of that remark-
568 THK POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
able family of born naturalists, the Carrs, told me that he had never
seen a bird catch a butterfly, and this has almost or quite been my ex-
perience too. In Trinidad, for instance, one may see flycatchers catching
slow fliers like beetles, by the hour, any day, but never see them pay the
slightest attention to any butterfly whatever. I reiterate this here,
merely for what it is worth, and am nowise averse to believing that
Heliconius is more than ordinarily unpalatable. If it be true that
feeding among red or orange flowers has now or formerly so predomi-
nated in the life of the red and yellow spotted species, as to make this
dress do them more good than harm, it is equally logical that, as in the
case of the digging and burrowing animals that I have referred to, with
their corresponding rear armaments, butterflies particularly subject to
dangerous absorption while feeding, should have been in the whole
period of their existence bred to an excessive degree of inedibility. As
to the flight of such butterflies as on the one hand, papilios and mor-
phos, and on the other, the “ mimetic” groups proper, the former two
families comprise between them, the strongest and swiftest of Ameri-
can butterfly flight, and an unsurpassed briliancy of costume, bright
colors not proving, in their case, to be accompanied either by slow
flight, or by equally notable unpalatability. On the other hand, the
American so-called mimetic groups proper have a middle-class flight
apparently well suited to the by no means open under-brush of the
forest, where they go about much in the manner of the genus Hip-
parchia in the north.
Now to glance for a moment at the significance ascribed by ento-
mologists to the injuries which are found along the borders of butter-
flies’ wings.
Perhaps the most highly artificial and strained hypothesis that has
been released from duty by the discovery of the use of patterns is the
conception that after a million years’ experience birds would not
inevitably know what part of a butterfly is edible and instinctively
seek it, rather than try to eat the tissue-paper pictures of background
painted along its wing-borders. This is entirely contrary to the stern
rectitude of nature. One might as well hope to fool a ship about her
center of gravity, and induce her to float at an angle that did not defer
to it, as induce a million-year-long race of eaters of butterflies’ bodies
to waste energy over these patterns.
A butterfly has, of course, a fairly tough body, and wings that begin
tough next to the body, but become mere tissue-paper at the lateral
borders. Now, every slightest contact is perilous to the entirety of
these borders, and, at the same time every circumstance of the butter-
fly’s life threatens contact to them. ven the wind may blow things
against them, and when the butterfly is pursued by an aerial enemy,
his own efforts to escape must often bring them into collision with
vegetation. Again, if the pursuer be a bird, his swoops bring him into
THEORIES OF MIMICRY 569
almost inevitable collision with these outstretched wing-borders. To
lunge at a thing and miss it is inevitably to be carried on, the next in-
stant, close past it. To put it from the insect’s point of view, barely
to dodge an onrushing foe, is, as we all know, to have him almost
inevitably brush against us, to say the least, as his impetus carries him
forward. It would be absurd to doubt the very great likelihood of
mutilation to the butterfly’s wing-borders at such a moment. Again;
a bird struggling, against difficulties, to seize such a thing as a zigzag-
ging butterfly, inevitably tries for the mass of the target, the most
visible part. Now, although the wings do, certainly, more or less wag
the body up and down, nevertheless the body is the axis of the mill-
wheel of which the wing-borders are the floats, so that even if the bird
tried for the body, unless the attack came exactly from behind, the
flapping wings would tend to protect it by constantly getting in the way
of the bird’s beak, but this would be at the expense of these delicate
fabrics, which would smash themselves against it. So much for the
immensely greater risk of every sort to this delicate border than to the
body itself.
Now as to the supposition that birds prefer to seize this border
region, rather than the body. One simple fact suffices to show us that
we have not the slightest evidence that they do so. It is this. A but-
terfly seized by his body can not escape (unless, of course, he chance to
be cut nearly through by the beak that seized him) while one seized by
the wing-border is no more detained by being thus seized than by re-
ceiving at this point any of the merely accidental injuries above re-
ferred to. Now if a butterfly seized by the body, is generally eaten,
while on the other hand every butterfly injured as to its border, escapes,
what possible significance has our finding, as we do, mainly border
injuries?
Now, although it seems scarcely necessary to finish the argument, to
consider for a moment the supposed selection by the bird, of special
points along these borders, the reader has been sufficiently reminded
how very far the bird is, in one of these chases, from being in a position
to select a point of attack.
We find that the whole subject of animals’ coloration has been
handled with very loose thinking, as if the old time disrespect of natural
history still haunted men’s minds and dissuaded them from real study.
This cloud that enveloped natural history in former centuries has been
steadily thinning, but it is certainly accountable for many loosenesses
even up to the present time.
For instance, it is perfectly plain to-day that nature would not ask
a coral snake to get along with a costume which, while it often served
to warn off his enemies, proved, at other times, a disadvantage to him
by identifying him to the animals which he wished to eat. The writings
upon these subjects, down to the present day, teem with just this kind
VoL. LXXv.—38.
570 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
of weakness. Also, being falsely based, they have needed props and
dikes at one point after another, and these have naturally proved to be
out of harmony with each other. Here it has been assumed that ani-
mals need badges for mutual recognition, and there, as in the “ mimetic ”
groups, a theory has obtained which assumed that they need nothing of
the kind. Individuals of each species of these groups have been ex-
pected to know each other amidst a crowd of close imitations (and
doubtless they could do so).
The much insisted upon significance of the superficiality of the
resemblances among the “mimetic” groups vanishes upon our discoy-
ery of a full blown use, of the most direct and primitive character, for
all these colorations. From that moment, these resemblant costumes
are seen to be, as I have pointed out, on one basis with the many other
resemblances among species of widely different origin that have long
enough had the same habits and environment. All these, and they are
to be found in many orders of the animal kingdom, are only superficial
resemblances, yet it is perfectly plain that they have been acquired for
a use. The proof that they are only superficial is that the anatomist can
discover the real pedigree of the disguised species by an examination of
the elements of its structure. Good examples of this fact are the
whales and seals, with their hind legs more or less arranged into a fish-
tail, yet perfectly recognizable by the zoologist. (I assume the truth of
natural selection.)
In fine to imagine that the forest population, living side by side, in
perpetual need of knowing each other, would be in any way helped by
badges, is as if some person, newly arrived in a long-established com-
munity, supposed, because he could only distinguish its members by
prominent superficial marks, the red hair of one, the pock marks of
another, etc., that this was how the members themselves knew each
other, after lifelong familiarity.
The truth, however, is, that were he to cite these distinguishing
marks, in speaking of one member to another, he would find that the
mutual familiarity of these members had become so subtile, had, so to
speak, sunk in so deep, that they had almost forgotten the existence of
such marks at all, except where men’s names commemorated these.
Lifelong members of a community, all reacting upon each other in
a hundred ways, know each other by innumerable means, all communi-
cating with their subliminal consciousness. To this consciousness, the
movements, for instance, of a mink in the bushes, probably announce
his identity to all his neighbors, who hear him, just as plainly as if they
saw him, and the least glimpse of him would, upon the same principle,
be as good as a full view. Habitual woodsmen generally tend to believe
this, because of finding that they themselves tend to this intuitive
method of identifying their wild neighbors in the forest.
WHAT PRAGMATISM IS 571
WHAT PRAGMATISM IS, AS I UNDERSTAND IT
By THOMAS MITCHELL SHACKLEFORD
TALLAHASSEE, FLORIDA
NE who undertakes to tell what pragmatism is has a hard task to
perform. Before he gets through with it, he may find himself
in a like plight with old Kaspar in trying to tell his grandchildren of
the battle of Blenheim. You will remember that in response to little
Peterkin’s request, “ Now tell us what ’twas all about,’ and to his
question, “And what good came of it at last?” Kaspar could only
declare “ That *twas a famous victory.”
To begin with, not only has no history of the origin, rise and
spread of pragmatism yet been written, but no full, complete, sys-
tematic statement of what it really is, what it does and what it may
be expected to do is to be found anywhere. A systematic exposition
of this “new philosophy” remains an unfulfilled want. We can not
be said to have anything like an adequate treatise. Dr. Schiller’s
“ Humanism” and “Studies in Humanism ” consist of a number of
detached essays, largely controversial in character, written at different
times between the years 1892 and 1907, on various occasions and for
special purposes. Professor Dewey’s “Studies in Logical Theory ”
also consists of detached essays from himself and seven of his co-workers,
and Professor James’s “ Pragmatism” is made up of eight popular
lectures, published in the same form in which they were delivered,
without notes and without revision. All of these are most excellent
books, well written, entertaining and bearing directly upon the new
philosophical movement, only they are not, and do not pretend to be,
what most of the critics seem to have rather hastily assumed—full or
complete expositions or treatises. Much other literature upon the
subject may be found scattered through the various philosophical
periodicals. In fact, so voluminous has this literature grown of late
years and the movement has evoked so much hostile criticism, that the
uninformed reader would be justifiable in thinking “pragmatism a
complete system set forth for centuries in hundreds of ponderous
volumes.”
However, for all practical purposes, it still remains as true as in
1905, when Professor James wrote concerning the movement:
It suffers badly at present from incomplete definition. Its most systematic
advocates, Schiller and Dewey, have published fragmentary programs only.
So, a few months later, an able and somewhat sympathetic reviewer
complained :
572 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
Its defenders have not come before the world with a ready-made and fully-
developed doctrine, thought out into all its consequences and tested in all its
applications. It is just the tentative and provisional nature of many exposi-
tions of pragmatism which makes it hard to grasp its meaning unequivocally.
It seems to change Proteus-like, under our hands, just when we think we have
held it fast and pinned it down. The very formulations of its doctrines are
perplexingly numerous, and not always, on the face of them, consistent with
each other.
There is undoubtedly some truth in this accusation, but the reason
why such a condition exists is not far to seek.
It is well known to all who have ever attempted to make them that
definitions and rules in any science or branch of study are always
exceedingly difficult to frame. Though studied first by the student,
they are necessarily formulated last. Dr. Schiller says:
Real definitions are a standing difficulty for all who have to deal with them,
whether as logicians or as scientists. . . . For a real definition, to be ade-
quate, really involves a complete knowledge of the thing defined. And of what
subject of scientific interest can we flatter ourselves to have complete
knowledge?
Only a moment’s reflection will convince us that this is true.
Definitions must necessarily delimit and restrict, consequently with the
growth of knowledge they become insufficient and obsolete. The
discovery of one new fact may invalidate and completely overthrow
a definition that may have passed current and remained unchallenged
for years. In other words, “ new facts burst old rules ” and definitions,
both are man-made products, so it should never be forgotten that
definitions and “rules are made for man, not man for rules” and
definitions. No science is finished, none can be called exact, all are
in the process of formation. ‘To illustrate. Who can define matter,
or ether, or electricity? Of how much value now are many of the
definitions in physics or chemistry of ten, or even five, years ago? All
definitions, then, at least along scientific limes or in any living, growing
branch of study, should be regarded as provisional only, true only
up to date, and, like railroad schedules, subject to change without
notice to the public. They should be treated as useful working tools,
but liable any day to be superseded by better instruments. All this
applies with especial force to a “new philosophy,” still in the em-
bryonic or chrysalis state. Since “the pragmatic movement,—so-
called,” according to Professor James, “seems to have rather suddenly
precipitated itself out of the air,” it ought not to be a matter of sur-
prise that there is not entire agreement even among the pragmatists
themselves. It would be an easy task to set forth various points of
difference, as well as apparent, if not real, contradictions, among those
who have grasped their pens, even if they can not be said to have
drawn their swords, and hastened to do battle in its defense. In
doing this, however, we should only be following in the wake of the
WHAT PRAGMATISM IS bilo
hostile critics who have emphasized these points to the exclusion of
any real merits which the movement may possess.
We all remember what Emerson said long ago about ideas an-
nouncing truth being in the air, seeking to gain entrance to different
minds in different parts of the world at the same time, and “ the most
impressionable brain will announce it first, but all will announce it
a few minutes later.” But it is not to be expected that all minds will
be impressed in the same way or to a like degree, or that all would
have equal power of utterance. So we are further told by Professor
James:
A number of tendencies that have always existed in philosophy have all
at once become conscious of themselves collectively, and of their combined
mission; and this has occurred in so many countries, and from so many dif-
ferent points of view, that much unconcerted statement has resulted.
Before the movement was fairly launched, or an opportunity had
been afforded its leaders of getting together and comparing notes as
to their common message and unifying it, if possible, the critics had
attacked it on all sides and from every quarter. This caused a rush
of both friends and foes, professionals and tenderfeet, to this newly
discovered philosophical Klondike, which has been productive of much
confusion and misunderstanding. Reconciling these conflicting state-
ments is simply out of the question, and I shall not attempt the
impossible.
Disclaiming right at the outset all intention of speaking as one
clothed with authority, fully realizing that what I may say is binding
upon no one, my mission is simply to set forth what pragmatism is,
as I understand it. Even this I venture upon with diffidence. As
an excuse for my seeming rashness, if such be needed, I would repeat
what the protagonist of pragmatism himself has said:
Whoever will contribute any touch of sharpness will help us to make
sure of what’s what and who is who. Any one can contribute such a definition,
and, without it, no one knows exactly where he stands.
My purpose, however, is not to add another to the many existing
definitions, but rather to weigh and compare some of those already
current. In other words, I merely propose to examine the history of
the movement with the intention of ascertaining, if possible, what
pragmatism is, and I shall throw this layman’s contribution into
the bubbling vat of publicity where, jostled by rivals and torn by critics, it
will eventually either disappear from notice, or else, if better luck befall it,
quietly subside to the profundities, and serve as possible ferment of new
growths or a nucleus of new erystallizations.
It is easy enough to tell of the origin of the word and that it is
“derived from the same Greek word zpdyypa, meaning action, from
which our words ‘practise’ and ‘practical’? come.” Now this not
only does not tell us much, but has actually proved misleading and is
574 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
responsible for some of the current misunderstandings. But it is too
late now to rectify this most unfortunate selection of a name. It has
been married to the movement for so many years that they must be
taken together “for better for worse.” As Dr. Schiller has well said:
The name in this case does even less than usual to explain the meaning.
Elsewhere he has said:
In the end we never find out “ what a thing really is” by asking “ what it
was in the beginning.” . . . The true nature of a thing is to be found in its
validity, which, however, must be connected rather than contrasted with its
origin. ‘“ What a thing really is” appears from what it does, and so we must
study its whole career. We study its past to foretell its future, and to find out
what it is really “ driving at.”
The first person to use the word pragmatism in print was Professor
James, in his California address in 1898, wherein he sets forth the
principle as follows, with the prefatory statement that
it may be expressed in a variety of ways, all of them very simple: The
soul and meaning of thought can never be made to direct itself towards any-
thing but the production of belief, belief being the demicadence which closes
a musical phrase in the symphony of our intellectual life. Thought in
movement has thus for its only possible motive the attainment of thought at
rest. But when our thought about an object has found its rest in belief,
then our action on the subject can firmly and safely begin. Beliefs, in short,
are really rules for action; and the whole function in thinking is but one step
in the production of habits of action. If there were any part of a thought
that made no difference in the thought’s practical consequences, then that part
would be no proper element of the thought’s significance. Thus the same
thought may be clad in different words; but if the different words suggest no
different conduct, they are mere outer accretions, and have part in the
thought’s meaning. If, however, they determine conduct differently, they
are essential elements of the significance. “Please open the door,” and
“wveullez ouvrir la porte,” in French, mean just the same thing; but “D—n
you, open the door,” although in English, means something very different.
Thus to develop a thought’s meaning we need only determine what conduct it is
fitted to produce; that conduct is for us its sole significance. And the tangible
fact at the root of all our thought-distinctions, however subtle, is that there
is no one of them so fine as to consist in anything but a possible difference of
practise. To attain perfect clearness in our thoughts of an object, then, we
need only consider what effects of a conceivably practical kind the object may
involve—what sensations we are to expect from it, and what reactions we
must prepare. Our conception of these effects, then, is for us the whole of our
conception of the object, so far as that conception has positive significance at all.
He goes on to say:
This is the principle of Peirce, the principle of pragmatism. I think myself that
it should be expressed more broadly than Mr. Peirce expresses it. The ultimate
test for us of what a truth means is indeed the conduct it dictates or inspires.
But it inspires that conduct because it first foretells some particular turn to
our experience which shall call for just that conduct from us. And I should
prefer for our purposes this evening to express Peirce’s principle by saying
that the effective meaning of any philosophic proposition can always be brought
down to some particular consequence, in our future practical experience, whether
WHAT PRAGMATISM IS 575
active or passive; the point lying rather in the fact that the experience must
be particular, than in the fact that it must be active.
All this seems to be perfectly plain and simple, but, in view of
the misunderstandings that are still current concerning the principle,
due largely to flagrant, if not wilful misrepresentations, and as this
is the beginning point of the “ new philosophy,” I trust that you will
pardon still further extracts. The gifted lecturer tells us that “to
take in the importance of this principle, one must get accustomed to
applying it to concrete cases,’ and the entire address is devoted to
such applications along religious and philosophical lines. He says:
This is one of its first consequences. Suppose there are two different
philosophical definitions, or propositions, or maxims, or what not, which seem
to contradict each other, and about which men dispute. If, by supposing the
truth of the one, you can see no conceivable practical consequences to anybody
at any time or place, which is different from what you would foresee if you
supposed the truth of the other, why then the difference between the two
propositions is no difference,—it is only a specious and verbal difference, un-
worthy of further contention. Both formulas mean radically the same thing,
although they may say it in such different words. It is astonishing to see
how many philosophical disputes collapse into insignificance the moment you
subject them to this simple test. There can be no difference which doesn’t
make a difference—no difference in abstract truth which does not express
itself in a difference of concrete fact, and of conduct consequent upon the
fact, imposed on somebody, somehow, somewhere, and somewhen.
After stating that “it is the English-speaking philosophers who
first introduced the custom of interpreting the meaning of conceptions
by asking what difference they make for life,” he adds:
Mr. Peirce has only expressed in the form of an explicit maxim what their
sense for reality led them all instinctively to do. The great English way of
investigating a conception is to ask yourself right off, What is it known as?
In what facts does it result? What is its cash-value, in terms of particular
experience? And what special difference would come into the world according
as it were true or false?
Finally, he says:
For what seriousness can possibly remain in debating philosophic proposi-
tions that will never make an appreciable difference to us in action? And
what matters it, when all propositions are practically meaningless, which of
them be called true or false?
Expressed in these different ways but all meaning the same thing,
it would seem that Dr. Schiller was right in saying that the principle
ought to be regarded as the greatest truism, if it had not pleased intellectualists
to take it as the greatest paradox.
After all that has been written on the subject, a writer has quite
recently said:
Ninety-five per cent., and a little more, of all who have rallied so valiantly
to the pragmatic banner totally misunderstand the new philosophy. And it is
even nearer the truth to say that one hundred per cent. of all the critics who
to their own satisfaction have completely demolished the pragmatic structure
have fired their shots at the wrong target.
576 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
Even if this contains only a half-truth, it behooves us to try to get
our bearings, although philosophical orientation be fraught with all the
difficulties that have been claimed. In any event, it is of the utmost
importance to get the right point of beginning, so I have thought it
advisable to set forth Professor James’s exact words when he first
announced the principle.
So far as I have been able to discover, the next time he announced
it was in his “ Varieties of Religious Experience,” where he con-
densed it. JI quote only one sentence:
To attain perfect clearness in our thoughts of an object, we need then
only consider what sensations, immediate or remote, we are conceivably to
expect from it, and what conduct we must prepare in case the object should
be true.
I should like you to note especially the added words, “ immediate
or remote.” I would also call attention to the fact that none but a
pragmatist could have written this truly delightful book. The eight-
eenth chapter, bearing the title “Philosophy,” is simply a clearly
wrought-out application of the principle in the philosophy of religion.
In Baldwin’s “ Dictionary of Philosophy,” Professor James defines
the principle as follows:
The doctrine that the whole “meaning” of a conception expresses itself
in practical consequences, consequences either in the shape of conduct to be
recommended, or in that of experience to be expected, if the conception be true;
which consequences would be different if it were untrue, and must be different
from the consequences by which the meaning of other conceptions is in turn
expressed. Ifa second conception should not appear to have other consequences,
then it must really be only the first conception under a different name. In
methodology it is certain that to trace and compare their respective conse-
quences is an admirable way of establishing the different meanings of different
definitions.
In an article entitled “ Humanism and Truth,” published in Mind
for October, 1904, he says:
First, as to the word “ pragmatism.” I myself have only used the term
to indicate a method of carrying on an abstract discussion. The serious mean-
ing of a concept, says Mr. Peirce, lies in the concrete difference to some one
which its being true will make. Strive to bring all debated conceptions to
that “pragmatic ” test, and you will escape vain wrangling: if it can make
no practical difference which of two statements be true, then they are really
one statement in two verbal forms; if it can make no practical difference
whether a statement be true or false, then the statement has no real meaning.
In neither case is there anything fit to quarrel about: we may save our breadth,
and pass to more important things.
All that the pragmatic method implies, then, is that truths should have
practical consequences. In England the word has been used more broadly to
cover the notion that the truth of any statement consists in the consequences,
and particularly in their being good consequences. Here we get beyond affairs
of method altogether; and since my pragmatism and this wider pragmatism
are so different, and both are important enough to have different names, I
think that Mr. Schiller’s proposal to call the wider pragmatism by the name
WHAT PRAGMATISM IS 577
of “Humanism” is excellent and ought to be adopted. The narrower prag-
matism may still be spoken of as the “ pragmatic method.”
Before proceeding further or attempting to set forth what the
movement has seemed to mean to others who have written upon the
subject, whether favorably or otherwise, it may be advisable for us
to pause and ask ourselves if we are certain that we understand what
its brilliant protagonist means. Is the language in which he has
couched it so vague, obscure, ambiguous, uncertain or contradictory as
to warrant the different constructions that have been placed thereon?
I ask this question advisedly, since Professor James himself, in his
Pragmatism, has said:
On all hands we find the “ pragmatic movement ” spoken of, sometimes with
respect, sometimes with contumely, seldom with clear understanding.
It would seem that it ought to be well worth our while to try to get
at the reason for this.
It may be that in so doing we can derive some assistance from the
rules applied by the courts in the interpretation and construction of
constitutions, statutes, contracts, deeds, wills and other written in-
struments. Some of these rules are so well settled that they are
regarded as almost axiomatic and pass unquestioned. They are even
applied to the construction of charges and instructions given by trial
judges to juries to aid them in reaching correct verdicts in the trial
of contested cases, whether human life, liberty or property is involved.
If it be practicable and safe to apply them in the settlement of such
vital questions, surely they may be used profitably and safely, even
pragmatically, if you will, in abstract discussions along philosophical
or religious lines. Of course, there are some points of difference in
the application of these rules by the courts to the different kinds or
classes of instruments, but such points are of minor importance and
may be treated as negligible for our present purposes. In setting
forth some of these cardinal rules, I shall divest them of all legal
technicalities, as far as may be, and clothe them in plain, simple
language.
1. When the language of a writing is plain and unequivocal, there
is neither occasion nor opportunity for interpretation. When the
words used admit of but one meaning, to put another upon them is
not to construe or interpret a writing, but to alter it.
2. Words are presumed to be used in their plain, ordinary sense;
technical terms are to be understood in their technical sense; all words
are to be understood according to their meaning at the time and place
of writing them.
3. The grammatical and ordinary sense of words is to be adhered
to, unless that would lead to some absurdity, or some repugnance or
inconsistency with the rest of the instrument, in which case the gram-
578 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
matical and ordinary sense of the words must be modified, so as to
avoid that absurdity or inconsistency, but no further.
4. In construing any part of a writing, regard should be had to
the entire instrument. Other portions may throw much light upon
the one under special investigation or consideration, and greatly modify
the meaning which it would bear as an independent clause. Every part
of a writing should be brought into action in order to collect from
the whole one uniform and consistent purpose, if that is possible.
Accordingly, if one construction will give reasonable effect to every
part of an instrument, while another would require the rejection of
a part, the former will be preferred.
These rules will probably prove sufficient for our present purposes.
In order, however, to make it plain to you, perhaps, it may be well
for me to give a concrete instance of their application by the courts.
I shall select the giving of charges or instructions to juries. In
passing upon a single instruction or charge it should be considered
in connection with all the other instructions and charges bearing on
the same subject, and if, when thus considered, the law appears to
have been fairly and impartially presented to the jury, an assignment
of error predicated upon the giving of such instruction or charge must
fail, unless, under all the peculiar circumstances of the case, the
appellate court is of the opinion that such instruction or charge was
calculated to confuse, mislead or prejudice the jury. In determining
the correctness of charges and instructions, they should be considered
as a whole, and, if as a whole they are free from error, an assignment
predicated on isolated paragraphs or portions, which, standing alone,
might be misleading, must fail. Again, where an instruction, as far
as it goes, states a correct proposition of law, but is defective because
it fails to qualify or explain the proposition it lays down in con-
sonance with the facts of the case, such defect is cured if subsequent
instructions are given containing the required qualifications or ex-
ceptions. It is not required that a single instruction should contain
all the law relating to the particular subject treated therein.
I believe that these are all the legal propositions to which I wish
to call your attention. I might add that the object of judicial inter-
pretation of instruments is not to discover the intention of the maker
or writer by the use of any and every legitimate means, but rather to
take the instrument itself and determine such intention from the words
used therein.
It would really seem that the rules of grammar and the laws of
language would be all that we should need in order to determine what
Professor James meant in the quoted passages, but even if we should
apply these legal rules in all their strictness I do not believe that we
should be left in any state of doubt or uncertainty. But we are not
WHAT PRAGMATISM IS 579
called upon to so narrow and restrict our investigation. It is well
known that every writer of marked individuality or originality acquires
a style peculiarly his own and easily recognizable. Their writings
come to have a certain hall-mark, so to speak, which there is no mis-
taking. It is further true that a writer, especially along philosophical
or theological lines, either forms a school or system of his own, which
he is likely to do if he is a genius, or else joins or connects himself
with one of the already existing schools. In either case he becomes
identified with certain doctrines. He presents those aspects of the
truth, as he has conceived it to be, which have most strongly appealed
to him and which he considers of supreme importance. Upon these
he will dwell and lay special emphasis, reiterating them, presenting
them from different points of view, until his readers grow to expect his
utterances to be along those chosen lines and in his own individual
way. In this way schools and systems are founded and followers and
adherents gained. Such a writer is entitled in all fairness to have
whatever he writes taken and judged in connection with his other
utterance along similar lines; otherwise, in order to avoid misunder-
standings, he would be forced to continually repeat himself, which
would be intolerable.
Professor James has written much along both psychological and
philosophical lines, and the particular doctrines which he holds are
well known. His style has long been noted for its lucidity and has
become both the marvel and despair of other writers. Hitherto be
seems to have experienced no difficulty in making himself understood.
Is it conceivable, then, that, all at once, when he began expounding
the principle of pragmatism, he should have lapsed or fallen into
vague and obscure expressions? In all candor, I ask you to turn
back to the quoted passages, and taking them just as they are, torn
from their contexts and settings, apply to them any or all of the rules
and tests that I have mentioned, and then ask yourself whether or not
you have any difficulty in grasping their meaning. If not, why have
the critics found it so hard to understand them ?
And yet, the most diverse and contradictory constructions have been
placed thereon as well as upon his “ Pragmatism,” which entire book
is devoted to elucidating what the principle is and wherein it may be
applied. In fact, to such an extent has this prevailed that he felt
impelled to write “a final brief reply ” to his critics, which he en-
titled “The Pragmatist Account of Truth and Its Misunderstanders ”
and published in The Philosophical Review for January, 1908. It
should further be borne in mind that the critics also had access to
all of his other writings and were presumably familiar with them.
Again I ask the pertinent question, how such a condition of affairs
could exist? Making all due allowances for the imperfections and
580 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
uncertainties of language and the limitations of human thought and
understanding will not serve to explain it. It could not really have
been asked or expected that the entire essence of the principle should
have been compressed into one concise definition or even into one formal
or rigid statement. As its protagonist himself has said in an article
entitled “ Humanism and Truth Once More,” published in Mind for
April, 1905:
As I apprehend the movement toward humanism, it is based on no particular
discovery or principle that can be driven into one precise formula which
thereupon can be impaled upon a logical skewer. It is much more like one of
those secular changes that come upon public opinion over-night, as it were,
borne upon tides “too full for sound or foam,” that survive all the crudities
and extravagances of their advocates, that you can pin to no one absolutely
essential statement, nor kill by any one decisive stab.
In the same article he says:
The one condition of understanding humanism is to become inductive-
minded oneself, to drop rigorous definitions, and follow lines of least resistance
“on the whole.”
It would seem that this was expecting entirely too much. He had
also said in The Journal of Philosophy for March 2, 1905:
It is not a single hypothesis or theorem, and it dwells on no new facts.
It is rather a slow shifting in the philosophic perspective, making things appear
as from a new center of interest or point of sight. Some writers are strongly
conscious of the shifting, others half unconscious, even though their own vision
may have undergone much change. The result is no small confusion in debate,
the half-conscious humanists taking part against the radical ones, as if they
wished to count upon the other side.
I am inclined to think that its very simplicity has been the chief
barrier in the way of its acceptance. “Unto the Jews a stumbling
block, and unto the Greeks foolishness.” Has it not ever been so in
both the philosophical and religious worlds? Would it not find more
ready acceptance if it required “some great things”? Perhaps, one
barrier in the way of those who have “ seriously tried to comprehend
what the pragmatic movement may intelligibly mean” is mental
myopia, which- prevents them from assuming the proper attitude in
order to gain the right point of view. They are too wedded to their
idols of dogma and authority to experience that change of heart which
would enable them to break the shackles which bind them to “ abso-
lutistic hopes” and acquire the freedom which would permit them
to enter into such “ conditions of belief.” Dr. Schiller has said:
Concerning any considerable novelty of thought the prediction may be made
that hardly any one above thirty will be psychologically capable of adopting
it, unless he had previously been looking for just such a solution.
Whether this be true or not, many have failed to understand it
simply for the reason that they have not really tried to do so. They
“have boggled at every word they could boggle at, and refused to
WHAT PRAGMATISM IS 581
take the spirit rather than the letter” of what was said. In viola-
tion of every rule of interpretation, common-sense or legal, they have
ignored the context and pounced upon single words and isolated sen-
tences. Truly, in philosophy as elsewhere, “none are so blind as those
who will not see.” We are all familiar with “the proof-text method ”
of argument, much in vogue among theological disputants some years
ago, but now happily fallen into a state of “innocuous desuetude.”
Surely it is not being revived in philosophy. The reasons for the
attitude of this class of critics are plain. If the pragmatic method
should prove to be true or valid, it would necessarily require “ much
restatement of traditional notions.” If it should prevail, the existing
systems of philosophy would be unsettled, if not overthrown, and many
of the past, not to mention current, philosophical treatises would
thereby become obsolete and subject to relegation to “ that ‘ Museum of
Curios’ which Professor James has so delightfully instituted for the
clumsy devices of an antiquated philosophy.” Did not Demetrius, a
silversmith, and his followers raise a great uproar at Ephesus against
St. Paul for like reasons?
Our Harvard pragmatist has further said:
A pragmatist turns his back resolutely and once for all upon a lot of
inveterate habits dear to professional philosophers. He turns away from
abstractions and insufficiency, from verbal solutions, from bad a priori reasons,
from fixed principles, closed systems and pretended absolutes and origins. He
turns towards concreteness and adequacy, towards facts, towards action and
towards power. That means the empirical temper regnant and the rationalist
temper sincerely given up. It means the open air and possibilities of nature,
as against dogma, artificiality, and the pretence of finality in truth. At the
same time, it does not stand for any special results. It is a method only.
But the general triumph of that method would mean an enormous change in
what I called in my last lecture the “temperament of philosophy.” Teachers
of the ultra-rationalistic type would be frozen out, much as the courtier type is
frozen out in republics, as the ultramontane type of priest is frozen out in
protestant lands.
Yet once more:
No particular results then so far, but only an attitude of orientation, is
what the pragmatic method means. The attitude of looking away from first
things, principles, “ categories,” supposed necessities; and of looking towards
last things, fruits, consequences, facts.
All this affords some explanation of the flutter and consternation
which pragmatism has caused in the philosophic dove-cotes and why it
has even been productive of ruffled feelings and bad temper. Doubt-
less some felt deeply incensed that “proud Philosophy,” that celestial
goddess, long acclaimed “Scientia Scientiarum,” should be dragged
down from her emyprean heights into this work-a-day world, reduced
to the menial position, so to speak, of a hewer of wood and drawer of
water. Surely this was desecration, if not rank sacrilege. Perhaps,
582 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
a still further explanation may be found in the fact that pragmatism
undertook to act as a mediator and reconciler between the contending
systems and, in consequence thereof, has suffered the proverbial fate
of the peacemaker.
Whether or not I have been successful in pointing out the true
causes which have induced the fierce onslaughts which have been made
against the movement, it must be admitted that they have signally
failed to check it, and that it is growing, in spite of all the hostile
criticisms and gross misrepresentations. It would seem that it has
come into the world to stay. It might well be that its critics would
have fared better from the beginning if they had remembered that
“good humor is a philosophic state of mind,” even if it be not true
“that one should always talk of philosophy with a smile.” It un-
doubtedly would have been more in unison with the true philosophic
spirit, and, perhaps, attended with better results, if they had set to
work in good earnest to refute the arguments advanced by Professor
James and the other leaders, instead of contenting themselves with
giving pragmatism a bad name and bestowing upon it abuse and oppro-
brious epithets. If they were simply following the old maxim, “ give
a dog a bad name and it will hang him,” they were on a false trail.
As I have said, entire harmony has not existed in pragmatist ranks,
of which fact the critics have made the most. Even so, such differ-
ences furnish no justification for the failure of the professional philos-
ophers to understand the lucid statements of Professor James, or of
the other two leaders, Dr. Schiller and Professor Dewey, as some of
them seem to have done. The points of divergence among them are
easily discernible by those who really try to see and understand the
movement.
However, pragmatism, being what its protagonist says it is, ought
not to be expected to mean the same thing or to make a like appeal
to different minds. Evidently, it was with deep design that Professor
James began the first lecture in his “ Pragmatism” with that para-
doxical quotation from Mr. Chesterton’s “ Heretics,” as to the most
important thing about a man being his philosophy. It contains a
greater modicum of truth than most paradoxes, for as a man’s
philosophy is, so will be “his view of the universe,” and, as that view
is, so will be his life. From this paradox our pragmatist proceeds to
develop the thesis that “the history of philosophy is to a great extent
that of a certain clash of human temperaments,” and to show us how
temperament “loads the evidence” not only for philosophers, but for
all of us. In this he follows Fichte, who has said somewhere, “ what
system of philosophy you hold depends wholly upon what manner of
man you are.” So Dr. Schiller has said, “the fit of a man’s philosophy
is (and ought to be) as individual as the fit of his clothes.” All this
WHAT PRAGMATISM IS 583
must naturally follow if we agree with Mr. R. R. Marett, who has said:
There is at least a half-truth at the back of the view that a man is born
either a Platonist or an Aristotelian, a Stoic or an Epicurean, an intuitionist
or a utilitarian, an idealist or a materialist. We are spiritually-minded or
worldly-minded, believers or sceptics, romanticists or realists, and se forth,
primarily at least in virtue of a certain fundamental endowment of massive
sentiment.
Our “great student of the human soul” has said, this particular
difference in temperament “ has counted in literature, art, government
and manners as well as in philosophy.” He should have added religion,
for in no other department of life has temperament played a most
important réle, as he himself has superbly exemplified in his “ Vari-
eties.” This furnishes the key to the explanation of why “ God has two
families of children on this earth, the once-born and the twice-born,”
to use Francis W. Newman’s significant phrase. There is no escaping
it. By shaping our faith for us it largely “ divides us into possibility
men and anti-possibility men ” and explains why “ each of us dichotom-
izes the Kosmos in a different place,” thereby each making for himself
the world in which he lives. We have certain rules by which we can
calculate with approximate correctness the variation of the magnetic
needle from the true North and South line, but, most unfortunately,
we have no rule for computing temperamental variation.
Pragmatism, therefore, being primarily a method of thought, “an
attitude of orientation,” neither designates nor leads to any “ specific
philosophic creed”; and is not a system or a metaphysic. Dr. Schiller
has cogently said that it is “an epistemological method which really
describes the facts of actual knowing.” That it should somewhat
definitely point to a metaphysic and also prove to be “a genetic theory
of what is meant by truth” should prove no surprise to us, but, as
important as all this is, it must be considered as secondary. One of
its chief beauties and attractions is that it leaves each one of us
perfectly free to develop his own particular “ideals and over-beliefs,
the most interesting and valuable things about a man.” ‘Thus it has
led Professor James to “radical empiricism,’ Mr. Peirce to “ prag-
maticism,” Professor Dewey to “instrumentalism” or “ immediate
empiricism,” Dr. Schiller to “ humanism,” and others to “ the thirteen
pragmatisms,” of which we have been hearing so much of late. All this
is as it should be and is greatly to its credit. But these different terms
should not be confounded with each other, used interchangeably as
though they were synonymous, or identified with pragmatism, as has
been done by some friends and many foes of the movement. At all
hazards, the pragmatic method must not be permitted to become identi-
fied with any one of them. ‘That would be only the first step towards
its erystallization into a creed or petrifaction into a dogma. That
would be but to follow blindly in the footsteps of those teachers who
584 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
have so treated the Christian religion, thereby creating schisms, sec-
tarianism, and that intolerant party spirit “which blights and cankers
the truth itself” Whatever Christianity may be now, primarily it
was a method of living, a principle of life—not a creed or dogma.
For us, in this day and time, to repeat this blunder would simply
be indefensible and unpardonable. However desirable unity may be,
it should never be purchased at the expense of truth and freedom.
Dr. Schiller says:
Two men, therefore, with different temperaments, ought not to arrive at
the same metaphysic, nor can they do so honestly; each should react individually
on the food for thought which his personal life affords, and the resulting differ-
ences ought not to be set aside as void of ultimate significance. . . . No two
men ever think (and still less feel) alike, even when they profess allegiance
to the self-same formulas.
Consequently, the pragmatic method will not prevent the forma-
tion of different systems of philosophy, which may be expected to
“abound as before, and be as various as ever.” They will still “ have
their day and cease to be,” in the future as in the past, being necessarily
only “broken lights,” but pragmatism will not fall with them, for the
reason that it will be “ more than they” and, therefore, not identified
with any of them. :
That pragmatism should have encountered bitter opposition was
what might have been expected. Has it not been so with every great
movement in human thought from the time of Protagoras, with his
famous dictum, “ man is the measure of all things,” down to the present
time? It seems inevitable that all must run the gauntlet of criticism.
Perhaps, this helps to determine “the survival of the fittest.” Pro-
fessor James R. Angell has recently said:
Signs are not wanting that the asperity of its critics is already softening—
especially those who come out from behind the screen of anonymous reviews.
This would seem to be true, since even Mr. Bradley has said of
Professor James’s last book:
While reading the lectures on Pragmatism, I, doubtless like others, am led
to ask myself, “ Am I and have I been always myself a Pragmatist?” This
question I still find myself unable to answer.
However, the distinguished author of “ Appearance and Reality ”
may have made this statement in a Pickwickian sense. If it be true,
as has been somewhat sneeringly said, that pragmatism has made com-
paratively few converts among the professional philosophers, but has
made its strongest appeal to the men in the street, it may be fittingly
replied that this has been likewise true of the greatest movements in
the world’s history. That the common people have heard its teachers
gladly may prove to be, not its reproach, but its honor and its glory.
Again and again it has happened that “not many wise men after the
WHAT PRAGMATISM IS 585
flesh, not many mighty, not many noble, are called,” but rather those
who have become as little children, single-minded and simple-hearted.
We are still passing through one of those great transitional eras of
human thought which recur at somewhat irregular intervals. It may
be said to have begun some fifty years ago with the launching of the
evolutionary hypothesis, but when or what the end may be no one can
say. Whatever the result may be, whether for good or ill, things will
never be just the same again.
But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder,
Shall wholly do away, I ween,
The marks of that which once hath been.
There is a spirit of unrest in the air which has invaded and seriously
affected, not only philosophy and science, but religion and government.
In fact, it would seem that all things are being called in question, and
that “there is a general reaction against uncritical acceptance of the
authority of tradition along all lines of thought.” What may ulti-
mately survive or what may perish we cannot tell. Some of us believe
that the pragmatic movement is one of the contributing causes, per-
haps the most important, toward bringing about this condition of
affairs. We think that it has already accomplished a most salutary
work in philosophy and religion, which is far from being finished,
and we look for it to make its presence strongly felt along educational
and governmental lines. We believe that it is destined to invade our
law-making bodies and courts of justice, where it must be admitted
that it is sorely needed. Im fine, we believe that the days of blind
authority and antiquated precedents are numbered, and that the prin-
ciple of pragmatism will perform a like mission in the world to that
of the woman’s leaven in the three measures of meal. It has been
ironically spoken of as “a new gospel in philosophy.” To some of us
it has proved to be a veritable gospel indeed—a gospel of freedom, an
evangel of hope.
VOL. Lxxy. — 39.
586 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
IMMIGRATION AND THE FUTURE AMERICAN RACE
By Dr. ALBERT ALLEMANN
ARMY MEDICAL MUSEUM, WASHINGTON, D. C.
liane people of the thirteen colonies, the builders of the American
Union, were almost exclusively of the Anglo-Saxon race. The
immigration which set in after the war of independence and continued
during the greater part of the nineteenth century, was composed of
people not dissimilar from those early colonists. They came from the
British Isles, Scandinavia, Germany and the smaller Teutonic countries.
But during the last twenty-five years the number of immigrants from
those regions has steadily decreased and has now sunk to very small
numbers, while the immigration from Italy, Hungary, Greece and
Russia has increased from year to year during the same period of time,
and, of late years, has assumed truly enormous proportions. Thus
while the earlier immigrants were of a reasonably homogeneous race,
almost entirely of Anglo-Saxon or Teutonic origin, just enough leay-
ened with Celtic elements to quicken the phlegmatic pulse of that cold
northern race, the majority of the immigrants that landed on our
shores during the last quarter of a century, are quite dissimilar in their
origin, language, customs and religion from the original settlers of the
American Union.
It is claimed by some writers that all these various races, which are
now forming the population of the United States, will, in the course of
time, fuse together and produce a new and superior type of people.
Other writers go still farther; they assert that the immense numbers of
this later immigration will overwhelm this country and, in the course
of a few generations, supplant the original stock of Anglo-Saxon and
Teutonic settlers.t Both these views are erroneous. It is impossible,
as we shall see, that a general intermixture throughout this mighty
empire can take place, much less will the later immigrants be able to
supplant the descendants of those sturdy pioneers who first settled the
vast prairies and fertile valleys of this great republic.
There are so many and so varied types among these later immi-
grants, and they are generally so much inferior to the native American
1“ The awful tragedy, forever repeating itself, of hero nations building
lordly palaces in which servant races will some day pitch their gipsy camps,
will also set in in America, and the descendants of the sturdy Old English and
Teutonic pioneers, a race that is said to possess the finest long-heads and the
heaviest brains, will have only worked for Magyars, Slavs, Italians and Negroes.”
Kraus, Polit.-Anthrop. Rev., Leipz., 1906-7, V., 695.
IMMIGRATION AND THE AMERICAN RACH 587
population, that such a mixture would not be desirable. Herbert
Spencer, Gobineau and others have pointed out that a mixture of
races, very dissimilar, produces an inferior type of people. History
bears out this view. The modern peoples that dwell in the Mediter-
ranean basin present to-day a greater mixture of dissimilar races than
any country on the globe, yet these regions, once the center of civiliza-
tion, have certainly not produced a superior type of humanity. If the
mixture of two races of equal vigor, energy and civilization, but very
dissimilar in their racial make-up, produces an inferior people, much
less can the fusion of several races, some of which are of a very inferior
civilization, produce a fair type of humanity.? It is the purpose of this
article to show that no general mixture of the original Anglo-Saxon
and Teutonic stock with the various heterogeneous elements of the
later immigration will take place. We shall see that these later arrivals
settle almost entirely in the large cities, and that they will there, in the
course of a few generations, be eliminated in the great struggle of
modern industrial and commercial life. But first we must get ac-
quainted with the history and character of the various races which form
the present population of the United States.
Broadly speaking, we have two great classes of immigrants, those
that came before about the year 1885 and those that came after that
year. The native home of the former was northwestern Europe and
the bulk of them belongs to the so-called Teutonic, or Scandinavian, or
northern blond race; the latter came from the Mediterranean basin and
eastern Kurope, and present a number of racial types.
The Scandinavian or Teutonic race was divided into a number of
barbarian tribes when the Romans first made their acquaintance.
These tribes lived in Scandinavia, northern Germany and on the is-
lands of the Baltic Sea. Full of vigor and countless in numbers, they
began to make invasions into the territories of the Roman Empire, and
though frequently defeated by Roman science and discipline, they never
gave up until, during the fifth century, they overran all the western
provinces of the great empire and founded new states and new nations
in the regions they conquered. All the modern nations of western
Kurope are more or less a mixture of the original Celto-Roman in-
habitants with these northern conquerors; but as the latter were far
in the minority, the Teutonic blood has, in the course of many cen-
turies, been more or less eliminated; only the aristocracies of these
countries, avoiding intermarriage with the subject races, preserve to this
day the characteristics of their northern forefathers. This race exists
?Macchioro ascribes the decline of the Roman empire to the great inter-
mixture of the many dissimilar races within its borders, and é€specially on the
Italian peninsula. The greater part of the population of Rome during Imperial
times consisted of foreigners. Rome presented a similar picture to New York
to-day. Polit.-Anthrop. Rev., Leipz., 1906-7, V., 557 et seq.
583 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
to-day in its greatest purity only in Scandinavia, in northwestern Ger-
many and in England.? Its chief physical characteristics are blond
hair, a fair complexion, tall stature and especially a distinctly dolicho-
cephalic shape of the head. Now as Ripley justly remarks,‘ this long-
headedness does not ipso facto imply a strong character, or superior
mental power. The negroes, the Spaniards, the Sicilians are dolicho-
cephalic without showing any intellectual superiority. But this par-
ticular long-headed northern race excelled and still excels by great
mental qualities. It is the dominating race of modern times. It forms
the ruling and predominating element in the three most powerful na-
tions of the present day, England, Germany and the United States.
Through the Anglo-Saxons, its most vigorous branch, it carried Euro-
pean civilization to the uttermost parts of the earth. The higher
classes and the dynasties of the modern European nations belong to this
northern race. Lapouge found that most of the great Frenchmen are
of this type and are the descendants of the early Teutonic invaders.®
The majority of the great Italians who, during the Renaissance, made
northern Italy the most enlightened country in the world, were the
descendants of the northern conquerors, who during the great migra-
tion settled in that part of Europe.* Likewise a close inquiry would
probably show that the great thinkers and writers of middle and south-
ern Germany, where the brachycephalic Alpine race forms the bulk of
the population, are the descendants of the long-headed Teutons who
settled among them. These northern peoples surpass all others in vigor,
energy and self-control; they are aristocratic in their nature, domineer-
ing, oppressive to inferior races; but they are liberty-loving, have an
innate love for law and order, and are above all other races capable of
self-government; and it is certainly not accidental that all the branches
of this race are protestants.
It is of descendants of this long-headed northern race that the
great majority of the agricultural population of the United States is
made up, and it is its very best elements that settled the American states.
The people that founded the thirteen colonies belonged to the most
energetic and most independent elements of old England. Only men
of an-indomitable courage and superior intellect would dare to brave
the dangers of a distant and unknown country. Many left their homes
Green, in his “History of the English People,” holds that the Saxon
invaders almost entirely destroyed or drove out the Celto-Roman inhabitants,
and the ethnographical study of the modern English people certainly sustains
him.
* Ripley, “ Races of Europe,” New York, 1899, 43.
5Some of the greatest men of history were brachycephalic. The hats of
Napoleon I., which are still preserved, are almost circular.
® Rev. d’anthrop., Paris, 1887, XVI1., 76.
*Woltman, Polit..anthrop. Rev., Leipzig, 1905-6, IV., 197, and 1906-7,
V., 244.
IMMIGRATION AND THE AMERICAN RACE 589
on account of religious or political persecution; they stood above their
fellow men in independence of thought and love of freedom. Thus by
a process of natural selection only the best people of Old England came
to settle the American colonies and to form the solid nucleus around
which the great American nation was to form.® Of these early settlers
only the most vigorous, the most intelligent, again survived; the weaker
elements succumbing to the new conditions, the climate, the dangers
of a new country.
After the war of independence came the Irish, the Germans, the
Scandinavians, the Austrians, the Swiss. The Celtic colonists, coming
from Ireland, Wales and parts of Scotland, mixed with the Anglo-Saxon
and Teutonic settlers. They have undoubtedly greatly modified the
character of the American people. The American is less stolid, less
phlegmatic than the Englishman; he is quicker, more nervous; in
vivacity he approaches the mercurial Frenchman. The character of the
American people was much less affected by the people who came from
middle and southern Germany, from Austria and Switzerland, because
these peoples are themselves the product of a mixture between the
Teutonic conquerors and the brachycephalic Alpine race and were thus
a less heterogeneous element than the Celtic immigrants. Here, too, a
selective process was at work. It was still the days of the sailing vessel
and the prairie schooner. Only the strongest, most energetic, most
independent would undertake such a long, tedious and dangerous voy-
age. Ammon, in his most interesting study on the population of South-
German cities, has shown that it is mostly the long-headed as the most
energetic people who move from the rural districts to the cities. From
this we may infer that the countries just mentioned sent principally
this class of people across the ocean to mingle their blood with a kin-
dred race.
The greater part of this earlier immigration belonged to the agricul-
tural classes. Large numbers of families came from the rural districts
of northern and central Europe in quest of new homes, where they might
enjoy greater freedom and have larger opportunities, and where they
might be enabled to leave their children a goodly inheritance. Only
*ngland has for centuries sent out her best elements to colonize foreign
regions, and if there is any truth in the assertion of some modern English
writers that the British people is declining physically and intellectually, the
fact that that wonderful country has for centuries been drained of its most
valuable blood, would certainly not be one of its least causes. While her
nearest relatives, the Germans, spent their best powers in fruitless internecine
wars, England sent her best people into the most distant regions as the carriers
of intellectual culture and Anglo-Saxon civilization; and should her power
ever decline the famous boast of Macaulay will prove true. England’s glory will
never perish, her very spirit is taking a new birth in America, Australia and
South Africa. These mighty colonies will bear witness of England’s greatness
in all future centuries.
590 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
a comparatively small portion of these people established themselves
in the large cities; the great bulk of them went west and settled, side
by side with the pioneers from the eastern states, the broad and fertile
prairies of the Mississippi Valley and the sunny slopes of the Pacific
Coast. It is true, a general intermixture of the various branches of this
northern race did not take place equably throughout the country. There
are large territories in many states where certain nationalities estab-
lished distinct and separate settlements. Extensive tracts in Pennsyl-
vania, Illinois, Missouri, Iowa, Texas and other states were settled by
Germans alone. The Swedes and Norwegians established their new
homes mostly in the northwest. The purest Anglo-Saxon blood we
find in the southern states. The Celtic immigrants formed nowhere
large separate settlements ; they are scattered equably all over the union.
One important fact must be noted here. A very large portion of the
people of Celtic origin did not settle in the rural districts, but estab-
lished themselves in the great cities, in New York, Boston, Chicago,
St. Louis, etc., where, as we shall see later, they will disappear in the
course of a few generations.
About the middle of the ninth decade of the last century an entirely
new immigration began to set in. The new arrivals came from southern
and eastern Europe, from Italy, Greece, Hungary, Bohemia, Russia.
Hailing from an entirely different region of Europe, they differ com-
pletely in their racial characteristics from the earlier immigration.
Considering only the head form, some of these people would show no
marked difference from the Anglo-Saxon or Teuton. The Sicilians,
the Neapolitans, the Greeks, are more or less dolichocephalic. But some
anthropologists lay entirely too much stress on the headform. It is
evident that purity of race is of far greater importance than the shape
of the head. But these Mediterranean countries have probably the
most mixed population of any region on the globe. This manifold in-
termixture began during the later periods of the Roman republic. The
numerous prisoners taken in the many and frequent wars were sold as
slaves in Italy and the provinces bordering on the Mediterranean Sea.
Mommeen estimates the slave population of the Italian peninsula in the
times of Sulla at twelve to fourteen millions, twice as numerous as the
free population.® These slaves came from the most distant regions, and
were mostly barbarians, in every respect dissimilar from the Roman
people.
The island of Sicily presents perhaps the best example of this mani-
fold intermixture of the Mediterranean peoples. In the earliest cen-
°Mommsen, “Rom. Gesch.,” 1857, II., 396. During the later times of the
Republic the aristocratic classes acquired immense estates throughout Italy.
They bought out or drove out the small landed proprietor and worked the land
with slaves. The disappearance of the great middle class, the small land-
holders, was one of the chief causes of the downfall of the great empire.
IMMIGRATION AND THH AMERICAN RACE 591
turies Greek colonists came to establish their cities among the native
Siculi. Later the Carthaginians and after them the Romans brought
great numbers of slaves to the island. Goth and Vandal came and dis-
appeared. The Saracens, themselves mixed with black blood, held the
island nearly two hundred years, until the island was conquered by the
Normans. All these races left their traces in the modern population
of Sicily. But where once the great cities of Syracuse, Agrigentum,
Segesta, flourished we find to-day ignorance, poverty, crime; here is the
home of the Black Hand and the Mafia. The southern part of the
Italian boot, the old kingdom of Naples, has almost the same history as
Sicily, and the modern conditions there are not much different. The
best portion of the Italian people are the brachycephalic North-Italians.
It is these sturdy and energetic people who have brought about Italian
unity. By their thriftiness, intelligence and love of law and justice
they form the backbone of the Italian monarchy.1® If we cross the
Adriatic we find on the Balkan peninsula a mixture of peoples, a Volk-
ergemisch, made up of hardly less numerous elements than the popula-
tion of Italy. The Slavic race forms here a predominating element
among a population greatly mixed in other ways. The modern Greeks
are largely of Slavic origin. They are not the descendants of the an-
cient Greeks. That noble race, greatly mixed with barbarian blood
during the middle ages, was almost completely destroyed in the course
of the frequent uprisings against Turkish rule. Slavic immigrants
gradually repeopled the country. The same intense mixture of different
races we find in Asia Minor and Syria, countries which send consider-
able numbers of immigrants to our shores. The least mixed of all these
races are the Slavs of Russia. Yet this people has little in common
with the race that settled America. 'The Russians are behind all other
nations of Europe in social and political development. The mass of
the people is ignorant, servile, superstitious, and, according to the
opinion of a close observer, unfit for self-government."*
The broad-headed Jews are not as pure a race as has commonly been
supposed. They have been greatly mixed with the peoples among whom
they lived. Especially is this true of the Russian and Polish Jews, who
form such a large portion of the American immigrants. The best type
of all these various peoples are probably the brachycephalic Hungarians.
Though dissimilar from the other races of Europe, they possess valuable
qualities; they are preeminently an intellectual people and well fitted
for self-government.*”
These are the peoples from whom the later immigration to the United
States is recruiting itself. All differ among themselves as much as they
2 The immigration from this region is much smaller than from southern
Italy.
4 Carl Schurz, “ Reminiscences,” V., I.
17 Ripley, “ Races of Europe,” p. 431.
592 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
differ from the long-headed northern race, which occupies to-day the
rural districts of the American Union. Not one of them has reached a
high degree of civilization. They have not proved their capability of
self-government. They are illiterate and differ in their religious beliefs,
their languages and customs, from the Teutonic peoples. They are
vivacious, restless, turbulent, and do not possess that respect for law ~
and a well-regulated government which is inborn in the northern race.
They bring rarely whole families with them.** No process of selection
is now at work as in former days. A modern sea voyage has not the
dangers and terrors of earlier times. The better and best people stay
now at home and only the lower classes emigrate. A mixture of these
races with the earlier immigrants could not possibly produce a superior
people, as we sometimes read in newspaper articles; it would vitiate and
deteriorate the American race, and might prepare for this nation the
fate of the Roman empire.**
At the time when the immigrants from the south and east of Europe
began to arrive in larger numbers on the American shore the vast tracts
of public lands had, as we have seen, been occupied by the Anglo-Saxons
and the other Teutonic peoples, mingled with considerable numbers of
Celts. There were no large territories left where any great numbers of
these newcomers could have settled. But these later immigrants are
not agriculturally inclined; they would not settle in the country even
if public lands were still accessible to them. They belong to the
poorest classes, were mostly brought up in cities, and are not adapted
to the cultivation of the soil. With the exception, perhaps, of the
Poles an exceedingly small number of these later immigrants settle
in the country.15 The Russian Jew is a city dweller; the Greek and
the Syrian stay in the cities; the Hungarian and the Slav take to
mining; the Italians who do not follow mining or railroading prefer
the large cities. Ripley asserts that four fifths of our foreign-born citi-
zens live in the twelve principal cities of the country.’® It is quite
certain that the greater number of these are of the later immigration.
We have thus shown that the Anglo-Saxon and Teutonic stock,
8 Ripley, Atlantic Monthly, December, 1908. About 70 per cent. of these
immigrants are males.
To withstand and counteract the steadily growing power of the yellow
races the American nation requires all the strength and unity of a homogeneous
eople.
: is How few of these immigrants settle on public lands may be seen from a
late announcement of the Chamber of Commerce of Spokane, Wash. (April,
1909). It shows that during fourteen months 106,000 new settlers established
themselves in the states of Washington, Idaho, Oregon and Montana. Of this
number only 10,000 were immigrants from Europe and almost all of these came
from Great Britain and the Teutonic countries.
18 Atlantic Monthly, December, 1908. More than 800,000 Jews live in New
York alone; most of them came to this country during the last twenty-five years.
IMMIGRATION AND THH AMERICAN RACE 593
mixed with Celtic elements, forms the rural population of the United
States, while the greater portion of the population of the larger and
largest cities is composed of the new immigration. It is a bold assump-
tion that the United States is a “ melting-pot ” in which all the races
of Europe are fused to a new race. A general intermixture of the old
and the new immigrants can take place only in the large cities while the
rural population, the backbone of the nation, will not be appreciably
affected. This mixed city population will not persist for any length of
time. Itis a generally recognized fact that city populations have much
less vitality than the agricultural classes. But the surprisingly rapid
rate at which families in the cities die out was not known until the
remarkable observations of Hansen, Ammon and others were made
public.
In modern times the causes which contribute to the rapid destruc-
tion of the city population are much more potent than in the past. The
cities are generally much larger and it is certain that the healthfulness
of a city decreases as its size increases. It is true that sanitary meas-
ures are much more efficient than in former times, but it is also true
that the destructive influences have grown in strength and new ones
have appeared. The modern factory work, the poor housing conditions
of the lower classes, tend to destroy life and weaken vitality. Race
suicide is practised especially in the cities, while it is almost unknown
among the country population. The struggle for existence is much
severer in the cities; marriages are fewer; the mortality of children is
greater. Prostitution, the curse of large cities, is an enemy to marriage
and tends to shorten and destroy life by transmitting and spreading
venereal diseases. To all this we must add the attractions of city life,
the chase after pleasure, the constant excitement, the nervous strain,
which are all hostile to the vitality of families.17 Another cause of the
rapid extinction of the city population lies in the very mixture of so
many races. There is a biological law that hybrids do not tend to
reproduce their kind. The fecundity of such a mixed population is
appreciably lower than that of a pure race. Lapouge found that in
those regions of France where the brachycephalic Alpine race has pre-
served a comparative purity the birth rate is much higher than in the
districts where the race is greatly mixed with Teutonic blood. In the
latter regions the birth rate is actually decreasing.18
It is evident that the lower classes, living under less favorable con-
ditions than the well-to-do, are more subject to rapid extinction. But
“The U. S. Census of 1900 shows that the death rate in the cities of
Massachusetts, New York, New Jersey, Connecticut, New Hampshire, Michi-
gan, Maine and Vermont was 18.6 per thousand of population, while in the
rural districts it was only 15.4 per thousand. Baker, Quart. Publ. Am. Statist.
Ass., Boston, 1908, XI., 133.
% Rev, Wanthrop., Paris, 1887, XVI., pp. 74 and 526.
594 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
the higher classes are not exempt from this iron law. Various causes
are mentioned for this fact. Marriages are contracted much later in
life among the wealthy, and, as a rule, they have fewer children; the
intellectual life seems to be unfavorable to the fecundity of women.
Race suicide is more common among the higher classes.1® It is hardly
necessary to mention that families of an extremely healthy stock, and
living under the most favorable conditions, are able to continue their
existence a much longer time. The remarkable vitality of the British
aristocracy is due to their athletic habits and to the fact that they spend
the greater part of the year on their estates in the country. Ammon
holds that the aristocratic classes of the continent “ have favorable pros-
pects to perpetuate their family names only if they live on their estates
and devote themselves to agriculture and the chase.’’?°
The Jews seem to form an exception to what has just been said.
They have been city dwellers from the time they left Palestine and
began to overrun the countries of the earth. There can be no doubt
that they are a very healthy race. In the struggle for existence, during
the endless persecutions they had to undergo in every country and at
all ages, only the strongest individuals survived. A process of natural
selection thus produced a vigorous race. The frugal and sober habits
and the faithful application of the sanitary precepts of the Mosaic code
also contributed greatly to produce a healthy people. But these influ-
ences are much less at work in modern times. The vitality of the Jew
will be greatly affected by modern city life as we find it in the city of
New York, where the great bulk of the Jewish population in this
country lives. Tuberculosis, the scourge of the white race, used to be
rare among the Jews, but the unsanitary life in the “ sweat-shops” of
New York is also increasing its victims among this people.?+
The rate at which city populations die out is much more rapid than
one would ordinarily suppose. Recent researches have thrown much
light on this process of elimination. Ammon, in his researches on the
population of Carlsruhe and Freiburg (two comparatively small cities)
established the fact that the city-born population decreases in the course
of two generations from 100 per cent. to 29 and 15 per cent. He sup-
poses that on an average the families who move from the country to a
city die out in the course of two generations.2?, Hansen found that one
half of the population of the German cities consists at all times of
immigrants from the country districts, and he concludes from this fact
that the city population renews itself completely in the course of two
generations.2? We may safely apply these results, which have been
17 Ammon, “ Natiirl. Ausl.,” p. 297.
*Tbid., p. 302.
1 Jerusalem, Med. Blatter, Wien, 1909, XXXII., 181.
2 Ammon, “ Natiirl. Ausl.,” p. 300.
2 Hansen, “Drei Bevélkerungsstufen,” 1889, p. 27.
IMMIGRATION AND THE AMERICAN RACE 595
obtained for the German cities, to the great industrial and commercial
centers of America, for conditions here are not more favorable to the
maintenance of human life. We may assume, therefore, that the fam-
ilies that are now living in our large cities will, with few exceptions, die
out in the course of two or three generations. It is only through the
constant supply which the cities draw from the country that they are
able to maintain and increase their population. If a modern city had
to rely solely on its own natural increase, its population would steadily
decline and finally shrink to an insignificant number. But if the dis-
appearing portion of the American city population were constantly
replenished by new immigration from Europe there would be no change
in the actual conditions. However, the time is near at hand when the
government of the United States will be compelled, for economic rea-
sons, to close the gates to the great mass of poor immigrants from
Europe. When that time comes the cities will have to rely exclusively
on the country to replenish their dwindling population. Then the
unceasing stream of people, which even now is constantly flowing from
the country towards the towns, will reconquer the cities from that alien
population which now holds them.”* It is clear that the longer this
process of conquering the cities by the rural population is going on the
more thorough will be the elimination of the alien races. A few ele-
ments of the new immigration will doubtless persist and form a perma-
nent part of the future American race, but they will be a desirable
acquisition, for by the law of the survival of the fittest they must be
considered a superior type of humanity.
We have thus shown that no general intermixture of the old with
the new immigration will take place, and that instead of the Anglo-
Saxon and Teutonic settlers “ are working for inferior races,” who will
some day displace them, the reverse is true. There is no doubt that
these later immigrants, as laborers, have performed and are performing
an important part in this country; they have contributed not a small
part to the wealth of this nation.”®
It was not the purpose of this article to minimize the disadvantages
and dangers of this later immigration. The presence, in our large
cities, of great numbers of these illiterate strangers, who neither under-
stand nor sympathize with the political institutions of this country, is
an impediment to municipal reform. So many of these heterogeneous
“This is what one of the orators at the last Congress of Catholic Mis-
sionaries had in mind when he said that if the Catholics did not make headway
in the country districts, the time was coming when their churches in the great
cities would be empty. It is well known that most of the adherents of that
denomination live in the great cities.
* Emerson, who certainly spoke with no cynical or mocking motive, did
not hesitate to affirm that these laboring emigrants “have a good deal of
guano in their destiny.”
596 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
people are now among us that it would be to the best interests of the
country if congress, by suitable legislation, restricted immigration in
such a manner as only to admit a small number and only the best ele-
ments of these heterogeneous races.
The negro, more dissimilar from the Anglo-Saxon than any other
race, has purposely been omitted in this study. Though the negroes
form a considerable portion of the agricultural population of a large
section of the union, a mixture between the two races, as is the case in
Latin America, will never take place. The Anglo-Saxon is too proud
and too much bent on the preservation of his racial purity to admit of
any such intermixture. He even rejects the mulatto who shows the
slightest traces of black blood. The negro is physically and intellectu-
ally inferior to the white man; he is several thousand years behind the
white race in his intellectual development and, as Huxley observed, will
never be the equal of the white man. In the great struggle for existence
which, in future centuries, will grow in intensity, the negro will be
eliminated, “he will melt away before the breath of the white man as
snow melts under a hot wind.”?° ‘This is the probable solution of the
negro problem in the United States. One of the chief means by which
this process of elimination is hastened, is the marked tendency of the
negro to leave the rural districts and to settle in the large cities, where
he has much less chance of survival than the more energetic and thrifty
white man.
7° Ammon, “ Natiirl. Ausl.,’ p. 325.
PRODUCTIVE SCHOLARSHIP 597
ENVIRONMENT AND PRODUCTIVE SCHOLARSHIP
By Dr. W. J. HUMPHREYS
WASHINGTON, D. C.
aL? say that ours is the best age the world has ever known is to state
a simple truth. Even though we can claim for literature no living
Homer, nor Dante, nor Shakespeare; for art no Phidias, nor Michel
Angelo, nor Rubens; for moral suasion no Confucius, nor Zoroaster, nor
Mahomet, still the statement is true. True because for the west as well
as for the far east this is the age of Meiji—the age of enlightenment.
True because man to-day has more knowledge than ever before of the
laws of the universe in which he is placed, and because this knowledge
is power ; the power by which he brings inanimate nature to his aid; the
power that determines his efficiency and fixes his place on the scale of
civilization. It is this knowledge, slowly gained through the ages, and
his ability to use it, that raises man above the plane of the mere animal
and gives him dominion over all the earth and its creatures.
He alone has discovered even so simple a thing as how, by putting
the half burned logs closer together and by adding fresh fuel, to keep
burning the fire that, like himself, many an animal enjoys but knows
not how to obtain; a discovery that has been of incalculable benefit to
him and will be. And so too each additional discovery, by the fuller
knowledge and wider control of nature it brings, marks a gain in the
struggle for life and for happiness. It lays broader and deeper the
foundation upon which our arts and our civilization are based, and
stamps, therefore, the discoverer as a benefactor of the human race.
There is no intention here to imply that people without originality
are necessarily useless. In fact, they are very far from being so, for the
practise of the arts is the end of science, and for this one does not need
in the least to be original. Nevertheless, all material progress does de-
pend absolutely upon the investigator and the inventor; upon that rare
man, the genius that discovers the secrets of nature, and upon that host
of skillful men who cleverly use these discoveries in devising mechanical
and other means of meeting every-day needs.
Science, as just implied, is not an end within itself, at least not an
important one, for it is the bringing of nature’s forces to our service,
the application of her laws to the development of useful arts, and not
the abstract knowledge of the laws themselves, that chiefly concerns
mankind ; and, therefore, being cognizant of only its mediate benefac-
tors, the public gives its laurels and its material rewards to the inventor
and the manufacturer, rather than to the investigator and the scholar.
But in this, as in so many other things, the decision of the majority is
598 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
wrong and the judgment of the public not to be trusted. Some praise
may very well be given to the manufacturer and a great deal more to the
inventor, for the work of each is essential to the good of the public; but,
after all, the real honor is due the investigator who, by patient research
and keenness of insight, discovered the laws that made possible the in-
vention and its uses. Only let some genius discover electrical waves and
in time there will be devised many systems of wireless telegraphy, or let
the mysterious X-ray and how to produce it be revealed and soon there
will be hundreds of clever devices for its practical use. And so it is
through all the arts and all the sciences, where there is one to lead and
discover there are many to follow and apply, and countless millions to
enjoy. A Newton, a Darwin, a Pasteur, rarely is found, but wherever
he may be there are, besides himself, many others who can and who do
perform the necessary, but always secondary, function of turning his
discoveries to every-day uses so that all mankind, as long thereafter as
the race may last, can live more securely and more happily.
It is man’s power of investigation and of discovery that enables him
to bring the forces of nature to his aid, without which help he would
perish wholly or at best live only as the beasts of the forest. It is
science that makes two blades of grass grow where but one grew before,
and this is basic, for by it we conquer in the struggle for existence. It
is basic because self-preservation is everywhere and always the first law
of nature, and because whatever else happens, and before any higher
development is possible, our physical needs must be provided for.
The author fully concurs in every claim that can be made for the
intellectual and the moral uplift due to the beautiful and the artistic,
whether in literature, music, painting or any other form whatsoever in
which they can find expression; but these are apart from his present.
discussion which concerns the knowledge of nature’s laws and their ap-
plication to human affairs. Neither is he unmindful of nor without ap-
preciation for the great good, other than material, that follows in the
wake of scientific study and investigation. He believes that the declara-
tion: “ The truth shall make you free,” is as applicable and as necessary
to things intellectual as to things spiritual; but he also holds that those
truths of nature that aid in providing for our daily needs are just as
effective as any others in freeing the human mind from the bondages of
fear and of superstition, and that therefore only those truths that offer
definite applications, and those essential to a better understanding of
nature and a fuller control of her forces, are really worthy to be sought
after patiently and diligently.
However, the possible usefulness of an investigation is a point to
be considered, if ever at all, in determining what question to take up
and how to attack it, for the scientific genius investigates, as the poet
writes, along any line that appeals to him. In a sense he can not help
it, for to him research and experiment are life and happiness; he is still
PRODUCTIVE SCHOLARSHIP 599
a boy who has never outgrown young life’s curiosity and the joy of see-
ing new things, nor has he outgrown the stimulus of companionship,
the necessity for playmates. He obeys instinctively that best of advice
given and followed by Rowland of experimental fame: “ Do something
to it, man, do something to it and something will happen,” and there-
fore once his investigation is begun he seldom stops to consider of what
use the results may be; nor is this often to be regretted since whatever
his discoveries, it 1s practically certain that some day they will have
many and unsuspected applications. It was Helmholtz who, to satisfy
his own apparently idle curiosity, determined why a cat’s eye glows, or
as we say, looks green in the dark. But out of this investigation, which
to the practical man would appear utterly trivial and useless, came not
only knowledge that shattered certain superstitious fears, but even the
ophthalmoscope that every year helps to save the sight of thousands of
human beings.
This beautiful illustration of the unsuspected results of scientific
work is scarcely more than typical, for however keen the zest of investi-
gation, however glorious the hour of discovery, these joys of the few are
as nothing in comparison with the sum total of the peace of intellectual
freedom and of the pleasures of physical comfort their labors provide
for the multitudes of every living nation and of all future generations.
And therefore it would seem that, of all people, those who, by their per-
sistent labors and by the keenness of their intellect, make the world more .
fruitful and nature more the servant of man, would be honored and en-
couraged ; that they would be sought after and put in those positions
that would enable them to do their work best, and where they could
exert the greatest influence upon others by inspiring as many as possible
to emulate their example. And indeed this in some measure is the
happy state of affairs in the cultured centers of the old world; and it is
there that nearly all the power that comes of knowledge had its origin.
That which makes human progress possible, that which has given
us our present civilization, and points the way to a higher, should com-
mand our unqualified admiration and our every encouragement. And
in so far as they depend upon our knowledge of the laws of the uni-
verse in which we are placed and from which we can not escape, in so
far as they depend upon our luxuries and upon the means of providing
our necessities, of protecting ourselves from plague and from pestilence
—ain so far as they depend upon making the world more fruitful and
therefore the abode of a more numerous and happier people—so far as
civilization and progress depend upon all these things, just so far they
depend absolutely upon the labors of the creative scholar, upon the work
of the investigator, the seeker after and the discover of nature’s truths
and nature’s laws. It matters not how firmly the man of affairs estab-
lishes some new and important industry, nor how readily the public ac-
cepts what he has to offer, whether the convenience of modern lighting,
600 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
the facilities of wireless and of other methods of communication, or any
of the thousands of things that steam and electricity can supply, every
one traces back beyond the artisan and the financier to the oft forgotten
investigator but for whose labors there would be occasion for neither,
and even kings could not have as a luxury that which all the world now
deems a necessity.
It is absolutely essential to our future progress, nor can this be
emphasized too strongly, that we appreciate the inestimable value of
pure research; that we realize the futility without it of every effort
to advance, and the certainty with it of the creation of new industries,
the finding of new comforts and the improvement of man’s every con-
dition: and it is equally essential that on realizing this we have the
courage to act according to our convictions.
Let us then humbly and honestly inquire what part we Americans as
individuals, as communities and as a nation are taking in this the chief
labor of the human race for its existence and for its betterment. The
average individual, if he is honest with himself, is not likely to feel very
proud of his own achievements or of those of his community, nor even
satisfied with the earnestness of his efforts; and therefore as a nation
we are not able to point with pride to the part we have taken in scien-
tific investigations. Good work has been done and is being done in an
increasingly large amount, but on the whole, as a nation, we are not
doing our duty in this respect, for our productiveness, relative to our
numbers, falls far short of that of most of our mother countries, such
as England, France, Germany and Holland, and besides many of the
more important discoveries that we claim were made by men of foreign
birth.
It is not very agreeable to have to admit this state of affairs, but
only the ignorant fail to see their own faults, and only the coward re-
fuses to admit them. The wise thing to do is to admit them frankly—
at least to one’s self—and the courageous thing is to begin promptly
and persistently to do one’s full duty as he sees it.
It would be well if possible to learn the cause of this generally ad-
mitted rarity of American discoveries, so that as in the case of a disease
a remedy can be intelligently sought for. It can not be attributed to
race difference, since we are of the same stock that produces so much
more on the other side of the ocean. Nor can it be attributed to lack
of means, for we boast of the greatest wealth of any nation of this or of
any past age, and to our universities we make gifts whose princely
magnificence astounds the world. Neither is it due to our mad rush in
business, our striving after wealth, for in general our greatest business
centers, our wealthiest cities, are the principal sources of our original
contributions to knowledge; while that very part of our country which
has always boasted its superiority to the sordid things of mammon, to
the littleness of business strife, and prided itself upon its intelligence,
PRODUCTIVE SCHOLARSHIP 601
upon its scholarship, its leisure and its devotion to the greatest good of
its own people, is the least productive of creative work—in some of the
more important sciences even practically sterile.
Here then, in the south, that cause, whatever it is, has its greatest
influence, and can therefore the more certainly be determined. Surely
though, this mortifying, this deplorable state of affairs does not have to
exist, for the south long ago showed her ability in meeting and master-
ing great political, military, and judicial problems, and she has to-day
as splendid a class of people, as earnest, as capable, as sensitive and as
self sacrificing as has any country on the face of the earth, the very
qualities essential to scientific achievements. Why then do her people
accomplish so little of this kind of work, and why have they no voice in
the councils of our national scientific societies ?
But first to show that these statements are true. In Science for
December 18, 1908, is given the names of the presidents and secretaries
for the Baltimore meetings of a number of scientific organizations—
the American Association for the Advancement of Science, its several
sections, and twenty-four other societies—in all, seventy-eight names,
and just one is from south of the Potomac and the Ohio. Even the
Southern Society for Philosophy and Psychology was officered by men
from north of the Potomac. Surely then the voice of the south is faint
in the councils of our scientific organizations ; nor has she even a single
representative in the whole of the National Academy. But this is not
intended in the least as a criticism of any of these societies or of the
excellent men they have chosen to represent them. It is a simple state-
ment of the facts, so astonishing, however, that if generally realized
they could not help arousing that healthy determination that leads to
better things.
During the past twelve years the author has had the pleasure of at-
tending many of the meetings of the American Association for the
Advancement of Science, sections A and B, of the American Physical
Society and of the Astronomical and Astrophysical Society of America,
but in all this time, except for an occasional contribution from one uni-
versity, rarely ever heard a paper that was written in what are known
as the southern states. He has repeatedly heard papers, often excellent
ones, written at northern universities by men of southern birth, but
seldom, if ever, a paper by a northern man in a southern university.
This great inequality, even when the men are the same, in productive
scholarship between the northern and the southern parts of our country
can have but one explanation—difference im environment; and it ex-
plains too the inferior part we as a nation are taking in preparing the
way for any real advance in civilization.
It is the stimulus of his environment, as every creative scholar
knows, that is chiefly responsible for the quantity and even in large
VOL. LXxv.—40.
602 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
measure for the quality of all the original work he does, and as our
educational institutions, equipped with their splendid libraries, museums
and laboratories, are the only places where men are supposed to give
their entire time to knowing things and to training others to know,
therefore the tone, as we say, of its universities, their attitude towards
science, is the chief determining cause of the part any nation takes in
adding to the sum of human knowledge and of human power; and
therefore too it is properly expected of them that they shall seek the
highest type of scholarship, and constantly maintain that peculiar en-
vironment that stimulates to creative work. The spirit of its commu-
nity of course has more or less influence on the work of every university,
but it is never of first importance, for each takes the institution in its
midst for a model, and as no one rises to the level of his ideal, so too
no community equals even in sterile scholarship, much less productive,
that of its university. In the main this spirit of the community is but
that of its own college reflected in a modified and enfeebled form. Of
course there are good and bad reflectors, but everywhere the important
thing is the quality and intensity of the central light. In fact the
public, whose business is the making of money and the getting of bonds,
can not be expected to be so enthusiastic about these higher things as are
educational institutions whose very existence is for the development of
brains and the training of hands, and therefore for some time to come
the university is likely to remain, as it has been in the past, the source
of much the greater part of all original knowledge, in spite of the fact
that at present there is an increasing amount coming from governmental
and from business laboratories, for both these latter, necessarily, are
greatly restricted in their fields of operation. Business men wish con-
ducted investigations that promise immediate financial returns to them-
selves, and investigators that do this class of work have something of the
same restrictions thrown about them that hedge in the advertising poet
whose inspiration is a special brand of soap; and mighty little of a first
class order has ever come from either source. Government institutions,
though allowing a greater latitude than do business firms in the investi-
gations selected, often feel compelled to have for their object immediate
returns that will encourage congress and the country to continue their
support, and only too frequently does this lead to insistent calls for
“copy,” as though the investigator could submit at stated intervals
original ideas and finished results with the same regularity that the
farmer can raise a new crop of pumpkins.
There remain the special laboratories of the Carnegie Institution
that are an inspiration to all the world, but even here the investigator
is not so free as is the university professor to follow whithersoever his
tastes and his talents may lead, and, besides, even these laboratories have
not the opportunity that the university has of fixing the lives of men, of
molding public opinion and of determining the destiny of our country.
PRODUCTIVE SCHOLARSHIP 603
Wherever then any country is to blame for its barrenness in scientific
ideas and results, this blame attaches to her universities. If a commu-
nity in which a university is situated is without interest in matters of a
scientific nature it is because the university itself cares but little for
such things and does less.
As stated above, the south is the least productive of original work
of any part of our country, and the fault lies at the doors of the south-
ern universities—as the following several illustrations will make clear
—the institutions whose duty it is to train by precept and by example.
A good instance emphasizing this point is the case of a certain
southern man whose name is well known to the scientific world because
of his investigations while in the north. On finally accepting, after
much hesitation, a position in one of the oldest and best of the southern
universities he remarked pathetically in regard to his scientific career—
“JT am going now to be laid upon the shelf for the rest of my life.”
And, while he is an ornament to the faculty of which he is a member,
as he would be to any other, he fully understood and correctly judged
the lethal effect on all scientific aspirations of his boyhood environment,
Where the mocking bird calls to dreams of fair women,
And the soul drifts on in a somnolent ease.
But lest this be regarded as a mere isolated case, due to the peculiar-
ities of a single individual, it may be well to describe the attitude
towards creative work maintained by the heads of certain institutions.
One of these, the president of one of the largest institutions in the
south, has more than once assured the writer that he regarded investiga-
tion on the part of professors as a thing which took just that much time
from the students, and that therefore it should not be encouraged—a
fallacy that once obtained, but outgrown more than a century ago, at
one of the great northern colleges. And the pity of it is this man’s
opinion clearly is having an influence on his institution, for in certain
of the sciences it is about as much heard of as is the Imperial Univer-
sity of Timbuctoo. :
The president of another institution of almost boundless claims
(this applies to both), when he was on the point of closing a contract
with a really capable man, so runs the information from this man him-
self, invited him to take part in a prayer meeting. This was declined on
the ground that, while a regular church attendant, he was not an active
church worker. He was then informed that this particular institution
raised up christian young men (by implication others did not), and
that he, the president, regarded active work in the Young Men’s Chris-
tian Association on the part of a professor as of more importance than
his teaching.
From a certain standpoint this view of the situation may be logical
enough; at any rate, the Young Men’s Christian Association, in its
moral uplift of college life, has a noble function to perform and per-
604 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
forms it well; but still there is good authority for rendering unto Cesar
the things that are Cesar’s, and if the chief purpose of a secular college
is to train the intellect, then surely the main duty of its professors
is to know their own specialities, to work in them and to teach them.
So delicately sensitive a thing as the creative instinct, the uncom-
promising devotion to truth, even though it conflict with fond notions,
seldom thrives in a sectarian college, whether honestly sectarian, sec-
tarian everywhere except in the catalogue, or only sectarian for adver-
tising purposes. ‘The open-minded investigator would be wholly out
of place, even miserable, in such an environment, and often, as in this
particular case, is informed that his services are not wanted. Such
institutions are of but little credit to any church and less to real scholar-
ship. Science and religion are not on the same plane; they deal with
totally different things by entirely different methods, and therefore can
no more conflict or agree than mathematics can conflict with morals.
Consequently any attempt to unite the two is wholly illogical and can
lead to nothing but utter confusion. A man of course may be both
religious and scientific, but science is no part of his religion, however
much the life he lives may be better and more useful because of his
science.
One more illustration; probably the best of all for showing the
deplorable state of affairs at perhaps many an institution in all sections
of the country, for there are echoes of it from every quarter. Not long
ago the president of a leading southern university was charged with the
troublesome duty of finding several new men for his faculty, and in the
course of his inquiries let it be understood that a man with research
aspirations and first-class attamments was not desired, and made the
astonishing statement, in support of his position, that a research man
‘is seldom ever a teacher. What he really wanted, he said, was men that
would mix with the boys and with the people of the state—a clever
shoe drummer might have met these conditions.
As mixing with the people suggested a kind of missionary work for
the purpose of winning popular favor, he was asked if he was not
limited by public sentiment to draw his faculty from his own state.
No, he said, fortunately not, as his state furnished no men of sufficient
scholarship.
Now right here are brought together the cause we are looking for
and its effect. This university does not wish men of first-class attain-
ments given to original work. Its environment must therefore be
stifling to every creative effort; and this is the cause that produces such
a disastrous effect upon the state that it can furnish no men sufficiently
trained (and note that high attainments are not required) to fill the
chairs in its own institutions. In the name of reason how can it be
expected to? And so long as this condition continues what possible
hope is there that it will ever be able to do any better?
PRODUCTIVE SCHOLARSHIP 605
The writer does not advocate exclusive use of home talent. On the
contrary, he urges very general exchange, but when a state has nothing
suitable for its own use exchange is impossible—it can only import.
If scholarship is worth while, if knowledge is of any value, and
research productive of good, then this condition of affairs is utterly
intolerable. The change to a better simply must and will be made,
for no community high-minded, sensitive and capable as the south is
will do anything other than welcome an honest description of things
as they are, and then wherever not creditable set about to correct them.
In this case the task is a difficult one, but the need of it more than
manifest, and the task weighs first and heaviest upon the presidents of
the universities. Power implies duty, and theirs in the main is the
power to shape the destiny of their institutions, and through them of
the communities, the states and the nation of which they are a vital part.
Wherever the president of an institution gives no hearty encourage-
ment to first-class attainments, wherever creative ability is held to dis-
qualify a man for a position in a university rather than to be the first
essential, at that place is stagnation and death in all that stimulates
the scholar to his noblest efforts, and at best only a lot of weary task-
masters driving to their unwilling grinds so many human phonographs
that give back just what they have taken down of the words of another.
It may not be the university president of the south that is to blame
for the origin of the sterile condition of scholarship in his section, but
it is to him we must look for the needed change. He may find the
labor difficult, but it is possible and that is sufficient. He can not claim
that his students are without the ability to follow the leadership of a
master, for in the north and in Europe, wherever they have the chance,
they do follow masters, and follow them to a purpose. Nor can paucity
of material equipment any longer be claimed, since many of the southern
institutions are equipped far beyond the extent indicated by the results
turned out, and have been for a long while. Indeed for many kinds of
creative work the necessary equipment is not great, and besides there
are a number of sources from which the capable and the active often
can secure substantial aid. Then, too, cooperation with one or another
of the various scientific bureaus of the national government is eminently
practical and because of the many mutual benefits earnestly to be
desired. The physicist, for instance, if so inclined, can with but small
expense take up the studies of atmospheric electricity, sky polarization,
insolation, or any one or more of the many other interesting meteorolog-
ical phenomena that are always with him, but which are not yet fully
understood. In no other way could he add more to the advancement
of his own subject, while at the same time he would be enriching the
science of meteorology and thereby improving the art of forecasting.
This is only one of many possible suggestions for even the physicist,
and similar ones could be made in connection with other branches of
606 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
science. No man need believe there is nothing for him to do, nor no
one to appreciate and help him—provided only that he will make it
evident by his works that he deserves encouragement and would profit-
ably use any material assistance.
For some lines of investigation, as every one knows, an expensive
equipment is needed, but, as just explained, there are other things one
may do, and besides that state is poor indeed that can not afford sup-
port to its university. Note what Germany did for her universities at
the close of the Napoleonic wars, and what in turn the universities have
done for her. Consider too the attitude of Japan when fighting the
greatest battles of all history. Even the emperor’s palace was without
heat the whole winter long, but the Imperial University and every
school of the empire was fully supported. It was when Port Arthur
was still resisting stubbornly and all the issues of the war were unsettled
that the eminent Kitazato, in company with many American scientists,
first saw exhibited a certain new and important piece of research appa-
ratus. The Americans expressed an admiration of and a desire for the
apparatus, but each said that his department could not afford it. Kita-
zato, however, saw its value and recognized that an institution active
in his specialty could not afford to do without it, and therefore ordered
it at once and insisted upon the earliest possible delivery.
This is the spirit that within thirty years has made the University
of Tokio one of the world’s greatest centers of learning and of pro-
ductive scholarship, and this is the spirit the absence of which has
permitted that drowsy, contented introspection that is bringing Nirvana
to many an American institution; and especially to those of the south.
O wad some power the giftie gie us
To see oursel’s as others see us!
The critic is frequently assured that his is an easy task, and told
that if he wishes things different he must at least state clearly what he
does want, and show how to get it. Now it is not desired that this
article shall be taken as a criticism chiefly, but rather as an appeal for
a larger quantity of high-class creative work, especially at our univer-
sities of every section. Nevertheless, a few suggestions, which the
author knows to be practicable will be made.
But before suggesting what, in the author’s opinion, are some of the
things best to do to render our scholarship more profound and more
productive it may be worth while, though it is humiliating to admit it,
emphatically to call attention to a few things not to do. Don’t merit
contempt by cheaply exploiting the scholar’s noblest work. Don’t set
unprepared young men to doing worthless pieces of drudgery—counting
the hairs on the end of a white kitten’s tail it may be—and then, after
cheating them of their time, try to humbug them into believing that
they have been profitably engaged upon important investigations. Don’t
PRODUCTIVE SCHOLARSHIP 607
let research flourish for advertising purposes in the catalogue when
there is nothing of it in the laboratory. Dishonesty and humbugery in
scholarship and in education probably are the meanest, because the most
injurious, of all forms of rascality; and yet, though there should be
none of it, who can be found willing to say that it is even uncommon ?
America, as already stated, is not doing her share of creative work,
and this inexcusable negligence is far more pronounced in the southern
states than it is anywhere else, though no section is free from blame—
no institution can claim to be ideal. This is not due to racial peculiari-
ties, to want of material equipment, nor to an inordinate struggle for
wealth, but chiefly to the atmosphere of the university, to the environ-
ment in which the university professor is placed and upon which he
must depend for his daily intellectual stimulus.
For schools, academies and colleges that confine themselves strictly
to elementary work, creative scholarship on the part of the teachers is
not so imperative, but, as the reputation of every institution is that of
the work it does and no more, therefore, in the case of those that wish
to justify their claims to the title of university, let every important
chair, irrespective of the present or prospective quantity of graduate
work, be filled only by a man who has contributed something to the
advancement of his subject, and who is likely to continue doing so.
Such a man, because of his love for his specialty, and because of his
thoroughness, usually is an enthusiastic teacher and often an inspiring
one—the highest qualification. He who is not a research man seldom
induces the love of knowledge in others—blood doesn’t come from
turnips.
In the name of civilization and of human progress let no position
that presupposes scholarship and offers the sacred privilege of doing
work be filled save by him who recognizes that in this case opportunity
means duty. The ideal man is one who has a sympathetic appreciation
for all sciences and a minute knowledge of his own specialty—one who
knows something about everything and everything about something, for
nothing short of this can give that accuracy and that resourcefulness
essential to the solution of difficult problems, nor that alertness and
breadth of view so necessary to the detection and to the understanding of
new phenomena. ‘To be sure, the ideal man seldom is found, but it is
better to hunt long for the ideally good, than, as sometimes seems to be
the case, quickly to secure the ideally bad.
This, then, the careful selection of his faculty, selection and pro-
motion according to their productive ability (for by their fruits ye shall
know them), is the president’s first and greatest obligation. Nor is this
impracticable, for it is the avowed and fruitful policy of the president
of one of our leading universities, a policy fully approved by his board,
and supported by the legislature to which he is responsible.
Another important thing the president can do—and one of our best
608 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
college presidents did it for years—is to keep himself constantly in-
formed, in a general way, of every investigation that is going on in his
institution, and to encourage those who are doing this work, publicly
and privately. This sort of encouragement costs but little, but, coming
from him whose position and whose judgment command his highest
respect, is of incalculable help to the weary, sensitive investigator. He
needs to be cheered on by the knowledge that what he is doing is meet-
ing, not indifference, but active encouragement by those to whom he
is most responsible for what he does. The writer has known capable
men to be timidly engaged on investigations about which it was almost
impossible to get them to say anything at all. They acted as though
nature was a huge bungle for which they were responsible and of which
they therefore were heartily ashamed, or as if they were on the point
of making some wonderful discovery which if suddenly revealed in its
perfected form would startle the civilized world.
This frame of mind, harmful alike to the man himself and to his
associates, is most unwholesome, and one from which the president,
more than any one else, can help to free him, since it often originates
in the real or supposed isolation of the victim in his work; a condition,
as every scholar knows, inimical to creative activity, whether it be the
isolation of positive loneliness, or that worse form, the isolation of un-
congenial surroundings. And in this connection it should be remem-
bered that because of the intensity and exhausting nature of his work,
the research man needs pleasant surroundings and frequent diversions;
conditions over which the president unfortunately has but little control,
and which therefore should be given all the more careful consideration,
if possible, in the original selection of the institution’s location. The
faculty of an isolated institution is itself in great measure isolated, and
commonly the creative work one does in a desert, under the oppression
of ennui, bears but little relation to what he can do when agreeably
situated and surrounded by things intellectually stimulating. The in-
vestigator, imaginative like the poet, nervous and often overwrought,
is sensitive, and, while easily elated, just as easily depressed ; and there-
fore when no one takes an obvious interest in what he is doing, and
there are no ready means of diversion, he tends to become morose, and
keeps his thoughts to himself, where they are likely to find anything but
cheerful company.
However, under all conditions let the investigator be encouraged to
talk, let him join with his colleagues in the formation of a local science
club for the free exchange of ideas, and there let him talk often and
talk freely. It will aid greatly to clear up his own ideas—this explain-
ing of things to others—and will help to keep him enthusiastic. In this
way his light will not be hid under a bushel, but shine, as it were, from a
hilltop where it will be of the greatest help to his neighbors. Because
of this sort of encouragement and this sort of united effort and material
PRODUCTIVE SCHOLARSHIP 609
support the creative work of every department and of every scholar in
the entire institution will be greater in volume and better in quality.
The proper distribution of routine duties and responsibilities at any
institution is an important question, and there is a numerical ratio, not
a large one, either, between professors and students beyond which noth-
ing can be properly done; but as far as possible let the research man
be relieved of routine drudgery and worry of every type. Of course, how-
ever, if at the head of his department, he must have something to do
with executive work, but this should be only of the most general nature
and at infrequent intervals. The routine and the details of it should
be left to others. Some one else can do this class of things as well and
commonly better, for the mind that is in tune with the one is out of
harmony with the other.
Finally let the professors be encouraged to attend the principal
meetings of those societies to which they belong, or should belong, and
not only to attend but whenever practicable to take with them suitable
communications. ‘They are certain to hear at these meetings many
papers of interest, and their own communications will receive all that
attention and respect they deserve. But far better than the informa-
tion they will get from the papers heard, or from the discussion of their
own, will be the enthusiasm inspired by the association thus secured,
even though temporary, with the productive scholars of the entire
country; an enthusiasm that welcomes difficulties and leads, through
persistent attack, to their ultimate solution.
It can not be emphasized too strongly that quality of work depends
upon efficiency of equipment, and that therefore as the professor is the
most essential part of the university’s equipment he at least must be
kept free from rust and from corrosion. He must attend the meetings
of scholars in his own line, where friendly mental friction will give him
that alertness and enthusiasm that will increase the quantity of his
work and improve the quality of every thing he does.
It may not be practicable for many institutions to follow the lead
of a certain excellent college—one that deserves the name university—
and set aside a sum of money to help pay the expenses of its representa-
tives at these meetings; but those who can do it will find this an in-
vestment that will repay an hundredfold, in enthusiasm, in efficiency
and in productiveness.
Frankly, as a nation, and especially in certain sections, we Ameri-
cans have not been, and are not now, doing our share of original work;
not taking our part in the creation of new arts and the promotion of
civilization. But the case for us is far from hopeless; already here and
there are signs of a true awakening, a realization that opportunity means
duty. The past is not creditable, but the present bids us look confi-
dently to the future when soon the sincere and capable alone will
achieve success and recognition.
610 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
MEDIEVAL CREATION MYTHS
By Proressor B. K. EMERSON
AMHERST COLLEGH
(Moats is perhaps more reserve than formerly in assuming the
westward wandering of great hordes out of Asia, but, whether
the peoples have or have not migrated, the myths certainly have, and
all through western Asia and southern Europe the old biblical stories
are strongly blended with dualistic traits that have all the ear marks
of Iran. As the light conquers the darkness and ushers in the day,
so the darkness conquers the light and ushers in the night. Thus
Ormuzd and Ahriman are equal to the confines of eternity and God
and Satanael become equal in the blended stories.
Of the many variations of these creation myths which have taken
root especially among Slavic peoples in the Caucasus, across southern
Russia and the Balkans, I have wilfully chosen those parts which have
a geological flavor, and illustrate or parody, in quaint and naive man-
ner, many earth forms or earth-forming processes.
I owe most of this material to Oscar Dahnhardt,t who has collected
many medieval stories of the creation of curious interest. In north and
west Russia, in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries the “ Roll of the
Divine Books ” tells how, while there was still neither heaven nor earth,
the Sea of Tiberias existed, solitary and alone, and it was shoreless.
The story is continued thus in Ukraine (p. 55):
As God would create the world, he spoke to the oldest of his angels,
Satanael, with whom he wandered over the sea, and bade him dive to the bottom
and bring him up a handful of sand. As he grasped the sand he should say,
*“T seize thee, Earth, in the name of the Lord!” But as Satanael came to the
bottom the wicked thought came to him, and he said, “In the Lord’s and in
my name!” But as he arose again the sand ran out of his hand and he brought
up nothing.
The Lord, who noticed what had happened, bade him dive again and forbade
him to use his own name. He did this, nevertheless, and again brought up
nothing. Only the third time he left out his own name and brought up sand
in his open hand. God took it; went out over the sea and scattered it upon the
waters and it became land.
But Satanael licked his hand and said, “I will keep back just a little
and also make land.’ And God asked him if he had any sand and he
answered, “ No! ”
Now God blessed the earth in all four directions and it began to grow.
But the earth that Satanael had in his mouth began to grow also and became
so great that his lips stretched apart.
1“ Sagen zum Alten Testament.”
MEDIEVAL CREATION MYTHS 611
And God said, “Spit it out, Satanael.” And he began to sputter and spat
it all out, and wherever it fell cliffs and mountains grew up. Therefore is our
earth greatly uneven.
“Wherefore hast thou made such mountains?” asked the Lord, “That
man should weary himself in climbing them? ”
“© Lord it is good that it is so hard,” answered the Devil, ‘‘ For now will
man think of you and also not forget me. When he climbs up breathless he
will say, ‘Help, Lord!’ When he descends the mountains he will think of me
also, and say, ‘The Devil has tempted me up on to this mountain, here one
ean break his neck only too easily.’ ”
Among the Philippone of the flat plains of Ost Preusen the story
has this curious turn:
Then the earth grew in the mouth of the angel, he screamed and called on -
God for help, and spat out the earth at God’s command, and there grew there-
from tobacco and hops.
We may continue the story as it is told among the Moguls (p. 67) :
The earth grew continuously. As it had reached a large compass God and
Satanael descended from the clouds and began to dwell upon the earth. From
this time on, they used the clouds only for long journeys and when they wished
to rise to the heavens.
To increase the number of the living upon the earth, God took two stones
and struck them together. On the first stroke the Archangel Michael came forth
and on the second the Archangel Gavril. Satanael envied God and wanted also
to create servants. So he took two stones and began to strike them together.
With every blow there came forth a devil. As he kept on striking a great
throng of devils appeared. And God was angry that his companion knew no
bounds in creating his kind, and forbade him the further creation of devils.
Satanael stopped only when, after long labor, he found his stones no longer
produced devils.
In Transcaucasia they say:
The archangel followed him and they came on a blue stone (or gold stone)
which they raised up. But Satanael was under it and he sprang up, grabbed
God by the throat, and nearly throttled him. God called on the archangels
for help, but they could not free him. ‘There was nothing left but to beg
Satanael. “Ask what you will of me, only let me free.’ And Satanael said,
“J ask nothing except that we be brothers. And God promised this, whereupon
Satanael let him go and went his way.
In a Greisinian variant (p. 32):
Michael and Gabriel wander through the earth, and the crust of the earth
was so thin that they sank to the knees, although they wore snowshoes. Always
a round stone rolled on before these angels, and God said, “ We are tired of
this stone.” And in spite of the angels’ warning, God shattered the stone with
his foot, and lo, Satanael was in the stone.
In the Swanetic narrative:
God and his angels wandered through the world on their wonderful horses,
and came on a great white stone. But the angels led God another way. Again
they came on the stone and again the angels led God another way. “Some
cheating is the cause,” said God to the angels, “ that we do not come upon this
stone; otherwise we should have reached it already.” ‘The angels answered,
“ All right, we will bring you to the white stone, but we believe it will do you
612 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
harm.” They went to it and God broke the stone with his whip. Then the
devil sprang out of it and grabbed God’s horse. The devil said to God, “I and
you were both in the same stone. I and you are of the same origin. I am the
heart of the stone like you, so give me part of the world.’ While God chose
for himself men and animals, the devil chose the souls. But the angels said
to him: “Rejoice not overmuch. Know that the souls will remain in your
hand only until a Son of God is born, who will free the dead from thy kingdom.”
The devil answered: “ That will be a long time hence.”
God placed himself and his archangels upon the cloud, raised himself high
over the earth and created the heavens. Satanael made, with his devils, a
second heaven that was higher than God’s. God would not live below Satanael
and raised himself higher and made a third heaven. In this way, vying with
each other, they created nine heavens, one above the other, and Satanael began
to build a tenth heaven still higher. Then God lost his patience and commanded
his angels that they throw Satanael and his devils down from heaven.
Satanael and his angels fell down upon the earth. Each took his name from
the place where he fell. He who fell in the wood became a wood devil, he that
fell upon the water became a water devil.
In the Balkans they describe this fall of the angels thus:
As the angels under the earth mourn and complain we feel it as an earth-
quake, when they weep on the earth their tears are so hot that long drought
follows, when floating among the stars they shed tears and we see them fall upon
the earth as shooting stars.
We may continue the story as it is told by the Bulgarians:
As now Satan saw the great broad earth, he hit upon the deceitful plan of
putting God to sleep and then throwing him in the water; taking possession of
the earth himself and claiming honor as creator of the earth. God of course
knew Satan’s plan, but laid him down as if to sleep. Satan then seized God
and carried him to the great water to throw him in. As he came to the shore
the land began to grow rapidly so that he could in no wise reach the water.
He turned back to the opposite shore, but for the same reason could not reach
that. And as he could not reach the water from the third side because of the
growth of the land before him, he let God slide down on the ground, and sank
down beside him. After he had slept awhile he took God up again and carried
him in the fourth direction to the water. As the land began immediately to
grow in this direction also, so in this direction also he failed to reach the water.
He then waked God up, saying, “ Arise, God, let us bless the earth! Lo,
how it is grown while we slept.” God answered him, “ As you have carried me
in four directions, to throw me in the water, and thus with my body described
a cross, I have blessed the earth already, that it grow and flourish.” This made
Satan wroth and he left God. God remained alone, and the earth grew continu-
ously, so that it could no longer be covered by the sun’s light. Then God
created out of his spirit angels and sent the war angel to ask Satanael what
he should do to stop the earth’s growing.
In the meantime the devil had made him a goat, and he came to God riding
on the back of the goat, for which he had made a beard of earth. Since that
time goats have beards to the present day. As the angels saw the devil riding
toward them they laughed at him; he was wroth and rode back. On the instant
God created a bee and said: “Fly quickly to Satan and listen to his speech.
Return and inform me.” The bee then flew to Satan and perched on his shoulder
as he spoke to himself, “Oh, this foolish God (O dieser dummer Gott), he
knows not that he needs only to take a stick and mark the earth with a cross
MEDIEVAL CREATION MYTHS 613
and say: ‘This much earth is enough.’ He just doesn’t know what to do! ”
Then God blessed the bee and commanded that its wax should serve to illumine
weddings and funerals and its honey should heal the sick.
In the Rumanian Sage the bee goes to the wise hedgehog for advice
and the hedgehog says:
“Plainly God does not know that he must create mountains and valleys to
make room for the waters.”
The Setts say (p. 128):
As the earth was created it did not fit under the arch of heaven. Where
shall one put such a great disk? Just then the hedgehog came along and asked
what the trouble was. “‘ Verily the earth is done, but we can not get it under
the arch of heaven and it would not do to break a piece off.” “ That’s nothing,”
said the hedgehog, “You must squeeze the disk together a little and then it
will go.” Good: God quickly pressed the disk together and it was easy to stick
it under the heaven.
Now there appeared here and there, by the pressure, wrinkles which are the
present mountains and valleys. God gave the hedgehog, for his shrewd head,
an excellent coat, all of needles, so that no enemy can get near him.
614 THE POPULAR
SCIENCE
MONTHLY
THE PROGRESS OF SCIENCE
THE MEDICAL SCHOOL AND THE
COLLEGE
THE marble palaces which American
millionaires have built for the Medical
School of Harvard University are justi-
fied by their beauty. They will house
part of the meetings of the American
Association for the Advancement of
Science and the affiliated societies dur-
ing convocation week at the end of the
present month, and it would be worth
while for scientific men from a distance
to attend the meetings if their only
object were to see these beautiful and
stately halls. But these buildings have
not solved the complicated problems of
medical education; they have, to a cer-
tain extent, fossilized the system of
sequestering the medical school from
the university. Reinforced cement at
Cambridge might have accomplished
more for training and research in the
medical sciences than marble on the
Boston fens.
President Eliot appears to be in
large measure responsible for sepa-
rating the medical school from the
university both in space and time.
Shortly before his retirement, he ap-
pointed a dean of the school who to a
certain extent shares his views. Dean
Christian, in his address at the dedi-
cation of the Medical Department of
Stanford University, said that the in-
stitutions which have adopted a com-
bined academic and medical course
“have succeeded in rendering the A.B.
degree of less value and significance
than formerly and have sacrificed one
or two years of college work while
seeking to conceal this fact by the
award of the two degrees, A.B. and
M.D.”
President Lowell, who does not hesi-
tate to express educational theories at
variance with those of his predecessor,
agrees with him in wanting to base the
professional schools on the college, and
apparently would have the professional
schools so ordered that “every college
graduate ought to be equipped to enter
any professional school.” In his in-
augural address he says: “Our law
school lays great stress upon native
ability and scholarly aptitude, and
comparatively little upon the particu-
lar branches of learning a student has
pursued in college. . . . Many pro-
fessors of medicine, on the other hand,
feel strongly that a student should
enter their school with at least a rudi-
mentary knowledge of those sciences,
like chemistry, biology and physiology,
which are interwoven with medical
studies; and they appear to attach
greater weight to this than to his
natural capacity or general attain-
ments.”
It may be doubted whether in the
Harvard Medical School or elsewhere
there are professors who attach greater
weight to rudimentary knowledge of
certain sciences than to natural ca-
pacity and general attainments. But
there are those in the Harvard Medical
School, as appears from an extended
article filling half the Harvard Bul-
letin for November 3, who do not ap-
prove the attitude of the administra-
tion in determining the relation be-
tween the college and the medical
school. It is there argued that stu-
dents in the college should be per-
mitted to study in the college the sci-
ences required by the medical student,
as they now can the sciences prelim-
inary to engineering, and that it
should be possible for the student to
complete both his college work and his
medical course in six years.
President Lowell apparently wants
a four-year college course, followed by
THE PROGRESS OF SCIENCE
a medical course which can not count
on any special knowledge on the part
of the student—it should in this case
be five years—and this must be fol-
lowed by a year or two in the hos-
pital. Students are on the average
over eighteen years old when they enter
Harvard, and the physician would not
begin to practise medicine and to learn
what can only be taught by practise
until he is nearly thirty. To this late
start in life there are serious objec-
tions both educational and economic.
It may be that the local separation
of the medical school from the rest of
the university which obtains at Har-
vard and also elsewhere, as at Colum-
bia and the Johns Hopkins, may ulti-
mately lead to greater independence on
the part of the medical school. In
this country we find that medical
schools were usually started as inde-
pendent institutions which later be-
came parts of universities. This was
a great advance, for the medical
schools were largely proprietary insti-
tutions whose standards were lower
than in the university. But it is per-
haps now true that the spirit of schol-
arship and research is more advanced
in the medical school than in the col-
lege. When a medical school is sufi-
ciently well endowed and its professors
are men devoted to research, it is prob-
able that it would be best for it to
take charge of the education of stu-
dents after they leave the high school,
whether their period of instruction is
to be four years or ten. The re-
sources of the college and the graduate
schools could be fully used, but men
engaged in medical practise, teaching
and investigation should be responsible
for the education required by physi-
cians and by those preparing to under-
take research work in the medical
sciences.
KAKICHI MITSUKURI, 1858-1909
In Tokyo on September 16, after a
long illness, died Kakichi Mitsukuri,
professor of zoology in the Imperial
University, dean of the college of sci-
615
ence, and the foremost zoologist of
Japan.
Any one might safely have predicted
that Mitsukuri would succeed. For he
came from stock which was both intel-
lectual and energetic. For generations
his family had produced prominent
scholars, especially physicians, and I
recall that one of his forefathers had
learned the Dutch language and was
translating works in surgery and an-
atomy in the days of the early Toku-
gawas, when such exotic studies were
punishable with death. And it came
to pass that this family with its tradi-
tion of western learning pushed to the
front in the enlightened upheaval of
the restoration. And that of its
youngest members Mitsukuri and two
of his brothers were among the schol-
ars who sought the training of foreign
universities. They were better by one
than par nobile fratrum, those young
Mitsukuri, and if they could have
looked from their ship into the waters
of the future they would have seen
themselves high in the counsels of a
new and national university, one of
them a dean of a college, another a
peer, a minister of education, and a
president of a university.
Mitsukuri Kakichi, as he is known
in Japan, owed his training largely to
the United States. He received his first
foreign education in Hartford—he was
then but a boy and was in the care
of the Misses Goldthwaite, to whom
his gratitude was ever almost filial. In
1875 he entered the Sheffield Scientific
School, and took his degree of Ph.B. in
1879. The same year he matriculated
at Johns Hopkins and studied with
Brooks and Newell Martin for four
years. In 1881 he became fellow in
biology and he took his degree (Ph.D.)
in 1883. It may be mentioned that
his thesis “On the Gills of Nucula”
has not fallen into the limbo of for-
gotten dissertations. In his Hopkins
days he was an enthusiastic frequenter
of the Chesapeake laboratory, and was
an intimate of his fellow students,
Fessenden Clark, Sedgwick and Wilson.
616
After this he traveled in Europe, vis-
ited universities, English and conti-
nental, and thence returned to Japan.
There he arrived at an opportune
moment: the department of zoology
which had been organized by Morse
and given a second bent by Whitman,
was in a state of upheaval. Japan in
general was then beginning to assert
her intellectual rights: from the im-
ported foreigners it had learned nearly
all it felt the need of, and in this
instance there seemed no reason why
one branch of the educational work
should not be carried on entirely by
Japanese. Mitsukuri entered into the
work with his new training, and with
a knowledge of Japanese diplomacy
and breeding and obligations which no
foreigner, at least in those days, had
mastered. So it came about that the
department of zoology began a new de-
velopment, and in this work Mitsukuri
would be the first to testify how much
he owed to his trusted associate, Pro-
fessor lijima, and his other colleagues.
Mitsukuri devoted much of his life
in Japan to his numerous pupils, sacri-
ficing to no little degree his research
work. He was tireless in his attend-
ance at the university, accessible at all
times, and with an affectionate friend-
liness which no one appreciates more
keenly than a Japanese. “I feel I
have lost a parent,’ writes Dr. M—.
And this is the common sentiment
among his pupils. His attitude was
ideal: he was frank, inspiring, uncom-
promising when a question involved
accuracy or scientific purpose. “ How
different,” he would say, “is the train-
ing of the diplomat and the scientist—
the one studies to dress up the truth,
the other to expose it naked.” in
spite of his long years of foreign train-
ing “ because of it,” he would perhaps
have said), Mitsukuri was intensely
Japanese—patriotic to his finger-tips,
alert to point out the advantages of
his country’s ways, but like Okakura,
so skilful in his dissection of the fail-
ings of his foreign friends that they
never minded the pain. None the less,
THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
I have still the feeling that the Jap-
anese looked upon him as somewhat
too progressive. He admitted foreign-
ers among his most intimate friends,
he had rooms in his house in foreign
style, and his family took its place in
social gatherings in the same informal
way as in America or Europe. And he
could think as a foreigner, and he cer-
tainly could write as one, for his Eng-
lish never betrayed him. And he had
a wide circle of correspondents for
whom he was constantly doing, and
with the greatest courtesy, troublesome
favors.
For zoology in Japan Mitsukuri did
these things: He directed the upbuild-
ing of the zoological and, to a certain
degree (as dean of the science college),
the scientific work of the university;
he organized zoology in Japan, making
his department its focus, not only in
technical matters but popular and
semi-popular as well; he was the moy-
ing spirit in sending zoological ex-
peditions throughout Japan from Saga-
halin to the Liu Chiu islands—eyen to
Tai Wan; he was conspicuous in
founding and developing the Misaki
Biological Station; he was potent in
building up a fisheries bureau, officered
it with his pupils and contributed to
its publications; he gave an important
stimulus to the pearl industry in
Japan and furnished numerous ideas
to the culturists who sought to pro-
duce natural pearls by artificial
means; and last of all he lifted up the
position of zoology throughout the
country by means of his many-sided
teachings and by means of the influ-
ence exerted in his behalf by many
friends in all stations. In this regard
it has often been said he had not a
few personal attributes of our own
Professor Baird.
His researches cover many branches
of zoology. At the time of his death
he was completing a monograph of the
holothurians of Japan. “ We must do
systematic work,” he said in mock
apology, “for you know that nearly
everything we find here is new, and it
KAKICHI MiITSUKURI.
618 THE POPULAR
SCIENCE MONTHLY
TEE Sprucr Tree House.
will be decades before we outgrow the
zoological age of Linné.” But his
great work was undoubtedly reptilian
embryology—indeed his papers on the
gastrulation and embryonic membranes
of turtles have long become classic.
Here, for example, he first. gave the
correct interpretation of the primitive
streak, discovering the rudiment of
the yolk plug and enabled comparisons,
on the one hand, with the amphibian,
on the other, with avian and mam-
malian types. Here, also, he gave the
first satisfactory explanation of the
relation of the arechenteric to the sub-
cavity, and the peculiar
growth of the sero-amniotic canal,
which, by the way, one of his pupils
afterwards demonstrated in the chick.
It is in a manner the test of the big-
ness of Mitsukuri that with the keen
interest in his purely morphological
work he did not fear loss of dignity by
contributing to economic subjects. A
delightful little paper is his report on
Japanese oyster culture, quite after
the fashion of his old teacher, Pro-
fessor Brooks.
germinal
‘the over-hanging cliff.
/ poses and are known as kivas.
THE SPRUCE TREE HOUSE OF
THE MESA VERDE NATIONAL
PARK
Dr. J. W. Fewxes has performed a
useful service in exploring and re-
storing one of the great aboriginal
monuments of the country, and the
Bureau of Ethnology has now printed
a description of the ruin. The Spruce
Tree House and the Cliff Palace, the
largest of the ruins of the Mesa Verde
Park, were discovered by native cattle
herders, and were first adequately de-
seribed by Baron Gustav Nordenskiold
in 1893. The imposing ruin shown in
the illustrations extends 216 feet under
It contains
about 120 rooms and probably housed
some 350 people.
The buildings are divided by. an
,alley into two sections, the northern
being the larger and the older. There
are in all eight subterranean rooms,
which were used for ceremonial pur-
Above
these are plazas used for dancing and
other ceremonies, and about the plazas
are the living and other rooms, some-
THE PROGRESS OF SCIENCE
NORTH END OF TITE
RUIN, SHOWING MASONRY PILLAR.
620
times in three tiers. These rooms are
small and usually dark, the only en-
trance being often a small doorway
which served also for window and
chimney.
The kivas, one of which is shown in
the illustration, are curious structures,
probably survivals of pit-houses of an
antecedent people. Two walls enclose
the circular room, on the inner of
which rest six pedestals which support
the roof beams consisting of cedar logs
cut with stone axes. The fire-place is
in the floor and there is a second de-
pression which is a symbolic opening
into the under-world. In addition to
the kivas there are two other circular
rooms and several rectangular rooms,
which were probably used for cere-
monial purposes. There is also a mor-
tuary room, in which severa. skeletons
have been found.
The culture was apparently self-cen-
tered; the people were farmers, timid,
industrious and superstitious; they
seem never to have ventured far from
home and seldom met strangers; the
language they spoke is unknown.
SCIENTIFIC ITEMS
We regret to record the death of
Dr, William Torry Harris, for many
years U. 8. Commissioner of Education
and eminent for his contributions to
education and philosophy.
THE Copley medal of the Royal So-
ciety has been awarded to Dr. G. W.
Hill, the eminent American astron-
omer.—Dr. Theodore W. Richards,
professor of chemistry at Harvard
University, has been elected a corre-
sponding member of the Berlin Acad-
emy of Sciences.——Professor J. H. Van
Amringe, head of the department of
mathematics in Columbia University,
and dean of the college, will retire
from active service at the end of the
present academic year, when he will
have completed fifty years of service
for the institution and reached his
seventy-fifth birthday.
THH POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
| Mr. Joun D. Rockere ter has given
the sum of -$1,000,000 to combat the
hookworm disease and has selected a
commission to administer the fund
which includes Dr. William H. Welch,
professor of pathology in Johns Hop-
kins University; Dr. Simon Flexner,
director of Rockefeller Institute for
Medical Research, and Dr. Ch. Wardell
Stiles, chief of the division of zoology,
United States Public Health and Ma-
rine Hospital Service, discoverer of the
prevalence of the disease in America.
By the will of John Stewart Ken-
nedy, the banker of New York City,
who died on October 31, in his eightieth
year, bequests are made for public pur-
poses amounting to some $30,000,000.
The bequests depend on the size of the
estate and the amounts are conserva-
tive estimates. They include seven
bequests of $2,225,000 each, respect-
ively, for Columbia University, the
New York Public Library, the Metro-
| politan Museum of Art, the Presby-
terian Hospital in New York City, and
| to three of the boards of the Presby-
terian Church; of $1,500,000 to Robert
College, Constantinople, and to the
United Charities of New York; $750,-
000 to New York University and the
Charity Organization Society of New
York for its School of Philanthropy;
$100,000 to the University of Glasgow,
Yale University, Amherst College, Wil-
liams College, Dartmouth College,
| Bowdoin College, Hamilton College,
the Protestant College at Beirut, the
Tuskegee Institute and Hampden In-
stitute; $50,000 to Lafayette College,
Oberlin College, Wellesley College,
Barnard College (Columbia Univer-
sity), Teachers College (Columbia
University), Elmira College, Northfield
Seminary, Berea College, Mt. Hermon
Boys’ School and Anatolia College,
Turkey; $25 000 to Lake Forest Uni-
versity and Center College; $20,000 to
Cooper Union. There are also a num-
_ber of other bequests to hospitals and
charities.
INDEX
621
INDEX
NAMES OF CONTRIBUTORS ARE
Adventure and Science, 414
ALLEMAN, ALBERT, Immigration and
the Future American Race, 586
Animal, Living, How Much of it is
Alive? A. F. A. Kine, 289
Arraignment of the Theories of Mim-
icry and Warning Colors, AssotrT H.
THAYER, 550
Astronomical Superstitions, Joun Can-
DEE DEAN, 469
Astronomy, The Future of, Epwarp C.
PICKERING, 105
Atlantic Forest Region of North Amer-
ica, SPENCER TROTTER, 370
Axis, Earth’s, Shifting of the, Snry
D. Towntey, 417
BENTLEY,
ance, 458
Biologist’s Standpoint, Life from the,
WitiiAM E. Ritrer, 174
British Association for the Advance-
ment of Science, the Winnipeg Meet-
ing of, 207, 411
Brittany, the “Druid Stones” of, J.
S. Kinestey, 124
BurRBANK, LutTHer, Another Mode of
Species Forming, 264
Manpison, Mental Inherit-
Cambridge, Darwin Commemoration
at, 206
Camping and Collecting Afoot, A. S.
Hitcncock, 274
Canals, Abandoned, of the State of
New York, Ety VAN DE WARKER,
297
Capacity of the United States for Pop-
ulation, ALBERT Perry BricHAm, 209
CaRNEY, FRANK, Geographical Influ-
ences in the Development of Ohio,
479
Census, The Last, and its Bearing on
Crime, AucusT DRAHMS, 398
Collecting and Camping Afoot, A. S.
HitcnHcock, 274
College, and the Student, 99; and the
Medical School, 614
Colors, Warning, and Mimicry, Ar-
raignment of the Theories of, As-
Bott H. THAYER, 550
Cotton, Harotp SELLERS, Peale’s Mu-
seum, 221]
Commemoration,
bridge, 206
Creation Myths, Medieval, B. K. Emrr-
son, 610
Darwin, at Cam-
PRINTED IN SMALL CAPITALS
Crime, The Last Census and its Bear-
ing on, AUGUST DRAHMS, 398
Darwin Commemoration at Cambridge,
206
Darwinism, in the Theory of Social
Evolution, FRANKLIN H. GIDDINGS,
75; The World of Life as Visualized
and Interpreted by, ALFRED RUSSEL
WALLACE, 452
Darwin’s Influence upon Philosophy,
JoHN DEweEy, 90
Dean, JOHN CANDEE,
Superstitions, 469
Decimal System of Numbers, L. C.
KARPINSKI, 490
Dentistry, A Revolution in, RicHaRD
Cote Newton, 49
Desert Scenes in Zacatecas, J. i. KirK-
woop, 435
Development, Individual, The Theory
of, FRANK R, LILLIn, 239
Dewey, Joun, Darwin’s Influence upon
Philosophy, 90
Diseases, Infectious,
ance to, and its
Smmon FLEXNER. 5
Downey, JUNE H., The Variational
Factor in Handwriting, 147
Draums, AuGuUST, The Last Census and
its Bearing on Crime, 398
Druid Stones of Brittany, J. 8S. Kines-
LEY, 124
Astronomical
Natural Resist-
Reinforcement,
Earth’s Axis, Shifting of the, SIDNEY
D. Town ey, 417
Effectors, Appropriation of by the
Nervous System, G. H. ParKker, 65,
137, 253, 338
Emerson, B. K., Medieval Creation
Myths, 610
Emmanuel Movement from a Medical
View-point, Homer GAGE, 358
Environment and Productive Scholar-
ship, W. J. HUMPHREYS, 587
Eugenics Laboratory of the University
of London, 309
Evolution, Social, Darwinism in the
Theory of, FRANKLIN H. GIDDINGS,
90; Organic, The Argument for, he-
fore “The Origin of Species,’ AR-
THUR O. LovrEsoy, 499, 537
FLEXNER, Simon, Natural Resistance
to Infectious Diseases and its Rein-
foreement, 5
622
Forest, Atlantic, of North America,
SPENCER TROTTER, 370
FRANKLIN, W. 8., Some Practical As-
pects of Gyrostatie Action, 20
French Academy and Henri Poincaré,
FRrEpDERIC Masson, 267
GacrE, Homer, The Emmanuel Move-
ment from a Medical View-point, 358
Galton, Sir Francis, Reminiscences of,
308
GARRISON, Fretpine H., Josiah Willard
Gibbs and his Relation to Modern
Science, 41, 191
Geographic Influences in the Develop-
ment of Ohio, FRANK CARNEY. 479
German, vs. Latin, RatpH H. McKees,
393
Gibbs, Josiah Willard, and his Rela-
tion to Modern Science, Frnipine H.
GARRISON, 41, 191
GIppDINGS, FRANKLIN H., Darwinism in |
the Theory of Social Evolution, 75
Gyrostatic Action, Some Practical As-
pects of, W. S. FRANKLIN, 20
Halley’s Comet, A Photograph of, 518
Handwriting, The Variational Factor
in, JUNE HE. Downey, 147
Hircucocx, A. S&., Collecting
Camping Afoot, 274
Hudson-Fulton Celebration of 1909,
GEORGE FREDERICK Kunz, 313
Humpureys, W. J., Environment and
Productive Scholarship, 587
and
Immigration and the Future American
Race, ALBERT ALLEMAN, 586
Individual Development, The Theory
of, FRANK R. LILLIn, 239
Infectious Diseases, Natural Resistance
to, and its Reinforcement, Simon
FLEXNER, 5
Inheritance, of Vision, 309; Mental,
Mapison BENTLEY, 458
Intellectual Progress, Zoology in the
Service of, Wir~1Am A. Locy, 346
International Language, The Necessity
for an, Ivy KELLERMAN, 281
JORDAN, Davip Srarr, Jane Lathrop
Stanford, 157
KARPINSKI, L. C., The Decimal System
of Numbers, 490
KELLERMAN, Ivy, The Necessity for an
International Language, 281
Kelvin, Lord, 515
Kine, A. F. A., What is a Living Ani-
mal? How Much of it is Alive? 289
Kinestery, J. S., The “ Druid Stones ”
of Brittany, 124
Kirkwoop, J. E., Desert Scenes
Zacatecas, 435
Kunz, GEORGE FREDERICK, The Hudson-
Fulton Celebration of 1909, 313
in
THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY
Language, An International, The Neces-
sity for, Ivy KELLERMAN, 281
Latin vs. German, RatpH H. McKaue,
393
Lewis, Freperic T., Preparation for
the Study of Medicine, 65
Life, from the Biologist’s Standpoint,
Witiiam E. Rirrer, 174; The World
of, as Visualized and Interpreted by
Darwinism, ALrrep RussEL WAL-
LACE, 452
LInuie, FRANK R., The Theory of In-
dividual Development, 239
Living Animal, What is a, How Much
of it is Alive? A. F. A. Kine, 289
Locy, Witi1am A., Zoology in the
Service of Intellectual Progress, 346
London, University of, Eugenics Labo-
ratory, 309
| Lovesoy, ArtHuR O., The Argument
for Organie Hvolution, before ‘“‘ The
Origin of Species,” 499, 537
LoweLL, PercivaL, The Planet Venus,
521
MckKer, RateH H., Latin vs, German,
393
Masson, Frepréric, Henri Poincaré and
the French Academy, 267
Mathematics, The Future of, G. A.
MILER, 117
Medical, View-point, The Emmanuel
Movement from a, Homer GAGE,
358; School and the College, 614
Medicine, Preparation tor the Study of,
Freperic T. Lewis, 65
Medieval Creation Myths, B. K. Emrr-
son, 610
Mental Inheritance, Mapison BENTLEY,
458
Mesa Verde National Park and the
Spruce Tree House, 618
Miuter, G. A., The Future of Mathe-
matics, 117
Mimicry and Warning Colors, Arraign-
ment of the Theories of, ApBorr H.
THAYER, 550
Mitsukuri, Kakichi, 615
| Nervous System, The Origin of, and its
Appropriation of Effectors, G. H.
PARKER, 65, 137, 253, 338
| Newcomb, Simon, The Death of, 204
Newton, RicHarp Cote, A Revolution
in Dentistry, 49
Nichols, Ernest Fox, 311
Nineteenth Century, Tennyson and the
Science of the, 306
NriPHER, FRANCIS E., Simple Lessons in
Common Things, 404
Numbers, Decimal System of, L. C.
KARPINSEI, 490
Ohio, the Development of, Geographic
Influences in, FRANK CARNEY, 479
INDEX
Organic Evolution, the Argument for,
before “The Origin of Species,”
ARTHUR O. Loyrgoy, 499, 537
Parker, G. H., The Origin of the Nery-
ous System and its Appropriation
of Effectors, 65, 137, 253, 338
Peale’s Museum, HAro~p SELLERS CoL-
TON, 221
Philosophy, Darwin’s Influence upon,
JouHN Dewey, 90
PickERING, Epwarp C., The Future of
Astronomy, 105
Pittsburgh, University of, New Build-
ings, 101
Planet Venus, PercivaAL LOWELL, 521
Poincaré, Henri, and the French Acad-
emy, FrRi&DERIC Masson, 267
Population, Capacity of the United
States for, ALBERT PERRY BRIGHAM,
209; Possible, of the United States,
414
Preparation for the Study of Medicine,
Freperic T. Lewis, 65
Productive Scholarship and Environ-
ment, W. J. HUMPHREYS, 587
Progress of Science, 99, 204, 306, 411,
515, 614
Race, Future American, Immigration
and, ALBERT ALLEMAN, 586
Resistance, Natural, to Infectious Dis-
eases, and its Reinforcement, Simon
FLEXNER, 5
Revolution in Dentistry, RicHarp CoLE
Newton, 49
Ritter, Witt1AmM E., Life from the
Biologist’s Standpoint, 174
Scholarship, Productive, Environment
and, W. J. HUMPHREYS, 587
Science and Adventure, 414
Scientific Items, 104, 208, 312,
519, 620
Shifting of the Earth’s Axis, SIDNEY
D. Towntey, 417
Simple Lessons in
416,
Common Things, |
623
Francis E. Nipuer, 404
Sladen, Perey, Memorial Funu, 102
Social Evolution, Darwinism in the
Theory of, FrRankiiIn H. Gipprnes,
75
Species Forming, Another Mode of,
LuTHUR BURBANK, 264
Spruce Tree House of the Mesa Verde
National Park, 618
Stanford, Jane Lathrop, Davin Srare
JORDAN, 157
Stones, Druid, of Brittany, J. S.
KINGSLEY, 124
Student and the College, 99
Superstitions, Astronomical, JoHN
CANDEE DEAN, 469
Tennyson and the Science of the Nine-
teenth Century, 306
THAyerR, Apsorr H., Arraignment of
the Theories of Mimicry and Warn-
ing Colors, 550
TownNLeEy, SipnNey D., Shifting of the
Earth’s Axis, 417
TROTTER, SPENCER, The Atlantic Forest
Region of North America, 370
Variational Factor in Handwriting,
Junge E. Downey, 147
Venus, The Planet, PercivaAL Lowe 1,
521
Vision, Inheritance of, 309
WALLACE, ALFRED RUSSEL, The World
of Life as Visualized and Interpreted
by Darwinism, 452
VAN DE WARKER, Ey, Abandoned Can-
als of the State of New York, 297
Winnipeg Meeting of the British Asso-
ciation for the Advancement of Sci-
ence, 207, 411
Zacatecas, Desert Scenes in, J. E.
KirKwoop, 435
Zoology, the Service of, to Intellectual
Progress, Wint1AM A. Locy, 346
e Popular Science Monthly
Entered in the Post Office in hancasier, Pa., as second-class matter.
CONTENTS OF NOVEMBER NUMBER
The Shifting of the Earth’s Axis, Dr. Sipney D.
TOWNLEY.
CONTENTS OF OCTOBER NUMBER
| The Hudson-Fulton Celebration of 1909. Dr. GEORGE
__-FrEpErick Kunz.
The Origin of the Nervous System and its Appropriation
- of Effectors. Professor G. H, PARKER.
3 The Service of Zoology to Intellectual Progress. Profes-
: sor WILLIAM A. Locy.
- The Emmanuel Movement from a Medical View-point.
_ Dr. Homer Gace,
The Atlantic Forest Region of North America, SPENCER
_ TROTTER,
| Latin vs. German. Professor RALPH H, McKxr.
. The Last Census and its Bearing on Crime. The Rev.
Aveust DRAHMS.
Simple Lessons from Common Things. Professor FRAN-
cis E, NIPHER, . ; Z
The Progress of Science :
The Winnipeg Meeting of the British Association for
the Advancement of Science ; Science and Adventure;
The Population of the United States ; Scientific Items,
Desert Scenes in Zacatecas, Professor J. E, KIRKWoop.
tom
The World of Life as Visualized and Interpreted by
Darwinism. Dr. ALFRED RUSSEL WALLACE,
“Mental Inheritance.
Astronomical Superstitions, JoHN CANDEE DEAN.
Dr, MADISON BENTLEY,
Geographic Influences in the Development of Ohio.
Professor FRANK CARNEY.
The Decimal System of Numbers. Dr. L. C. KAnpinsxtr,
~The Argument for Organic Evolution before ‘' The Origin
of Species.’? Professor ARTHUR O. LOVEJOY.
The Progress of Science :
Lord Kelvin; A Photograph of Halley’s Comet ;
Scientific Items.
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