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THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

TH

R

POPULAR SCIENCE
MONTHLY

EDITED BY

J. MCKEEN CATTELL

VOLUME LXXXV
JULY TO DECEMBER, 1914

NEW YORK

THE SCIENCE PRESS

1 9 14

Copyright, 1913
The Science Press

13 xo^

Press of

The New era printing compaut

Lancaster, pa.

THE

POPULAR SCIENCE

MONTHLY.

JULY, 1914
MAN AKD THE MICKOBE

By Pbofessob C.-B. A. WINSLOW

THE AMEBICAN MUSEUM OF NATUBAE HISTOBY, NEW YOBK

A CASE of measles or typhoid fever is not only a most unpleasant
kind of practical problem, but a natural history phenomenon of
a mysterious and interesting sort. Here is a person who wakes up ap-
parently well and goes about his daily tasks as usual. Gradually he is
conscious of some strange clog in the machine, a dragging of the wheels,
such as we experience when a carriage passes from a good road into a
sandy by-way. Pains and aches begin to be felt in head and back. The
general weakness increases, and, with or without a sharp chill, the pa-
tient gives up and takes to bed. Fever has set in. The vigorous and
active human animal of the morning has been changed in a few hours to
a mere wreck of his former self. What has happened? What subtle
force has produced so sudden and mysterious a catastrophe?

The later history of such an attack is almost as remarkable as its in-
ception. Most diseases go on and grow worse unless something definite
is done to remove their exciting cause. If, however, your measles or
typhoid patient be let alone, or only protected by hygienic precautions
against certain secondary results, 99 times out of 100 in the case of
measles, and 9 times out of 10 in the case of typhoid fever, he will get
well. These are " self-limited " diseases, to use the old expressive term.
They run a course of so many days or weeks, and then, unless death or
some complication supervenes, there is a steady progressive recovery.
The temperature falls, the mind clears, the strength returns, the patient
is as he was before, with one important exception, that he is now, to a
greater or less extent, and for a longer or shorter time, resistant or
immune against the particular malady from which he has suffered.
Think what a curious phenomenon this really is, divested of the cloak of
familiarity with which it is commonly invested. What sort of strange
process goes on in the body, which has a definite cycle like the life of an
animal, fulfils its appointed round, and then draws to a close, leaving
only the impress of immunity to mark its passage.

6 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

Nor is this all. There is another characteristic of this particular
group of diseases, which is quite as remarkable as those associated with
their inception and their cyclical course. They are catching, contagious,
infectious, communicable. They do not occur singly, but spread from
person to person, as flame leaps from tree to tree in a forest. The degree
to which this quality is manifest varies widely. When measles was first
carried to the unprotected inhabitants of the Faroe Islands, it spread
indeed, like wildfire, to almost every person. When smallpox is brought
into an unvaccinated community the same thing happens to-day. In
other communicable diseases, like tuberculosis and typhoid fever, the
transfer of infection is less inevitable and less direct. In all the maladies
of this type, however, the same principle obtains. The disease neither
originates within the patient nor comes, in the last analysis, from any
influence of earth or water or air. It arises ultimately in every instance
from a previous case of the same disease, from a specific spark of the
same conflagation.

To the primitive mind, deeply tinged with anthropomorphism, the
natural explanation of all disease was sought in the evil influence of a
demon or other supernatural power. The plagues and pestilences in par-
ticular were punishments inflicted upon a people for their sins. There
was no possibility of escaping such visitations except by the dubious ex^
pedient of flight ; no hope except in the relaxation of the celestial anger
of which they were the sign. As Defoe says of the cessation of the
plague in London :

Nothing but the immediate finger of God, nothing but Omnipotent Power
could have done it. The contagion despised all medicine; death raged in every
corner; and had it gone on as it did then, a few weeks more would have cleared
the town of all and everything that had a soul. Men everywhere began to de-
spair; every heart failed them for fear; people were made desperate through the
anguish of their souls, and the terrors of death sat in the very faces and coun-
tenance of the people.

The modern view that disease is not a divine infliction, but a natural
phenomenon, with natural causes, which may be progressively grasped
and controlled by the steady and disciplined activity of the human mind,
we owe first to the wonderful nation whose genius came to its flower on
the sea-girt promontories and islands of the iEgean twenty centuries ago.
Of all our debts to Greece there is none greater than this, that the
Greeks, first of all western nations, sought to find a natural rather than
a supernatural explanation of the phenomena in the world about them.
They often failed to find it, as was inevitable in the absence of the mass
of observations needed for good induction. They fell back on poetic
abstraction, almost as fanciful as the demons of their savage forefathers ;
in the case of the causation of disease, for example, upon the theory of
the four humors developed to a position of commanding influence by
Galen. Yet the great fact remained that whether the explanations of the

MAN AND THE MICROBE 7

Greeks were scientific or not, they aimed to be scientific, and they firmly
implanted along with all their error, a zeal for the scientific truth about
nature and a confident belief in the possibility of its ultimate attainment.

Prom Hippocrates down to our own times, then, we find that the ex-
planation of diseases of all kinds has been sought by scientific men, not
in the activities of spiritual beings, but in the workings of natural law.
Eesults were almost nil, however, so far as the communicable diseases are
concerned, until the nineteenth century when a sudden and rich fruition
took place here, as in all fields of the biological sciences, as a result of a
simple mechanical discovery, the lens-maker's trick of the achromatic
objective, which made possible the modern high power microscope and
revealed all at once a new and stupendous world — "The world of the
infinitely little."

It is true that Leeuwenhoek and other early naturalists had seen the
microbes with their primitive simple lenses. It is true that still earlier,
in the sixteenth century, the Veronese physician, Fracastorius conceived
the communicable diseases as due to " seminaria contagionum," minute
particles capable of reproduction in appropriate media and having many
of the attributes we know to be characteristic of the bacteria to-day. The
Roman author Varro, in writing on the choice of sites for a farm house
cautions the builder against the neighborhood of swampy ground "be-
cause certain minute animals, invisible to the eye, breed there, and borne
by the air, reach the inside of the body by way of the mouth and nose,
and cause diseases which are difficult to get rid of." Nevertheless, so
far as any scientific demonstration of their nature was concerned, the
communicable diseases remained as much a mystery in 1800 as in
400 B.C.

It was the achromatic objective, perfected about 1840, which first re-
vealed the ubiquity of microbic life and its special richness in connection
with the processes of fermentation and decay; and it was of profound
moment in the history of medicine and sanitation when Pasteur proved,
against the opposition and the ridicule of the great Liebig and a host of
lesser critics, that fermentation was the result of the action of microbes,
little living things which entered into the fermentable fluids and
grew and multiplied there, the fermentation being the result of their
powerful chemical secretions. The "little leaven that leaveneth the
whole lump" was shown to be a self-propagating plant, and the many
desirable and obnoxious decompositions to which sugary fluids are sub-
ject, each the result of a special microbe.

The analogy between fermentation and disease must have sprung
into many minds, with the hope that the solution of the latter problem
too might be found by the study of microscopic life. It was again
Pasteur who by his rigid experimental method extracted the truth from
the mass of good and bad guesses of those who had preceded him. In
his study of the disease which threatened to wipe out the great silkworm

8 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

industry of France, he again applied his microscope to the task, demon-
strated the presence of living corpuscles in the bodies of the moths, whose
offspring later succumbed to the disease, and saved the silk cultivators
by a quarantine based on the destruction of eggs from such infected
parents. In his later studies of anthrax and chicken cholera, he demon-
strated that diseases of the higher animals too were due to specific
microbes; and with his work and its extension by Eobert Koch the
mystery which for centuries had shrouded the communicable diseases was
at last solved. Each case of sickness of this kind is a definite infection
with a specific microscopic germ, which grows in the body as a mold
grows in a jar of jelly and in its growth produces chemical poisons,
which cause the weakness, pain, fever, delirium and the other manifesta-
tions of disease. The self-limited nature of such maladies is due, as
Pasteur too showed, to the fact that the body cells react against the in-
vaders in a specific and purposeful manner, which, if they finally tri-
umph, leads to a more or less lasting state of immunity. The spread
of communicable disease in the community is no longer a "pestilence
that walketh in darkness," but the transfer in tangible ways of a small
but definite animal or plant ; and its control can be confidently looked
for from the study of the life histories of these microscopic organisms
and the working out of practical methods which shall prevent them from
gaining access to our bodies.

The communicable diseases are merely striking examples of the more
general biological phenomenon of parasitism described by Swift in the
famous and often misquoted lines :

So naturalists observe, a flea
Has smaller fleas that on him prey;
And these have smaller still to bite 'em
And so proceed ad infinitum.

It should be remembered that the word parasite was first coined for
members of the human species. The parasite in Grecian times was the
one who " sat beside " the great man, the hanger-on in the palace of the
prince, who gained a precarious living at the expense of his complaisant
host. We may hope that the type is less common in modern times and
it is fair to remember that in the microbic world, as in our own, the para-
site is an exception rather than the rule. The great majority of the
bacteria are honest, industrious, useful citizens, who ripen our cream and
butter and cheese, make our vinegar and lactic acid, dispose of our waste
materials and play a most important part in maintaining the fertility of
the soil. The tubercle bacillus and the malaria germ, like the thief and
the murderer are perverted individual representatives of a generally
sound stock.

There is another very important point of resemblance between the
disease germ and the human parasite. Just as the man who has learned
to live at the expense of society soon loses the capacity to do an honest

MAN AND THE MICROBE 9

day's work and would starve if left to his own resources, so the microbic
parasites in adapting themselves to live at the expense of their human
host have lost the capacity to gain a living in the world outside. They
have been so modified in the course of evolution as to thrive in the rich
warm fluids of the body and perish outside of it. If a hundred typhoid
germs are discharged into a lake their fate is much the same as that of a
hundred men under the same conditions. A few of the men may be good
swimmers and a few may be lucky enough to cling to floating planks.
Most die very quickly, however, and in the course of time all will surely
perish. So with most disease germs in water or soil or anywhere outside
the body. Certain pathogenic microbes may actually multiply in suitable
media, in milk for example. As a rule, however, there is a steady de-
crease, rapid at first and slower afterward, but inevitably leading to
extinction in a comparatively short period. We read of disease germs
persisting in dust or ice for several months, and a very few may some-
times do so. Quantitative studies show, however, that the survivors are
few indeed and that the danger from such remote infection is practically
negligible. In the case of water, which has been more carefully studied
than any other medium, we know, for example, that in a period of two or
three weeks even gross infection will be removed by the natural mortality
of the microbes. Dr. Houston, of London, who has done some of the
most important work upon this subject, has repeatedly demonstrated his
confidence in his results by drinking halfpint portions of water, merely
kept in bottles for a few weeks in the laboratory after infection with
millions of typhoid bacilli. Both bacteriological and epidemiological
evidence indicates very clearly that it is only fresh, recent infectious
material which plays an important part in the transmission of com-
municable disease.

This conclusion is one of the most important fruits of recent sanitary
research; for it focuses attention sharply upon the human being, the
original source of virulent disease germs, rather than upon vague and
obscure miasms of the earth and air. It is people, primarily, and not
things that we must guard against. Certain media, like milk and water,
are important agents in the transfer of infection from person to person.
Others, like air and dust and fomites (books, toys and the like which
have been exposed to infection) are known to be far less dangerous than
was supposed. Back of all such material agents of transmission, how-
ever, lies the human being, and the nearer to this source we get, — the
more direct and rapid the transfer, — the greater is the danger.

Unfortunately, however, it is not only the obviously sick person
who may be a center for the distribution of active disease. Another of
the great contributions to sanitary science in the last ten years has been
the recognition of the part played by incipient cases and "carriers,"
apparently well persons, who are nevertheless discharging from nose and
throat or bowels the virulent germs of disease. Measles, for example,

io THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

is spread chiefly in its incipient stage, when the child has no other
symptom than a slight running at the nose and goes to school or to a
party, thinking it has only a cold in the head. The carrier, properly
so-called, may be a convalescent, entirely cured so far as his own
symptoms are concerned, but still distributing virulent germs. Prom
three to five per cent, of all typhoid cases continue to discharge typhoid
bacilli for three months or more after convalescence. A recent milk
borne epidemic in New York was due to infection from a carrier who
had had typhoid in the West forty-six years before. Malarial infection
is very frequently introduced into a community by Italian laborers who
have themselves become immune to the parasites they carry, in their
own country years before. Finally we have the most striking type of
carrier, in which there is no present or past history of active disease at
all. The famous cook, Typhoid Mary, for example, caused epidemics in
eight different families where she worked, but so far as is known had
never suffered herself. Two or three persons in a hundred in any
normal population have been found on bacteriological examination to be
carriers of the diphtheria bacillus, two or three in a thousand, of the
typhoid bacillus. The problem of the carrier is one of the most serious
of those which confront us since he is moving about in the world,
mixing with others, perhaps taking part in the preparation and
handling of food, and so may be proportionately much more dangerous
than the sick person who is confined to his bed and under medical care.
It is a great step forward, however, to have learned that the human
body, of the sick person or the carrier, is the primary source of infec-
tion ; that every case of communicable disease is caused by the transfer
of infectious material from such a person to a susceptible victim; and
that the extent of the danger varies directly with the immediacy of the
transfer. As this conception has been worked out in detail it has
become clear that many of the supposed dangers of the pre-scientific
period were of altogether minor import. To the older sanitarian the
atmosphere was full of vague dangers, but its part in the spread of
disease is now known to be exceedingly limited. In the immediate
vicinity of a sick person or a carrier the air is infected by fine spray
thrown out of the mouth in coughing, sneezing or loud speaking; but
this is really a form of contact, not a general infection of the atmos-
phere. The mouth spray is a sort of rain which falls quickly to the
ground, where it dries and the disease germs perish. It is true that
dust collected from the surface in streets and rooms contains vast
numbers of harmless germs and occasionally some disease-producing
types. I am myself of the opinion that there may be real danger in
breathing in such gross quantities of dust as one sometimes encounters
in a dirty street on a windy day. This again, however, like the mouth
spray, is an occasional and local pollution. Bacteriological studies,
such as those carried on last winter in the New York schools, show that

MAN AND THE MICROBE n

quiet indoor air contains comparatively few microbes of any kind and
is singularly free from germs of human origin. So strong is the
evidence of the insignificance of aerial infection that in some of the
most modern hospitals, cases of various contagious diseases have been
treated with perfect success in open wards, provided, of course, that the
most rigid precaution be taken to prevent the direct transfer of infec-
tious material by the hands and clothing of attendants.

One of the most striking examples of the exorcism of a bogey of the
older sanitation by modern exact methods is the case of sewer gas.
Dreaded as a prime spreader of disease ever since sewerage began, we
now know that sewer and drain air is freer from microbes than the air
of a city street, and that the microbes which are present are of the same
harmless type in the two cases. From a careful series of experiments
in Boston, it was calculated that if one placed the mouth over a house
drain and breathed the drain air continuously for twenty-four hours
the number of intestinal microbes ingested would be less than those
taken in in drinking a quart of New York water, as it was before
routine disinfection of the supply was introduced.

Disease germs do not enter the household through the sewer pipes or
by flying in at the windows (unless borne on the wings of insects).
They are not to any important extent brought in on books or toys or
clothing, where, if any infection existed, it has mostly dried up and died.
They are brought in directly by infected persons (carriers). They are
brought in by insects. They are brought in by certain articles of food
and drink. These three types of transmission, which have been allitera-
tively described as infection by fingers, flies and food, account for ninety
nine cases of communicable diseases out of a hundred, and each of them
deserves a somewhat more detailed consideration.

In order that a given food may be important as an agent in the
transmission of disease there are three different conditions which must
be met, and it is only in a few instances that all three are met at once.
The substance must be exposed to infection, it must be delivered and
used promptly and it must be eaten raw. For the great majority of our
foods cookery furnishes an effective safeguard and, as has been often
pointed out, the sanitary results of this practise must have played an
important part in the evolution of the human race. Most processes of
cookery destroy the disease germs and their toxins and make it possible
to use such foods as the meat from slightly tuberculous animals with
entire safety. It is fortunate that this is the case because the ideally
healthy animal is as rare as the perfect human being, and the increasing
burden of the cost of living makes it essential that we should utilize all
food materials which can be consumed with safety. The common
practise, in certain European countries, of eating meat only partially
cooked often leads there to serious epidemics of meat poisoning, but in
America such outbreaks are usually due to subsequent infection of

12 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

cooked foods which have been improperly handled in the kitchen,
rather than to original infection of the meat before it enters the house-
hold.

Of the food materials which are eaten raw and might therefore be
expected to play an important part in the wholesale transmission of
disease, some, like certain fruits, are rendered safe by the fact that they
are peeled before being eaten so that the edible portion has never been
exposed to infection. Others are protected by the fact that long storage
usually intervenes between exposure to pollution and ultimate consump-
tion. Thus ice, though often cut on polluted streams, is one of the
safest foods, as shown by careful bacteriological and epidemiological
studies. Ninety per cent, of the bacteria in the water are thrown out
in the physical process of freezing ; and in a few weeks ninety-nine per
cent, of any disease germs remaining will have perished.

Water and milk and raw shellfish are the three foods which in the
highest degree fulfill all the requirements of a dangerous disease
medium. If water is taken from streams or ponds or wells into which
sewage enters, and is used for drinking without adequate storage or
purification, the best possible opportunity is offered for a transfer of
infection on a gigantic scale. The great epidemics of typhoid fever
and cholera which used to sweep through European cities and more
recently have continued to ravage American communities, bear eloquent
testimony to this fact. With the cheap and effective methods of puri-
fying water, by storage, filtration or disinfection, now at our disposal,
there is no excuse for the delivery of a public water supply which is not
absolutely safe. In uncivilized communities, which persist in using
polluted supplies, and in the country where a local well is under sus-
picion, the householder may always, however, protect himself by using
a Berkefeld or Pasteur filter, either of which types is efficient if prop-
erly cared for, or by boiling the water to be used for drinking.

Milk is second only to water as an agent in the transmission of dis-
ease. It is frequently infected with tubercle germs and sometimes with
other pathogenic organisms from the cow. It is contaminated by dirt in
the stable, and it is polluted at a dozen different points by the numerous
individuals who handle it on its way through the dairy to the consumer.
Furthermore, of all foods milk is the one which in some cases apparently
permits an actual multiplication of disease germs and an increase in-
stead of a diminution of virulence in transit. Epidemics of typhoid
fever, diphtheria, scarlet fever and tonsilitis without number have been
traced to milk, and to young children even the ordinary germs of decay
in milk, aside from infection with specific diseases, are often fatal, as
evidenced by the terrible toll of summer diarrhoea among infants, which
is almost exclusively confined to those fed on cow's milk. Carefully
protected milk, such as is certified by our medical societies, is of course
much freer from danger than the ordinary product, but the history of

MAN AND THE MICROBE 13

epidemics which have affected the patrons of dairies where every possi-
ble precaution was taken shows that no raw milk can be considered a
safe food. For infants, breast milk is the only proper nutriment, but
for babies who can not possibly receive a mother's care, and for older
children and adults, we have fortunately a simple and efficient protec-
tion in pasteurization. This process, which involves simply the heating
of the milk to a temperature of 145° or thereabouts for a period of
twenty minutes, represents the application of the saving grace of cook-
ery to the food product which of all food products needs it most. Un-
like scalding or boiling pasteurization does not alter the taste of milk,
and one of the most effective ways of guarding the household against
disease is to see that all milk which enters it is properly pasteurized.
There is no more excuse for drinking raw cow's milk than for eating raw
beef.

A third danger, but far less important than those inherent in water
or milk, lies in the consumption of raw shellfish which have been grown,
or more commonly fattened (swelled up and made to seem more plump
by immersion for a time in brackish water), in tidal estuaries exposed
to sewage pollution. Fortunately it appears that during the winter
months oysters, at least, enter into a state of practical hibernation, clos-
ing their shells and taking in little water from outside. Under Buch
conditions sewage bacteria, already present within the shell, soon die
out and the oyster even when taken from polluted waters becomes a
comparatively safe source of food. Most of the famous epidemics of
typhoid fever caused by shellfish have occurred in the months from
September to November, after the eating of raw shellfish begins and
before hibernation has set in. The eating of raw or partially cooked
shellfish (steamed clams, fried oysters, oyster stew) from unknown
sources, particularly in the autumn months, is, however, a dangerous
practise until the oyster industry is more thoroughly supervised than
at present.

Finally, in connection with the transmission of disease by food, the
danger of infection of any and all foods in the process of preparation
should always be kept in view. If for example, sandwiches are pre-
pared by a typhoid carrier, an epidemic is likely to result, as was the
case recently in a town of Illinois. I have referred to Mary Mallon,
our mOst famous American case of the carrier in the kitchen. After
a brief incarceration by the New York City Health department,
this woman was set free and she may now under another name be
cooking for some one of the readers of this article. Not only water
and milk and shellfish, but meats and vegetables and bread and forks
and spoons and tumblers may be infected by a cook or a waitress who
is a carrier, and many obscure cases of disease are traceable to this
cause. The tragedy of such an occurrence was once personally brought
home to me with keenness by the death of one of the most promising

14 TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

young sanitary engineers I have known — a student of mine at the
Massachusetts Institute of Technology, who with many others was infected
in a boarding house by a waitress who was nursing another servant ill
with typhoid, in the intervals of her regular domestic duties. It is
often impossible to prevent such catastrophes, but the danger should be
kept in mind and all possible effort made to ascertain the health ante-
cedents of those whom we take into our households.

The second of the common modes of disease transmission to which
I have referred, spread by the agency of insects, is on the whole easier
to control and in highly civilized communities is much less important
than spread by articles of food. We must bring foods into our homes, and
it is often hard to discriminate between the infected and the non-infected.
Insects however can be entirely excluded from the household in cities,
and may be kept under reasonable control even in the country. The
most spectacular triumphs of modern sanitation have been achieved in
the war against insect-borne disease and even before their sanitary
importance was at all comprehended, rising standards of personal
cleanliness, by the elimination of vermin, incidentally caused a marked
reduction in diseases of this class. Our medieval ancestors with their
rush strewn dining halls and their uncleansed bedding and clothing
paid a heavy toll to the insect carriers of disease. Bubonic plague, the
terrible Black Death of the Middle Ages, we know to be primarily a
disease of the rat, commonly transmitted from rat to man and from
man to man by the flea. Two great pandemics of this disease are
recorded in history, one beginning in the sixth and the other in the
eleventh century. In each case the pandemic started in Asia, spread
to Constantinople and then through Europe, to almost all parts of the
known world. At the height of the second great pandemic, in the
fourteenth century, twenty-five million people — about one fourth of
the population of Europe — were swept away and in the London plague
year, immortalized by Defoe, 100,000 persons perished. A third great
epidemic began in Hongkong in 1894 and again spread in India, kill-
ing 6,000,000 people between 1896 and 1907. Since that time infection
has spread as far as Australia and Brazil. The rats in certain districts
of England and the ground squirrels in California are known to be
still infected with the plague bacillus. Yet no epidemics have occurred
outside of Asia, simply because the rats and fleas which spread the
disease are under control. If we lived in filth, as our forefathers did,
there can be no doubt that we should be in the midst of a great world
scourge of plague like that of the fourteenth century. So with typhus,
or ship, or jail fever, which was one of the serious diseases of Europe
and America a hundred years ago. It has now almost disappeared in
western Europe and the United States, and its decrease was a mystery
until it was shown that the germ is carried by the body louse. Personal
cleanliness has automatically wiped out this disease, while typhoid

MAN AND THE MICROBE 15

fever, named from its supposed resemblance to typhus, and in olden
times a malady of comparatively less importance, remains one of our
grave sanitary problems.

The only household pest which still generally persists in city and
country alike is the house-fly; and the public agitation against this in-
sect has grown to such proportions in recent years that we may now
look for substantial progress toward its elimination. The fly breeds
in horse manure and other deposits of decomposing matter and
it is always a carrier of filth, though only incidentally of disease.
In paved and sewered cities there is little evidence that the
fly is an important factor in disease transmission, but where
human excreta are exposed, as in rural districts or cities with badly
constructed privy vaults, the opportunity for flies to pick up the germs
of typhoid fever and other diseases and carry them to food is so great
that the danger becomes serious, particularly of course in the warm
climates of our Southern States. During the Spanish War 142 out of
every 1,000 of the men in our army camps contracted typhoid fever,
and 15 out of every 1,000 died of it; and it was shown that the incidence
of the disease was due mainly to careless disposal of excreta and conse-
quent facilities for fly transmission. In Jacksonville, Fla., Eichmond,
Va., and other southern cities remarkable results in the reduction of
typhoid and intestinal diseases have been attained by proper disposal
of excreta and anti-fly campaigns. It is by no means a simple matter
to control the multiplication of house-flies, but everything possible
should be done, by trapping and by the cleaning up of possible breeding
places, to reduce their numbers.

The transmission of typhoid fever by insects is, of course, only
occasional and incidental, and even plague may at times assume a form
in which it is spread directly from man to man by the discharges from
the mouth. There is another class of diseases which are carried always
and necessarily by insects, the germ passing through certain stages of
its life history in man and others in the body of a particular insect
host. The most important example in temperate climates is malaria.
"Malaria," the bad air disease, was known to be somehow connected
with night exhalations from swampy land and a large amount of curi-
ously puzzling information about its prevalence was explained, only
when it was shown fifteen years ago that it is transmitted by the bite
of a particular mosquito which breeds in swampy pools and along the
weed-grown margin of streams. It then became clear that marshlands
did indeed cause malaria because their stagnant waters propagated the
mosquitoes which carried the malaria germ from man to man. Malaria
followed the turning up of the soil, not because emanations were set
free in the process, but because digging produces pools of water which
breed the insect hosts of the malarial microbe. The practical control
of mosquitoes and the consequent elimination of malaria has been

1 6 TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

shown to be quite practicable, in temperate climates at least, by the
drainage of marsh lands and the filling or oiling or stocking with fish
of the smaller mosquito breeding pools.

The third mode of infection, by contact, the more or less direct
transfer from person to person, is by far the most important factor in
the spread of communicable disease in temperate climates. Malaria
is our only important insect-borne disease. Typhoid may sometimes be
spread by flies and often by water or milk — diphtheria and scarlet
fever and tuberculosis and tonsilitis, sometimes by milk. On the other
hand, diphtheria and scarlet fever and tuberculosis and, in cities with
good water supplies, even typhoid fever, are all more commonly trans-
mitted by contact than in any other way ; and contact is practically the
sole cause of smallpox, measles, epidemic cerebro-spinal meningitis,
influenza, common colds and the venereal diseases. It is in the nose and
throat, or on the hands of a human being, that disease germs generally
enter our homes, and this sort of infection is obviously most difficult to
detect and control. The child infected with measles yet showing no
symptoms but those of a simple cold in the head, the person with a
" little sore throat " which is the beginning of an attack of diphtheria,
the friend who comes in with uncleansed hands to visit the cook after
nursing a sister just put to bed with typhoid fever, the visitor who is
"practically all over" whooping cough; these are the dangers against
which it is so difficult to guard.

The term contact is a broad one and covers a wide variety of ways
in which infective material may be spread from person to person.
There are all degrees between such direct contact, as occurs when one
person coughs over another person's hand, and the more remote infec-
tion carried by some object which has been recently handled; no abso-
lute line can be drawn between what may be infective and what may
not. If I handle an apple with infected hands and hand it to you and
you eat it, we are dealing with clear and obvious contact. If I put it
on the table and you find it and eat it an hour later, the connection is
almost as direct, although some of the germs will probably be dead.
If twenty-four elapses, most of the infection will be gone ; if two weeks,
practically all of it. Objects which are supposed to remain infective
after a considerable period of time, are called fomites, and fomites'
infection was once held to be an important factor in the spread of
disease. The recent discoveries in regard to the rapid mortality of dis-
ease germs outside the body have made it clear, however, that objects are
only dangerous when they have recently been exposed to fresh infection.
The old stories of toys put away in a closet and causing scarlet fever
after a lapse of several years are quite apocryphal. Such mysterious
cases as were once explained in this fashion are now more reasonably
attributed, and very often definitely traced, to direct contact with an
unrecognized carrier case.

MAN AND THE MICROBE 17

The danger of contact infection from such gross discharges as the
sputum are sufficiently obvious. Material of quite as dangerous a
nature is thrown out from the mouth a3 a fine spray in coughing,
sneezing or loud speaking. Furthermore, it is a sad fact that cleanli-
ness in a bacteriological sense is a very rare thing and the hands are
usually more or less soiled with discharges from the nose and throat
and too often from the intestines as well. Br. C. V. Chapin, in his
classic book, on " The Sources and Modes of Infection," has some strik-
ing paragraphs which, though not pleasant reading, must be pondered
by all who would really understand how communicable disease is spread.

Probably the chief vehicle for the conveyance of nasal and oral secretions
from one to another is the fingers. If one takes the trouble to watch for a short
time his neighbors, or even himself, unless he has been particularly trained in
such matters, he will be surprised to note the number of times that the fingers
go to the mouth and the nose. Not only is the saliva made use of for a great
variety of purposes, and numberless articles are for one reason or another placed
in the mouth, but for no reason whatever, and all unconsciously, the fingers are
with great frequency raised to the lips or the nose. Who can doubt that if
the salivary glands secreted indigo the fingers would continually be stained a
deep blue, and who can doubt that if the nasal and oral secretions contain the
germs of disease these germs will be almost as constantly found upon the fingers?
All successful commerce is reciprocal, and in this universal trade in human
saliva the fingers not only bring foreign secretions to the mouth of their owner,
but there exchanging them for his own, distribute the latter to everything that
the hand touches. This happens not once but scores and hundreds of times dur-
ing the day 's round of the individual. The cook spreads his saliva on the muffins
and rolls, the waitress infects the glasses and spoons, the moistened fingers of
the peddler arrange his fruit, the thumb of the milkman is in his measure, the
reader moistens the pages of his book, the conductor his transfer tickets, the
"lady" the fingers of her glove. Every one is busily engaged in this distribu-
tion of saliva, so that the end of each day finds this secretion freely distributed
on the doors, window sills, furniture and playthings in the home, the straps of
trolley cars, the rails and counter and desks of shops and public buildings, and
indeed upon everything that the hands of man touch. What avails it if the
pathogens do die quickly? A fresh supply is furnished each day.

The control of contact transmission, the breaking of the chain of
communication between the infected and the non-infected person, in-
volves one or both of two measures. On the one hand, the spread of
infective material from sick persons and carriers must be checked, so
far as possible, and, on the other hand, the mouths of well persons must
be guarded against infective material which, despite all our efforts, will
to some extent be distributed in the world about us. The first half of
this task involves the recognition of the sources of danger, and is of
course greatly complicated by the presence of the unrecognized carriers.
Much may be hoped, however, from the development of what may be
called the sanitary conscience, the recognition on the part of each man,
woman and child of the grave responsibility which he may incur by

vol. lxxxv. — 2.

1 8 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

careless mingling with friends and neighbors when at the beginning or
end of an attack of communicable disease. The isolation of even frank
cases of the so-called mild diseases is still too often regarded as an
unreasonable imposition by the uneducated (and the uneducated are by
no means always those of the most limited incomes). We still hear
" Every one must have measles and the children might as well have it
as soon as possible." There has seldom been a more cruel superstitution.
The children's diseases, measles, scarlet fever and whooping cough are no
light matter. Each one of them kills more victims than smallpox, and
in many cities often more than typhoid fever. In New York City in
1912, there were two deaths from smallpox, 500 from typhoid, 671 from
measles, 614 from scarlet fever and 187 from whooping cough. Fur-
thermore, the seriousness of these maladies decreases directly with the
age of a child, so that each year for which an attack may be postponed
is so much gained. With the progress of health education in the public
schools we may look for the day when the social crime of spreading
communicable disease will be realized at its full value, so that it will
be recognized as wanton recklessness, not courage, to continue business
or social intercourse when "coming down," half-sick with some as yet
undefined but impending disease, and no thoughtful person will hasten
to mix with his fellows when possibly still a carrier after an attack.
In all these diseases there are two factors, the invading germ and the
more or less susceptible host, and even a common cold is often due less
to poor vitality than to fresh and virulent infection. Some day, per-
haps, responsibility may be felt for the reckless dissemination of even
this supposedly mild disease, of which Dr. Eosenau well says in his
recent work on " Preventive Medicine and Hygiene " : u Could the sum
total of suffering, inconvenience, sequelae and economic loss resulting
from common colds be obtained, it would at once promote these infec-
tions from the trivial into the rank of the serious diseases."

It is of course, not essential that " isolation " of an infected person
should mean solitary incarceration within four walls. In the Middle
Ages the only protection against disease was quarantine, which in its
derivative meaning was forty days' detention of all persons, well or sick.
coming from an infected port. With the progress of sanitary science
preventive measures have become at the same time more efficient and
less irksome. When ships from cholera countries came to our eastern
seaports two years ago, only a detention of a day or so was necessary,
pending a bacteriological examination of the passengers and detection
of the few carriers among them. Isolation of individuals takes the place
of quarantine against nations, and a practical isolation may often be
effected by simple precautions against the transfer of discharges, with-
out interference with human intercourse. Disease germs do not fly
across a room to seize on their prey. They are carried by direct mate-
rial contact of some sort, by the discharge of mouth spray, by hand

MAN AND THE MICROBE 19

shaking, by the use of common drinking cups and the like. The careful
consumptive, who guards others from his sputum and mouth spray and
infected utensils, is no menace to his family and friends.

The essential point is that the discharges of the patient and all
objects soiled thereby should be freed from living germs before they
infected others. This is no easy task, as you will realize if you seriously
try to carry it out. The common cold offers an excellent opportunity
for a practical study of the problem. The next time some member of
your family has a cold in the head, try to prevent its spreading further,
and you will be surprised to note in how many ways discharges may be
interchanged. If we seriously wish to prevent the further spread of
infection from a case of communicable disease, an elaborate series of
precautions must be taken. The dishes and spoons and forks used by
the patient should be kept separate until they have been boiled. Hand-
kerchiefs, towels and bed linen must be treated in the same way. A
special wash basin should be set aside for the patient and faucets should
be handled by him, not with the hand just to be cleaned, but with the
interposition of a bit of paper. The hands of those who touch the
patient or touch objects he has recently handled should be at once
washed with some simple disinfectant like eighty per cent, alcohol. The
mouths of the patient and of those in attendance on him should be kept
as free as possible from infection by frequent gargling with a mild anti-
septic, such as a mixture of one part of hydrogen peroxide, two of lis-
terine and six of water.

The recognition that objects which have been in immediate contact
with sick persons or carriers are the important, and the only important,
sources of danger, has quite revolutionized our older ideas of disinfec-
tion. As Dr. Chapin, the pioneer in this field has pointed out, the dis-
infection of the general air and the surfaces of a room by formaldehyde
is a burning of incense to the false gods of pre-scientific sanitation. He
describes the doctor who comes into the sick room, sits chatting on the
bed, puts a spoon in the patient's mouth, then handles it by the infected
end, leaves it on the table, deposits some of the material he has smeared
on his hand on the door handle and the rest on the faucet as he turns
it to wash his hands; and attempts to atone for his sanitary sins by
placing a bowl of so-called chlorides (which have about the disinfectant
action of tap water) under the bed, and at the end of the attack by
performing the sacrificial rite of the formaldehyde candle. As a matter
of fact, the prevention of contact infection during the illness with imme-
diate disinfection of excreta, soiled linen and the like, is a thousand
times more important than any terminal disinfection after death or
recovery. At the end of the illness there will be left on woodwork or
furniture only an insignificant number of living virulent germs. If any
do persist, they may be removed by a cleaning-up with hot water, soap

2o TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

and elbow-grease far more effectively than by formaldehyde or any other
disinfectant.

The attempt to prevent the discharges of the sick from being spread
abroad can, of course, only be partially successful at best. Further-
more, besides the frank cases of disease there will always be the unrecog-
nized and in some cases unrecognizable, carriers. We must invoke here
our second line of defence, the protection of the portal of the mouth
against the infective germs, always likely to be present about us. This
means the cultivation of an instinct of discrimination which I call the
aseptic sense, an instinct which automatically keeps out of the mouth
everything not bacteriologically clean. I have a baby of five who a year
ago when told to open a door said, "Why mother just touched that
handle and her cold germs are on it." At the kindergarten the children
hold each other's hands, pass objects from one to another, work with
common modeling clay, and then eat their lunch. My little girl is the
only one who washes her hands first and I believe nothing could make
her omit that ceremony. There is no phobia in this, no dread of
"germs," merely a habitual instinct, no more irksome than the habit
of taking off one's hat when meeting a lady in the street.

Is it worth while to trouble ourselves with these things? Our
fathers lived happily enough without bothering their heads about them.
True enough, but our fathers' brothers and sisters died in great num-
bers because of their ignorance. To-day there are, each twenty-four
hours, 200 death beds in the city of New York. If the death rate of
twenty years ago had been maintained, there would be 130 more. A
forty per cent, decrease in the death rate has already resulted from the
advances of sanitary science. Yet there is still upon us a great burden
of preventable disease and death. The large, easy things, the purifica-
tion of public water supplies, the pasteurization of milk supplies, are
being accomplished. The insididous spread of contact infection can
only be checked by the conduct of life of the individual citizen, by the
diffusion of knowledge in the home and the factory, and by the build-
ing upon that knowledge of daily habits of personal cleanliness, which
shall banish contact infection, as the insect-borne plagues have been
banished by our emergence from the grosser filth conditions of the
Middle Ages. These fruits of the sanitary conscience, these applica-
tions of the aseptic sense, are little things, and therefore hard things;
but they are fraught with the possibility of large results in human
health and human happiness.

FACTS AND FACTORS OF DEVELOPMENT 21

FACTS AND FACTORS OF DEVELOPMENT

By Peofessoe EDWIN GRANT CONKLIN

PEINCETON UNIVEESirr

II. Development of the Mind

THE development of the mind parallels that of the body : whatever
the ultimate relations of the mind and body may be, there can
be no reasonable doubt that the two develop together from the germ.
It is a curious fact that many people who are seriously disturbed by
scientific teachings as to the evolution, or gradual development of the
human race, accept with equanimity the universal observation as to
the development of the human individual, — mind as well as body. The
animal ancestry of the race is surely no more disturbing to philosophical
and religious beliefs than the germinal origin of the individual, and yet
the latter is a fact of universal observation which can not be relegated
to the domain of hypothesis or theory, and which can not be successfully
denied. If we admit the fact of the development of the entire individ-
ual, surely it matters little to our philosophical or religious beliefs to
admit the development or evolution of the race.

The origin of the mind, or rather of the soul, is a topic upon which
there has been much speculation by philosophers and theologians. One
of the earliest hypotheses was that which is known as transmigration or
metempsychosis. This doctrine probably reached its greatest develop-
ment in ancient India, where it formed an important part of Buddhistic
belief; it was also a part of the religion of ancient Egypt; it was
embodied in the philosophies of Pythagoras and Plato. According to
these teachings, the number of souls is a constant one ; souls are neither
made nor destroyed, but at birth a soul which had once tenanted another
body enters into the new body. This doctrine was generally repudiated
by the Fathers of the Christian Church. Jerome and others adopted the
view that God creates a new soul for each body that is generated, and
that every soul is thus a special divine creation. This has become the
prevailing view of the Christian Church and is known as creationism,
On the other hand Tertullian taught that souls of children are generated
from the souls of parents as bodies are from bodies. This doctrine,
which is known as traducianism, has been defended by certain modern
theologians, but has been formally condemned by the Eoman Catholic
Church.

Traducianism undoubtedly comes nearer the scientific teachings as to
the development of the mind than does either of the other doctrines
named, but it is based upon the prevalent but erroneous belief that the

22 TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

bodies of the parents generate the body of the child, and that correspond-
ingly the souls of the parents generate the soul of the child. Now we
know that the child comes from germ cells which are not made by the
bodies of the parents, but which have arisen by the division of antecedent
germ cells. Every cell comes from a preexisting cell by a process of
division, and every germ cell comes from a preexisting germ cell. Con-
sequently it is not possible to hold that the body generates germ cells,
nor that the soul generates souls. The only possible scientific position
is that the mind (or soul) as well as the body develops from the germ.

No fact in human experience is more certain than that the mind
develops by gradual and natural processes from a simple condition which
can scarcely be called mind at all ; no fact in human experience is fraught
with greater practical and philosophical significance than this; and yet
no fact is more generally disregarded. We know that the greatest men
of the race were once babies, embryos, germ cells, and that the greatest
minds in human history were once the minds of babies, embryos and
germ cells, and yet this stupendous fact has had but little influence on
our beliefs as to the nature of man and of mind. We rarely think of
Plato and Aristotle, of Shakespeare and Newton, of Pasteur and Dar-
win, except in their full epiphany, and yet we know that when each of
these was a child he " thought as a child and spake as a child," and when
he was a germ cell he behaved as a germ cell.

The development of the mind from the activities of the germ cells is
certainly most wonderful and mysterious, but probably no more so than
the development of the complicated body of the adult animal from the
structures of the germ. Both belong to the same order of phenomena
and there is no more reason for supposing that the mind is super-
naturally created than that the body is. Indeed, we know that the mind
is formed by a process of development, and the stages of this develop-
ment are fairly well known. There is nowhere in the entire course of
mental development a sudden appearance of psychical process, but
rather a gradual development of these from simpler and simpler begin-
nings. No detailed study has been made of the reactions of human germ
cells and embryos, but there is every reason to believe that these reactions
are simpler in the embryo and germ cell than in the infant, and they are
generally similar to the reactions of the germ cells and embryos of other
animals and to the behavior of many lower organisms.

A few years ago such a statement would have been branded as
"materialism" and promptly rejected without examination by those who
are frightened by names. But the general spread of the scientific spirit
is shown not only by the growing regard for evidence, but also by the
decreasing power of epithets. "Materialism," like many another ghost,
fades away into thin air or at least loses many of its terrors, when closely
scrutinized. But the statement that mind develops from the germ cells
is not an affirmation of materialism, for while it identifies the origin of

FACTS AND FACTORS OF DEVELOPMENT 23

the entire individual, mind and body, with the development of the germ,
it does not assert that "matter" is the cause of "mind" either in the
germ or in the adult. It must not be forgotten that germ cells are living
things and that we go no further in associating the beginnings of mind
with the beginnings of body in the germ than we do in associating mind
and body in the adult. It is just as materialistic to hold that the mind
of the mature man is associated with his body as it is to hold that the
beginnings of mind in the germ are associated with the beginnings of
the body, and both of these tenets are incontrovertable.

It seems to me that the mind is related to the body as function is to
structure; there are those who maintain that structure is the cause of
function, that the real problem in evolution or development is the trans-
formation of one structure into another, and that the functions which go
with certain structures are merely incidental results ; on the other hand
are those who maintain that function is the cause of structure and that
the problem of evolution or development is the change which takes place
in functions and habits, these changes causing corresponding transfor-
mations of structure. Among adherents of the former view may be
classed many morphologists and Neo-Darwinians, among proponents of
the latter, many physiologists and Neo-Lamarckians. It seems to me
that the defenders of each of these views fail to recognize the essential
unity of the entire organism, structure as well as function ; that neither
of these is the cause of the other, though each may modify or condition
the other, but that they are two aspects of one common thing, viz.,
organization. In the same way I think that the body or brain is not the
cause of mind, nor mind the cause of body or brain, but that both are
inherent in one common organization or individuality.

In asserting that the mind develops from the germ as the body does,
no attempt is made to explain the fundamental properties of body or
mind. As the structures of the body may be traced back to certain
fundamental structures of the germ cell, so the characteristics of the
mind may be traced back to certain fundamental properties and
activities of the germ. Many of the psychical processes may be traced
back in their development to properties of sensitivity, reflex motions,
and persistence of the effects of stimuli. All organisms manifest these
properties and for aught we know to the contrary they may be original
and necessary characteristics of living things. In the simplest proto-
plasm we find organization, that is, structure and function, and in
germinal protoplasm we find the elements of the mind as well as of the
body, and the problem of the ultimate relation of the two is the same
whether we consider the organism in its germinal or in its adult stage.

In some way the mind as well as the body develops out of the germ.
What are the germinal bases of mind ? What are the psychical anlagen
in embryos and how do they develop ? In this case, even more than in
the development of the body, we are compelled to rely upon the compari-

24

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

son of human development with that of other animals, hut the great
principle of the oneness of life, as respects its fundamental processes, has
never yet failed to hold true and will not fail us here. In the study of
the psychical processes of organisms other than ourselves we are com-
pelled to rely upon a study of their activities, their reactions to stimuli,
since we can not approach the subject in any other way. The reactions
and behavior of organisms under normal and experimental conditions
give the only insight which we can get into their psychical processes —
and this applies to men no less than to protozoa.

1. Sensitivity. — The most fundamental phenomenon in the behavior
of organisms is irritability or sensitivity, which is the capacity of re-
ceiving and responding to stimuli : this is one of the fundamental prop-
erties of all protoplasm. But living matter is not equally sensitive
to all stimuli, nor to all strengths of the same stimulus. Many of the
simplest unicellular plants and animals show that they are differentially
sensitive; they often move toward weak light and away from strong
light, away from extremes of heat and cold, into certain chemical sub-
stances and away from others — in short, all organisms, even the simplest,
may respond differently to different kinds of stimuli or to different
degrees of the same stimulus. This is what is known as differential sen-

*

1

I ''!

• . V -

• • "■* ' •. "■ •

'*•-'■>, -,'-

•t'tn: -

.--

. - 1 **.

c

IJ

■ C

f j

J 1

J

> 3

r i

1

Fig. 17. Distribution of Bacteria in the Spectrum. The largest group is in
the ultra-red at the left ; the next largest group is in the yellow-orange close to the
line D. (From Jennings, after Engelmann.)

sitivity (Figs. 17, 18, 19.) On the other hand, many organisms respond
in the same way to different stimuli and this may be taken to indicate
generally that they are not differentially sensitive to such stimuli ; it is
not to be concluded that because organisms respond differently to certain
stimuli they are therefore capable of distinguishing between all kinds
of stimuli, for this is certainly not true. Even in adult men the capacity
of distinguishing between different kinds of stimuli is far from perfect.
Egg cells and spermatozoa show this property of sensitivity. The
egg is generally incapable of locomotion, and since the results of stimu-
lation must usually be detected by movements it is not easy to determine
to what extent the egg is sensitive ; but though the egg lacks the power
of locomotion, it possesses in a marked degree the power of intra-cellular
movement of the cell contents. When a spermatozoon comes into con-
tact with the surface of the egg the cortical protoplasm of the egg flows
toward that point and may form a cone or protoplasmic prominence into
which the sperm is received (Figs. 4, 5, E C). It is an interesting fact

FACTS AND FACTORS OF DEVELOPMENT

25

that the same sort of response follows when a frog's egg is pricked by a
needle, thus showing that in this case the egg does not distinguish be-
tween the prick of the needle and that of the spermatozoon. The sper-
matozoon is usually a locomotor cell and it responds differently to cer-
tain stimuli, just as many bacteria and protozoa do; spermatozoa are
strongly stimulated by weak alkalies and alcohol, they gather in certain
chemical substances and not in others, they collect in great numbers
around fertilizable egg cells, etc.

The movements of fertilized egg cells, cleavage cells, and early em-
bryonic cells are usually limited to flowing movements within the

a

Fig. 18, a, b, c. Repulsion op Spirilla by Common Salt, a, condition immedi-
ately after adding crystals ; 6 and c, later stages in the reaction.

<d> V) z, repulsion of Spirilla by distilled water. The upper drop consists of sea-
water containing Spirilla, the lower drop of distilled water. At x these have just been
united by a narrow neck ; at y and z3 the bacteria have retreated before the distilled
water. (From Jennings, after Massart.)

individual cells. These movements, which are of a complicated nature,
are of the greatest significance in the differentiation of the egg into the
embryo ; they are caused chiefly by internal stimuli and by non-localized
external ones. Modifications of the external stimuli often lead to modi-

26

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

fications of these intra-cellular movements and to abnormal types of
cleavage and development — in short, these movements show that the
fertilized egg is differentially sensitive.

In the further course of development particular portions of the
embryo become especially sensitive to some kinds of stimuli, while other
portions become sensitive to others. In this way the different sense
organs, each especially sensitive to one particular kind of stimulus, arise
from the generalized sensitivity of the oosperm, and thus general sensi-
tivity, which is a property of all protoplasm, becomes differential sen-
sitivity and special senses in the process of embryonic differentiation.
Such sensitivity is the basis of all psychic processes : sensations are the
elements of the mind.

3. Tropisms, Reflexes, Instincts. — All the responses of germ cells,
and of the simplest organisms, to stimuli are in the nature of tropisms
or reflexes, that is, relatively simple, automatic responses. Such tro-
pisms or reflexes are seen in the movements of bacteria, protozoa and

19

a

* ■ ■ . i ~

\ I

19* '

19'

■ ■ i in ... ■ ■— 1 1 - ■■■ i

=*"*':-"-w-"*-""- -~- ~-

2G '■

38'

10-

25°-

Fig. 19. Reactions of Paramecium to Heat and Cold. At a the infusoria are
uniformly distributed in a trough, both ends of which have a temperature of 19° ; at
ft the infusoria are shown collected at the cooler end of the trough ; at c they have
collected at the warmer end of the trough. (From Jennings, after Mendelssohn.)

many higher animals and plants as well as in movements of spermatozoa,
the movements of the protoplasm in egg cells and embryonic cells,
the movements of cells and cell masses in the formation of the gastrula,
alimentary canal, nervous system and other organs. Indeed the entire
process of development, whether accompanied by visible movements or
not, may be regarded as a series of automatic responses to stimuli.

FACTS AND FACTORS OF DEVELOPMENT 27

When the embryo becomes differentiated to such an extent as to have
specialized organs for producing movement its capacity for making re-
sponsive movements to stimuli becomes much increased. If the re-
sponses of animals and plants to stimuli are of such a sort that the
organism turns or moves toward or away from a source of stimulus they
are termed tropisms ; if the responses are very complicated, one response
calling forth another and involving many reflexes, as is frequently the
case in animals, they are known as instincts. In the embryo the rhyth-
mic contractions of heart, amnion and intestine are early manifestations
of reflex motions. These appear chiefly in the involuntary muscles
before nervous connections are formed, the protoplasm of the muscle
cells probably responding directly to the chemical stimulus of certain
salts in the body fluids, as Loeb has shown. Eeflexes which appear later
are the random movements of the voluntary muscles of limbs and body,
which are called forth by nerve impulses. Tropisms are manifested
only by organisms capable of considerable free movement and hence are
absent in the foetus though present in many free living larvae. Some
instincts are present immediately after birth, such as the instinct of
sucking or crying, though these are so simple when compared with some
instincts which develop later that they might be classed as reflexes ; it is
doubtful whether any of the activities before birth could properly be
designated as instincts. Eeflexes, tropisms and instincts have had a
phylogenetic as well as an ontogenetic origin, and consequently we might
expect that they would in general make for the preservation of the
species, and as a matter of fact we usually find that they are remarkably
adapted to this end. For instance the instincts of the human infant to
grasp objects, to suck things which it can get into its mouth, to cry when
in pain, are complicated reflexes which have survived in the course of
evolution probably because they serve a useful purpose.

Very much has been written on the nature and origin of instincts,
but the best available evidence strongly favors the view that instincts are
complex reflexes, which, like the structures of an organism, have been
built up, both ontogenetically and phylogenetically, under the stress of
the elimination of the unfit, so that they are usually adaptive.

3. Memory. — Another general characteristic of protoplasm is the
capacity of storing up or registering the effects of previous stimuli. A
single stimulus may produce changes in an organism which persist for
a longer or shorter time, and if a second stimulus occurs while the effect
of a previous one still persists, the response to the second stimulus may
be very different from that to the first. Macfarlane found that if the
sensitive hairs on the leaf of Dionea, the Venus fly-trap (Fig. 20, SH),
be stroked once, no visible response is called forth, but if they be stroked
a second time within three minutes the leaf instantly closes. If a longer
period than three minutes elapses after the first stimulus and before the
second no visible response follows, i. e., two successive stimuli are neces-

28

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

sary to cause the leaves to close, and the two must not be more than three
minutes apart ; the effects of the first stimulus are in some way stored or
registered in the leaf for this brief time. This kind of phenomenon is
widespread among living things and is known as " summation of stim-
uli." In all such cases the effects of a former stimulus are in some way
stored up for a longer or shorter time in the protoplasm. It is possible
that this is the result of the formation of some chemical substance which
remains in the protoplasm for a certain time, during which time the ef-

Pig. 20. Dionwa muscvpula (Venus' Flytrap). Three leaves showing marginal
teeth and sensitive hairs (SH). The leaf at the left is fully expanded, the one at the
right is closed.

fects of the stimulus are said to persist, or it may be due to some physical
change in the protoplasm analogous to the " set " in metals which have
been subjected to mechanical strain.

Probably of a similar character is the persistence of the effects of
repeated stimuli and responses on any organ of a higher animal. A
muscle which has contracted many times in a definite way ultimately
becomes " trained " so that it responds more rapidly and more accurately
than an untrained muscle; and the nervous mechanism through which
the stimulus is transmitted also becomes trained in the same way. In-
deed such training is probably chiefly a training of the nervous mechan-
ism. The skill of the pianist, of the tennis player, of the person who has
learned the difficult art of standing or walking, or the still more diffi-
cult art of talking, is probably due to the persistence in muscles and
nerves of the effects of many previous activities. All such phenomena
were called by Hering, " organic memory," to indicate that this persist-
ence of the effects of previous activities in muscles and other organs is

FACTS AND FACTORS OF DEVELOPMENT 29

akin to that persistence of the effects of previous experiences in the
nervons mechanism which we commonly call memory. It seems probable
that this ability of protoplasm in general to preserve for a time the
effects of former stimuli is fundamentally of the same nature as the
much greater power of nerve cells to preserve such effects for much
longer periods and in complex associations, a faculty which is known
as associative memory. The embryos, and indeed even the germ cells of
higher animals, may safely be assumed to be endowed with protoplasmic
and organic memory, out of which, in all probability, develop associative
and conscious memory in the mature organism.

4. Intellect, Reason* — Even the intellect and reason which so
strongly characterize man have had a development from relatively simple
beginnings. All children come gradually to an age of intelligence and
reason. In its simpler forms at least reason may be denned as the power
of predicting future events and of reaching conclusions regarding un-
experienced phenomena under the influence of past experience. In the
absence of individual experience young children have none of this power,
but it comes gradually as a result of remembering past experiences and
of fitting such experiences into new conditions. Young infants and
many lower animals lack the power of reason, though their behavior is
frequently of such a sort as to suggest that they are reasoning. Even
the lowest animals avoid injurious substances and conditions and find
beneficial ones; more complex animals learn to move objects, solve prob-
lems, and find their way through labyrinths in the shortest and most
economical way; but this apparently intelligent and purposive behavior
has been shown to be due to the general elimination of all sorts of use-
less activities, and to the persistence of the useful ones.

The ciliated infusorian, Paramecium, moves by the beating of cilia
which are arranged in such a way that they drive the animal forward in
a spiral course. However, when it is strongly irritated, the nor-
mal forward movement is reversed; the cilia beat forward instead of
backward and the animal is driven backward for some distance (Figs.
21, 1, 2, 3) ; it then stands nearly still merely rolling over and swerving
toward the aboral side and finally it goes ahead again, usually on a new
course (Fig. 21, 3, 4, 5, 6). These movements seem to be conditioned
rather rigidly by the organization of the animal : they are more or less
fixed and mechanical in character though to a certain extent they may be
modified by experience or physiological states. Paramecium behaves as
it does in virtue of its constitution, just as an egg develops in a particu-
lar way because of its particular organization.

But although limited in its behavior to these relatively simple motor
reactions, Paramecium does many things which seem to show intelligence
and purpose. It avoids many injurious substances, such as strong salts
or acids and it collects in non-injurious or beneficial substances, such as
weak acids, masses of bacteria upon which it feeds, etc. It avoids ex-

3°

TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

tremes of heat and cold and if one end of a dish containing paramecia
is heated and the other end is cooled by ice, the paramecia collect in the
region somewhere between these two extremes (Fig. 19). Jennings, by
studying carefully the behavior of single individuals, established the fact
that this apparently intelligent action is due to differential sensitivity
and to the single motor reaction of the animal. If in the course of its
swimming a Paramecium comes into contact with an irritating substance
or condition, it backs a short distance, swerves toward its aboral side,
and goes ahead in a new path; if it again comes in contact with the irri-

Fig. 21. Diagram of the Avoiding Reaction of Paramecium. A is a solid ob-
ject or other source of stimulation. 1-6, successive positions occupied by the animal.
The rotation on the long axis is not shown. (After Jennings.)

tating conditions this reaction is repeated, and so on indefinitely until
finally a path is found in which the source of irritation is avoided alto-
gether. In short, Paramecium continually tries its environment, and
backs away from irritating substances or conditions. Its apparently
intelligent reactions are thus explained as due to a process of " trial and
error." 2

The behavior of worms, star-fishes, crustaceans, mollusks, as well as
of fishes, frogs, reptiles, birds and mammals, have been studied and in
all cases it is found that their method of responding to stimuli is not at
first really purposive and intelligent but by the gradual elimination of
useless responses and the preservation (or remembering) of useful ones
the behavior may come to be purposive and intelligent.

Thorndike found that when dogs, cats and monkeys were confined

s In Paramcecium, there is certainly no consciousness of trial and error,
and probably no unconscious attempt on the part of the animal to attain certain
ends. Its responses are reflexes or tropisms, which are determined by the nature
of the animal, and the character of the stimulus. The fact that these responses
are in the main self -preservative is due to the teleological organization of Para-
moecium which has been evolved, according to current opinion, as the result of
long ages of the elimination of the unfit. If, in the opinion of any one, the ex-
pression ' ' trial and error ' ' necessarily involves a striving after ends, it would be
advisable to replace it in this ease by some such term as "useful or adaptive
reactions."

FACTS AND FACTORS OF DEVELOPMENT 31

in cages which could be opened from the inside by turning a button, or
pressing upon a lever, or pulling a cord, they at first clawed around all
sides of the cage until by chance they happened to operate the mechan-
ism which opened the door. Thereafter they gradually learned by
experience, that is, by trial and error, and finally by trial and success,
just where and how to claw in order to get out at once. When a dog
has learned to turn a button at once and open a door we say he is in-
telligent, and if he can learn to apply his knowledge of any particular
cage to other and different cages, a thing which Thorndike denies, we
should be justified in saying that he reasons, though in this case intelli-
gence and reason are founded upon memory of many past experiences,
of many trials and errors and of a few trials and successes.

There is every evidence that human beings arrive at intelligence
and reason by the same process, a process of many trials and errors
and a few trials and successes, a remembering of these past experiences
and an application of them to new conditions. A baby grasps for things
which are out of its reach, until it has learned by experience to appre-
ciate distances ; it tests all sorts of pleasant and unpleasant things until
it has learned to avoid the latter and seek the former; it experiments
with its own body until it has learned what it can do and what it can not
do. Is not this learning by experience akin to the same process in the
dog and more remotely to the trial and error of the earthworm or the
adaptive reflexes of Paramecium ? Is not intelligence and reason in all
of us, and upon all subjects, based upon the same processes of trial and
error, memory of past experiences and application of this to new con-
ditions? Surely this is true in all experimental and scientific work.
Indeed the scientific method is the method of trial and error, and finally
trial and success — the method recommended by St. Paul to "try all
things and hold fast that which is good."

In Paramecium the reflex type of behavior is relatively complete;
there is no associative memory and no ability to learn by experience. In
the earthworm associative memory is but slightly developed and the ani-
mal learns but little by experience and can make no application of past
experiences to new conditions. In the dog associative memory is well de-
veloped; the animal learns by experience and can, to a limited extent,
apply such memory of past experiences to new conditions. In adult man
all of these processes are fully developed and particularly the last, viz.,
the ability to reason. But in his development the human individual
passes through the more primitive stages of intelligence, represented by
the lower animals named ; the germ cells and embryo represent only the
stages of reflex behavior, to these trial and error and associative memory
are added in the infant and young child, and to these the application of
past experience to new conditions, or reason, is added in later years.

5. Will. — Another characteristic, which many persons regard as the
supreme psychical faculty, is the will. This faculty also undergoes de-

32 TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

velopment and from relatively simple beginnings. The will of the child
has developed out of something which is far less perfect in the infant
and embryo than in the child. Observations and experiments on lower
animals and on human beings, as well as introspective study of our own
activities, appear to justify the following conclusions :

(1.) Every activity of an organism is a response to one or more stim-
uli, external or internal in origin. These stimuli are in the main, if not
entirely, energy changes outside or inside the organism. In lower organ-
isms as well as in the germ cells and embryos of higher animals the pos-
sible number of responses are few and prescribed owing to their relative
simplicity, and the response follows the stimulus directly. In more com-
plex organisms the number of possible responses to a stimulus is greatly
increased, and the visible response may be the end of a long series of in-
ternal changes which are started by the original stimulus.

(2.) The response to a stimulus may be modified or inhibited in the
following ways :

(a) Through conflicting stimuli and changed physiological states
(due to fatigue, hunger, etc.). Many stimuli may reach the organism
at the same time and if they conflict they may nullify one another or the
organism may respond to the strongest stimulus and disregard the
weaker ones. When an organism has begun to respond to one stimulus
it is not easily diverted to another. Jennings found that the attached
infusorian, Stentor, which usually responds to strong stimuli by closing
up, may, when repeatedly stimulated, loosen its attachment and swim
away, thus responding in a wholly new manner when its physiological
state has been changed by repeated stimuli and responses. Whitman
found that leeches of the genus Clepsine prefer shade to bright light,
and other things being equal they always seek the under sides of stones
and shaded places ; but if a turtle from which they normally suck blood
is put into an aquarium with the leeches, they at once leave the shade
and attach themselves to the turtle. They prefer shade to bright light
but they prefer their food to the shade. The tendency to remain con-
cealed is inhibited by the stronger stimulus of hunger. On the other
hand he found that the salamander, Necturus, is so timid that it will not
take food, even though starving, until by gradual stages and gentle treat-
ment its timidity can be overcome to a certain extent. Here fear is at
first a stronger stimulus than hunger and unless the stimulus of fear can
be reduced the animal will starve to death in the presence of the most
tempting food.

(&) Responses may also be modified through compulsory limitation
of many possible responses to a particular one, and the consequent forma-
tion of a habit. This is the method of education employed in training
all sorts of animals. Thus Jennings found that a starfish could be
trained to turn itself over, when placed on its back, by means of one
particular arm simply by persistently preventing the use of the other

FACTS AND FACTORS OF DEVELOPMENT 33

arms. Many responses of organisms are modified in a similar way, not
only by artificial limitations, but also by natural ones.

(c) Responses which have become fixed and constant through natural
selection or other means of limitation may become more varied and
general when the compulsory limitation is relaxed. Behavior in the
former case is fixed and instinctive, in the latter more varied and plastic.
Thus "Whitman found that the behavior of domesticated pigeons is more
variable and their instincts less rigidly fixed than in wild species. If
the eggs are removed to a little distance from the nest the wild passenger
pigeon returns to the nest and sits down as if nothing had happened.
She soon finds out, not by sight but by feeling, that something is miss-
ing, and she leaves the nest after a few minutes without heeding the
eggs. The ring-neck pigeon also misses the eggs and sometimes rolls
one of them back into the nest, but never attempts to recover more than
one. The dove-cote pigeon generally tries to recover both eggs.

In these three grades the advance is from extreme blind uniformity of ac-
tion, with little or no choice, to a stage of less rigid uniformity. . . . Under
conditions of domestication the action of natural selection has been relaxed,
with the result that the rigor of instinctive coordination, which bars alternative
action, is more or less reduced. Not only is the door to choice thus unlocked, but
more varied opportunities and provocations arise, and thus the internal mechan-
ism and the external conditions and stimuli work both in the same direction to
favor greater freedom of action. When choice thus enters no new factor is in-
troduced. There is greater plasticity within and more provocation without, and
hence the same bird, without the addition or loss of a single nerve cell, becomes
capable of higher action and is encouraged and even constrained by circum-
stances to learn to use its privileges of choice. Choice, as I conceive it, is not
introduced as a little deity encapsuled in the brain. . . . But increased plas-
ticity invites greater interaction of stimuli and gives more even chances for
conflicting impulses.

(d) Finally in all animals behavior is modified though previous ex-
perience, just as structure is also. Where several responses to a stimulus
are possible and where experience has taught that one response is more
satisfactory than another, action may be limited to this particular re-
sponse, not by external compulsion, but by the internal impulse of experi-
ence and intelligence. This is what we know as conscious choice or will.
Whitman says :

Choice runs on blindly at first and ceases to be blind only in proportion as
the animal learns through nature's system of compulsory education. The teleo-
logical alterations are organically provided; one is taken and fails to give satis-
faction; another is tried and gives contentment. This little freedom is the
dawning grace of a new dispensation, in which education by experience comes
in as an amelioration of the law of elimination. . . . Intelligence implies varying
degrees of freedom of choice, but never complete emancipation from automatism.

Freedom of action does not mean action without stimuli, but rather
the introduction of the results of experience and intelligence as addi-
vol. lxxxv. — 3.

34 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

tional stimuli. The activities, which in lower animals are "cabined,
cribbed, confined," reach in man their fullest and freest expression; but
the enormous difference between the relatively fixed behavior of a proto-
zoan or a germ cell and the relatively free activities of a mature man is
bridged not only in the process of evolution, but also in the course of
individual development.

6. Consciousness. — The most complex of all psychic phenomena, in-
deed the one which includes many if not all of the others, is conscious-
ness. Like every other psychic process this has undergone development
in each of us ; we not only came out of a state of unconsciousness, but
through several years we were gradually acquiring consciousness by a
process of development. Whether consciousness is the sum of all the
psychic faculties, or is a new product dependent upon the interaction of
the other faculties, it must pass through many stages in the course of its
development, stages which would commonly be counted as unconscious
or subconscious states, and complete consciousness must depend upon
the complete development and activity of the other faculties, particularly
associative memory and intelligence. The question is sometimes asked
whether germ cells, and indeed all living things, may not be conscious in
some vague manner. One might as well ask whether water is present in
hydrogen and oxygen. Doubtless the elements out of which conscious-
ness develops are present in the germ cells, in the same sense that the
elements of the other psychic processes or of the organs of the body are
there present — not as a miniature of the adult condition, but rather in
the form of elements or factors, which by a long series of combinations
and transformations, due to interactions with one another and with the
environment, give rise to the fully developed condition.

Finally there seems good reason for believing that the continuity of
consciousness, the continuing sense of identity, is associated with the
continuity of material substance, for in spite of frequent changes of the
materials of which we are composed our sense of identity remains undis-
turbed. However, the continuity of protoplasmic and cellular organiza-
tion generally remains undisturbed throughout life, and the continuity
of consciousness is associated with this continuity of organization, espe-
cially in certain parts of the brain. It is an interesting fact that in man
and in several other animals which may be assumed to have a sense of
identity, the nerve cells, especially those of the brain, cease dividing at
an early age, and these identical cells persist throughout the remainder
of life. If nerve cells continued to divide throughout life, as epithelial
cells do, there would be no such persistence of identical cells, and one
is free to speculate that in such cases there would be no persistence of the
sense of identity.

Organization includes both structure and function, and continuity of
organization implies not only persistence of protoplasmic and cellular
structures, but also persistence of functions, of sensitivity, reflexes,

FACTS AND FACTORS OF DEVELOPMENT 35

memory, instincts, intelligence and will ; the continuity of consciousness
is associated with the continuity of these activities, as well as with the
structures of the body in general and of the brain in particular. It is
well known that things which interrupt or destroy these functions or
structures interrupt or destroy consciousness. Lack of oxygen, anes-
thetics, normal sleep cause in some way a temporary interruption of
these functions and consequently temporary loss of consciousness ; while
certain injuries or diseases of the brain which bring about the destruc-
tion of certain centers or association tracts may cause permanent loss of
consciousness.

The development of all of these psychical faculties runs parallel
with the development of bodily structures and apparently the method of
development in the two cases is similar, viz., progressive differentiation
of complex and specialized structures and functions from relatively
simple and generalized beginnings. Indeed the entire organism — struc-
ture and function body and mind — is a unity, and the only justification
for dealing with these constituents of the organism as if they were sepa-
rate entities, whether they be regarded in their adult condition or in the
course of their development, is to be found in the increased convenience
and effectiveness of such separate treatment.

Development, like many other vital phenomena, may be considered
from several different points of view, such as (1) physico-chemical
events involved, (2) physiological processes, (3) morphological charac-
ters, (4) ecological correlations and adaptations, (5) psychological
phenomena, (6) social and moral developments. All of these phases of
development are correlated, indeed they are parts of one general process,
and a complete account of this process must include them all. General
considerations may lead us to the belief that each of the succeeding
aspects of development named above may be causally explained in terms
of the preceding ones, and hence all be reducible to physics and chem-
istry. But this is not now demonstrable and may not be true. Function
and structure may be related causally, or they may be two aspects of one
substance. The same is true of body and mind or of matter and energy.
But even if each of these different phases in the development of person-
ality may not be causally explained by the preceding ones, at least the
principle of explanation employed for any aspect of development ought
to be consistent and harmonious with that employed for any other aspect.

The phenomena of mental development in man and other animals
may be summarized in the following table :

Development of Psychical Processes in Ontogeny and Phylogeny

All Living Things, including Germ Mature Forms of Higher Animals

Cells and Embryos, show: show:

1. Differential Sensitivity = 1. Special Senses and Sensations =

Different Eesponses to Stimuli Sensations are the Elements of

differing in Kind or Quantity. Mind.

36

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

2. Reflex Motions =

Relatively Simple, Automatic Re-
sponses.

3. Organic Memory =

Results of Previous Experience
registered in General Proto-
plasm.

4. Adaptive Besponses =

Results of Elimination of Useless
Responses through Trial and
Error.

5. Varied Besponses

Dependent upon Conflicting Stim-
uli and Physiological States.

6. Identity =

Continuity of Individual Organi-
zation.

2. Instincts (Inherited) , Habits {Ac-

quired) =
Complex Reflexes, involving Nerve
Centers.

3. Associative Memory =

Results of Experience registered in
Nerve Centers and Association
Tracts.

4. Intelligence, Beason =

Results of Trial and Error plus
Associative Memory, i. e. Ex-
perience.

5. Inhibition, Choice, Will
Dependent upon Associative Mem-
ory, Intelligence, Reason.

6. Consciousness =

Continuity of Memory, Intelligence,
Reason, Will.

Factors of Development

These are some of the facts of development — a very incomplete re-
sume of some of the stages through which a human being passes in the
course of his development from the germ. What are the factors of de-
velopment ? By what processes is it possible to derive from a relatively
simple germ cell the complexities of an adult animal? How can mind
and consciousness develop out of the relatively simple psychical elements
of the germ? These are some of the great problems of development —
the greatest and most far-reaching theme which has ever occupied the
minds of men.

Preformation. — When the mind is once lost in the mystery of this
ever recurring miracle it is not surprising to find that there have been
those who have refused to believe it possible and who have practically
denied development altogether. The old doctrine of " evolution " as it
was called by the scientists of the eighteenth century, or of preformation
as we know it to-day held that all the organs or parts of the adult were
present in the germ in a minute and transparent condition as the leaves
and stem are present in a bud, or as the shoot and root of the little plant
are present in the seed.3 In the case of animals it was generally impos-
sible to see the parts of the future animal in the germ, but this was sup-
posed to be due to the smaller size of the parts and to their greater trans-
parency, and with poor microscopes and good imagination some observ-
ers thought they could see the little animals in the egg or sperm, and
even the little man, or " homunculus," was described and figured as
folded up in one or the other of the sex cells.

* The little plant in the seed is itself the product of the development of a
6ingle cell, the ovule, in which no trace of a plant is present, but of course this
fact was not known until after careful microscopical studies had been made of
the earliest stages of development.

FACTS AND FACTORS OF DEVELOPMENT 37

This doctrine of preformation was not only an attempt to solve the
mystery of development, but it was also an attempt to avoid the theolog-
ical difficulties supposed to be involved in the view that individuals are
produced by a process of gradual development rather than by super-
natural creation. If every individual of the race existed within the
germ cells of the first parents, then in the creation of the first parents
the entire race with its millions of individuals was created at once.
Thus arose the theory of " emboitement," or " box in box," the absurdi-
ties of which contributed to the downfall of the entire doctrine of pre-
formation, which, in the form in which it was held by many naturalists
of the eighteenth century, is now only a curiosity of biological literature.

Epigenesis. — As opposed to this doctrine of preformation, which was
founded largely on speculation, arose the theory of epigenesis, which was
in its main features founded upon the direct observation of development,
and which maintained that the germ contains none of the adult parts,
but that it is absolutely simple and undifferentiated, and that from these
simple beginnings the individual gradually becomes complex by a process
of differentiation. We owe the theory of epigenesis, at least so far as its
main features are concerned, to William Harvey, the discoverer of the
circulation of the blood, and to Caspar Friederich Wolff, whose doctor's
thesis published in 1759, and entitled "Theoria Generationis," marked
the beginning of a great epoch in the study of development. Wolff
demonstrated that adult parts are not present in the germ, either in ani-
mals or in plants, but that these parts gradually appear in the process of
development. He held, erroneously, that the germ is absolutely simple,
homogeneous and undifferentiated, and that differentiation and organi-
zation gradually appear in this undifferentiated substance. How to get
differentiations out of non-differentiated material, heterogeneity out of
homogeneity, was the great problem which confronted Wolff and his fol-
lowers, and they were compelled to assume some extrinsic or environ-
mental force, some vis formativia or spiritus rector, which could set in
motion and direct the process of development.

The doctrine of preformation, by locating in the germ all the parts
which would ever arise from it, practically denied development alto-
gether; epigenesis recognized the fact of development, but attributed it
to mysterious and purely hypothetical external forces ; the one placed all
emphasis upon the germ and its structures, the other upon outside forces
and conditions.

Preformation and Epigenesis. — Modern students of development rec-
ognize that neither of these extreme views are true — adult parts are not
present in the germ, nor is the latter homogeneous — but there are in
germ cells many different structures and functions which are, however,
very unlike those of the adult, and by the transformation and differ-
entiation of this germinal organization the complicated organization of
the adult arises. Development is not the unfolding of an infolded organ-

38 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

ism, nor the mere sorting of materials already present in the germ cells,
though this does take place, but rather it consists in the formation of
new materials and qualities — of new structures and functions — by the
combination and interaction of the germinal elements present in the
oosperm. In similar manner the combination and interaction of chemi-
cal elements yield new substances and qualities which are not to be
observed in the elements themselves. Such new substances and qualities,
whether in the organic or in the inorganic world, do not arise by the
gradual unfolding of what was present from the beginning, but they are
produced by a process of " creative synthesis."

Modern studies of germ cells have shown that they are much more
complex than was formerly believed to be the case ; they may even con-
tain different "organ-forming substances" which in the course of de-
velopment give rise to particular organs; these substances may be so
placed in the egg as to foreshadow the polarity, symmetry and pattern of
the embryo, but even the most highly organized egg is relatively simple
as compared with the animal into which it ultimately develops. Increas-
ing complexity, which is the essence of development, is caused by the
combination and interaction of germinal substances under the influence
of the environment. The organization of the oosperm may be com-
pared to the arrangement of tubes and flasks in a complicated chemical
operation ; they stand in a definite relation to one another and each con-
tains specific substances. The final result of the operation depends not
merely upon the substances used, nor merely upon the way in which the
apparatus is set up, but upon both of these things, as well as upon the
environmental conditions represented by temperature, pressure, moisture
or other extrinsic factors.

Heredity and Environment. — Unquestionably the factors, or causes,
of development are to be found not merely in the germ but, also in the
environment, not only in intrinsic but also in extrinsic forces ; but it is
equally certain that the directing and guiding factors of development
are in the main intrinsic, and are present in the organization of the germ
cells, while the environmental factors exercise chiefly a stimulating,
inhibiting or modifying influence on development. In the same dish
and under similar environmental conditions, one egg will develop into a
worm, another into a sea urchin, another into a fish, and it is certain
that the different fate of each egg is determined by conditions intrinsic
in the egg itself, rather than by environmental conditions. We should
look upon the germ as a living thing, and upon development as one of
its functions. Just as the character of any function is determined by
the organism, though it may be modified by environment, so the charac-
ter of development is determined by heredity, i. e., by the organization
of the germ cells, though the course and results of development may be
modified by environmental conditions.

FACTS AND FACTORS OF DEVELOPMENT 39

Summary

In conclusion, we have briefly reviewed in this lecture the well known
fact that every living thing in the world has come into existence by a
process of development ; that the entire human personality, mind as well
as body, has thus arisen; and that the factors of development may be
classified as intrinsic in the organization of the germ cell, and extrinsic
as represented in environmental forces and conditions. The intrinsic
factors are those which are commonly called heredity, and they direct
and guide development in the main; the extrinsic or environmental
factors furnish the conditions in which development takes place and
modify, more or less, its course.

4o TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

WASTE IN ELEMENTARY AND SECONDAEY EDUCATION

By Principal FRANKLIN W. JOHNSON

UNIVERSITY HIGH SCHOOL, UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO

THE test of efficiency is being applied to every form of organized
activity. Methods of procedure in commerce, manufacture and
government are being studied to discover the causes of waste and on the
basis of these studies new methods are being devised to eliminate waste
in time and effort. The same tests are being applied to our religious,
philanthropic and educational organizations. A typical illustration is
seen in the investigation made by the Bureau of Municipal Expenditures
for the public schools of the city of New York. Another illustration in
the field of higher education is afforded by the state of Kansas in which
a commission has recently been appointed to study the efficiency of the
various institutions of the state with a view to such a reorganization as
will avoid the waste involved in the present duplication of equipment
and instruction. Similar tests are being made in other school systems
and in single institutions. But all of these, though most significant,
represent somewhat isolated and local conditions.

At the same time, however, the efficiency of our entire system of
elementary and secondary schools is being called in question. A com-
mittee of the department of superintendents of the National Education
Association on Economy of Time in Elementary and Secondary Educa-
tion appointed in 1911 is investigating the problem. Their preliminary
reports indicate that a thorough study of the situation is being made
which may be expected to form the basis for important changes.

The history of education in this country shows that our system of
organization, assigning eight years to elementary, four years to second-
ary, and four years to collegiate education, was not based on any rational
theory, but was rather the result of accident. Each type sprang up in a
large measure independently of the others, in response to distinct social
demands, and a satisfactory adjustment of these independent parts to
the needs of a coherent and efficient system of education has not yet
been made.

In no other country is a similar organization found. Germany may
be cited as typical with three years devoted to elementary, nine years to
secondary, and four years to university education. The American col-
lege with two years of secondary work and two years of university work
is unique. It is a significant fact that the Japanese, who have shown
wonderful skill in selecting and adapting to their needs the best in
western civilization, have modeled their new school system, not upon

WASTE IN EDUCATION 41

ours, but upon that of European countries. While there is a presump-
tion in favor of the majority, the ultimate test to be applied to these
differing types of organization is that of efficiency.

It is difficult to apply exact scientific comparisons to educational
systems in countries with different social conditions. The age test is
the most obvious to be applied. In a bulletin of the U. S. Bureau of
Education on the "Age and Grade Census of Schools and Colleges,"
Strayer has shown that in ninety-three colleges having more than
one hundred students each, the average age of graduation is about
twenty-three years. Statistics of ages of graduation from medical
schools confirms this figure. The average age1 of medical candidates in
1912 at the following institutions was : Western Reserve, 27.9 ; Har-
vard, 27.2; Rush, 27; California, 27; Johns Hopkins, 26.4; Cornell,
26.4. The average age of students graduating in medicine at these
institutions in 1912 was thus about 27 years. As a collegiate degree is
required for admission to the medical schools at Western Reserve, Har-
vard and Johns Hopkins, it appears that medical students in these
institutions completed their college courses at about the age of twenty-
three. In a recent bulletin of the Bureau of Education, the age at
which students complete the course in medicine is given as follows:
France, 23; Germany, 23; Great Britain, 23; Netherlands, 24; Switzer-
land, 23; United States, 26. There is then a difference of at least two
years in the ages at which physicians are ready to enter upon active
practise in this and European countries. Counting twenty-three years
as the average age for completing the college course, the average age of
students entering college in this country is seen to be about nineteen
years, which, in the absence of more exact knowledge, may be assumed
as about the average of graduation from high school. The average age
of graduation from the German gymnasium is about nineteen. The
gymnasium course is generally regarded as equal in content to our high-
school course plus two years of our college course. With this assump-
tion, it will be seen that at the close of the period of secondary education
our youth are about two years behind those of Germany. While it is not
possible to test for purposes of exact comparison the training received
by the graduates of our high schools with that of the German student
with two years of his gymnasium course still before him, it is probably
not far from the truth to say that not merely in relative time, but also
in actual intellectual training, our high school graduates are two years
behind those at the corresponding period in the German schools.

Now from the point of view of efficiency this apparent waste of two
years is a matter of prime importance. What are the causes of waste ?
Where does it occur ? How may it be checked ? These are questions of
great educational significance.

1 Harry Pratt Judson, "Waste in Education Curricula," School Beview,
Vol. 20, page 435.

42 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

Of first importance among the causes of waste is the lack of coordi-
nation between the separate parts of our organization. Until recently
the requirements which the college has made upon the high school have
not been based upon any comprehensive view of the increasing scope
and of the methods of secondary education. College courses have not
been built upon the work of the high school. College instructors have
failed to utilize some of the training which the student has received, and
have complained loudly over the lack of what they have assumed a high
school ought to give. An attitude of superior wisdom has furnished a
cloak by which college instructors have concealed their ignorance of edu-
cational theory and practise. But with the changed attitude on the part
of the high-school teachers from that of complaisant acquiescence to col-
lege domination to one of bumptious officiousness, we have suddenly
come upon a situation that is full of promise for increased efficiency
through better understanding. A new and strange spectacle in educa-
tional history was presented last year when the University of Chicago
invited secondary-school teachers to visit its class-rooms for a period of
several weeks, and based a two days' series of departmental and general
conferences upon a critical discussion by these teachers of the methods
of the university class-rooms. Another important step is being taken
this year in the visitation by junior college instructors of high-school
classes in Chicago and near-by towns, not in a perfunctory manner for
an hour or two, but for successive days. It is safe to say that we shall
soon be able to avoid no small waste at this point, due to a lack of
knowledge and appreciation on the part of both school and college in-
structors of the work done on the opposite sides of the arbitrary line
which has separated them.

But lack of coordination and the waste incident thereto is not found
alone at the point of transition from high school to college ; it is equally
marked between the elementary school and the high school. The
ignorance of the methods and content of high-school courses displayed
by college instructors is, if possible, exceeded by the lack of definite
knowledge displayed by high-school instructors of what goes on in the
grades below. The abrupt change from the class-room organization of
the elementary school with the careful supervision of the pupil's study
to the departmental organization of the high school where so much
emphasis has been placed upon home study and so little attention has
been given to the method of the pupil's study, together with the sudden
introduction of the pupil to so many new subjects, has been responsible
in no small degree for the enormous percentage of failure and elimina-
tion in the early part of the high-school course. Again a prolific source
of waste is found in the lack of correlation between different depart-
ments, particularly in the high school, of which a more detailed discus-
sion will be given later.

Another source of waste is found in the character and training of

WASTE IN EDUCATION 43

our teachers. This will be seen most clearly by a comparison with the
situation in the German schools. Candidates for positions in German
secondary schools must hold certificates for a full course in one of the
secondary schools and must have done three years' work in a German
university. The doctor's degree is not required, but is held by a large
number. Searching examinations are required of all to determine both
the preparation for teaching special subjects and also the professional
fitness of the candidates. The latter examination includes psychology,
philosophy, the history of education and the principles of pedagogy.
Three grades of positions are recognized, each with its corresponding
examination. These examinations presuppose a more extensive training
in the specific subjects than is required of teachers in our high schools.
It is obvious that only those with professional as well as specialized
training may find a place among the teachers of the German secondary
school. But the passing of the examination is not all that is required
of a candidate for a gymnasial position. In most parts of Germany he
is required to spend two years in further preparation, the seminary year
(seminar Jahr), usually in connection with some gymnasium or uni-
versity, and a trial year (probe Jahr), during which he gives from eight
to ten hours of instruction weekly without pay, under the guidance of
the director and the department teacher. If he has met the exacting
standard required during these two preliminary years of special pro-
fessional training and experience, and has finally presented a satisfactory
thesis of a professional character, he is given a certificate authorizing
his appointment to teach in a secondary school.

I have presented these detailed facts regarding the requirements for
teaching in the German secondary schools in order to indicate clearly one
cause of waste in our own school system. Some cities require of candi-
dates for high-school positions graduation from college and some pro-
fessional training; the state of California requires for a high-school
certificate a college training and one year of professional training. But
even the highest requirements do not equal those which are practically
universal in Germany, and in most parts of our country the scholastic
requirements are low and there is no professional requirement whatever.
A large number of our high-school teachers of both sexes enter upon
teaching not with the expectation of making it a life work, but because
it offers the most convenient means of earning a living until some more
attractive opening is offered into the fields of matrimony or business.
So long as the requirements for high-school positions are so low we must
expect our ranks to be filled by teachers of meager training, and often
without serious purpose. While there are a large number of teachers in
our schools well trained and professionally expert, it is apparent that the
results secured must be far short of what might be expected if our
schools were taught by uniformly well trained teachers.

A third source of waste is found in the short tenure of position prev-

44 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

alent among the teachers in our schools. This again may be seen most
clearly by contrasting the situation in Germany. Once appointed to a
position in Germany, with few exceptions, the teacher remains in the
same school until he dies or is retired on pension. The following sta-
tistics of the Prussian secondary schools for 1894 are cited by Bolton
("The Secondary School System of Germany," p. 119) :

Total number of positions 7.302

Number of new teachers 233

New teachers first position held 225

New teachers from other positions 8

Total number leaving 209

Called to other positions 2

Choosing other occupations 42

Number retiring 8

Eetired on pension 98

Number of deaths 59

This remarkable permanency of tenure is made possible by the exact-
ing methods of testing candidates which prevents the unfit from secur-
ing positions in the schools. Conditions in our schools are in marked
contrast. Dr. Jessup in a paper recently read at the secondary-school
conference of the University of Chicago reported recent investigations
bearing on this point. In Indiana for 1912 the median tenure of 186
superintendents was 2.16 years, and for the past fifty years in that state
about half the positions were open every other year. In Iowa for 1912
the superintendents of 250 accredited schools had a median tenure of
two years, and 40 per cent, were new to their position that year. Includ-
ing schools not on the accredited list, the condition was still more stri-
king, showing that of 768 schools considered, 46 per cent, of the posi-
tions were open last year, and 70 per cent, of the superintendents of these
schools had been in their positions two years or less. High-school princi-
pals show the same tendency to short tenure. Bolton declares that in
Wisconsin about one third of the high-school principals change position
every year. Jessup states that of 183 principals in Indiana high schools
in 1912, 45 per cent, were new to their positions. In towns of 25,000
population or over, one third of the principals were new to their posi-
tions. The same condition holds among high-school teachers. That it
is not confined to small schools or particular states is seen from the fol-
lowing statistics of schools on the list of the North Central Association
for 1912 : In Wisconsin 46 per cent, were new to their positions; in Colo-
rado, 44 per cent. ; in Missouri, 37 per cent. ; in Iowa, 37 per cent. ; in
Indiana, 40 per cent.

In a recent study of "The Social Composition of the Teaching
Population" (Teachers College Contributions to Education, No. 41)
based upon reports of 5,215 teachers from twenty- two states, including
rural, town and city schools, Dr. Coffman finds the median number of
years men teachers have taught, irrespective of location and of position,

WASTE IN EDUCATION 45

is seven ; for women, it is four. These figures represent the total years of
teaching and take no account of the number of positions occupied by
each teacher. Tenure of position in city schools is much longer than in
the country. Of 1,248 teachers in city schools, Dr. Coffman finds that
the median city school man has taught twelve years in the city; the
median city school woman has taught seven years in the city. Commis-
sioner Harris in his report for 1904 published the results of reports from
a much larger number of teachers from 398 cities of 8,000 inhabitants
and over, including twenty-nine cities of over 100,000 inhabitants. He
found that, in cities of 8,000 inhabitants and over, the median man had
taught eleven years and the median woman nine years, and that both the
median man and the median woman had taught seven years in their
present positions. In cities of 100,000 inhabitants and over, the median
teacher had taught ten years and had occupied the same positions eight
years. It is obvious that even under the most favorable conditions the
average tenure of position is short. Dr. Coffman also has statistics bear-
ing on the youthfulness of teachers, showing that 52.9 per cent, of men
teachers and 73.8 per cent, of women teachers are under thirty years of
age. Sex has a potent bearing upon the question of tenure in position.
German secondary teachers are all men, while in this country a very
large majority are women. No exact material is available to show the
effect of this constant changing of teachers. It is apparent that it
greatly lowers the efficiency of our schools. The short tenure of superin-
tendents and high-school principals hardly allows them to become
adjusted to the new conditions in each position filled, not to speak of the
possibility of working out any constructive educational policy, which
must require years to be of real value.

Having discussed the causes of waste, there remains for us to con-
sider the means by which it may be eliminated. I shall consider such
remedies as are involved (1) in a readjustment of our school organiza-
tion, (2) in a change in the methods and (3) in a reorganization of the
materials of instruction.

Many experiments have been tried in the reorganization of the ele-
mentary and high schools and are in more or less successful operation in
various parts of the country. These involve such combinations as a
six-year elementary school followed by a six-year high school; a seven-
year elementary and a five-year high school; and a six- or seven-year
elementary school, a junior high school of one to three years, and a
senior high school. All of these combinations, however, still include a
total of twelve years in the period of elementary and high-school train-
ing and are based upon the assumption that these new types of organ-
ization are better adapted to the physical and psychological development
of the child. Whatever benefits are claimed as a result have not been in
the saving of time in elementary and secondary education.

As of practical bearing upon the solution of this important problem,

46 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

I shall describe in detail an experiment in the elementary and high
schools of the school of education of the University of Chicago which
has already resulted in the complete elimination of one year from the
elementary school and which we expect will ultimately eliminate a
second year from the period of secondary education in the high school
and junior colleges of the university. These schools occupy a peculiarly
advantageous position for the conduct of such an experiment, being
private schools unhampered by connection with a large school system
and having faculties composed of teachers of rather more than ordinary
professional training and interest, so organized that it is possible to
treat the various stages of elementary and secondary education as a
continuous process. The schools are large enough, having over 800
pupils from the homes of the immediate vicinity, to make the experi-
ment typical and of value to other schools and communities.

It should perhaps be stated, at this point, that the program of the
university elementary school contains considerable material that is not
found in most schools. of similar grade. This includes either French
or German, which all the pupils take continuously from the beginning
of the fourth grade. Much attention is also given to nature study,
including, in addition to work in the school gardens, considerable
physics, hygiene, zoology and botany. A good deal of emphasis is also
laid on instruction in the manual arts and in various industries, such as
sewing, weaving, cooking, woodworking and printing. It should be
understood that the effort to save time has not involved the elimination
or curtailment of any of this work which is regarded as equally impor-
tant with the other subjects of instruction.

That considerable time has been wasted in elementary schools by
teaching material of no practical and little educational value is certain.
Arithmetic offers a good illustration in which one may find, from
examination of text-books or by consulting the memory of his own
school days, a good deal of material of a highly specialized sort which
is of no practical value to the pupils, and much more material whose
only purpose is to serve as a basis for intellectual gymnastics, the value
of which is highly questionable. By far greater waste is involved in the
common practise of extended reviews in the upper grades by which
each teacher has felt it necessary toward the end of the year to round
out her pupils for the work of the year to come. This is not infre-
quently supplemented by another period of review at the beginning of
the following year. The practise of devoting most of the last half of
the eighth grade to a comprehensive review of the entire work of the
elementary school is very common. It is a matter of common observa-
tion that these reviews are not interesting to the pupils and it may be
concluded that they are ineffective from the fact that high-school teach-
ers generally complain of the deficient preparation shown by the classes
that come up from the lower schools. To such an extent is this recog-

WASTE IN EDUCATION 47

nized that a widely used text-book in first-year Latin frankly devotes a
large number of pages to English grammar to be taken up at the open-
ing of the year before attacking the intricacies of the Latin tongue.

For the purpose of a better understanding of the material and
methods employed in the university schools, about three years ago a
series of conferences was begun between the teachers of the high school
and of the later years of the elementary school. The material of the
seventh and eighth grades and of the first year of the high school was
gone over in detail. It was found at once that time was wasted in the
repetition of work already done and in the failure to utilize fully some
of the training already given in an earlier grade. These departmental
conferences, including English, history, mathematics and modern lan-
guages, were continued at frequent intervals for a period of one or two
years, and at less frequent intervals have become a part of the regular
school procedure. They resulted in a thorough understanding, on the
part of the teachers of both schools, of the content and method of the
work of both the elementary and high schools, and made it possible for
the eighth grade to enter the high school last autumn with more than
half of the first year's work already accomplished and for the present
seventh grade to enter the high school next autumn, thus fully eliminat-
ing the eighth grade.

In this connection it may be interesting to discuss somewhat
in detail the steps taken to effect this readjustment in the different
departments.

In modern languages, children have for many years begun either
French or German in the fourth grade and have continued this during
the remainder of the elementary school. There is no doubt that pupils
at this age take up the study of a spoken foreign language with great
interest and advantage. They do not take it up in the same way as it
is usually taught to pupils of older years but by the end of the ele-
mentary-school course they have made very substantial progress in the
use of the language in speaking, writing and understanding. We had
been accustomed in the high school to carry these pupils forward in
their chosen language in special classes, but they were given little sub-
stantial credit for their previous work and not infrequently found them-
selves before they had completed the high-school modern language
courses, in the same classes as those who had begun their modern
language work in the high school. The time spent in the elementary
school in the study of French and German was, to some degree for all
and to a very large degree for some, absolutely wasted. The modern
language conferences resulted in modifications in the work and more
particularly in the attitude of the teachers in both schools. Elementary
teachers have been giving instruction this year in first-year high-school
classes, and high-school teachers have come in frequent contact with
the modern language work of the elementary school, and next year

48 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

will conduct classes in the lower grades. The result has been that
pupils from the elementary school will next year go on with the regular
work of the second-year high-school classes in modem languages,
equally well trained with the pupils who began their language work
in the high school, and superior to them in their feeling for the language
and in their ability to pronounce it accurately.

The adjustment in English was comparatively easy. It was found
that here there was considerable unnecessary repetition of material. By
eliminating this and securing definite progress at each point in the
course it was found possible to promote the eighth grade directly into
the second-year work in high-school English. The class thus promoted
this year is proving one of the best of our divisions in second-year work.

In mathematics, as I have already indicated, there is likely to be
much waste. By eliminating this much may be saved, but the most
effective results in mathematics teaching can not be secured without
recasting our material for the upper grades of the elementary and the
earlier years of the high school. Much material from constructive
geometry and the use of the equation in securing the value of the un-
known quantity could be introduced into the grades naturally and with
advantage to the pupil at the time, which would result in a considerable
saving at the point at which formal algebra and geometry are taken up,
with tremendous toll of failure, in the high school. In our own high
school the material of the first two years has been thoroughly reorgan-
ized, interweaving elementary elgebra, plane geometry and some trig-
onometry, in a way to secure a more unified and sequential development
of mathematical knowledge and power without the waste involved in the
usual method of breaking this material up into the usual arbitrary divi-
sions. While the introduction into the grades of the geometric and
algebraic material referred to above has not been fully secured, we suc-
ceeded last year in giving our eighth grade fully one half of the first-
year high-school mathematics. This year the eighth grade is taking
the entire first-year high- school work in mathematics and in the
monthly uniform tests which have been given to all our first-year
mathematics classes, have every time stood well above the average of
the regular high-school classes.

The elementary school, as already indicated, gives much attention
to elementary science. In the high school a course in general science
has been organized which is required of first-year pupils. It was found,
on investigation, that this first-year science course was uninteresting
and of little value to pupils of our own elementary school by reason of
its repetitious nature. These pupils are now allowed to omit this course
and take either in their first year or later some of the specialized science
courses designed to follow the general introductory course.

A similar lack of coordination in manual training, in which our own

WASTE IN EDUCATION

49

elementary-school pupils took the same work as those who had had no
previous manual training, has also been remedied.

By using whatever the pupils bring from the elementary school and
building upon this their first work in the high school, we have secured
a high degree of correlation between the work of the two schools, which
has resulted in reducing to a minimum the shock of change from one
school to the other. By reducing the amount of unnecessary reviewing
and the repetition of material in successive years we have saved one year
from the elementary school without undue forcing of pupils, without
loss of anything of value, and with positive gain in the mental attitude
and habits of the pupils.

It is probably neither possible nor desirable to save still further
time from the elementary school. There remains for us to consider
the period of secondary education. It should be observed at the outset
that the four-year high-school course does not represent the actual range
of secondary education either as regards the natural development of the
pupil or as regards the material and method of instruction. Most of
the work of the first and much of that of the second year in college is
secondary, both in content and method. In earlier times when the range
of subjects taught in high schools and academies was small and the col-
lege requirements were few in number and specific in content, the
student on entering college continued in the same subjects and from the
same point at which his work had ended in the lower school. But with
the greatly expanded scope of high-school courses and the corresponding
increase in the range of subjects accepted for admission to college, it
has become necessary for the college to offer elementary courses in
almost every subject of the curriculum. We find in college beginning
courses in Greek, French, and German, and in Latin the courses cor-
responding to the second and third year of the high school ; elementary
courses in all sciences; in mathematics one half the courses offered in
any first-class high school ; and in history a repetition of most or all the
work of the high school.

The practise of colleges to admit students with conditions some-
times equivalent to a year or even more of high-school work indicates
the acceptance on the part of the college faculties of the fact that the
first year or more of the college course is concerned with secondary work.
The latest statistics of the colleges and universities of the North Central
Association illustrates this.

This table shows that of the seventy-three institutions on the list of

Units
Required

No

Conditions

Allowed

One
Condition
Allowed

One and

One Half

Conditions

Two

Conditions

Allowed

Three

Conditions

Allowed

No Rule

Total

14
15

16

1

4
0

0

19

0

1

8
0

1

27
2

0
5
2

0
2
1

3

65
5

VOL. JLXXXV.— 4

5o THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

the association, although all but three require fifteen or more units for
admission, in only four are fifteen units actually required, while twenty-
two admit students with fourteen units; eight with thirteen and one
half units; twenty-nine with thirteen units; one with twelve and one
half units; and six with twelve units. If this represents the practise of
the stronger colleges of the Middle West, it must be true that many
institutions are admitting students with even less units of preparation.

The importance of economy of time in education has long been
recognized by representatives of the higher institutions. A notable dis-
cussion of this subject from the point of view of the university is found
in the proceedings of the National Educational Association for 1903,
participated in by Ex-Commissioner Brown, Presidents Eliot, Butler,
Harper, Dean West, and others. President Eliot urged that the boy be
prepared to enter college at eighteen and that the college course be
reduced to three years. A saving of two years was to be secured not by
reducing the content, but " by better organization of the whole course of
education from the beginning to the end, by better methods of teaching,
and by large and early freedom of choice among different studies." At
Harvard it has become possible for the abler and more diligent students
to secure the baccalaureate degree in three years by accomplishing in
that time the work formerly done in four years by all students receiving
the degree. President Butler, insisting upon the importance of preserv-
ing the integrity of the college, urged that the student should be pre-
pared to enter college at the age of seventeen, or in some cases at six-
teen. To preserve the college he proposed "to fix and enforce a stand-
ard of admission which can be met normally by a combined elementary
and secondary-school course of not more than ten years well spent and
to keep out of the baccalaureate course purely professional subjects pur-
sued for professional ends by professional methods." For students in-
tending to pursue professional courses later, however, he regards the
four-year college course too long. " Pedagogs," he says, " suppose that
the more time a boy spends in school and college the better; educators
know the contrary." "There should be," he continued, "a college
course two years in length, carefully considered as a thing by itself
and not merely the first part of a three-year or a four-year course,
which will enable intending professional students to spend this time as
advantageously as possible in purely liberal studies." This principle
has been successfully carried out in many of our universities. Presi-
dent Harper also regarded it as important to preserve the four-year
college course, but thought sixteen or seventeen the desirable age for
entering college.

From an investigation on the " Changes in the Age of College
Graduation " published in the Eeport of the Commissioner of Education
for 1902, the author, W. Scott Thomas, proposes three possible means
of reducing the period of education :

WASTE IN EDUCATION 51

First, cut off one year from the college course, without lowering the entrance
requirements; secondly, in view of the far greater efficiency of the secondary
school, reduce the entrance requirements to college, and retaining the four year's
course, permit the boy to enter college a year younger; thirdly, drop one year
from the college course, increase the length of the actual weeks of residence and
instruction to thirty-eight or forty, and endeavor to disabuse the mind of the
average collegian of the belief that college is a place to dawdle and loaf four
years for the sake of a degree that he does not earn, but which he generally gets
just the same.

The discussion has recently been resumed by President Judson of
the University of Chicago. It is fair to interpret his laconic statement
that " The best thing to do with the freshman year is to abolish it " as
meaning that the period of secondary instruction should be reduced by
one year. Whether this be done by shortening the periods now admin-
istered by the high school or the college is of less importance.

The problem is clearly stated: assuming that two years must be
eliminated from the period of elementary and secondary education, find
the years. It is plain that this can be done only by a careful study
of the material and methods employed and a reorganization of the work
of the period involved. It is a study involving not only the twelve years
which have preceded the college course, but also the earlier part of the
college course itself. Having found it possible to eliminate one year
from the elementary school, the problem is reduced one half. I am
confident that conferences of high-school and college teachers in foreign
languages, English, mathematics, history and science, going over the
materials and methods of secondary work in the same careful manner
employed by the departments in the university schools above described,
could easily eliminate a year by the avoidance of duplication and closer
coordination of courses.

In the matter of foreign languages all will agree that it is much
better for the elementary work to be done in the high school. In fact,
there is abundant evidence m the practise of European countries and in
some schools in this country that the study of foreign language may be
begun advantageously before the high-school age. With improved meth-
ods in the high school and better correlation between high school and
college, it should be possible for students to complete the elementary
work in foreign language and either drop the study on entering college
or go on with more advanced work without the repetition of any work
already done. Against the elimination of elementary work in foreign
language in college it may be urged that with the great variety of sub-
jects included in the high-school curriculum many students will com-
plete their high-school courses without foreign languages, and as colleges
require a certain amount of foreign language of all candidates for a
degree, they must either offer elementary courses or throw the student
back upon the high school for a still longer period of preparation. But
as the student who goes to college must either present foreign language

52 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

for entrance or take it up on entering college, it would be altogether to
his advantage to induce him to take it up in the high school. And this
could in most cases be accomplished, particularly if he could know that
it would result in the saving of time.

As for English, it is a recognized fact that the first college courses
in composition and literature are of an elementary character, quite
within the reach of the high school to accomplish in the time now
devoted to the study. This as recognized by the practise of some colleges
which allow the better trained pupils credit for these courses on proving
by examination, and in some cases by the recommendation of their high-
school instructors, that they are competent to go on with more advanced
work. First-class high schools are able to give the preparation required
for the present college courses in three years. A great gain would be
made in training high-school pupils in the effective use of the vernacu-
lar both in speaking and writing, if not only the teachers of English,
but those of all subjects, would come to share in this training. At
present the pupil feels that high standards of form are required only in
the English class rooms. If in history, science and other subjects, the
same standards of form in the notes and papers and in spoken language
were required as in the English classes, our students would be better
prepared for college in less time than is now devoted to the work. Many
papers required in other departments might also be used to meet the
requirement for written work in English, thus saving time which the
pupil devotes to the preparation of themes used by the English teacher
alone.

In science, the preparation at present required by colleges is doubt-
less of a more specialized form than our high schools can profitably
give to the large number of pupils who will never enter college. It
should be possible, however, to organize courses in high school of the
highest value to the students as a training in the materials and method
of science, which could also form the basis for further work in college
without going over again the same ground covered in the high school.
High-school science would be more profitable in itself as well as for
college preparation if the various courses in the high school were organ-
ized in a more unified and progressive sequence. Their value as prepa-
ration for further courses in college would be greatly enhanced if college
teachers could become well acquainted with the aim and method of
high-school science.

The situation in history may be described as similar to that of the
sciences. Of both history and science, it may rightly be said that some
and often all the work of a student has been taken in the earlier years
of the high school when he was too immature to pursue the subject in
any other than a most elementary manner. In this case repetition is
not only necessary, but desirable, if the student is to take up these sub-
jects in college. Repetition is not necessarily wasteful if it be from a

WASTE IN EDUCATION 53

different point of view and for the sake of developing more advanced
work. But elementary college courses in which pupils who have al-
ready covered the same ground in high school are taught together with
those who have had no previous training in the subject force the conclu-
sion that the time spent in either the high school or the college is
wasted.

If our colleges are to continue to offer in their various departments
elementary work which may be as well done in the high school, economy
of time might be secured by allowing high-grade students credit for a
certain amount of this work, even though they had already been allowed
admission credit for the same work. Given a certain minimum of
required work involving continuity, say ten units in four subjects with
not less than two in any one, the likelihood of success in college depends
more upon a student's ability and habits of work than upon his pres-
entation of any fixed number of additional units. A study of the
records made in the Harvard Medical and Law Schools by graduates of
Harvard College, published by President Lowell in the Educational
Review (1912), showed that the quality of work in these professional
schools corresponded very closely with the work done by the same stu-
dent in college and was influenced very little by the type of courses
pursued during his college course.

There is no doubt that a student entering college with thirteen units
secured with a high grade is better fitted for a successful college course
than one entering with fifteen units secured with a low grade. A very
serious obstacle to efficiency in high-school work is found in the lack of
incentive offered to able pupils to do their best. Most of the adminis-
trative machinery of our schools and much of the teaching energy are
spent in an effort to lift the indifferent and incompetent over the barrier
of a passing grade, while the able or exceptional pupil is allowed to
acquire the habit of being satisfied with attainment far below his
capacities. In most schools it is not regarded as good form to secure
high grades. The "gentleman's grade" has come to be recognized as
well below the median. Distinctions resulting from good scholastic
records are usually petty and unsubstantial and make small appeal to
students in general. The position of valedictorian is not held in suffi-
cient esteem to induce many boys and girls to pay the price of four
years of. hard study. A few schools have adopted the plan of giving
extra credit for high grades. In the university high school we give 1.2
units for a year's work with a grade of A, 1.1 units for a grade of B, 1
unit for a grade of C, and .9 unit for a grade of D. A substantial
reward is thus secured for excellent work and a corresponding loss for
work of low grade. We have observed a steady improvement in the
quality of our work since the adoption of this system of awarding credit.
Several students will be graduated in June who would not otherwise
be able to do so, exceptional students having secured in two years since

54 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

the adoption of the plan two full units of excess credit. What attitude
the college will take toward such cases I do not know, but I am con-
vinced that this student with only thirteen units on the usual basis for
reckoning admission credits is by all means the best prepared student in
the entire class. With the rapidly growing tendency for college author-
ities to place the responsibility for the decision as to the fitness of pupils
to enter college upon the high school, I see no reason why students
should not be accepted from properly accredited schools a limited part
of whose credits have been given because of exceptionally good work.

Another means for increasing the efficiency of school work is in the
improvement of class-room methods. One of the most frequently reiter-
ated complaints made by high-school and college teachers is that our
pupils do not know how to study. They certainly do not in most cases,
and those who do have not consciously been taught the art by their
teachers. Each teacher who makes the complaint lays the fault upon
the teachers in the grades below and recognizes no responsibility on his
own part for teaching this neglected lesson. The teacher of Caesar
thinks it so important to get his pupils through the four books which
long tradition has assigned to his year's work, that he has no time to
lose in teaching his pupils how to study. Let those who can not keep
the pace fall by the wayside! And the dead scattered along the road
each year are as numerous as those who fell in the most sanguinary of
Caesar's campaigns in Gaul. The usual practise of daily assignments
of home work to be done under varying and often most unfavorable con-
ditions, followed by a period spent in an ineffectual attempt to secure
anything approaching an adequate and coherent recitation of the day's
assignment, affords little incentive to the bright pupil and little training
to the dull one. The method is most ineffectual so far as the mastery
of the immediate material is concerned2 and breeds slipshod, if not dis-
honest, habits of work and of thinking. Some valuable experiments
have been made recently, showing that without any home study at all,
by devoting the class period to careful teaching followed by work under
the direction and supervision of the teacher, more actual ground can be
covered and better results secured at the end of a given time, than
under the usual recitation method. This method has been employed in
Latin in several New Hampshire schools, in which the classes have
covered in three years the amount of work usually done in four, and
the fourth year has been given to the reading of college authors in an
amount and with a facility which is surprising. And all this has been
done with much less than the usual elimination of pupils by failure.
When teachers of the upper years of the elementary school and the first
year of the high school come to realize that it is more important that
pupils learn right habits of work than that they get through a certain

i See the article "Teaching High School Pupils How to Study," by Ernst R.
Breslict in the School Review XX: 505-15.

WASTE IN EDUCATION 55

number of pages in a text-book we shall find that the actual accomplish-
ments measured in material mastered will be greater, that school work
will be done with far greater zest, and, what is more valuable, that the
pupils will have acquired methods of study which will greatly increase
their efficiency in the more advanced work of later years. It is this
method of teaching instead of hearing recitations which, more than any
other single cause, characterizes the work of the German schools and
makes possible the greater accomplishment during the period of second-
ary education.

Our present school day and year could be considerably lengthened
with great gain in efficiency and without danger of overtaxing the
pupil's strength. Much recreational and occupational activity has been
added to the work of the school without any corresponding addition to
the time spent in school. With the greater variety and interest secured
by improved methods of teaching, and with much less work assigned for
home study, a longer day would add greatly to the pupil's attainment in
a given number of weeks. If, in addition, the long period of vacation
with its accompanying dissipation of the results already secured, could
be reduced, it is not unreasonable to expect that three years would be
sufficient for the accomplishment of what is now done in four. The
large number of pupils who now voluntarily attend vacation schools in
our large cities suggests the conclusion that many students would wel-
come such an extension of the school year.

To summarize this discussion briefly. Waste in our elementary and
secondary education is due chiefly to: (1) a lack of coordination be-
tween the separate parts of our school organization; (2) to the lack of
training of teachers; and (3) to the short tenure of position of teachers.
A remedy may be sought in: (1) a readjustment of our school organ-
ization; (2) in the elimination of unnecessary reviews and repetitions;
(3) in improved methods of instruction; (4) by furnishing substantial
incentive to better work on the part of the pupils; (5) and by lengthen-
ing the amount of time given to instruction during the school year.

Any effective treatment of the problem will depend upon the recog-
nition of the fact that we are dealing with a unified process extending
through the entire period of elementary and secondary education. The
problem can be solved only when teachers employed at every point in the
process, including the instructors in the early years of the college
course, devote serious attention, not merely to the small sphere of their
immediate activity, but to the materials and method of the entire period
involved.

56 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

THE STEUGGLE FOR EQUALITY IN THE UNITED STATES

VIII

By Professor CHARLES F. EMERICK

SMITH COLLEGE

The Current Trend of Affairs. Ill

No feature of the present era is more full of promise than the grow-
ing strength of the working classes. The gain in self-respect, political
influence, ability to cooperate and capacity for self-help during the
nineteenth century is almost beyond belief. This is notably true where
the working classes occupy a strategic position in bargaining with their
employers, as in the building trades and in connection with railways.
Quite the reverse of the progressive deterioration of the masses pre-
dicted by some prophets of disaster is taking place. The rank and file
of society is the recruiting ground of so much that is best among our
political and industrial leaders that it is obviously the mainstay of our
civilization. If any one thing has been clearly demonstrated it is the
capacity of the man of humble origin to make good in a surprising num-
ber of instances if he is only given a chance. It is a mistake to associ-
ate the working-class movement with turbulence and disorder to the
exclusion of the fortitude and self-sacrifice displayed in attaining its
ends. The acts of lawlessness are, after all, sporadic, and are so gener-
ally recognized as anti-social that society can usually be depended upon
to suppress them with a firm hand. Unfortunately, there is less cer-
tainty that the community possesses the foresight, patience and resolu-
tion necessary to deal intelligently with the straitened circumstances
and conditions out of which lawlessness springs. Among the factors
that are welding together the diverse linguistic, racial and religious ele-
ments that come to us from other lands, few are as influential as the
labor movement. The independence and self-reliance of working people,
and the quickness with which they resent an insult, are common sub-
jects of remark among employers of domestic and of other help. The
point of view of the employer is easy enough to understand, but it calls
attention to a situation that is socially hopeful. Even from the stand-
point of employers, a working class that knows its rights and dares main-
tain them is to be preferred to one that is servilely submissive. It puts
employers on their mettle and under bonds of good behavior. Much as
socialism, when it goes to certain extremes, is to be feared, it renders
wealth less arrogant in its demands, makes powerfully for the correction

THE STRUGGLE FOR EQUALITY 57

of many of the manifest evils of the times, and is, on the whole, a good
rather than a bad omen for society.

I am, of course, aware that the working classes have no monopoly of
virtue. Their ranks have their full share of those whom Horace Greeley
described as "the conceited, the crotchety, the selfish, the headstrong,
the pugnacious, the unappreciated, the played-out, the idle and the
good-for-nothing generally." The position of the employer, conse-
quently, is not in a bed of roses. His best efforts are ofttimes miscon-
strued and rewarded with ingratitude. Harassed by walking delegates,
it is not strange that he sometimes concludes that his employees ought
to starve till they come to their senses. "Lay a silver dollar on the
shelf," an employer of railway labor once remarked, "and it will be
there when you come back. Lay a working man on the shelf and he will
starve. This is the solution of the labor problem." These words well
express the inability of labor to hold out in any contest with capital.
None the less, the majority of employers in their calmer moments do
not court a contest with their employees. In the first place, the contest
may be a protracted one and employers are not unmindful of their own
losses. In this age of organized sympathy, those on a strike are often
supported for weeks by contributions from those at work. In the second
place, there is a better solution of the labor problem. The more en-
lightened employers find it good business to manifest a disposition to
do the square thing, and to talk over the facts with their men fully and
frankly. Because a man is getting a living wage, or one well above what
he once got, is no reason for smothering his ambition for one still
higher. The suppression of ambition would be fatal to progress. There
can be no enduring peace between capital and labor save on the basis of
fair dealing by both parties.

Attention is sometimes called to the fact that the working class, by
playing upon the fears of rival politicians, can extort legislation unduly
favorable to itself. Instances of such legislation undoubtedly occur and
they are a source of danger to the state. It is doubtful, however,
whether they are as common as the control of the state in the interests of
other classes, especially in the United States where social legislation lays
so far behind many European countries. It is true that social legislation
is piling heavy burdens upon the state. But it is a worthy object and it
is far less expensive than modern military establishments which it helps
to keep within bounds. Viewed simply as an investment, the cost of so-
cial legislation may more than justify itself. It is said that social insur-
ance in Germany has made the working classes more contented and effi-
cient and has contributed to the rapid industrial advance of the empire.
The world has never been unfamiliar with class rule. But the spectacle
of the working class using the state for the advancement of its own in-
terests is so modern that it strikes many minds as especially dangerous.

53 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

There is a feeling that the working class will use its power with less
moderation than the capitalist class. It is doubtful whether this feeling
is well founded. There is no force in mere numbers unless they act to-
gether, and there is little reason to suppose that the working class is any
more nearly united than the capitalists in our politics. The demands of
working people sometimes appear more brazen than those of capitalists,
but this is an element of weakness rather than strength. So long as the
political activities of any faction are not insidious, society has little
to fear.

There is a good deal of dissension in the ranks of labor. Dissim-
ilarity rather than similarity of interest between trades is the basis of
trade-unionism. The downfall of the Knights of Labor is commonly
attributed to disregarding this basis. By admitting workmen of differ-
ent trades into its local organizations, the seed of dissolution was sown.
Many workingmen, such as those in the building trades and the railway
trainmen, have more in common with their employers than they have
with the great mass of unskilled labor. The railway trainmen are not
affiliated with the American Federation of Labor, and the latter is on
unfriendly terms with the Industrial Workers of the World. The po-
litical or parliamentary socialists in turn differ with the I. W. W. on the
important matter of tactics. Moreover, socialism as a political move-
ment is divided into the orthodox followers of Marx and the reformists
or possibilists, a line of cleavage destined to become much more marked
the moment socialism captures the reins of power.

Men's economic interests are rarely single; in the complexity of modern in-
dustrial society their relations are not confined to a single group ; they can not be
classified solely from one viewpoint. The strata are many, the cross-sections in-
numerable. Geographical division, occupational interest, color and racial differ-
ences cut athwart the symmetrical lines of the class-struggle theorist. Not
merely do the interests of workmen and employer diverge, so far as the sharing
of the product goes, but the German agrarian struggles against the manufacturer,
the small shopkeeper against the great department store, the independent manu-
facturer against the trust, the white bricklayer or fireman against the negro, the
American trade unionist against the immigrant, carpenters' against woodwork-
ers' union in jurisdictional disputes. Employers and employed unite in a closed
shop, closed-masters' agreement to prey on the consuming public; trade unions
back trusts' demands for more room at the tariff trough.18

It is only fair to say, however, that certain aspects of the labor move-
ment can not but excite the apprehension of the disinterested observer.
For one thing, there is serious ground for regret that the different
classes of labor are advancing at such unequal rates. On the one hand,
there is an aristocracy of organized labor that revels in prosperity. On
the other hand, there is much unskilled labor that gets less than a liv-
ing wage. There are labor monopolies which by threatening to strike

18 0. D. Skelton, "Socialism, a Critical Analysis," pp. 112-113.

TEE STRUGGLE FOR EQUALITY 59

can bring such pressure to bear as to secure demands far beyond their
just deserts, and part of what they are able to extort is at the expense
of their less fortunate brethren. • To those who have more is given,
while from those who have not is taken away part of even the little that
they have. The rules governing apprenticeship sometimes aim at mo-
nopoly. The stay-at-home vote is as fatal to competent leadership in
the labor world as in politics. The sympathy of the public with labor is
sometimes so strong that it condones acts of violence. On occasion the
demands of labor are so immoderate as to threaten the goose that lays
the golden egg. It is possible that this condition has about been reached
in the case of railway labor. The professed object of the militant branch
of the Industrial Workers of the World is to take over the capital of the
country by destroying the business of the employer. To this end, costly
strikes are precipitated, materials and machinery wantonly damaged, the
good will of the business wilfully injured, and inefficiency on the part of
the workers openly encouraged and practised. The fact that organized
labor, in general, is seemingly so indifferent to increasing the efficiency
of the workers and so largely contents itself with strengthening their
bargaining power is to be regretted. It unwarrantedly interferes at
times with proper discipline by the employer. The shallow view that
the way to make work and raise the general level of wages is for every
man to confine himself to a minimum stint is unfortunately too fre-
quently a fundamental article of faith in labor circles. Organized labor
less frequently aims at increasing the efficiency of production than
organized capital.

IV

There are some indications that private property, far from being on
its last legs, is taking on new life. At any rate, it is showing symp-
toms of great vitality. Man has an incurable desire for property. This
is nowhere more conspicuous than among a large portion of the for-
eign born. The industry and thrift of the German immigrants are
proverbial, and much the same thing is true of the Norwegian, Swedish,
Italian and Jewish immigrants. The Poles in the Connecticut Valley
work from early dawn till dusk at weeding onions and practise the
strictest economy. They are buying farm after farm and are noted for
meeting their obligations on the dot. The yearning for one's own is so
deep and strong that in many Polish boarding houses each man's meat,
potatoes, etc., is purchased for his individual account and cooked in
separate vessels for his personal use. If some portions of the population
are given to extravagance, other portions carry the practise of thrift to
an excess, in many instances going without things necessary to health
which they are abundantly able to buy.

60 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

The drift of current opinion is not hostile to property per se. Its
animus is rather against special privilege of all kinds. It is also bent
on subjecting property that has outgrown the restraints of competition
to political control. Where political control proves inadequate, how-
ever, there is a disposition to resort to collective ownership and opera-
tion. It is undeniable, also, that the right of private property in such
gifts of nature as forest and mineral wealth, and in the future "un-
earned increment" of land in large cities, is being more and more
called in question. But, on the other hand, practically every one recog-
nizes the indefeasible right of a man to property in any value that his
labor creates, and the great majority of minds approve the right to
property in the product which capital creates under competitive condi-
tions that are normal and fair. The preponderance of opinion still
strongly favors private ownership and initiative, and relies upon self-
interest as the fountain source of the additional capital required for the
further development of our resources. It is noteworthy that socialism
limits its attack on property to things instrumental in exploiting the
working classes. A member of the Socialist party in such good and
regular standing as Spargo contemplates the retention of private prop-
erty in a portion of producer's as well as of consumer's goods. In ap-
pealing to farmers and small dealers, socialism is under the necessity
of moderating its attacks on property, thereby losing something of its
purely proletarian character. It is significant, also, that the national
constitution of the Socialist party, approved by referendum in 1912, de-
clares that any member of the party

who advocates crime, sabotage, or other methods of violence as a weapon of
the working class, to aid in its emancipation, shall be expelled from member-
ship in the party.ia

There is little prospect of a contest in which all the property owners
will be found in one camp and all those without property in another.
The normal craving in every man of ambition to accumulate something
of his own works strongly against such an alignment. In most con-
tests, those who ride are not pitted singly against those who walk, but
various combinations of these two classes constitute the contending
parties. Moreover, the combinations are rarely the same in two succes-
sive contests.

Many of the great reforms that have been adopted have not de-
stroyed property, but have changed conditions in such a way as to in-
crease the incentives in life, and to enlarge the sum total of things
capable of ownership. The abolition of slavery simply transferred slave
property from the master to him who had been the slave to the mutual
good of both parties. Railway control and effective regulation of trusts

i» National Constitution of the Socialist Party, Section 6, Article II.

THE STRUGGLE FOR EQUALITY 61

do not make the community poorer, but give increased zest to life by
interfering with the few plundering the many. If it were practicable
to restore the unlawful pickings of industrial combinations to those
whose pockets have been filched, there would be no destruction of prop-
erty, but merely a return of value to those to whom it rightfully be-
longs. The control which the community is asserting over children, in
so far as it makes the child stronger mentally and physically, increases
the value of the property right which the child at maturity has in him-
self. The greater freedom accorded women, married or single, includ-
ing the recognition of their individuality in the ownership of property,
has merely lodged a control in them which was formerly exercised by
their husbands or fathers.

Furthermore, an increase of collective property may enlarge rather
than contract the sphere of private property by giving the individual
more playroom in life. This is the normal consequence of public ex-
penditures for education. The municipalization of public works, such
as water, lighting and surface transportation, has contributed to the
prosperity of private industry in many European cities. If the state
were completely freed from the control of special interests, if all forms
of exploitation were abolished, including the various kinds of corporate
rascality, it may well be that private property in numberless directions
would be given a new lease of life. The lack of sympathy between cap-
ital and labor is an ominous fact. But every successful attempt to
bridge the chasm, every reform that makes the working class feel that
it has something more than a stipulated wage at stake in industry or
that makes the relation between wages and efficiency more obvious, will
make for the continuance of the existing order. It is no longer prudent
for the state to take a negative attitude toward the social problem.
Positive action is imperative or it will fall into the hands of the more
venturesome portion of society. The Liberal party in Great Britain
has pointed the way. By keeping abreast of the times it has helped to
prevent a radical brand of socialism from sweeping the country. As
Lowell puts it :

It is only when the reasonable and practicable are denied that men demand
the unreasonable and the impracticable; only when the possible is made difficult
that they fancy the impossible easy.20

It is possible that our institutions may be wrecked by innovation,
but our danger lies rather in not responding rapidly enough to the
reasonable demands of the times. Our different states are so many po-
litical experiment stations for the trying out of new ideas, and a dan-

20 Op. cit., pp. 16-17.

62 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

gerous fad is apt to be found out and discarded before it makes its way
over many states. If any features of the Oregon plan of government
prove unwise, it is only a matter of time when they will be abandoned
by the people of the state themselves.

The best way to conserve what is good is sedulously to remove what
is bad. The nation that is genuinely progressive is in the best sense
conservative. The man who gains recognition and promotion is in-
clined to take due credit to himself and to think that, after all, the
world is not fundamentally wrong. Hence, there is no better way to
maintain the social order than to remove every species of favoritism
that prevents men of ability from advancing in life. The effect is at
once to strengthen the powers that be and to deprive the forces of dis-
content of able leadership. The stability of the social order in England
lies in the fact that the nation has not stood still, but has from time to
time adapted its institutions to changing conditions. This is probably
the most distinctive fact in English history. Every one is aware that
revolutionary outbursts frequently miscarry by creating a reaction.
But the reverse is also true. Where the dominant class places freedom
of discussion under the ban and will permit no change, as has been true
much of the time in Russia, the forces that make for progress have no
alternative but revolution. The French Revolution itself was largely
due to the obstructionists who held out blindly against reform. The
reactionaries of our time are assuming a heavy responsibility.

American democracy is commonly associated with an open mind.
We have avoided the extreme conservatism to which Sir Henry Maine
thought a broad suffrage inclined.21 Our material civilization has been
one of progressive improvement. Our inventive ingenuity has a world-
wide reputation. We have become par excellence the land of large-scale
production. The prevalence of the reading habit has familiarized the
public with the more important achievements of science. The doctrine
of the ascent of man has displaced that of the fall of man in secular
affairs and to some extent in theology. We have been in a measure
free from many of the old-world traditions. " The American people, as
a rule, approach a new object, a new theory, or a new practise ; with a
degree of hope and confidence which no other people exhibit."22 Such
facts as these indicate a state of mind favorable to progress, but they do
not warrant the belief that we are prone to revolutionary suggestion.

Contrary to the common supposition, there is a large streak of con-
servatism in the American people. Bagehot claimed for the people of
Great Britain the proud distinction of excelling every other people in
"the virtue of stupidity," "nature's favorite resource for preserving
steadiness of conduct and consistency of opinion."23 In this respect,

21 "Popular Government," pp. 35, 36, 41 and 98.

22 Charles W. Eliot, op. cit., p. 63.

23 Thomas Nixon Carver, "Sociology and Social Progress," pp. 501-502.

THE STRUGGLE FOR EQUALITY 63

the American people are not so far behind those of Great Britain as
many suppose. Not until 1912 was a federal bureau established to
gather information about children. We were one of the last among the
leading nations of the world to take steps to abolish the wholly un-
necessary disease known as " phossy jaw." The visionary and imprac-
ticable enthusiast is probably accorded as scant a hearing in the United
States as in any other country. Our toleration of all sorts of fads and
isms should not be mistaken for approval. In many industries, such
as steel, agricultural implements, the textile trades and dressed meats,
the individual has become a cog in a huge industrial machine. Never-
theless, a return to the scheme of production formerly in vogue is not
seriously considered. Probably the Socialists are as much opposed to
sacrificing the efficiency of large-scale production as any one else. We
pride ourselves on our freedom from tradition, all the time oblivious to
the fact that we have been rapidly gathering a set of traditions all our
own. We have clung tenaciously to competition as a regulator of the
railway industry long after it has broken down, and we are seeking to
restore competitive conditions by dissolving the trusts. We have a
strong aversion to a third term for the presidency. We still retain the
form of the electoral college, and the custom of Congress not meeting in
regular session till thirteen months after its members have been
chosen. A population that is instinctively radical would hardly have
tolerated our judicial system for more than one hundred years. Our
system of checks and balances is of the very essence of conservatism.
We content ourselves with a written constitution so rigid that, like a
religious creed, the only well-recognized mode of amendment is by
interpretation and the slow process of accretion. Interstate commerce
has increased by leaps and bounds, and many of our industries have
become nation-wide in character, and yet we retain a distribution of
powers between the states and the nation intended for a time when
comparatively little commerce crossed state lines, when industry was
largely a neighborhood affair, and when the sense of nationality was
weak. Our constitution antedates "the railroad, the steamboat, and
the French Eevolution, and was contemporary with George the Third,
Marie Antoinette, and flintlock muskets."24
An appreciative foreign observer remarks:

So far as their Constitution is concerned the American people have shown
themselves the most stable of all people. Their Constitution is to-day the same
as -when it was created; in the century and a quarter that has elapsed since then,
the constitution of England — England, the very type of conservatism — has
silently changed; Englishmen have seen disestablishment, the enlargement of the
franchise, real parliamentary representation and government, the removal of
political disabilities, the last relics of feudal privileges destroyed. To speak of

24 Walter E. Weyl, op. cit., p. 15.

64 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

Germany and France, of Italy and Russia, of all Europe and all South America,
is to recall constitutions made and unmade, and codes that bear little relation to
their originals.25

Our most distinctive and persistent tradition is our self-reliant
individualism. This is at once our strength and our weakness. It has
hastened the industrial conquest of a continent, but it has wasted our
natural resources, needlessly sacrificed human life, and it has been
indifferent to the general welfare. So long as private profit is con-
sistent with public ends, it is a source of strength, but the moment it
becomes inconsistent it is a source of weakness. The flagrant evils of
American life are largely due to applying to present-day conditions a
philosophy suited to the frontier. We can not regulate the railways
and the trusts, reform the tariff, or abolish the slums without encoun-
tering an overweening individualism. The disregard of speed ordi-
nances by automobilists, the prostitution of public office to private ends,
the corrupting influence of business on our political life, and the all too
prevalent spirit of lawnessness are traceable to this characteristic. We
have been optimistic to a fault. We have cherished the delusion that
our manifest evils if left alone will eradicate themselves. We have
assumed that we are in a special sense the chosen people of God. No
matter which way we turn, the " psychological twist " which originated
in pioneer days interferes with our becoming a socialized democracy.

VI

The opponents of the demand for a larger measure of popular
government forget the growing intelligence of the people. Schools and
colleges, books, newspapers and magazines, modern transportation and
communication, business intercourse, the trade union, political dis-
cussion, the numerous clubs and Chautauqua circles, and the growing
density of population which brings mind more frequently in contact
with mind, are so many agencies for promoting the general enlighten-
ment. Eural free delivery, the telephone, the interurban trolley, and
the influence of the city are widening the mental horizon of the farmer.

More fundamental is the influence of the scientific spirit to which
Darwin's works gave such a decided impetus. Laboratory methods of
research are pushing forward the frontier of knowledge. Many of our
universities and technical schools are devoting themselves to pure sci-
ence as well as to vocational training. Electrical machinery, the aero-
plane, the automobile and wireless telegraphy arouse the scientific
curiosity of the young. They also engender respect for the profession
of the engineer who delves into the mysteries of nature. Besides, the
ideals of democracy are permeating all classes of society.

25 A. Maurice Low, ' ' The American People, A Study in National Psychol-
ogy, The Harvesting of a Nation," Vol. 2, p. 300.

THE STRUGGLE FOR EQUALITY 65

John Stuart Mill aptly said more than sixty years ago:

Of the working men, at least in the more advanced countries of Europe, it
may be pronounced certain, that the patriarchial or paternal system of govern-
ment is one to which they will not again be subject. That question was de-
cided, when they were taught to read, and allowed access to newspapers and
political tracts; when dissenting preachers were suffered to go among them, and
appeal to their faculties and feelings in opposition to the creeds professed and
countenanced by their superiors; when they were brought together in numbers,
to work socially under the same roof ; when railways enabled them to shift from
place to place, and change their patrons and employers as easily as their coats;
when they were encouraged to seek a share in government, by means of the elec-
toral franchise. The working classes have taken their interests into their own
hands, and are perpetually showing that they think the interests of their employ-
ers not identical with their own, but opposite to them. Some among the higher
classes flatter themselves that these tendencies may be counteracted by moral
and religious education: but they have let the time go by for giving an education
which can serve their purpose. The principles of the reformation have reached
as low down in society as reading and writing, and the poor will not much
longer accept morals and religion of other people's preseribing.26

The common man is not only more intelligent, hut he has a keener
sense of self-respect. This is partly because he is better off materially.
Penury and want have a brutalizing effect because they prevent man
from leading a wholesome, normal life. The material comforts of life
not only affect our physical welfare, but they influence our mental and
moral outlook. Give a man something more than the bare necessities
of life and you make it possible for his better nature, his desire for
books, travel and education, to compete with his lower or sensual self.
Doubtless something more than an increase of this world's goods is
necessary to the reformation and upbuilding of character. The springs
that issue from the hidden recesses of the heart are no less important.
An increase of wealth unaccompanied by a wholesome expansion of
desires is a curse rather than a blessing. Great wealth is often ener-
vating. Habits of luxurious ease are degrading. There can be no
doubt, however, that the comforts and decencies which the nineteenth
century brought within the reach of the masses have done much to
civilize mankind. Besides, the process of acquiring wealth has been
helpful. It has forced men to contrive and has saved them from idle
and aimless lives. Commercial intercourse has done much to widen the
mental horizon, to undermine prejudice and to banish provincialism.

The problems of the day which give character to the present age
are not due to the growing ignorance and degradation of the electorate.
We are not witnessing " the revolt of the unfit," but the demands of
the " fit " for simple justice. The spread of intelligence and a stronger
spirit of fair play are liberating new wTants, pointing the way to new
ambitions, and are rendering men more self-assertive, more insistent

26 Op. cit., p. 756.

VOL. LXXXV. — 5.

66 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

upon justice. " Wider knowledge/' says Lloyd George, " is a creating in
the mind of the workman growing dissatisfaction with the conditions
under which he is forced to live."27 Besides, the improvement in econ-
omic conditions that has occurred within a life time whets the appetite
for something more, and the shortening of the working day gives men
time to realize how inferior their state is in comparison with their
fondest hopes. The hope of better things in our present social system
has to some extent taken the place of religious belief. The failure of
incomes among a large portion of the population to keep step with
rising prices always makes men chafe. But when the expectations of
men for something better are once aroused, such a rise of prices as the
last fifteen years have witnessed is doubly trying. When a nation like
China, in which ancestor worship and reverence for the past have been
time-honored points of view, is shaken to its very foundation by a
political and social revolution, we in America who profess democracy
as our ideal can hardly hope to escape the sweep of a movement that
aims at uplifting the common lot and according the masses a larger
voice in the management of affairs. The movement for the betterment
of mankind seems destined to go on whatever befalls the fortunes of
particular individuals. The forces of democracy are so strong that it
matters little whether a Eoosevelt, a Taft or a Wilson is president.

Six facts justify a hopeful view of the future. The first is " tolera-
tion in religion, the best fruit of the last four centuries." This is
fundamental to liberty and promises to save us from frittering away
our energies in needless bickerings. The second is our system of public
schools, which provides us with a certain minimum of enlightenment.
The third is the keen ethical sense of the people. The questions of
the day that arouse most interest involve matters of right and wrong.
Our most successful politicians are great preachers. The fourth is the
spirit of unity that pervades the land. Sectional feeling is at a low ebb.
The east and the west, the north and the south, are more nearly one
than ever before. The entire country acquiesces in the influence which
the states that tried to secede in 1861 now exercise at Washington.
Exhibitions of class feeling are, after all, exceptional. Commercial inter-
course between different portions of the country makes strongly for
community of interest. When one considers how frequently the bonds
of affection within the family are strained to the point of breaking,
the spirit of concord in the business world is little less than marvelous.
The fifth is the success with which large corporations sift out compe-
tent leaders. Big business occasionally acquires an element of monop-
oly and menaces the state itself, but the management of its own affairs
is commonly marked by a high degree of efficiency. Rivalry for promo-
tion among capable men is especially keen in the large concern.

27 Eobert Donald, "The Square Deal in England," an authorized interview
with David Lloyd George, The Outlook, Vol. 101, June 22, 1912, p. 398.

THE STRUGGLE FOR EQUALITY 67

Nepotism and other forms of favoritism now and then determine pre-
ferment, but large enterprises have -usually been free from these
influences. The sixth is the wholesome effect which comes from doing
things in the open. The tendency to insist upon publicity in corporate
and public management is strong.

Publicity exposes not only wickedness but also folly and bad judgment. It
makes crime and political corruption more difficult and less attractive. The
forger, burglar and corruptionist need secrecy, for two reasons: first, that they
may succeed in their crimes; and secondly, that they may enjoy the fruits of their
wickedness. The most callous sinner finds it hard to enjoy the product of his sin
if he knows that everybody is aware how he came by it. No good cause ever
suffered from publicity; no bad cause but instinctively avoids it.28

I am not unmindful of the perils which attend the period upon
which we have entered. Some of them have been alluded to in the
course of these pages. In addition I will mention the following. First,
is the prevalence of a superficial habit of reading and thinking. Few
college graduates, even, are capable of sustained thought. Many voters
read nothing but a party newspaper. Second, is the difficulty which
many voters experience in foreseeing the distant consequences of some
kinds of political action. Third, is the vice of indifference and irre-
sponsibility to which some voters are subject. In a large population,
the amount of sovereignty that resides in the individual is so small
that he is tempted to wonder if it makes any difference whether he votes
or not. Fourth, is the temptation to assume that the majority is invari-
ably right, or, at any rate, that it is irresistible and that it is not
worth while to try to reverse it. Fifth, the press is interested in selling
news and has a certain bias in favor of war. It is therefore tempted to
pander to prejudice against foreigners and to foment international
ill-feeling. The manufacturers of armor plate and other military sup-
plies are subject to the same temptation. These and other perils, how-
ever, seem to me for the most part as inevitable as the dangers which
attend the young man who leaves home to go to college, or is set adrift
in the world to shift for himself. Moreover, they are largely offset by
the critical spirit which has taken the place of a blind obedience to
authority and precedent among a large number of the population. As
responsibility is the making of the man that is in the boy, so political
institutions that depend upon the self-control, public spirit and wisdom
of the masses tend to bring out the better side of human nature. One
can not learn to swim without the perils which attend going into the
water. Neither can humanity acquire a larger measure of self-discipline
with the aid of democratic institutions without the risk of not making
the best use of its opportunities. When the suffrage was enlarged in
Great Britain in 1867, Robert Lowe is said to have remarked: "We
must now at least educate our new masters." No words are more
appropriate at the present juncture in human affairs.
28 Charles W. Eliot, op. cit., p. 55.

68

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

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REVELATIONS OF THE YO SEMITE VALLEY 69

GENESIS AND REVELATIONS OF THE YOSEMITE VALLEY

By HAROLD FRENCH

OAKLAND, CALIF.

THE marvelous structure and sculpture of the Yosemite Valley
kindles the imagination of every visitor to this great natural
wonder and causes scientist and layman alike to evince the most intense
interest in the origin of this mile-deep trough amid the granite waves
of the High Sierra. Each pilgrim to this Mountain-Mecca endeavors
to satisfy his mind as to the causes of its carving. Every one who
wanders there wonders and guesses at its genesis; but the revelations
of its geomorphogeny are far from being satisfactory or complete.
Scientists have come and savants have gone, but few have agreed in their
conclusions. The scenic grandeur of the Yosemite has sunk deep in the
souls of poets and painters, artists and literateurs; and to the most
practical of men, engineers and miners, do its unique features equally
appeal. Awe-inspiring evidences of colossal dynamic agencies, such as
the undermining and subsidence of vast areas, or the tremendous up-
heaval of sky-piercing peaks and ridges, the quarrying and ground-
sluicing of Brobdignagian blocks of granite, are all of deep significance
and extreme interest to the mind of the miner. Over all this weird
wonderland broods the spell of an enigmatic Sphinx. To this day, the
Yosemite is, of a verity, the Valley of Mystery.

General Geological Features

Before discussing the conflicting theories conjectured about the
origin of the Yosemite Valley, it will be proper to present the salient
features of its surroundings. Trite, but essential to clearer under-
standing, is the statement that the valley is approximately eight miles
long and nearly a mile in extreme width and depth. Its floor averages
3,960 feet above sea level. At first glance, it will impress the miner
as being a great open cut quarried through blocks of more or less
resistant granite. And to many it will appear to be a great basin, the
bottom of which had sunk to unfathomed depths. Whatever forces
may have quarried this great open cut — if open cut it may be truly
called — the accumulation of the tailings down stream from this titanic
denudation is conspicuous by its absence. Therefore, the secret of the
transportation of these billions of tons of tailings is one of the
mysteries of the geological history of the Yosemite yet to be unfolded.

Looking up the valley from its lower portal, two striking differences
in the structure of its walls are seen in bold contrast to each other.

7°

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

El Capitan, 3,100 Ft. Sheer. Most striking illustration of massive, resistant granite.

As massive monoliths of smooth, sand-papered granite, appear El
Capitan, Sentinel Eock and Dome, Glacier Point and the Half and
North Domes. These burnished, jutting promontories attract far more
attention than do the hollowed-out recesses of the tributary canyons.
And yet, it is more among the shadows of these deep-furrowed clefts
that the geologist must look for the most convincing evidences of the
actual sculpturing of the Yosemite Valley. The domes stand out more
as mighty monuments signalizing their resistance to erosion, rather
than as facetted and modeled masses of rock. But between these
promontories are zones of fissured strata showing the shearing and

■ REVELATIONS OF THE YO SEMITE VALLEY 71

sawing of corrasive forces. The pinnacled Cathedral Spires and Kocks,
the wrinkles of the Three Graces and the creases of Three Brothers
most distinctly illustrate the differentiation of zones of more friable,
granitic materials. Beneath one's feet is the remarkable floor of the
valley, whose gradient is but little more than a foot of fall to the
mile. Far above the rim of the main gorge of the Merced are dozens of
"hanging valleys" cut off abruptly by the transverse trend of the
precipitous walls of the Yosemite Basin. Above and beyond rise an
ascending series of polished domes and U-shaped troughs culminating
in the serrated crest of the High Sierra. Its eastern slope affords a
most striking contrast to the gentler gradient towards the Pacific.
The sunrise-fronting spurs of the Sierra plunge abruptly at a high
angle down to the Mono plain seven thousand feet below. Alternating
with steep escarpments, are deep-carved canons descending giant stair-
cases, whose hollowed treads are frequently filled with azure lakelets.
Beyond, over the drab desert, arise an array of dead " fire-mountains,"
recording an important chapter in the history of the High Sierra.

According to Professor Joseph Le Conte, this mighty range was
born out of the ocean during the Jurassic period, the strata bulging,
mashing and crumpling as it yielded to horizontal pressure. Its first
physical appearance in the poetic diction of John Muir was as " one vast
wave of stone in which a thousand mountains, domes, canons and ridges
lay concealed." Geologists agree that the original crest of the Snowy
Eange was in the vicinity of the Yosemite Valley, but, at the end of
the Tertiary and the beginning of the Quaternary periods, the Sierra
block was tilted upward by volcanic upheavals which burst forth all
along its eastern border. The Sierras were pitched en masse in a
steep slope toward the west, while a great fault system produced the
precipitous escarpment towering above the desert. Consequently, the
crest of the range was transferred to its eastern rim. Throughout the
Quaternary period, a newer system of rivers, accelerated by the in-
creased inclination of their watersheds, cut their beds deeper and
deeper along the lines of least resistance. Then followed an "over-
deepening" of these stream courses by corrasive forces of far greater
potentiality than the agency of running water.

Early Hypotheses

The fact that no concordance in the conjectures of geologists exists
is probably due to their different earlier environment and experience.
Some were more familiar with the phases of stream erosion, others
had studied the folding of sedimentary rocks, while certain savants
were so carried away with their theory of glaciation that, in their
imagination, they could only see the Sierras buried beneath a sea of
ice a thousand fathoms deep. More who came to guess at its genesis,
remained firm in their faith that " the bottom of the Yosemite dropped

72

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REVELATIONS OF THE YO SEMITE VALLEY 73

out." The commonplace processes of work-a-day life psychologically
bore their imprint in their deductions. Miners could only see gigantic
excavations. The metallurgist would detect an apparent analogy in the
swelling of these domes to the bubbling and solidification of molten
metal. Engineers were most impressed by the evidences of stresses,
strains and the rupture of weaker materials.

One of the most ingenious interpretations of the subsidence theory
was advanced most ingenuously by one of the gentler sex. To new-
comers in the Yosemite I was explaining the " cataclysmic hypothesis,"
still popular with those who prefer the more spectacular speculations.
Suddenly, she exclaimed: "Did you ever bake a cake?" I answered
proudly in the affirmative. " "Well, did you ever spoil a cake ? " Again,
but with less pride, I admitted that such had been my experience.
"Then you will know," she continued, "how it is that heat and the
gas formed by baking-powder make the batter rise. Up it swells.
Then a crust forms. If all goes well, the cake becomes crisp and
compact. But, if some one jars it, while it is rising, down it drops in
the middle. And so I guess the Yosemite Valley must have dropped
in just such a way." This homely homology from an expert in culinary
science was unanswerable. Her mind was made up. Even the most
uncompromising glacialist could only have caused her to concede
that the ice sheet was but a frosting spread over the surface of her
hypothetical cake.

During the summers of 1863— 1, Professor Josiah Dwight Whitney,
chief of the California Geological Survey, conducted a most thorough
reconnoissance of the Yosemite and High Sierra region. In his first
report, published in 1865, he advanced his theory that the Yosemite
Valley had been formed by the subsidence of a limited area during the
processes of upheaval of the Sierra. This supposed sinking of its floor
he attributed to the fracturing of its strata in a series of cross fractures
and faults traversing each other, generally at right angles. The pioneer
geologist declared that "this great cataclysm may have taken place at
a time when the granitic mass was in a semiplastic condition below,
although, quite consolidated at the surface and for some distance down."
But Professor Whitney must not be misunderstood as maintaining that
the gorge of the Yosemite is one gigantic fissure. Later, in 1870, in
his celebrated "Yosemite Guide-book," he demonstrates that "the
valley is too wide to have been formed by a fissure." Had such been the
case its opposite walls would have corresponded in most details, instead
of differing as notably as they do. Bather did he regard its fracturing
as having been the resultant of a chaotic complication of dislocations.
Believing that its supports had been withdrawn during the convulsive
movements of the plastic strata, he assumed in his homely phrase that
"the bottom of the Yosemite dropped out." When pressed for further
evidence to support his theory, he could show no conclusive, concrete

74 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

indications of such complex Assuring and faulting, but reasoned in
rebuttal, that pressure from the mile high rock-masses above had so
united yielding materials, subsequently transported by erosion, that all
the traces of fracture had been lost.

Professor Whitney was most positive in his idea that denudation had
but little affected the formation of the walls of the valley or its domes.
Had there been a considerable amount of erosion, its evidence would
have been piled up in masses of debris along the course of the Merced
Eiver. "No ordinary denudation moulded the domes," he declared.
Instead, he insisted that the Sierran domes of granite were fashioned in
a series of concentric layers while the igneous rocks were cooling.

Associated with Professor Whitney was young Clarence King, who
later won fame as the chief of the United States Geological Survey.
King was the first to trace the courses of glaciers down into the Yose-
mite Valley. He called attention to the beautifully-polished surfaces
gleaming above the floor of the valley and pointed out four distinct
moraines, one between Half Dome and Washington Column, a medial
moraine between Tenaya Creek and the Merced Eiver, a third, linger-
ing in the gorge of the latter stream above the Happy Isles, while a
fourth forms an imposing barrier below the narrows where the Cathe-
dral Eocks approach El Capitan. Clarence King did not claim that ice
filled the Yosemite Valley, but he declared its maximum depth to have
been about 1,000 feet.

When John Muir first explored the Sierras, some forty-five years
ago, he became imbued with the belief that the carving of the Yosemite
had been effected almost entirely by ice. His earliest contributions to
the literature of science and of the Sierras was a series of papers in
which he endeavored to show how a vast sheet of ice, forty or fifty miles
in width, cut across the crest of the range, quarrying for thousands of feet
doAvn through more friable formations ; or enveloping and sweeping
over the harder masses of granite, leaving striated and polished domes
in the wake of the congealed flood. Muir attached great significance
to the "hanging valleys," cut off abruptly by precipices, two and three
thousand feet sheer. To this glacialist, their only logical explanation
was that a great plow of ice, shod with sharp abrasives, had furrowed
the main valley below to untold depth. All the wealth of scenic
wonders for which the Yosemite region is so famous, he contended
had been chiseled by grinding glaciers. Tracing the tributaries of the
San Joaquin, Merced and Tuolumne Eivers to their fountains of per-
petual snow, he discovered, during the seventies, no less than sixty-
five surviving glaciers still busy at their lapidary labors.

Professor Whitney at first credited the discoveries of Clarence King,
referring in his report of 1865 to the fact that "King and Gardner
obtained ample evidence of the former existence of a glacier in the
Yosemite Valley." But, five years later he reversed his decision, de-

REVELATIONS OF THE Y0SEM1TE VALLEY

75

North Dome of Concentric Granite Formation 3,600 Feet Above Merced River.

Glaring, that "there is no reason to suppose, or at least no proof, that
glaciers have ever occupied the valley or any portion of it. ... A more
absurd theory was never advanced than that by which it was sought to
ascribe to glaciers the sawing out of these vertical walls and the round-
ing of the domes." At the same time, Professor Whitney was thor-
oughly convinced that the Tuolumne watershed to the north had been
entirely filled by a gigantic glacier which he agreed had hewn out the
Hetch Hetchy Valley, a miniature Yosemite situated twenty miles
northwesterly and three hundred feet lower in altitude.

An able ally who came to the aid of Professor Whitney was the noted
glacialist, Israel C. Eussell. Detailed by the United States Geological

76 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

Survey to study the eastern slope of the High Sierra and particularly
the basin of Mono Lake, he devoted several summers during the early
eighties to extended observations of the adjacent region. Although he
mapped the ramifications of a vast system of Quaternary glaciers,
flowing down from the cirques of the Snowy Eange, he adopted in toto
the theory first advanced by Professor Whitney that dislocations of the
cross-fractured granite, comprising the former bulk of the Yosemite
Basin, had caused the orographic block to subside to an unknown depth,
forming an appalling abyss.

" Those who seek to account for the formation of the Yosemite,"
Professor Eussell wrote, "by glacial erosion should be required to point
out the moraines deposited by the ice streams that are supposed to have
done the work." It is evident that he did not seriously consider the
four reputed moraines on the floor of the valley which King first dis-
covered. " The glaciers of this region," he continued, " were so recent
that all the coarse debris resulting from their action yet remains in the
position where it was left when the ice melted." In reply to this rea-
soning, John Muir insisted that sufficient time had elapsed since the
recession of the glacier from the Yosemite to permit the disintegration
of most of the detritus and its transportation to the lower levels by the
Merced Eiver. And Mr. Muir has strengthened his argument by
demonstrating the rapidity with which aqueous and aerial agencies
transform loose granite into sand. The extreme depth of the alluvium
in the San Joaquin Valley far below is undeniable evidence of the
decomposition of thousands of cubic miles of igneous rock, crushed by
the mills of the glaciers and conveyed by the ground-sluices of the
streams. A general conclusion reached by Professor Eussell was, in
his words, that

The main work of sculpturing the Sierra Nevada and the production of the
variety of scenery for which these mountains are remarkable is to be attributed
to water erosion; while only minor features, such as the rounding and broaden-
ing of the bottom contours of valleys, the smoothing of the higher mountain
slopes, the polishing and striation of rock surfaces are to be referred to glacial
action.

Still, the relative importance to be attached to each of the several
agencies at work in this wonderland remains to be estimated accurately
by the geological engineer.

Le Conte and Later Investigators
Joseph Le Conte, the eminent geologist, author of the " Elements of
Geology," a standard manual for two generations, was one of the first
to survey the valley with the vision of an engineer. In his " Eamblings
in the High Sierra," an account of his first visit to this region in 1870,
appear his preliminary observations. His practical eye discerned the
peculiar petrography of the walls of the Yosemite. "Already, I ob-

IIFA'KLATIOXS OF THE Y08EMITE VALLEY

77

Bridal Veil* Falls; and Typical Hanging Valley.

Background.

The Three Graces in the

serve," he notes, "two very distinct kinds of structure in the granite
of this region . . . which determine all the forms about this wonderful
valley, . . . the concentric structure and a rude, columnar structure, or
perpendicular cleavage." By these differentiations he traced the sculp-
ture of every ragged spire or rounded dome. Later, he confirmed his
observations by demonstrating the effect of dynamic forces upon the
separate formations, showing the processes of sculpturing, whether by
quarrying along the least resistant lines of perpendicular Assuring, or
the exfoliation of concentric layers of onion-like granite. Coming in
close association with John Muir, he accepted his theories of glacial
erosion. Following the ancient trough of the grand Tuolumne glacier,
he traced its tangential branch which overflowed southward and poured

78 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

its powerful volume down the deep-gashed gorge of Tenaya Creek into
the Yosemite Valley. Professor Le Conte estimated that the main
Tuolumne glacier ranged in thickness from a thousand feet in the
upper meadows of the modern stream to half a mile in the brimming
basin of the Hetch Hetchy. Its length he measured as having been fully
forty miles. In the upper canon of the main Merced, Le Conte and
Muir studied the striations of grinding ice recorded on every outcrop-
ping surface, particularly in the "hanging valley" of "Little Yosem-
ite." Together with the Tenaya glacier, the Merced River of ice
mingled at the upper end of the Yosemite Valley, proper, to form a grand
glacier which Le Conte believed was the most potent factor in the carv-
ing of the U-shaped trough of the Yosemite. And, despite the doubts
of Whitney and Russell, Le Conte pointed as prima facie proof the
remaining medial moraine at the base of Half Dome near the junction
of the two reputed rivers of ice.

Several Geological Survey parties have been sent to solve the riddle
of this Sphinx of the Sierras, but still no explanation of the origin
of the Yosemite has won the general recognition of geologists or recon-
ciled their differences of opinion. Mr. Francois E. Matthes, of the
Survey, in his recent monograph, "The Origin of the Yosemite and
Hetch Hetchy Valleys," approaches the problem along the following un-
biased lines of logical observation and deduction. Like Le Conte, he lays
great stress upon the phases of erosion in the more fissured zones. He ac-
cepts the general theory of the uptilting of the Sierra block during the
late Tertiary period by volcanic levers, but gives little credence to the
subsidence dictum of Whitney. As an ardent advocate of the glacial
theory, he traces the apparent agency of ice in the evidence of over-
deepened rock-basins and quarried canons like the steep gorge of Tenaya
Creek. This striking instance is a graphic illustration of the excava-
tion of a yielding mass of perpendicular cleavage set between walls of
massive and adamantine granite. In brief, he argues that the Yosem-
ite and Hetch Hetchy Valleys have been developed by an early system
of rapidly-eroding streams; then "greatly deepened and enlarged by
repeated ice invasions which modelled in the rough. The finer fash-
ioned details- of diversified sculpturing he attributes to more recent
aqueous agencies and fracturing by frost and aerial forces. Far the
most convincing evidence of the former glaeiation of the Yosemite
Valley he finds in the apparent scooping out of the rock-basin of the
Yosemite to the depth of approximately 500 feet. This is confirmed,
he contends, by the absence of sills of bed-rock, such as are usually seen
outcropping among ordinary watercourses. Another important factor
in the leveling of the floor of the valley he sees in the signs of several
advances and recessions of terminal moraines across the bottom of this
basin, in which process they were arranged in local ridges at frequent
intervals. The most conspicuous terminal moraine is that which still

REVELATIONS OF THE YO SEMITE VALLEY

79

Weathering of Concentric Layers of Granite Domes.

remains below the base of El Capitan, and which he believes dammed
the downflowing waters and formed a lake six miles in length. Sub-
sequently, sediments filled Lake Yosemite until they made the en-
trancingly beautiful meadows of to-day. A continuation of this
process is now beheld in the outgrowing delta of Tenaya Creek which
gradually is encroaching upon Mirror Lake.

Messrs. Matthes and Calkins of the Geological Survey have inti-
mated to the writer that the forthcoming report of their latest recon-
noissance will endeavor to prove that the Yosemite Valley was produced
almost entirely by various forces of erosion as revealed by their inves-
tigation of the influence of corrasive forces upon the fissured zones of
granite. They are now looking for such concrete evidence.

Conclusions Based on Concrete Facts

In this summary of the several theories of the genesis of the
Yosemite, the general drift of their method of presentation has been
to lead to a few conclusions based on concrete facts. But, perhaps, the
first and most logical conclusion is that the evidence is still far from
being complete. Local geologists, however, have much faith that some
new discoveries are about to be made public by the government inves-
tigators. The absence of rock sills outcropping along the rim of the
valley has been explained as being due to their overburden of detritus."
And yet there are reasons for believing that the solid bottom of the
Yosemite did actually subside during the period of upheavals and dis-
locations. The enigmatic formation of the domes suggests the expan-
sion of plastic masses of igneous rocks. If these waves of stone once
swelled to such stupendous heights, there must have been intervening
troughs. And so, the original sinking away of the yalley floor along the
lines of cross-fracture still is obvious to many competent observers.

8o THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

The present-day frequency with which great joint-blocks of granite
give way in weathering, or from earthquake shocks, and fall to talus
still suggest the subsidence hypothesis of Whitney.

A compromise, composite theory may now be advanced. Considera-
tion of all the evidences of the structure and sculpture of the Yosemite
region will justify the premise that during the upheaval of the molten
granitic magma, domes swelled in rounded masses to much their
present form, cooling in concentric layers, which were later exfoliated
by aqueous and glacial denudation and aerial forces. Between these
domes, the trough of the stone wave, faulted and cross-fractured along
cleavage planes, formed the original floor of the Yosemite Valley.
Subsequently, the tilting of the Sierra range caused the carving of the
usual form of V-shaped valleys. Then, during the Quaternary period,
down plowed the glaciers scooping out the bed-rock, sapping and
scoring the walls of the valley, and leaving their moraines as mementoes
to remind mankind of their ancient estate and power. But these
moraines are either so wasted or considerable that much doubt is still
entertained as to their extent. If erosive forces carved out the mile-
deep Yosemite, the question of the transportation of the detritus is
still to be raised. The comparatively lightly-covered bed of the Merced
Biver below the valley does not indicate the accumulation of any
immense amount of detritus. Only by extremely fine comminution of
boulders to silt could this immense mass be almost completely carried
away. There is every evidence that a glacier reached the floor of the
Yosemite Valley, but the extent of its quarrying is still unknown.
Whether by direct grooving, or by undermining the overhanging escarp-
ments, it unmistakably transformed the canyon's V into a broad,

Lros-s he.c~ti'o-n. o-f >0 Semite. Vo-lleu

l&etwee-n^ Ylorth. ZT)ome ancl Qj-lacicr roiTi"ir
Scatc- h 500 -feet to th*. '"<* • i— ^ & wx

I !^1* ' ;\ ;

T)ome *» _ , ■ , Cifnon of-

Nercccl Rtv<l—
(z-leutiqr

REVELATIONS OF THE YOSEMITE VALLEY 81

U-shaped valley. As the glacier receded, torrential streams cut into
the glacial moraines, changing the vicinity of the upper reaches of the
Merced into more angular surfaces, with the ultimate purpose of
eliminating U and substituting V.

After all the theories have been advanced, their truth or fallacy
will remain a matter of conjecture until the underlying facts are
brought to light. Buried far below the flowery meadows and boulder
overburden lies the unseen, pristine bed rock. Graven on tablets of
stone in indelible characters is the key to the cryptic cipher of this
Sierran Sphinx. The mining geologist is more practical than academic.
He would prospect the floor of the valley to unearth that hidden key.
Therefore, he would advise the sinking of shafts down through the
sediments, ascertaining their character and striking the sunken sill.
Following the rim of the latter for a short distance, the miner-geologist
would soon determine in finality the genesis of the Yosemite Valley.
If this deep basin was once shattered by a cataclysm, causing the fall-
ing away of an almost bottomless abyss, the zones of its marginal
fracturing could be definitely discovered. Or, if overdeepening of the
bed rock by the abrasive-shod plow of a glacier be the true cause of its
carving, the striated strata and the morainal drift will tell the tale.
Stream-erosion will also be revealed to its exact extent. Therefore,
it would seem that no appropriation for the researches of the Geological
Survey in this region can be expended to better advantage than by
prospecting in miner-like fashion for the hidden truth of the making
of this great natural wonder. That this practical idea meets with the
approval of the Geological Survey party is shown by a recent expression
by Mr. Francois E. Matthes in the Sierra Club Bulletin. " It is to be
hoped that some day such borings may be undertaken; they would not
merely serve to solve a problem of great local interest, but would con-
tribute much-desired data regarding the still-challenged eroding effi-
ciency of glaciers."

The Yosemite at the Exposition

One of the most interesting features of the federal government's par-
ticipation at the Panama-Pacific International Exposition will be the
presentation of a large relief model of the Yosemite National Park.
Cartographers of the United States Geological Survey are putting the
finishing touches on this miniature of the Yosemite Valley and its sur-
roundings. They will show its stupendous steeps and glaciated basins
as vividly as though viewed from an aeroplane. Every visitor to the
Exposition who may be interested in geological science will find this
replica replete with fascinating details carefully set forth.

Buffalonians laid special stress upon the nearness of Niagara Falls
to the Pan-American Exposition. Likewise, Californians take great

VOL. LXXXV. — 6.

82 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

pride in their unique wonderland, the Yosemite National Park. It can
now be reached by train and auto stage in a dozen hours from the Ex-
position City. The Department of the Interior is spending large sums
in putting this great public playground in order for the enjoyment of
probably 100,000 visitors who will view its glories in 1915. Few there
are who have not dreamed of making a pilgrimage to Nature's most awe-
inspiring shrine at least once in their lives. Tourists to the Exposition
at San Francisco will have the double opportunity of seeing all of its
varied attractions and at the same time include the Yosemite in their
itineraries. With notably reduced rates to the Pacific Coast through-
out 1915, they will have the chance of a life time to see the Yosemite
and other scenic wonders of the west under the best possible traveling
and tarrying conditions. The riddle of this Sphinx of the Sierras is
still far from being solved; therefore, geologists will find an unlimited
field for special investigations and study following in the footsteps of
John Muir and Joseph Le Conte.

THE AMERICAN WHALING INDUSTRY 83

GEAPHICS OF THE AMERICAN WHALING INDUSTRY

By Dr. J. ARTHUR HARRIS

CARNEGIE INSTITUTION OF WASHINGTON

RECENTLY in connection with another piece of work, I found it
desirable to express graphically various phases and factors of the
rise and decline of American whaling.

In these graphs nothing is added to the facts recorded by Scammon,
Starbuck, Goode, Tower and others who have investigated and written
on the economic phases of the problem, and from whose tables the vari-
ous diagrams have been compiled. But the graphical treatment seems
to bring out so forcefully some of the points of greatest biological and
economic interest concerning the remarkable development and decline of
the once great and now insignificant industry that I have ventured to
offer them for publication, with a few explanatory remarks.

In Fig. 1 the abscissae are years from 1805 to 1905, while the ordi-
nates are marked off by the total tonnage1 of the whaling fleet.

Here are clearly shown (a) the vascillations in size of fleet during
the first few years of trial and establishment of the industry, (&) the
depression associated with the war of 1812, (c) the phenomenal growth
of a quarter of a century made possible by the unrestrained exploitation
of ocean-wide resources up to the maximum point where there were over
seven hundred vessels aggregating over two hundred and thirty thousand
tons and valued at over twenty-one millions, (d) the temporary fluctua-
tions when the industry had reached its crest, (e) the precipitous fall
due to the depletion of the resources of the seas, to the risks and losses
of the great war, and to other causes, and finally the decline which fol-
lowed more slowly with the restoration of safety, but inevitably as almost
every product of the whale except the bone was replaced by those de-
rived from petroleum.

The curve is remarkable for its regularity and for its similarity to
a biological variation polygon — to the normal or " Quetelet's " curve.
Indeed, the factors to which the form of the curve is due are in large
part biological, although economic and social forces are also patent.

Some of the minor irregularities are doubtless due to the unavoidable
inaccuracies in the data. Apparently, the depression in 1850 and '51
is a real one; the revival of the industry resulting in the second mode

i Number of sail which in 1846 reached 736 would be interesting for com-
parison, but the data are not available for so wide a range of years.

84

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

on 1854 is probably due to the opening up of the bowhead whaling of
the Okhotsk Sea, possibly by Captain Freeman Smith, of the ship
Huntsville of the Cold Spring Harbor fleet, and of true arctic whaling
by Roy's voyage through Behring strait in the bark Superior (275
tons), of Sag Harbor, L. I., in 1848.

In diagrams 2-4 the products of this fleet are represented for the
various years. Here barrels of whale oil and of sperm oil and pounds of

Diagram 1. Total Tonnage of American Whaling Fleet, 1805-1905.

the vertical scale denotes 10,000 tons.

One unit on

bone are marked off on the vertical scale for each year. In general form
the curves for all three products resemble that for tonnage. There are,
however, certain distinct and conspicuous differences.

First among these, one notes the great variations from year to year
in the quantity of products brought in — fluctuations which show the
great uncertainty which surrounded the industry. This is most con-
spicuous for whale oil : it is almost equally marked in the case of whale

TEE AMERICAN WHALING INDUSTRY

35

bone after the latter came to be of considerable commercial importance ;
for sperm oil too it is unmistakable.

The most remarkable drop is that for whale oil and whale bone in
1852. Doubtless, this is in part due to unfavorable years, but it is prob-
ably also an after-effect of the reduction of the fleet seen in 1850 and
1851 — a reduction the effects of which would not be seen until at least a
year or two later, when the vessels would be returning with their cargoes.

DlAGBAH 2. WHAI^J OIL, BEOOGHT IN BY AMERICAN FLEET.

20,000 barrels.

Unit for ordinates i

That the depression does not affect the sperm-oil curve is perhaps due to
the fact that the sperm whales might be taken at any part of the voyage
— not merely on closely circumscribed "grounds" during a limited

" season."

The curves for whale oil and sperm oil differ in certain important
points. Except on the "tails" of the curves the imports of the more
valuable sperm oil are far in defect of those for whale oil. Probably in
consequence of the greater demand the source was earlier exhausted.
The mode of the sperm-oil curve lies, in consequence, nearer the incep-
tion of the industry, and the curve is therefore far more skew. It is in-
teresting to note that in more recent years, the imports of sperm oil have
been maintained at a relatively higher point than has that of whale oil.
It is quite outside my present purpose to discuss the reasons for this.

For many years, bone was of very little commercial importance. The
entries for bone lie close to the base line up until about 1830, after which
the imports are on a rising curve until the decade 1845-1855, after which

86

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

it steadily declined notwithstanding a phenomenal increase in prices —
an increase amounting to somewhere between five thousand and ten thou-
sand per cent, during the course of the century!

Curves for the prices of oils need not be added. They of course show
the sperm oil constantly higher than whale oil, with both showing con-
siderable vacillations for about the first half century of the period here

Diagram 3. Speem Oil Brought Back by American Fleet. Scale for ordlnates the

same as in the case of whale oil.

Diagram 4. Production of Whale Bone. Unit of scale = 500,000 pounds.

under consideration. At the time of the Civil War, with the whaling

fleet rapidly decreasing and many of the vessels still in the service

lying idle, the prices mounted high; but this was also the time of the

establishment of the petroleum industry, by the development of which

the fate of whaling was sealed. The prices gradually fell until in spite

of the scarcity of the products they reached almost the level of those that

prevailed when the industry was at its height.

Cold Spring Harbor, L. L,
January 20, 1914

HABIT OF HAVING LAW MAKERS AND LAWYERS 8 7

THE BAD HABIT OF HAVING LAW MAKERS AND LAWYERS

By JOHN COTTON DANA

NEWARK, N. J.

IN the process of social development early societies invented certain
customs and institutions to satisfy certain more or less well-defined
needs. That is to say, all customs and institutions have had their
origins, in part, in sheer utility. All of them were therefore good ; for
they all helped, if they did nothing more, to establish and maintain that
social stability which is a prime essential to progress. It is probable that
we owe our present advanced position to cannibalism in precisely the
same sense, though not necessarily in the same degree, in which we owe
it to slavery, to polygamy, to autocracy, to monogamy and to property
in land. At certain points in society's advance one and all of these
customs were demanded by circumstances, were developed and gave hu-
manity an uplift.

These several customs were adopted by social groups of a relatively
low order. They were beaten out, as it were, by pressure of adverse cir-
cumstances, under the guidance of the barbarous and the semi-civilized.
Crude as are many of our methods of so modifying our own customs as
to meet wisely the changing conditions of our social life, the methods
used in early days were very much cruder. The results were unsatisfac-
tory. Cannibalism was doubtless a helpful custom in its day; but was
not good for all time and in due course was abandoned. Slavery was
more useful and for a longer period. It even helped bring to full flower
a very refined civilization. But it demonstrated its own ill effects and
was duly abandoned.

It is obvious that in all customs established in the early days of primi-
tive society there are defects. Having been devised in a society of the
socially unskilled they must all partake of a certain coarseness and
crudity, and they must have fitted but ill the needs for which they were
devised. If one of them by rare chance proved perfectly adapted to its
purpose in the society for which and by which it was fashioned, it could
not possibly fit the far more advanced and far more complex society into
which the crude society gradually developed.

Now the law, meaning the power behind the law ; and the law, mean-
ing both rules given by legislators and judges and legislators and judges
themselves ; and the law, meaning the technique of its alignment as prac-
tised by a privileged class, the lawyers — the law in all these three forms
or aspects, is a social eject of extreme antiquity. It is one of those

88 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

ancient folkways, whose ancestry bespeaks its imperfections and whose
close kinship to other folkways, long since found injurious and sloughed
off, prophesies for it a like fate. It is an ancient and imperfect tool, re-
tained thus far partly because it is still of some use in our still very im-
perfect society, and partly because its harmfulness is not yet fully
recognized. It never fitted perfectly the purpose which it is supposed to
serve. It fits less well each succeeding generation and works upon each
more and more harm.

If it is said that the law in its three-fold form differs from all other
institutions in that it underlies them all; that the sum of all habits is
the very law itself, this answer is offered :

We speak of the bad habit of polygamy, of the bad habit of cannibal-
ism, of the bad habit of having slaves; and we speak in the same way,
and with as little thought of law, of the bad habit of having absolute
monarchs. Now, the absolute monarch is the source of all law. In
theory, he states it, aligns it and enforces it. Yet we conceive readily of
the habit of having an absolute monarch as a bad habit, to be in due
course given up.

It is precisely upon this thought of the law as a bad habit that this
argument for its harmfulness is based. It was essential in a certain
stage of social development that one man should rule a tribe, just as it
was essential that the same tribe should eat its neighbors. It was essen-
tial that a few men — kings, nobles or what not — should rule a nation,
just as it was essential that that nation should make slaves of its neigh-
bors. It was, and in a sense still is, essential that the majority of a na-
tion should rule the minority; just as it was, and in a sense still is,
essential that the same nation wage perpetual commercial warfare with
its neighbors.

Now the king, the aristocracy and the majority are each and all of
the essence of the law; the cannibalism, the slavery and the commercial
warfare are not. Formal statements of the existence of the latter insti-
tutions, if such were made, might be called laws; and kings, aristocracy
or majority may be said to have enforced them. But the difference
between them and the first three is that they are not thought of as
touched with legality, with the majesty of law-givers and courts. They
may be thought of directly as evil customs working harm to those who
practised them. And just as we may think of having cannibalism or
slavery as bad habits, so may we think of having a king or an aristocracy
or a ruling majority as bad habits.

The first aspect, then of the law as I defined it — kingship, rule of
man by man — is itself a habit and not an aggregate of all habits. It was
born to fill a certain need, and was therefore good ; but it was born of the
ignorant and socially inept, and is therefore bad. Like other ancient
devices, it is outliving its usefulness. Our native conservatism holds it
fast long after its evil results have begun to outweigh its good results.

HABIT OF HA VING LAW MAKERS AND LAWYERS 89

As to the laws themselves, being the second aspect of the law as
defined, that these are full of harm is universally admitted. Ten thou-
sand new ones are yearly made ; and straightway ten thousand more are
made to modify and ameliorate the first ten thousand. We confess by
their constant revision and repeal that we find the law-making habit per-
sistently injurious.

As to the law-makers themselves, they are, like kingship and canni-
balism, survivals of an ancient device. The primitive tribe which con-
quered had learned to obey, else it had not conquered ; obedience meant
conformity to rules; the rules were set down by others, not by those who
obeyed them. The habit of having rules which others made had its ad-
vantages. Naturally we have held fast to the habit. And now, though
better equipped than ever before by virtue of our racial experience, our
individual training and our inherited tendencies, to guide ourselves
wisely, we hug to ourselves too closely still the bad habit of having law
makers. We are to-day strengthening the habit's hold upon us instead
of weakening it.

That our lawmakers can not be otherwise than blunderingly if not
maliciously harmful seems a foregone conclusion, if we consider, not
their origin, but merely the manner of their selection. We do not pick
them for proven skill in guidance, for experience gained as leaders in
great social enterprises, or for their mastery of the problems of modern
society — not at all. We do not even invoke in their selection the alea-
tory gods and submit our legislative fortunes to the unprejudiced deci-
sions of a hatful of black and white beans. We do not select them with
the aid of signs and omens such as are granted by the flight of birds
or the entrails of hens. The last two methods would have some of the
advantages of chance, for they would, if honestly conducted by a gov-
ernment priesthood, occasionally point to a man peculiarly well fitted for
the task of law making.

But while the choice of our law makers is not determined by sacri-
ficial inspection, it is accompanied by ceremonies and incantations of a
quasi-religious nature; and it turns often on the relative persistence of
the several candidates in the repetition of certain f ormulae and the honor-
ing of certain taboos. The law-maker group, like the group of privileged
specialists in the technique of the law's action, the lawyers, derives
itself from the king as high priest, and its work, as maker of laws, has
a strong ecclesiastical and even a religious flavor. This is almost more
true of the judge as law giver than it is of the legislator proper. The
judge seems the more direct of the two in his descent from the god-given
king. About his position and his utterances there is a special odor of
sanctity. While both are in large degree taboo, the greater relative
sanctity of the judge is illustrated by the fact that one may quite openly
condemn a legislator, or even a legislative body as a whole, and be not

9o THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

greatly criticized therefor; whereas openly to condemn a judge, qua
judge, shocks certain of our quasi-religious sensibilities.

This very ancient and now quite harmful habit of ascribing a certain
sanctity to law makers means that we tend to look upon them with a cer-
tain religious reverence and submission. In further accordance with
this habit we select our law makers primarily or largely for their adher-
ence to a creed and for their activity in securing converts to that creed.
The intrusion of those elements of religious enthusiasm, which make for
the destruction of all judicious decision, into the work of selecting our
law makers is alone sufficient reason for the conclusion that they must
do us much harm.

The habit of having, in the alignment of the rules the king or the
majority enforce an elaborate technique, practised by a privileged class,
the lawyers, has a peculiar harmfulness.

The habit of having kings, or law-enforcers in any form, and the
habit of having legislators or other kinds of law makers, are both survi-
vals and both are doing injury through their failure to fit the more civil-
ized communities which still retain them. But both were once quite
essential to progress, and seem still to possess advantageous features,
even to societies as advanced as our own. The tribal chief and abject
obedience to him were once quite important factors in the struggle for
tribal survival. In later forms of society it was as important that the
elders of the tribe lay down rules adapted to changing conditions as it
was that the grand chief enforce them. That is, the habit of having laws
made, and the habit of obeying the one who was there to enforce them,
were once quite markedly helpful habits and have some excuse for sur-
vival even down to our own day. But for the habit of having a privi-
leged class in charge, as it were, of the technique of the distribution of
the effects of the law, of this not so much can be said.

The origin of the lawyer-having habit at once discloses to us a suffi-
cient reason for the power and persistence of the custom of making him
a privileged member of society, and points also to its harmfulness.

The tribal chief of early days took on, from his earliest appearance,
certain ecclesiastical trappings and powers. He was often a god him-
self, either during his life or immediately after his death. He was often
chief priest as well as head man. The priestly class which grew up about
him performed the accustomed sacerdotal rites, led the people through
the mummeries of the tribal religion, took on much of the sanctity which
custom gave to the head man himself, and, inevitably, became a special-
ized class with peculiar powers, immunities and dignities.

The fact of the descent of the lawyer class from this priestly class is
familiar enough. The lawyer's special privileges have descended directly
from those enjoyed by medicine men and priests who surrounded the
tribal leader and helped him to exercise his more god-like functions and

HABIT OF HA VI NG LA W MAKERS AND LA WYERS 9 1

shared his god-like prestige. The habit of having a privileged priestly
class was never as distinctly helpful to the tribe as were the king habit
and the rules-of-conduct habit, and it was also, from the very nature of
its origin, inevitably touched with a power for harm which just as
inevitably increased as the social organism developed, expanded and be-
came more sophisticated. In so far, therefore, as the lawyer caste of to-
day takes its peculiar and exclusive powers from its direct precursor, the
priestly caste, so far is it predestined to harmfulness.

And in so far, again, as it takes its special powers by direct inherit-
ance from a quasi-ecclesiastical source, so far is the habit of tacitly grant-
ing those powers guarded with a quasi-religious zeal by those, the
ignorant populace, who hold it. The divinity that was once of the very
essence of the tribal chief, hedges still the kingly majority of the present
social hierarchy and that majority's priest-born, privileged law exploit-
ers. The creed of the devout believer in the efficacy of the law in all the
aspects of it I have named — the law enforcer, the law maker and the law
exploiter — this creed includes by implication, if not in so many words,
an article declaring the divine origin of the power of those who give,
those who enforce and those who align the law.

Inevitably, in view of its origin and character, the lawyer class forms
the most powerful and self-assertive of labor unions. It is the most
powerful, for it has behind it the authority of both the law-enforcing and
the law-formulating powers. Indeed, it is itself, as already shown, the
third in the trinity of powers which constitute to-day the whole of that
habit-of-having-the-law which was once the habit-of-having-an-autocrat.
A labor union, possessed of some of a ruler's supreme authority, of neces-
sity becomes, in accordance with well-known laws of human nature,
arrogant, overbearing and prone to serve its own personal ends at some
sacrifice of the ends for which it was constituted. For an example, one
may cite that habit of procrastination in which the caste still indulges in
the exercise of its functions, a habit the painful effects of which an
elaborate ritual and an esoteric terminology tend somewhat to mystify
but not at all to mitigate.

Gaining its authority and its sanctity largely from a remote past,
being desirous of retaining both, and feeling that both are accentuated
by constant reference to their ancient and noble lineage, the lawyer caste
draws, constantly for its pronouncements not on the merits of the case
in hand, but on the whole body of ancient doctrine. Herein this caste
resembles its foster sister, the ecclesiastical group ; but while the latter is
moved constantly to look forward, if not by the good sense of its units,
then at least by the pressure of internal competition, the former is sup-
ported in its enjoyment of reminiscence and its scorn of evolution by
the whole law-having habit of which it is a part.

In one aspect of the special powers of the lawyer class we find an

92 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

astonishing survival of a rather special ancient custom. The tribal
chieftain surrounded himself with satellites, priests, kin-folk and cour-
tiers. He was compelled to delegate to these the exercise of some of his
functions. It suited their needs to make it difficult for the common
people to approach him and present their petitions and their grievances.
In time it became the custom for the wealthier and more influential of
those who would get word with the chief, or would, through his immedi-
ate friends, gain favor from him of a promise, a gift or a decree, to pur-
chase, outright or indirectly, the help of an intermediary. This custom
was handed down, became fixed in its details, and survives to-day in the
lawyer's fee. Now as in the early days of this custom, a person specially
authorized for the purpose stands between the faithful and the law-
enforcing power. One may almost say that we license the door-keepers
of the halls of justice and permit them to take toll of all who enter.

The chief direct beneficiaries of the survival of this law-having-habit
are the lawyers. As such, one can not hope to find them zealous in modi-
fying or weakening the habit. But lawyers are as ready as is any other
special class to declare their devotion to the general welfare, and they
are better situated and better fitted than is any other class to check the
growth of this injurious law-having custom. And nearly all lawyers
admit, when the question is of law-making by legislatures, that the law-
habit is most harmful, and that it constantly grows stronger.

Ten thousand generations taught our race to love a king; we seem
unable to get over the habit. We love him ; we believe in him ; we think
he can make us prosperous, wise and happy; and when he comes to us
in the guise of a legislative majority from our own political party our
faith enjoys a veritable renaissance.

There was a time, say 50 or 80 years ago, when the law-having habit,
among English speaking peoples at least, seemed on the decline. Then a
change came, merely, one may dare hope, the inevitable temporary re-
action we must always look for in such cases, and to-day we are again in
the full tide of law building.

Now, are lawyers as a class attempting to check the growth of this
law worshiping habit? Do they point out again and again to the
populace that it is, after all, but the habit of worshiping a divinely
appointed king under another nomenclature and another set of cere-
monials ?

In the layman's observation, they do not. They profit by the law's
growing complexity. They hasten to become legislators themselves if
only to equip themselves in the way of profitable legalizing.

But is there not here an opportunity for this social group, harmful in
its very essence, to lessen to some degree the harm its existence causes,
by attacking in an organized way this hurtful habit of worshiping
the law ?

HOW WE DEFEND OURSELVES FROM OUR FOES 93

HOW WE DEFEND OUESELVES FKOM OUR FOES

B? Pbofessob FRASBR HARRIS, D.Sc.

DALHOOSIB UNIVERSITY, HALIFAX, N. S.

IN a certain sense even now in the midst of his civilized communities,
mankind is waging ceaseless warfare against a number of hostile
conditions, both animate and inanimate. Serious as this may be now,
it must have been much more acute in the earlier times of the race.

Man had to defend himself, as best he could, from the great cosmic
exhibitions of energy — the extremes of heat and cold, the tempest, the
lightning, the avalanche, the earthquake and the tidal wave. Primitive
man, we are assured, must have lived in the midst of alarms of all sorts
and in the constant dread of attacks by fierce animals far more powerful
than himself. Undoubtedly he sought shelter from wind, rain, Bnow
and frost in those caverns in which his skeleton and the bones of the
animals he slew for food and fur are yet to be found.

In many parts of the world he built his wooden hut on piles out
from the shore of some lake, so that he had his food supply in the fish
under the floor, and was also more secure against the wild animals
when his dwelling had to be defended on one side instead of on four.

The latent powers of his nervous system permitted him to develop
that speed of running in flight whereby he saved himself from the
avalanche, the tidal wave or the beasts of the field. Not alone was
speed necessary, but also rapidity of response on the part of his nervous
system in order to take warning from the impending danger : that man
lived longest who most rapidly reacted to the danger signal, stepped
most agilely out of the way of the rolling boulder, skipped most briskly
aside from the infuriated lion or bear.

Of course, as we know, he early devised his weapons of offence and
fired his flint-tipped arrows at the animals threatening his life or
destined to be his store of food for a long time to come. That man
throve best who most accurately threw his stone or javelin, so that
quickness of response (short "reaction-time") and accuracy of aim —
both powers of the nervous system — were early in the history of our
race the means of escape from enemies, or the mode of procuring a
sufficiency of food.

The first human line of defence is then nervous or mental; our
ancestors established themselves on the earth by means of such powers
of the nervous system as speed, accuracy and coordination of move-

94 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

ments; and these are of supreme importance even yet. He who jumps
quickest out of the way of the runaway horse escapes with his life;
the old gentleman, whose reaction-time age has lengthened, does not
step aside from the carelessly driven motor-car sufficiently perfectly,
and so gets run over. Those men who after harpooning the whale got
their boat most quickly out of the reach of his tail, were most likely to
reach the big ship in safety. He burns his fingers least who most
rapidly drops the hot coal.

While, now-a-days, shortness of reaction-time may only occasionally
contribute to the actual saving of life, yet it does assuredly contribute
towards what is called " success " in life. He who most quickly grasps
a situation of danger and acts accordingly, has an advantage over his
neighbor with the more sluggishly reacting nervous system.

It is obviously by his development of intelligence — a power of the
nervous system — that man has not only conquered nature, animate
and inaminate, but has learned to use its forces, even the most hostile,
in the interests of his own comfort and prosperity.

Our first line of defence is, then, mental; and the elements of time
and precision are all important.

We have, however, to reckon with foes far more subtle and more
often met with than the thunder-bolt, the lion, the bear or the electric
eel. In some parts of the world, the living things that can poison us
are very numerous — venomous snakes, scorpions, countless insects, all
ready to pour their poison and acids into our skins. Mankind has
learned that alkali will neutralize their acid, and has in these latter
days discovered how to manufacture an antivenin, to counteract the
venin or venom of the serpents.

We fight chemical injuries by chemical means. But all these sources
of danger or injury are insignificant compared with those which are
absolutely and forever beyond the ken of our senses. In common with
all other living things, we are surrounded by parasites and preyed
upon by them continually. It seems a law of animate nature that any
given living thing, vegetable or animal, should have its particular
parasite or parasites. For even the vegetables have parasites: the
potato has the potato-blight, a fungus; the vine has its phylloxera,
another fungus, and so on. The lower plants prey on the higher, the
higher on the highest. Fungi and moulds are parasites on both plants
and animals. Animals are parasitic on plants : grubs eat the roots and
the buds of flowers, the aphides destroy the roses, the Colorado beetle
devours the potato. The gooseberry moth strips the leaves off the goose-
berry plant; the oak has its galls, everything its blemishes. To such
an extent is all this recognized now-a-days that a department of botany,
economic vegetable parasitology, has arisen within the last few years.
Expert botanists are studying the conditions under which these pests

HOW WE DEFEND 0 URSEL VES FROM 0 UR FOES 9 5

appear and therefore how we may either guard our flowers and food-
vegetables from their ravages, or remove the parasites when once
they have settled on their victims. The loss to farmers, fruit-growers
and horticulturists each }rear through parasites is enormous.

Fungi and moulds are parastitic on animals as well as on vegetables ;
the salmon has the fungoid salmon disease, the grouse has the bacterial
grouse disease, the barn-door fowl has its cholera, the swine have
swine-fever, the cattle have anthrax and Einderpest, horses " glanders "
and so on.

Then animal parasites infest animals; the frog's lung harbors cer-
tain lowly creatures known as Gregarinidse ; dogs, cats, pigs, horses, all
have their intestinal parasites, from which obnoxious worms man
himself is by no means exempt.

Host and unbidden guest, victim and parasite — this inter-relation-
ship runs through the whole of living nature; it is not the exception,
it is the rule. Nature has indeed provided for it ; the intestinal worms
of the horse have actually developed an arcii-ferment which prevents
their being digested by the digestive ferments of the horse's intestine.
Attack and defence, action and reaction unceasingly, this is nature's
method; there is no rest; and there is no splendid isolation; we must
be attacked and preyed upon and resist — forever!

A few plants and animals have taken refuge in "protective mim-
icry " ; the dead-nettle imitates its stinging neighbor, and so is avoided
by such animals as avoid the latter; some insects imitate dead leaves,
twigs, etc., and so are not devoured by insect-eating birds.

But the majority of the foes that man has to battle with are far
more subtle than intestinal worms or mosquitoes, or even fungi; for
there are myriads of bacteria so light that they float in air even when
dust settles; so small that millions can inhabit a drop of water; so
numerous that arithmetic is powerless in designating them; so power-
ful that they have emptied cities, decimated armies and devasted con-
tinents. The mortality of the great Boer War had been a trifling thing
if the English had had only to reckon with the Mauser bullets ; far more
deadly the typhoid bacilli than all the guns of all the Dutchmen and
their allies.

It is now common knowledge that nine out of ten diseases have an
actual, physical recognizable source or cause in some particular parasitic
bacillus (rod-like form) or coccus (round form). Undoubtedly some
diseases are due to microscopic animal forms, such as ague (malaria),
yellow fever, dysentery, the sleeping sickness; but the vast majority are
due to vegetable parasites of microscopic size. All those serious dis-
eases known as diphtheria, typhoid fever, cholera, plague, tuberculosis,
pneumonia, influenza, rheumatism, common cold, and infantile paraly-
sis, have been shown to be due to the living body being invaded by
countless numbers of infinitely minute rod-like or ball-like microbes.

96 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

Of course all bacteria are not disease-bringing (pathogenic) ; and it
is well for us that it is so, for the air, earth and water teem with
bacteria of some sort. Many are quite harmless and are occupied only
with getting rid of dead bodies by putrefactive fermentation.

But our present concern is with our invisible foes, and we must now
try to find out how our bodies protect themselves against their presence
and their poisonings.

"We have three chief methods whereby we defend ourselves from our
invisible foes, namely, the physical, the vital or protoplasmic and the
chemical.

We possess as an outermost line of defence the intact skin and
mucous membranes, the horny layer (keratin) of the skin and the
mucus-covered layer on the internal surfaces being impenetrable by
micro-organisms.

The living colony — the entire animal — is surrounded by armor, the
body is armor-plated, the keratin of the skin is the armor-plating.
Once a rift occurs in the armor, a crack, a split, a crevice, an abrasion,
a cut or a puncture, it matters not which, then the entrance of our foes
is a possibility, nay, a probability. These rifts need not, of course, be
perceptible to the naked eye, they may be barely discernible under the
microscope, but they are large enough to admit bacilli, and that is all
that is needed; diminished resistance within the citadel ensures its
conquest. The outer surface of the teeth, the enamel, the hardest tissue
known, is indeed not able to be directly attacked by bacteria, but they
force an entrance just underneath it and undermine it so that it is
easily broken in.

Another physical means of defence is wetness; the wet mucous
membranes of nose, throat and lungs retain the dust and bacteria which
stick to them. Bacteria wetted are bacteria imprisoned ; it is only when
dry that they can be wafted about on their disease-bringing errands.

But the mucous membranes of the nose, throat and lungs are cov-
ered with cilia.

When we mention cilia, we pass to the second or vital means of
defence. Cilia are whip-like prolongations of the cells lining the
breathing passages, and they are continually lashing the mucus in which
they are immersed with its dust towards the mouth and nostrils. In
this way the bacteria caught in the mucus are removed from the body,
and thus it is that mucu3 containing disease-germs should be burned
and not allowed to dry, and so set free its burden of bacteria. In
prolonged bronchitis, these cilia are known to be absent from the
bronchial mucous membrane, thus depriving it of a valuable mode of
defending itself from microorganic invasion.

The chief vital agents concerned in fighting our invisible foes are
the white cells or leucocytes of the blood. These minute living things

HO W WE DEFEND 0 URSEL VES FROM 0 UR FOES 9 7

are apparently exceedingly sensitive to the presence or secretions of
microorganisms, for they come out of the blood capillaries shortly after
the bacteria have invaded the neighboring tissues. Their mode of
attack is frontal; they literally fall upon the intruders and, swallowing
them bodily, digest them, so rendering them powerless for any*
further activity.

If the bacteria do not prove very poisonous, the phagocytes are not
killed; if however, the poison (toxin) of the bacteria is a virulent one,
the leucocytes are killed and their dead bodies constitute " pus," as
surgeons call it, or "matter" as other people call it. In suitable prep-
arations for the microscope it is possible to see large numbers of mi-
crobes in a semi-dissolved state inside the white cells.

One kind of leucocyte paralyzes or kills the microbes without en-
gulfing them.

Of course leucocytes will do their work well or ill according as they
are themselves in good or bad health, vigorous or enfeebled. All ex-
hilarating conditions tend to invigorate the leucocytes, all depressing
conditions to enfeeble them.

The leucocytes are, then, the second line of defence — the rank and
file of the defending army. When once the outermost physical barriers
have been penetrated by the enemy, these living agents take up the
defence by active, offensive measures.

The third mode of defence which we possess is the power of our
body-cells to manufacture certain chemical substances having the
property of neutralizing the poisons of the bacteria which have invaded
us. All the body-cells cooperate more or less vigorously in this the most
subtle method of dealing with the soluble toxins manufactured by the
bacteria now multiplying in the blood and body-fluids of the unwilling
host.

These soluble toxins affect, stimulate, the tissues of the victim,
which, being living cells, react, and the expression of their reaction is
the outpouring of a chemical something, appropriately called an anti-
toxin which, uniting with the bacterial toxin, neutralizes it and pre-
vents it exercising its injurious powers. The infected organism thus
works out its own chemical salvation by a vital, but no less chemical,
response to the poison of the infection. To do this efficiently is to
recover, to fail to do so is to remain infected, to be injured chemically,
possibly to die.

This production of antitoxin on the part of the infected body is a
vital, protective mechanism of a chemical order; it is the chemical
reply to a chemical insult. If the attacked body-cells can provide
sufficient of this antitoxin to neutralize all the toxin made by the
bacteria, the individual will not merely get well, but will remain im-
mune from that particular infection for a long time, because, when once

VOL. LXXXV. — 7.

98 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

the body-cells begin making antitoxin the}'' make a great deal more
than is needed to neutralize all the toxin which the invaders have
manufactured.

Hence it is that a person who has successfully come through some
infectious disease, smallpox or scarlatina, for instance, can not, for some
time thereafter, be reinfected with the poison of that disease ; his blood
contains an excess of the antitoxin of that disease so that any toxin of
that kind happening to be produced within him is immediately neutral-
ized. He is immune from or refractory to this infection for a certain
time, it may be years. He has fought a good fight microchemically,
and his tissues now rest from their labors.

Man has taken advantage of this natural chemical immunity to
confer an artificial immunity on himself. When a person gets over an
attack of diphtheria, it is because his body-cells, stimulated by the
poison of diphtheria (diphtheritin), produced sufficient anti-diph.tb.eri-
tin to neutralize the poison; but it is clear that if he can get anti-
diphtheritin ready made, the diphtheritin in his body will be neutral-
ized all the quicker. He makes use of the horse. A horse, which has
recovered from an attack of diphtheria and thus has in his blood plenty
anti-diphtheritin (specific antitoxin) has some of his blood drawn off.
If a little of this blood, specially treated, be injected into the person
suffering from diphtheria, the person will recover, or if it be injected
into a person about to go into the infection of the disease, that person
will not take the disease. This is conferred immunity ; it has been con-
ferred on man by the horse's blood-serum.

Thus we have three kinds of immunity from infection :

I. An original, congenital refractoriness towards the disease
which may be called natural immunity;
II. Actively acquired immunity, the ordinary condition of having
come successfully through an infectious illness.

III. Artificially or passively acquired immunity, or conferred
immunity, one of the latest triumphs of biological science.

All these varieties are chemical means of defence.

Coming under the head of chemical means of defence, we have the
existence of an acid in the gastric juice. It is well known that when
the acid (hydrochloric) is present in the stomach in the proper quan-
tity, it is uncommon to be infected by microorganisms through the
alimentary canal. The author knew of an officer who had come through
a severe epidemic of cholera in the West Indies, and who, on being asked
if he had been afraid, said : " I had no fear as long as I knew that my
digestion was not out of order." We and the other mammals are not
the only animals whose alimentary canals are guarded by a free acid;
there has been discovered in the Mediterranean a mollusc (Dolium

THE PROGRESS OF SCIENCE 99

Galea) whose gastric juice contains sulphuric acid. This free grastric
acid is distinctly antiseptic.

We have now disposed in a certain fashion of our modes of defence
against foes from without ; but it is unfortunately as time in a physical
as it is in a moral sense that a man's foes are those of his own house-
hold. "We are liable to chemical assaults from within, whether from
poisons secreted by the bacteria inhabiting our internal organs or from
poisons arising from the imperfect digestion of our food. Food may
have poison in it at the time it is taken, the so-called ptomaines; but
poisons may be developed in it in consequence of its not undergoing
its digestion in a perfectly healthy fashion. All such digestive poisons
are dealt with by the liver. The liver is a very large gland placed in
such a position that all the blood coming from the organs of food-
absorption must pass through it on the way to the heart.

The liver deals as best it can with the poison reaching it from the
intestine; in some cases, retaining it for a time, it eliminates it in an
altered form; in other cases it renders it innocuous and permits it to
reach the circulation whence it is removed by the kidneys. This power
of the liver is known as its (Ze-toxicating power. In this way is ex-
plained the well-known condition of being poisoned when the liver is
"out of order." When the liver is not doing its ^e-toxicating work
sufficiently well, not trapping poisons, these pass on into the blood-
stream and affect the whole body; the headache and the malaise being
the result in consciousness of this general chemical poisoning. Deranged
digestion, then, is responsible for the production of the poisons of auto-
intoxication which the liver should seize and render harmless.

The chemical defences of some people are so feeble that they are
always on the verge of just not protecting them from the poisons of
their own intestines, so that such persons are hardly ever free from
headache. Other people suffer from periodical outbursts of poisoning
associated with one-sided headache (megrim or migraine). Some of
the sufferers from this distressing condition have been amongst the
most distinguished in science and literature, for Haller, Emil du
Bois Reymond, George Eliot and Sir James Simpson were all victims
of it.

FEIARB.

7

f-ul May. i '-Jit ky Oxidant i/otpey_ V'te L>»y

ROGER BACON.

The great English philosopher and pioneer in science, the seven hundredth anni-
versary of whose birth was celebrated at Oxford on June 10. An article describing
Roger Bacon's life and work by the late Dr. Edward S. Holden will be found in The
Popular Science Monthly for January, 1902.

THE PROGRESS OF SCIENCE

IOI

THE PROGEESS OF SCIENCE

THE WORK OF TEE GENERAL
EDUCATION BOARD

The General Education Board, the
foundation endowed by Mr. John I).
Rockefeller, at a recent meeting nude
large appropriations for educational
work. Following the gifts of $1,500,-
000 to the Johns Hopkins University
and $750,000 to Washington University
for their medical schools on condition
that the professors of medicine and
surgery shall devote their entire time to
the work of the school and not engage
in private practise, a gift of $500,000
has been made to the medical school of
Yale University under similar condi-
tions and the further stipulation that
the school obtain control of the New
Haven Hospital. Other conditional ap-
propriations amounting to $700,000
were made to Stevens Institute of Tech-
nology, Elmira College, Hendrix Col-
lege, Washington and Lee University,
Wells College and Wofford College.

Increased appropriations were made
to develop the work in secondary edu-
cation which the board has been carry-
ing on in the south for ten years. The
board has maintained professors of
secondary education in southern uni-
versities and inspectors of secondary
schools who have devoted their time to
the creation and development of high
schools in their several spheres.

The sum of $36,500 was appropriated
for the maintenance of rural school
supervisors in each of the southern
states. • These supervisors are concerned
with the improvement of country
schools and with the introduction into
them of industrial training and domes-
tic science. The annual subscription of
$10,000 toward the current expenses of
Hampton Institute was increased to
$25,000, an annual subscription of $10,-
000 was made to Tuskegee Institute,

and one of $15,000 to Spelman Semi-
nary, Atlanta.

Farm demonstration work on an edu-
cational basis was originated by the
General Education Board. The plan
was conceived by the late Dr. Seaman
A. Knapp. So far as the southern
states are concerned, congress now as-
sumes the work heretofore supported by
the General Education Board, objection
having been made to the payment of
the officers of the Department of Agri-
culture by a private contribution. The
board will, however, continue its co-
operation with agricultural colleges in
the work. For this purpoose, $20,000
was appropriated for farm demonstra-
tion in six counties in Maine and for
boys' and girls' clubs in that state. A
further appropriation of $10,000 was
made for similar work in New Hamp-
shire.

To improve education in the rural
districts the board has resolved to offer
to support in connection with state de-
partments of education, rural school
agents. An appropriation of $50,000
was made for the work in fifteen states.
A general agent will be appointed to
keep the several state movements in
touch with one another. The board re-
solved to authorize a study of training
for public health service and of the or-
ganization of public health service in
England, Germany, Denmark and other
foreign countries. When the facts
have been ascertained a conference will
be held and a concrete scheme formu-
lated for schools of public health.

THE CINCINNATI NEW GENERAL
HOSPITAL

Large #s are the gifts for hospitals
and medical schools from private phi-
lanthropy, they are likely to be sur-
passed by public provision for the

102

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

suppression of disease and the improve- |
merit of health. Of special interest is
the New General Hospital at Cincin-
nati, for we have there the only in-
stance in the country of a municipal
university and hospital, conducted by
and for the city. A medical school and
hospital, cooperating in their common
work and directly controlled and sup-
ported by the city, is an example which
we may expect to see followed else-
where. One may therefore note with
satisfaction the admirable plans of the
Cincinnati Hospital indicated in the
accompanying bird's-eye view, kindly
given us with some description by Dr.
Christian R. Holmes, dean of the med-
ical school and president of the new
hospital commission.

The hospital will be opened in Oc-
tober, 1914, with 850 beds, but all ad-
ministrative buildings have been built
large enough to care for 1,500 patients.
The buildings are located on a plot of
27 acres; adjoining this on the west and
north are 38 additional acres, also be-
longing to the hospital, for future ex-
pansion and to be used for day camps
for children or adults needing sunshine
and outdoor life under medical super-
vision, also night camps for men with
incipient or arrested tuberculosis, who
are still bread winners, for, while lo-
cated on high land in one of the sub-
urbs, the grounds are easy of access.

The admitting department and out-
door clinic, surgical pavilion, kitchen
and service building are located on the
long axis of the group, to be easy of
access from all the pavilions, and be-
ing low structures do not interfere with
light and air. All the buildings (ex-
cept the contagious group) are united
by large well-lighted basement and first-
story corridors. A patient can be taken
on a wheeled stretcher all over the
twenty-seven acres through the base-
ment corridors without the use of in-
clines, steps or elevators.

The administration building (No. 1 )
contains an extensive working and ref-
erence library for the staff and stu-
dents and a lecture hall suitable for

meetings of various kinds, but especially
for medical societies. The City thus
shows its appreciation of the free serv-
ice that the medical profession renders
to the city's poor, by furnishing a meet-
ing place, where not alone the staff, but
every physician in the city can come
and have the advantages that only a
well equipped teaching hospital can fur-
nish. They need not confine their
meetings to this hall alone; use can be
made of the large amphitheater where
will be placed powerful projecting lan-
terns and every facility for demonstra-
tions. Ox they may meet in the amphi-
theater of the spacious pathological
building where the professors of pathol-
ogy and bacteriology can give demon-
strations of specimens saved specially
for such meetings. Thus the hospital
may be made the city's center for med-
ical education, not limited to the staff,
the students and internes.

Adjoining the administration build-
ing is the admitting department and
Outdoor Clinic where students can see
every variety of emergency, medical,
obstetric and surgical cases. They
can also follow up and see final results
in those who have recovered sufficiently
to leave the hospital, but return as out-
patients for treatment until entirely
cured. The basement of the admitting
department is well lighted by wide
areaways. Every patient 's clothing
passes through the large sterilizer lo-
cated here, and then goes to the tailor-
shop to be cleaned, mended and pressed
before being stored away; there is also
a large sunstroke and poison room here
with every modern facility for treating
such eases. On the main floor of the
admitting department and the Outdoor
Clinic in addition to the examination
and treatment rooms, we have two
wards — one for each sex, where pa-
tients who arrive after 9:00 p.m. are
kept till the next morning, in order not
to disturb the ward patients. The so-
cial service department will have its
office in this building. The ambulance
or any public conveyance will bring the
ordinary cases to the front of the build-

THE PROGRESS OF SCIENCE

103

Bird's-eye View of the New General Hospital, Cincinnati.

ing, but emergency eases are brought
to the rear and taken directly into the
special operating room.

The colonnaded corridor shown unites
all the ward buildings on their north
end. The basement of this corridor is
well lighted and ventilated by windows
varying from two to six feet in height
according to the slope of the ground.
The first floor and roof of this colonnade
is fourteen feet wide, paved with red
quarry tiles, and will be used for the
open-air treatment of both bedridden
and convalescent patients. The north-
ern end of the building or "head
house" is four-storied. In the first
three stories of the "head house" are
located the administrative department
of the ' ' ward unit ' ' and four small iso-
lation wards. The fourth floor of the
"head house" is a roof ward, the bal-
ance of the floor is open, surrounded by
a nine-foot parapet pierced by numer-
ous windows, permitting an extensive
view of the surrounding country, and
acting as a wind break when closed or
permitting a free circulation of air
when opened. The first 50 feet next to
the "head house" is covered with awn-

ings where patients can receive outdoor
treatment and yet be protected from
rain or snow. The arrangement of the
wards and the other buildings of the
great group shown in the illustration in
all its details is the result of a great
deal of study and the help of many hos-
pital workers. A full description will
be found in Dr. Holmes's pamphlet:
' ' The Planning of a Modern Hospital. ' '

DARWINISM, ORGANIC EVOLU-
TION AND THE CHUECEES

In the June Forum is an article by
Mr. Elmer J. Kneale entitled "Darwin,
Science and Evolution," which con-
tains answers from prominent people to
the questions : " ( 1 ) Do you believe the
teachings of Darwin in their general
outline remain to-day as a contribution
to science? (2) Do you believe that a
majority of intellectual leaders are to-
day inclined to accept these teachings?"
The answers to such questions, unless
they are from experts, have of course no
value in reference to the truth of Dar-
win's teachings, but they have a certain
interest in revealing public sentiment.
As a matter of fact, of the large num-

io4

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

ber who reply, only three are decidedly
adverse — prelates in the Catholic and
Greek churches — though several protes-
tant clergymen write guardedly. The
identification of Darwinism with the
doctrine of organic evolution in the pub-
lic mind is unfortunate, for when a
scientific man argues that Darwin's
theory of natural selection is not an
adequate causal explanation of the
origin of species, this is distorted to be
a ' ' confession ' ' that there has been no
organic evolution.

Sentiment among the churches against
the doctrine of evolution, especially in
the south, is widespread. A curious ex-
hibition is given in a statement re-
cently made by a committee on behalf
of the Galveston (Texas) Ministerial
Association, which reads as follows:

We wish to say to the public in gen-
eral, but to the fathers and mothers of
the children of Galveston in particular,
that we, the committee appointed last
week by the Ministerial Association to
confer with the state superintendent of
public instruction, with reference to the
expurgation of certain statements in
Tarr's New Physical Geography plainly
teaching the Darwinian and atheistic
theory of man 's origin, have done so,
and with most gratifying results.

Referring to our letter to him, Mr.
Doughty says : "In reply thereto, per-
mit me to say that the copy of the book
to which you refer is of the unrevised
edition" (the one now in use in the
schools — Committee). "Soon after as-
suming the duties of this office on Sep-
tember 1, 1913, an objection to this
paragraph was referred to me as chair-
man of the revision committee on the
adopted text, and I immediately took up
the matter with the publishers and suc-
ceeded in securing a satisfactory re-
vision of the objectionable paragraph.
... It is my desire to do everything
within my power to give the children of
this state wholesome instruction, and
permit me here to say that I am 'n
hearty accord with the ideas and pur-
poses of the Christian faith."

These are noble words on the part of
our state superintendent, and in them
we have the pleasing assurance that the
new edition to be placed in the hands
of our children next fall will not con-
tain the Darwinian theory of evolution
— and this is all we have been contend-
ing for.

SCIENTIFIC ITEMS

Dr. Alfred E. Barlow, of Montreal,
distinguished for his work in Archean
and mining geology, with Mrs. Barlow,
was drowned in the wreck of the Em-
press of Ireland. We regret also to re-
cord the deaths of Jesse J. Myers, as-
sistant professor of physiology and
zoology at the Michigan Agricultural
College; of Dr. Paul von Mauser, in-
ventor of the Mauser rifle; of Mr. Rob-
ert Kaye Gray, an electrical engineer,
active in the promotion of scientific re-
search in England, and of M. Paul
Louis Toussaint Heroult, known for his
work with aluminum and the electric
furnace.

A committee has been formed in
Prance, under the patronage of M. Poin-
care, president of the Republic, for the
erection of a monument in honor of J.
H. Pabre, the famous entomologist.
The idea is, not only to erect a monu-
ment at Serignan, but to preserve and
to convert into a museum the estate of
Harmas, the dwelling of the great nat-
uralist. Subscriptions are asked from
naturalists all over the world, and may
be sent to the president of the com-
mittee, M. Henri de la Paillonne,
mayor of Serignan (Vaucluse), France.
Dr. Thomas H. MagBride, professor
of botany, has been appointed presi-
dent of the Iowa State University by
the State Board of Education. — Dr. S.
J. Meltzer, head of the department of
physiology and pharmacology of the
Rockefeller Institute for Medical Re-
search, has been elected president of
the Association of American Physi-
cians in succession to Dr. Simon Flex-
ner. — The Franklin Institute, Philadel-
phia, on May 20, presented its Elliott
Cresson medals to Dr. Edgar Fahs
Smith and Dr. Orville Wright.

An additional endowment has been
provided for the Rockefeller Institute
for Medical Research, for the estab-
lishment of a department of animal
pathology. It is to be organized and
conducted by Professor Theobald
Smith, of Harvard University.

THE

POPULAR SCIENCE

MONTHLY,

AUGUST, 1914

THE CELLULAE BASIS OF HEEEDITY AND
DEVELOPMENT1

Br Professok EDWIN GRANT CONKLIN

PRINCETON UNIVERSITY

A. Introductory

HEREDITY is to-day the central problem of biology. This prob-
lem may be approached from many sides — that of the observer,
the statistician, the practical breeder, the experimenter, the embryolo-
gist, the cytologist — but these different aspects of the subject may be
reduced to three general methods of study, (1) the observational and
statistical, (2) the experimental, (3) the cytological and embryological.
Before taking up these different aspects of heredity it is important that
we should have clear definitions of the terms employed and a fairly
accurate conception of the processes involved.

1. Definitions

Heredity originally meant heirship, or the transmission of property
from parents to children, and in the field of biology it has been defined
erroneously as "the transmission of qualities or characteristics, mental
or physical, from parents to offspring" (Century Dictionary). The
colloquial meaning of the word has led to much confusion in biology,
for it carries with it the idea of the transmission from one generation
to the next of ownership in property. A son may inherit a house from
his father and a farm from his mother, the house and farm remaining
the same though the ownership has passed from parents to son. And
when it is said that a son inherits his stature from his father and his
complexion from his mother, the stature and complexion are usually
thought of only in their developed condition, while the great fact of
development is temporarily forgotten. Of course there are no "qual-
ities " or " characteristics " which are " transmitted " as such from one
generation to the next. Such terms are not without fault when used

i Second of the Norman W. Harris Lectures for 1914 at Northwestern Uni-
versity on "Heredity and Environment in the Development of Men," to be pub-
lished by the Princeton University Press.

vol. lxxxv. — 8.

ic6 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

merely as figures of speech, but when interpreted literally, as they
frequently are, they are altogether misleading; they are the result of
reasoning about names rather than facts, of getting far from phenomena
and philosophizing about them. The comparison of heredity to the
transmission of property from parents to children has produced con-
fusion in the scientific as well as in the popular mind. It is only neces-
sary to recall the most elementary facts about development to recognize
that in a literal sense parental characteristics are never transmitted
to children.

2. The Transmission Hypothesis

And yet the idea that the characteristics of adult persons are trans-
mitted from one generation to the next is a very ancient one and was
universally held until the most recent times. Before the details of
development were known it was natural to suppose, as Hippocrates did,
that white-flowered plants gave rise to white-flowered seeds and that
blue-eyed parents produced blue-eyed germs, without attempting to
define what was meant by white-flowered seed or blue-eyed germs. And
even after the facts of development were fairly well known it was
generally held that the germ cells were produced by the adult animal or
plant and that the characteristics of the adult were in some way carried
over to the germ cells; but the manner in which this supposed trans-
mission took place remained undefined until Darwin attempted to
explain it by his "provisional hypothesis of pangenesis." Darwin
assumed that minute particles or "gernmules" were given off by every
cell of the body, at every stage of development, and that these gernmules
then collected in the germ cells which thus became storehouses of little
germs from all parts of the body. Afterwards, in the development of
these germ cells, the gernmules, or little germs, developed into cells and
organs similar to those from which they came.

3. Germinal Continuity and Somatic Discontinuity
Many ingenious hypotheses have been devised to explain things
which are not true, and this is one of them. The doctrine that adult
organisms manufacture germ cells and transmit their characters to
them is known to be erroneous. Neither germ cells nor an}r other kind
of cells are formed by the body as a whole, but every cell in the body
comes from a preceding cell by a process of division, and germ cells are
formed, not by contributions from all parts of the body, but by division
of preceding cells which are derived ultimately from the fertilized egg
(Fig. 23). The hen does not produce the egg, but the egg produces
the hen and also other eggs. Individual traits are not transmitted from
the hen to the egg, but they develop out of germinal factors which are
carried along from cell to cell, and thus from generation to generation.
There is a continuity of germinal substance, and usually of germi-
nal cells, from one generation to the next. In some animals the germ
cells are set apart at a very early stage of development, sometimes in

THE CELLULAR BASIS OF HEREDITY 107

the early cleavage stages of the egg. In other cases the germ cells are
first recognizable at later stages, but in practically every case they arise
from germinal or embryonic cells which have not differentiated into
somatic tissues. Germinal continuity and somatic discontinuity of suc-
cessive generations in sexually produced organisms is not a theory but
an established fact. In general, germ cells do not come from differen-
tiated somatic cells, but only from undifferentiated germinal cells, and
if in a few cases differentiated cells may reverse the process of develop-
ment and become embryonic cells and even germ cells it does not destroy
this principle of germinal continuity and somatic discontinuity.

Thus the problem which faces the student of heredity and develop-
ment has been cut in two ; he no longer inquires how the body produces
the germ cells, for this does not happen, but merely how the latter pro-
duce the body and other germ cells. The germ is the undeveloped
organism which forms the bond between successive generations; the
person is the developed organism which arises from the germ under
the influence of environmental conditions. The person develops and
dies in each generation; the germ plasm is the continuous stream of
living substance which connects all generations. The person nourishes
and protects the germ, and in this sense the person is merely the carrier
of the germ plasm, the mortal trustee of an immortal substance.

This contrast of the germ and the person, of the undeveloped and
the developed organism, is fundamental in all modern work on heredity.
It was especially emphasized by Weismann in his germ plasm theory
and recently it has been given prominence by Johannsen under the
terms genotype and phenotype ; the genotype is the fundamental hered-
itary constitution of an organism — it is the germinal type; the pheno-
type is the developed organism with all of its visible characters — it is
the somatic type.

But important as this distinction is between germ and soma it has
sometimes been over-emphasized. This is one of the chief faults of
Weismann's theory. The germ and the soma are generically alike, but
specifically different. Both germ cells and somatic cells have come
from the same oosperm, but have differentiated in different ways; the
tissue cells have lost certain things which the germ cells retain and have
developed other things which remain undeveloped in the germ cells.
But the germ cells do not remain undifferentiated ; both egg and sperm
are differentiated, the former for receiving the sperm and for the
nourishment of the embryo, the latter for locomotion and for penetra-
tion into the egg. But while the differentiations of tissue cells are
usually irreversible, so that they do not again become germinal cells, the
differentiations of the sex cells are reversible, so that these cells, after
their union, again become germinal cells.

In many theories of heredity it is assumed that there is a specific
"inheritance material," distinct from the general protoplasm whose
function is the " transmission " of hereditary properties from generation

1 08 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

to generation, and whose characteristics, as compared with the general
protoplasm, are great stability, independence and continuity. This is
the idioplasm of Nageli, the germ-plasm of Weismann. But thtre is no
reason to suppose that "germ-plasm" is anything other than germinal
protoplasm, which is found in all cells in early stages of development
but which becomes limited in quantity or altered in quality in tissue
cells. A "germ-plasm" which is absolutely distinct from and inde-
pendent of the general protoplasm is a mere fiction which finds no
justification in reality.

4. The Units of Living Matter

The entire cell, nucleus and cytoplasm, is the ultimate unit of
living matter which is capable of independent existence. Neither the
nucleus nor the cytoplasm can for long live independently of each
other, but the entire cell can perform all the fundamental vital proc-
esses. It transforms food into its own living material, it grows and
divides, it is capable of responding to many kinds of stimuli. But
while the parts of a cell are not capable of independent existence they
may perform certain of these vital processes.

Not only is the cell as a whole capable of assimilation, growth and
division, but every living part of the cell has this power. The nucleus
builds foreign substances into its own substance, and after it has grown
to a certain size it divides into two; the cytoplasm does the same, and
this process of assimilation, growth and division occurs in many parts
of the nucleus and cytoplasm, such as the chromosomes, chromomeres,
centrosomes, plastosomes, etc. In all cases cells come from cells, nuclei
from nuclei, chromosomes from chromosomes, centrosomes from centro-
somes, and probably plastosomes from plastosomes, etc.

Indeed, the manner in which all living matter grows indicates that
every minute particle of protoplasm has this power of taking in food
substance and of dividing into two particles when it has grown to
maximum size. Presumably this power of assimilation, growth and
division is possessed by particles of protoplasm which are invisible with
the highest powers of our microscopes, though it is probable that these
particles are much larger than the largest molecules known to chemis-
try. The smallest particle which can be seen with the most powerful
microscope in ordinary light is about 250 pp (millionths of a milli-
meter) in diameter. The largest molecules are probably about 10 pp
in diameter. Between these invisible molecules and the just visible par-
ticles of protoplasm there may be other units of organization. These
hypothetical particles of protoplasm have been supposed by many
authors to be the ultimate units of assimilation, growth and division.
In so far as these units are supposed to be different in different species,
or with respect to different hereditary characters, they are known also
as inheritance units.

It is assumed in practically all theories of heredity that the " inher-

TEE CELLULAR BASIS OF EEREDITY 109

itance material," or more correctly the germinal protoplasm, is composed
of ultra-microscopical units which have the power of individual growth
and division and which are capable of undergoing many combinations
and dissociations during the course of development, by which combina-
tions and dissociations they are transformed into the structures of the
adult. Various names have been given to such units by different
authors; they are the physiological units of Herbert Spencer, the
gemmules of Darwin, the plastidules of Elsberg and Haeckel, the
pangenes of de Vries, the plasomes of Wiesner, the idioblasts of Hert-
wig, the biophores and determinants of Weismann.

With the publication of Weismann's work on the germ-plasm in
1892 speculation with regard to these ultra-microscopic units of life
and of heredity reached a climax and began to decline, owing to the
highly speculative character of the evidence as to the existence, nature
and activities of such units. But with the rediscovery of Mendel's
principles of heredity the necessity of assuming the existence of inher-
itance units of some kind once more became evident, and, without
attempting to define what such units are or how they behave modern
students of heredity invariably accept their existence. They are now
called determiners or factors or genes, and are usually thought of as
elements or units of the germ cells which condition the characters of
the developed organism, and which are in a measure independent of one
another ; though of course neither they nor any other parts of a cell are
really independent in the sense that they can exist apart from one
another. They are to be thought of as we think of certain chemical rad-
icals which exist only in combination with other chemical elements in
the form of molecules, and yet may preserve their identity in many dif-
ferent combinations.

If there are inheritance units, such as determiners or genes, as prac-
tically all students of heredity maintain, they must be contained in the
germ cells, and it becomes one of the fundamental problems of biology
to find out where and what these units are. But whether we assume
the existence of these units or not we know that the germ cells are
exceedingly complex, that they contain many visible units such as
chromosomes, chromomeres, plastosomes and microsomes, and that with
every great improvement in the microscope and in microscopical tech-
nique other structures are made visible which were invisible before, and
whether the particular hypothetical units just named are present or
not seems to be a matter of no great importance, seeing that, so far as
the analysis of the microscope is able to go, there are in all protoplasm
differentiated units which are combined into a system — in short, there
is organization.

5. Eeredity and Development

The germ cells are individual entities and after the fertilization of
the egg the new individual thus formed remains distinct from every
other individual. Furthermore, from its earliest to its latest stage of

no TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

development it is one and the same organism ; the egg is not one being
and the embryo another and the adult a third, but the egg of a human
being is a human being in the one-celled stage of development, and the
characteristics of the adult develop out of the egg and are not in some
mysterious way grafted upon it or transmitted to it.

Parents do not transmit their characters, but their germ cells, to
their offspring, which germ cells in the course of long development give
rise to adult characters similar to those of the parents. The thing
which persists more or less completely from generation to generation is
the organization of the germ cells which differentiate in similar ways
in successive generations if the extrinsic factors of development remain
similar.

In short, heredity may he defined as the particular germinal organi-
zation which is transmitted from one generation to the next: inheritance
or heritage is the sum of all those qualities which are determined or
caused by this germinal organization. Development is progressive and
coordinated differentiation of this germinal organization, by which it is
transformed into the adult organization. Differentiation is the forma-
tion and localization of many different Jcinds of substances out of the
germinal substances, of many different structures and functions out of
the relatively simple structures and functions of the oosperm.

This germinal organization influences not merely adult characters,
but also the character of every stage from the egg to the adult condition.
For every inherited character, whether embryonic or adult, there is
some germinal basis. We receive from our parents germ cells of a
particular kind and constitution and under given conditions of environ-
ment these cells undergo regular transformations and differentiations
in the course of development which differentiations lead to particular
adult characteristics. In the last analysis the causes of heredity and
development are problems of cell structures and functions — problems of
the formation of particular kinds of germ cells, of the fusion of these
cells in fertilization, and of the subsequent formation of the various
types of somatic cells from the fertilized egg cell.

B. The Germ Cells
Observations and experiments on developed animals and plants have
furnished us with a knowledge of the finished products of inheritance,
but the actual stages and causes of inheritance, the real mechanisms of
heredity, are to be found only in a study of the germ cells and of their
development. Although many phenomena of inheritance have been dis-
covered in the absence of any definite knowledge of the mechanism of
heredity, a scientific explanation of these phenomena must wait upon
the knowledge of their causes. In the absence of such knowledge it
has been necessary to formulate theories of heredity to account for the
facts, but these theories are only temporary scaffolding to bridge the
gaps in our knowledge, and if we knew all that could be known about

TEE CELLULAR BASIS OF HEREDITY

in

the germ cells and their development we should have little need of
theories. In the first lecture we looked at the germ cells and their
development from the outside, as it were; let us now look inside these
cells and study their minuter structures and functions.

Only a beginning has been made in this minute study of the germ
cells and of their transformation into the developed animal, and it
seems probable that it may engage the attention of many future

Fig. 22. Diagram Showing
tub " Cell Lineage " of the
Body Cells and Germ Cells
in a Worm or Mollusk. The
lineage of the germ cells (" germ
track ") is shown in black, of
ectoderm in white, and of endo-
derm and mesoderm in shaded
circles. The whole course of
spermatogenesis and oogenesis is
shown in the lower right of the
figure beginning with the primi-
tive sex cells (Prim. Sex Cells)
and ending with the gametes,
the genesis of the spermatozoa
being shown on the left and of
the ova on the right.

Gametes

generations of biologists, but nevertheless we have come far since that
day, only about thirty-five years ago, when Oscar Hertwig first saw the
approach and union of the egg and sperm nuclei within the fertilized
egg. Indeed so rapid has been the advance of knowledge in this field
that many of the pioneers in this work are still active in research.

1. Fertilization

The development of the individual may be said to begin with the
fertilization of the egg, though it is evident that both egg and sperm
must have had a more remote beginning, and that they also have under-
gone a process of development by which their peculiar characteristics of

112

TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

structure and function have arisen — a subject to which we shall return
later. But the developmental processes which lead to the formation of
fully developed ova and spermatozoa come to a full stop before fertili-
zation and they do not usually begin again until a spermatozoon has
entered an ovum, or until the latter has been stimulated by some other
outside means. In some animals and plants eggs may develop regularly
without fertilization, the stimulus to development being supplied by

lstMat.Sp>

<SN'-'

3n\c

-2^ Mat

Sp

Si~2& PB

Fig. 23. Diagrams of the Maturation and Fertilization of the Egg of a
Molldsk (Crepidula). A, B. First maturation division (1st Mat. Sp.) G. Second
maturation division (2d Mat. Sp.) and first polar body (1st PB) resulting from first
division. gN, sperm nucleus, £0, sperm centrosome. D. Approach of sperm nucleus
(<$N) and sperm (£S) to egg nucleus (<£N) and sphere (<j>S) ; the second polar body
(ZdPB) has been formed and the forest has divided (is* PB). E. Meeting of egg and
sperm nuclei and origin of cleavage centrosomes. F. First cleavage of egg showing
direction of currents in the cell.

THE CELL ULAR BASIS OF HEREDITY 1 1 3

certain external or internal conditions; in other cases, as Loeb dis-
covered, eggs which would never develop if left to themselves may be
experimentally stimulated by physical or chemical changes in the envi-
ronment, so that they undergo regular development. The development
of an egg without previous fertilization is known as parthenogenesis or
virgin reproduction ; if it occurs in nature it is natural parthenogenesis,
if in experiments it is artificial parthenogenesis. Natural partheno-
genesis is relatively rare and in the vast majority of animals and
plants the egg does not begin to develop until a spermatozoon has
entered it.

But the spermatozoon not only stimulates the egg to develop, as en-
vironmental conditions may also do, but it carries into the egg living
substances which are of great significance in heredity. Usually only the
head of the spermatozoon enters the egg (Figs. 4-7) and this consists
almost entirely of nuclear material which has a strong chemical affinity
for certain d}^es, and hence is called chromatin (Figs. 23 A and B) ;
when the egg has matured and is ready to be fertilized its nucleus also
consists of a small mass of chromatin (Fig. 23 C). Both of these con-
densed chromatic nuclei then grow in size and become less chromatic
by absorbing from the egg a substance which is not easily stained by
dyes and hence is called achromatin (Fig. 23 D and E). The chromatin
then becomes scattered through each nucleus in the form of granules
or threads which are embedded in the achromatin ; this is the condition
of a typical " resting " nucleus. The spermatozoon also brings into the
egg a centrosome, or division center, around which an aster appeara
consisting of radiating lines in the protoplasm of the egg (Fig 23 B).

The moment that the spermatozoon touches the surface of the egg
the latter throws out at the point touched a prominence, or reception
cone (Fig. 4), and as soon as the head of the sperm has entered this
cone some of the superficial protoplasm of the egg flows to this point
and then turns into the interior of the egg in a kind of vortex cur-
rent. Probably as a result of this current the sperm nucleus and centro-
some are carried deeper into the egg and finally are brought near to the
egg nucleus (Fig. 23 D and E). In the movements of egg and sperm
nuclei toward each other it is evident that they are passively carried
about by currents in the cytoplasm ; the entrance of the sperm serves as
a stimulus to the egg cytoplasm which moves according to its pre-
established organization.

2. Cleavage and Differentiation
When the sperm nucleus has come close to the egg nucleus the sperm
centrosome usually divides into two minute granules, the daughter
centrosomes, which move apart forming a spindle with the centrosomes
at its poles and with astral radiations running out from these into the
cytoplasm (Fig. 23 F). At the same time the chromatin granules and
threads in the egg and sperm nuclei run together into a smooth thick

ii4

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

thread, the spireme, which is coiled within the nucleus. At this stage
it is sometimes possible to see that the spireme is composed of a series
of granules, like beads on a string; these granules are the chromomeres.
The spireme then breaks up into a number of pieces in the form of short
threads or rods (Fig. 24 C and D) ; these are the chromosomes. The

Fig. 24. Fertilization of the Egg op the Nematode Worm Ascarts; <£N, egg
nucleus ; gN, sperm nucleus ; Arch, archiplasm ; (7, centrosome ; A, B, approach of
germ nuclei ; C, D, formation of two chromosomes in each germ nucleus E, F, stages
in the division of the chromosomes which are split in E and are separating in F ;
only three chromosomes are shown in F. (From Wilson after Boveri.)

number of these chromosomes is constant for every species and race,
though the number may vary in different species. In the thread worm,
Ascaris, there are usual] y two chromosomes in the egg nucleus and two
in the sperm nucleus (Fig. 24 D). In the gastropod, Crepidula, there
are about thirty chromosomes in each germ nucleus and sixty in the two.
Then the spindle and asters grow larger and the nuclear membrane

THE CELLULAR BASIS OF HEREDITY

A

"5

D

w 1

-nr* —

-•»• .5

* •?

/0M§\

/J$^\ i

A;-.^fe;,:\ *

wip

Wg^

^itjjij^r*

•" *• %

H

J

at-

*

Fig. 25. Matdration and Fertilization of the Egg of the Mouse. A, first
polar body and second maturation spindle ; B, second polar body and maturation
spindle; C, entrance of the spermatozoon into the egg; D-G, successive stages in the
approach of egg and sperm nuclei ; H, formation of chromosomes in each germ nucleus ;
I, first cleavage spindle showing chromosomes from egg and sperm on opposite sides of
spindle. (After Sobotta.)

grows thinner and finally disappears altogether, leaving the chromo-
somes in the equator of the spindle (Figs. 23 F, 24 E and F, 25 I).

Each of the chromosomes then splits lengthwise into two equal
parts, and in the splitting of the chromosomes it is sometimes possible

Ii6

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

to see that each chromomere divides through its middle. The daughter
chromosomes then separate and move to opposite poles of the spindle,
where they form the daughter nuclei, and at the same time the cell
hody begins to divide by a constriction which pinches the cell in two

Fig. 26. Successive Stages in the Cleavage or the Egg of Holldsk (Crepi-
dula), showing the separateness of the male and female chromosomes (J1 ch, O ch)
and the male and female halves of each nucleus (^N, $N).

in the plane which passes through the equator of the spindle (Tig.
26 B). Finally the daughter nuclei grow in size by the absorption of
achromatin from the cell body and the substance of the chromosomes
is again distributed through the achromatin in the form of threads
and granules and thus the daughter nuclei come back to a "resting''
stage similar to that with which the division began, thus completing
the " division cycle " of the cell.

During the whole division cycle it is possible in a few instances to
distinguish the chromosomes of the egg from those of the sperm, and in

THE CELLULAR BASIS OF HEREDITY 1 17

every instance where this can be done it is perfectly clear that these
chromosomes do not fuse together nor lose their identity, but that every
chromosome splits lengthwise and its halves separate and go into the
two daughter cells where they form the daughter nuclei. Each of
these cells therefore receives half of its chromosomes from the egg and
half from the sperm. Even in cases where the individual chromosomes
are lost to view in the daughter nuclei those nuclei may be clearly double,
one half of each having come from the egg chromosomes and the other
half from the sperm chromosomes (Fig. 26 B).

At every subsequent cleavage of the egg the chromosomes divide in
exactly the same way as has been described for the first cleavage. Every
cell of the developing animal receives one half of its chromosomes from
the egg and the other half from the sperm, and if the chromosomes of
the egg differ in shape or in size from those of the sperm, as is some-
times the case when different races or species are crossed, these two
groups of chromosomes may still be distinguished at advanced stages
of development. Where the egg and sperm chromosomes are not thus
distinguishable it may still be possible to recognize the half of the nu-
cleus which comes from the egg and the half which comes from the sperm
even up to an advanced stage of the cleavage (Eig. 26).

At the same time that the maternal and paternal chromosomes are
being distributed with such precise equality to all the cells of the devel-
oping organism, the different substances in the cell body outside of the
nucleus may be distributed very unequally to the cleavage cells. The
movements of the cytoplasm of the egg which began with the flowing of
the surface layer to the point of entrance of the sperm, lead to the segre-
gation of different kinds of plasms in different parts of the egg and to
the unequal distribution of these substances to different cells.

One of the most striking cases of this is found in the ascidian, Styela,
in which there are four or five different kinds of substance in the egg
which differ in color, so that their distribution to different regions of
the egg and to different cleavage cells may be easily followed, and even
photographed while in the living condition. The peripheral layer of
protoplasm is yellow and when it gathers at the lower pole of the egg
where the sperm enters it forms a yellow cap. This yellow substance
then moves, following the sperm nucleus, up to the equator of the egg
on the posterior side and there forms a yellow crescent extending around
the posterior side of the egg just below the equator. On the anterior
side of the egg a gray crescent is formed in a somewhat similar man-
ner and at the lower pole between these two crescents is a slate blue
substance, while at the upper pole is an area of colorless protoplasm.
The yellow crescent goes into cleavage cells which become muscle and
mesoderm, the gray crescent into cells which become nervous system and
notochord, the slate-blue substance into endoderm cells and the color-
less substance into ectoderm cells.

n8

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

Thus within a few minutes after the fertilization of the egg, and
before or immediately after the first cleavage, the anterior and posterior,
dorsal and ventral, right and left poles are clearly distinguishable, and

1P.S.

& 0

Pig. 29. Sections of the Egg of Styela, showing maturation, fertilization and
early cleavage; 1 P. 8., first polar spindle, p. b., polar bodies, tfN, sperm nucleus, %N,
egg nucleus, p. I., peripheral layer of yellow protoplasm, Cr, crescent of yellow proto-
plasm, As, A3, anterior cells, B3, Bs, posterior cells of the 4-cell stage. In 1 the sperm
nucleus and centrosome are at the lower pole near the point of entrance; in 2 and 3
they have moved up to the equator on the posterior side of the egg; in 4 the egg and
sperm nuclei have come together and the sperm centrosome has divided and formed the
cleavage spindle ; in 5 the egg is dividing into right and left halves in 6 it is dividing
into anterior and posterior halves.

the substances which will give rise to ectoderm, endoderm, mesoderm,
muscles, notochord and nervous system are plainly visible in their char-
acteristic positions.

TEE CELLULAR BASIS OF HEREDITY

119

At the first cleavage of the egg each of these substances is divided
into right and left halves (Fig. 29, 5). The second cleavage cuts off
two anterior cells containing the gray crescent from two posterior ones
containing the yellow crescent (Fig. 29, 6 and Fig. 30, 1). The third
cleavage separates the colorless protoplasm in the upper hemisphere
from the slate-blue in the lower (Fig. 30, 2). And at every successive
cleavage the cytoplasmic substances are segregated and isolated in par-
ticular cells, — and in this way the cytoplasm of the different cells comes
to be unlike (Figs. 30 and 31). When once partition walls have been

A!£

Fig. 30. Cleavage of the Egg of Stycla, showing distribution of the yellow
protoplasm (stippled) and of the clear and gray protoplasm to the various cells, each
of which bears a definite letter and number.

formed between cells they permanently separate the substances in the
different cells so that they can no longer commingle.

What is true of Styela in this regard is equally true of many other
ascidians, as well as of Amphioxiis and of the frog, though the segrega-

120

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

tion of substances and the differentiation of cells is not so evident in the
last named animals because these substances are not so strikingly colored.
Indeed the segregation and isolation of different protoplasmic substances
in different cleavage cells occurs during the cleavage of the egg in all
animals, though such differentiations are much more marked in some
cases than in others.

ms.

Fig. 31. Gastkula and Lakva of Styela, showing the cell lineage of various or-
gans, and the distribution of the different kinds of protoplasm to these organs. Muscle
cells are shaded by vertical lines, mesenchyme by horizontal lines, nervous system
and chorda by stiples.

This same type of cell division, with equal division of the chromo-
somes and more or less unequal division of the cell bod}r, continues long
after the cleavage stages — indeed throughout the entire period of em-
bryonic development. Sometimes the division of the cell body is equal,
the daughter cells being alike ; sometimes it is unequal or differential —

THE CELLULAR BASIS OF HEREDITY 121

but always the division of the chromosomes is equal and non-differential.
When once the various tissues have been differentiated the further divi-
sions in these tissue cells are usually non-differential even in the case of
the cell bodies.

There can be no doubt that this remarkably complicated process of
cell division has some deep significance ; why should a nucleus divide in
this peculiarly indirect manner instead of merely pinching in two as was
once supposed to be the case? "What is the relation of cell division to
embryonic differentiation? In this process of mitosis, or indirect cell
division, two important things take place: (1) Each chromosome,
chromomere and centrosome is divided exactly into two equal parts so
that each daughter structure is at the time of its formation quantita-
tively one half the size and qualitatively precisely like its mother struc-
ture. (2) Accompanying the formation of radiations, which go out
from the eentrosomes into the cell body, diffusion currents are set up
in the cytoplasm which lead to the localization of different parts of the
cytoplasm in definite regions of the cell, and this cytoplasmic localiza-
tion is sometimes of such a sort that one of the daughter cells may con-
tain one kind of cell substance and the other another kind. Thus while
mitosis brings about a scrupulously equal division of the elements of the
nucleus, it may lead to a very unequal and dissimilar division of the
cytoplasm. In this is found the significance of mitosis and it suggests
at once that the nucleus contains undifferentiating material, viz., the
idioplasm or germplasm, which is characteristic of the race and is
carried on from cell to cell and from generation to generation ; whereas
the cell body contains the differentiating substance, the personal plasm
or somatoplasm which gives rise to all the differentiations of cells,
tissues and organs in the course of ontogeny.

Weismann supposed that the mitotic division of the chromosomes
during development was of a differential character, the daughter chro-
mosomes differing from each other at every differential division in some
constant and characteristic way, and that these differentiations of the
chromosomes produced the characteristic differentiations of the cyto-
plasm which occur during development. But there is not a particle of
evidence that the division of chromosomes is ever differential; on the
contrary, there is the most complete evidence that their division is
always remarkably equal both quantitatively and qualitatively. If
daughter chromosomes and nuclei ever become unlike, as they sometimes
do, this unlikeness occurs long after division and is probably the result
of the action of different kinds of cytoplasm upon the nuclei, as is true,
for example, in the differentiation of the chromosomes in the somatic
cells as contrasted with the germ cells of Ascaris (Fig. 32). But while
the chromosomes invariably divide equally, other portions of the nucleus
may not do so. Achromatin and oxychromatin, like the cytoplasm, may

VOL. LXXXV. — 9.

122

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

divide unequally and differentially, and this is probably a prime factor
in development.

On the other hand, the differential division of the cytoplasm is a
regular and characteristic feature of ontogeny — indeed the segregation
and isolation of different kinds of cytoplasm in different cells is the
most important function of cell division in development. Thus we
find in the division apparatus of the cell a mechanism for the preserva-

A

Fig. 32. Differentiation of Geem Cells and Somatic Cells in the Egg of
Ascaris. A and B, second cleavage division showing that the chromosomes remain
entire in the lower cell, which is in the line of descent of the sex cells (" germ
track"), but that they throw off their ends and break up into small granules in the
upper cells, which become somatic cells. C, 4-cell stage, the nuclei in the upper
somatic cells being small and the ends of the chromosomes remaining as chromatic
masses in the cell body outside of the nuclei, while the nuclei in the lower cells are
much larger and contain all the chromatin. D, third nuclear division, showing the
somatic differentiation of the chromosomes in all the cells except the lower right one,
which alone is in the germ track and will ultimately give rise to sex cells. (After
Boveri.)

tion in unaltered form of the species plasm, idioplasm or germ-plasm of
the nucleus, and for the progressive differentiation of the personal plasm
or somatoplasm of the cell body.

TEE CELLULAR BASIS OF HEREDITY 123

3. The Origin of the Sex Cells
The sex cells are the latest of all cells of a developing organism to
reach maturity, and yet they may be among the earliest to make their
appearance. Every sex cell, like every other type of cell, is a lineal
descendant of the fertilized egg (Fig. 22), but the period at which the
sex cells become visibly different from other cells varies from the first
cleavage of the egg in some species to a relatively advanced stage of
development in others.

(a). The Division Period. Oogonia and Spermatogonia

"When the primitive sex cells are first distinguishable they differ
from other cells only in the fact that they are less differentiated; they
have relatively larger nuclei and smaller cell bodies — a condition which
is indicative of little differentiation of the cell body since the products
of differentiation such as fibres, secretions, etc., swell the size of the
cell body, but do not contribute to the growth of the nucleus. These
primitive sex cells or gonia divide repeatedly, but the oogonia grow
more rapidly and divide less frequently than the spermatogonia. As a
result of this difference in the rate of growth and division the sperma-
togonia become much smaller and immensely more numerous than the
oogonia. This period in the genesis of the sex cells is known as the
division period (Fig. 22).

(&). The Growth Period. Oocytes and Spermatocytes

This period of rapid cell divisions is followed by a period of growth
without division during which the developing sex cells are called
primary oocytes or spermatocytes. This growth period may be very
long in the case of the oocytes, lasting, for example, in the human
female from the time of birth to the end of the reproductive period;
during this long time the oocytes in the ovary probably never divide —
there are as many of them at birth as at any later time; during this
period of growth the ovarian egg becomes relatively large, in some
animals, e. g., birds, the largest of all cells. The growth period of a
spermatocyte lasts for a briefer time than does that of an oocyte so that
the former remains relatively small (Fig. 22).

All of the cell divisions which take place during the division period
are of the usual kind, in which every chromosome splits lengthwise into
two and the two halves then separate and move to opposite poles of the
spindle where they break up into threads and granules and form the
daughter nuclei, as is shown in Fig. 24. But during the growth period
of the oocytes and spermatocytes the chromosomes form a closely wound
coil of long chromatin threads (Fig. 33), and when these threads uncoil
later it is seen that the chromosomes have united in pairs (Figs. 33 D
and E, 34 B, 35 B) ; this process is known as synapsis, or the conjuga-

124

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

tion of the chromosomes, and there is evidence that one member of each
synaptic pair is derived from the father, and the other from the mother.
The union of these chromosomes is probably not so close that they lose
their identity, though there may possibly be some interchange of sub-
stance between them. By this union of the chromosomes into pairs the
number of separate chromosomes is reduced to half the normal number;
if there are usually 4 chromosomes, as in Ascaris, they are reduced to 2
pairs; if 48 chromosomes, as in man, there are 24 of these pairs.

Fig. 33. Diffeeent Stages in the Development of the Egg of the Rabbit.
A, at the beginning of the growth period showing slender chromatic threads in the
nucleus ; B, later stage in which these threads ball up and parallel threads conjugate
forming the shorter, thicker thread shown in C; D and E, segmentation of the long
thread into chromosomes ( ?) each of which shows its double nature ; F, later stage in
which the distinctions of the chromosomes is temporarily lost. (After Winiwarter.)

In the conjugation of the chromosomes it is plain that, generally
speaking, those chromosomes which are similar in shape and size unite ;
big chromosomes unite with big ones, little ones with little ones, and
those of peculiar shape with others of similar shape (Figs. 34 B, 35 B).
It is probable that the two members of a pair of conjugating chromo-
somes are homologous not merely in shape and size but also in function,
though this homology does not amount to identity.

In some instances it can be proved that one member of each conju-
gating pair of chromosomes comes from one parent and the other from
the other parent, and it is probable that this is always true. In every
cell of every individual which has developed from a fertilized egg there
are two full sets of chromosomes, one of which came from the sperm and
the other from the egg; but when this individual in its turn produces

THE CELLULAR BASIS OF HEREDITY

125

germ cells homologous chromosomes of each set unite in pairs during
the growth period.

These synaptic pairs are the bivalent chromosomes, and in addition
to showing the line of junction by which they are united they frequently
show a longitudinal split through the middle of each chromosome and

Fig. 34. Spermatogenesis of a Nematode Worm (AncyracantJius) . A, chromo-
somes of sperm mother cell, 11 in number, before their union into pairs ; B, early
stage of first division ; 10 of the chromosomes have united into 5 pairs and each of
these has split lengthwise ; 1 chromosome remains unpaired ; C, first maturation di-
vision after the 5 pairs of chromosomes have pulled apart ; the unpaired chromo-
some is going entire to one pole of the spindle ; D, two cells resulting from this di-
vision, one containing 5 and the other 6 chromosomes ; E, four cells resulting from
the division of two cells like B, in which each chromosome has split into two so that
changing into spermatozoa, one containing 5 and the other 6 chromosomes. (After
two of the cells contain 5 and two contain 6 chromosomes ; F, two of these cells
Mulsow.)

at right angles to the line of junction. It thus happens that these
bivalent chromosomes are frequently four-parted and such four-parted
chromosomes are known as tetrads (Figs. 34 B, 35 B).

126

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

A

F

Fig. 35. Oogenesis of a Nematode Woem (Ancyracanthus) . A, egg mother cell
containing 12 chromosomes before their union into pairs; B, early stage of first ma-
turation division ; all the chromosomes have united into 6 pairs, each of which has
split in two so that the pairs are really four-parted (tetrads) ; C, the six tetrads in
the first maturation division ; D, egg containing G chromosomes, after both first and
second maturation divisions ; the eliminated chromosomes are shown as the polar
bodies at the margin of the egg ; E and F, eggs after fertilization ; the egg nucleus
is above and contains 6 chromosomes, the sperm nucleus below and contains 5 chromo-
somes in one case and 6 in the other ; the former becomes a male with 11 chromo-
somes, the latter a female with 12 chromosomes.

(c). The Maturation Period
Finally at the close of the growth period both oocyte and spermato-
cyte undergo two peculiar divisions one following immediately after the

THE CELLULAR BASIS OF HEREDITY 127

other, which are unlike any other cell divisions. These are known as
the first and second maturation divisions and they are the last divisions
which take place in the formation of the egg and sperm. In one or the
other of these two maturation divisions the pairs of chromosomes sepa-
rate along the line of junction, one member of each pair going to one
pole of the spindle and the other to the other pole, so that in each of the
daughter cells thus formed only a single set of chromosomes is present
(Fig. 34 C and D) ; but since the position of the pairs of chromosomes
in the spindle is a matter of chance it rarely happens that all the
paternal chromosomes go to one pole and all the maternal ones to the
other; thus each of the sex cells comes to contain a complete set of
chromosomes though particular individual chromosomes may have come
from the father while others have come from the mother. There is
reason to believe that homologous chromosomes show general resem-
blances but individual differences, and consequently when the members
of each pair separate and go into the sex cells, these cells differ among
themselves because the individual chromosomes in different cells are not
the same.

In this way the number of chromosomes in the mature egg or sperm
comes to be one half the number present in other kinds of cells, and
when the egg and sperm unite in fertilization the whole number is
again restored. The double set of chromosomes is known as the diploid
number, the single set as the haploid number, and the maturation divi-
sion in which this reduction from the double to the single set takes place
is the reduction division. It is generally held that this reduction takes
place in the first of the two maturation divisions (Fig. 34, 0, D), and
that the second of these divisions is like an ordinary mitosis in that
each chromosome splits into two and the halves move apart, such a divi-
sion being known as an equation division (Fig. 34 E), but it is possible
that some chromosome pairs undergo an equation division in the first
maturation mitosis and a reduction division in the second, while other
chromosome pairs may reverse this order.

It is an interesting fact that long before the reduction of chromo-
somes had been actually seen Weismann maintained on theoretical
grounds that such a reduction must occur, otherwise the number of
chromosomes would double in every generation, and he held that this
reduction must take place in one of the maturation divisions; this
hypothesis of Weismann's is now an established fact.

As the result of these two maturation divisions four cells are formed
from each cell (spermatocyte or oocyte) of the growth period. In the
spermatogenesis each of these four cells is transformed into a functional
spermatozoon (Fig. 34 E), by the condensation of the nucleus into the
sperm head and the outgrowth of the centrosome and cytoplasm to form
the tail. In the oogenesis only one of these four cells becomes a func-

128 TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

tional egg while the other three are small rudimentary eggs which are
called polar bodies and which take no further part in development
(Fig. 23, D-F). The fertilization of the egg usually takes place coin-
cidently with the formation of the polar bodies — and so we come back
once more to the stage from which we started, thus completing the life
cycle.

4. Sex Determination

In the formation of the sex cells one can frequently distinguish at
an early stage, differences between the larger oogonia and the smaller
and more numerous spermatogonia; this difference is the first visible
distinction in the development of the two sexes. In the case of the
human embryo this distinction can be made as early as the fifth week,
and it is evident that the real causes of this difference must be at a still
earlier period of development.

The cause of sex has been a favorite subject of speculation for thou-
sands of years. Hundreds of hypotheses have been advanced to explain
this perennially interesting phenomenon. The causes of sex determina-
tion have been ascribed to almost every possible external or internal
influence and the world is full of people who think they have discovered
by personal experience just how sex is determined. Unfortunately
these hypotheses and rules are generally founded upon a few observa-
tions of selected cases. Since there are only two sexes the chances are
that any hypothesis will be right half the time, and if only one forgets
the failures of a rule and remembers the times when it holds good it is
possible to believe in the influence of food or temperature or age, of
war or peace or education on the relative number of the sexes, or on
almost any other thing. By statistics it has been shown that each of
these things influences the sex ratio, and by more extensive statistics it
has been proved that they do not.

This was the condition regarding the causes of sex determination
which prevailed up to the year 1902. Immediately preceding that year
it had been found that the kinds of spermatozoa were formed in equal
numbers in certain insects; one of these kinds contained a peculiar
"accessory" chromosome, and the other lacked it. The manner in
which these two types of spermatozoa were formed had been carefully
worked out by several investigators without any suspicion of the real
significance of the facts. It was shown that an uneven number of
chromosomes might be present in the spermatogonia of certain insects
and that when maternal and paternal chromosomes united in pairs in
synapsis one "odd" chromosome was left without a mate (Fig. 34 B).
Later, in the reduction division, when the synaptic pairs separated, the
odd chromosome went entire into one of the daughter cells, and the
spermatozoa formed from this cell contained one chromosome more
than those formed from the other daughter cell (Fig. 34 C and D).

THE CELLULAR BASIS OF HEREDITY

129

Chiefly because these two kinds of spermatozoa occur in equal num-
bers McClung in 1902 concluded that this accessory chromosome was a
sex determinant. In 1905 Wilson discovered in a number of bugs that
while there were two types of spermatozoa, one of which contained, and

Oocyte

Protenar Type

Reduction Ova

Division

Fertilized Egg

Spermatocyte

Reduction
Division

Spermatids

Fig. 36. Diagkams of Sex Differentiation in the Bug, Protenor. The oocyte
contains 6 chromosomes and the spermatocyte 5 chromosomes which are not yet
united into synaptic pairs ; the " sex " chromosomes are shown in black and white,
two are present in the oocyte, but one is present in the spermatocyte. In the reduc-
tion division the synaptic pairs separate, giving rise to two types of spermatozoa, one
of which has the sex chromosome and the other lacks it ; all ova are alike in this re-
gard. If an egg is fertilized by a sperm without the sex chromosome a male results ;
if fertilized by a sperm containing the sex chromosome a female results. (After
Wilson with modifications.)

Tenebrlo Type

Oocyte

Recitation
Division

Ova

Ferti Lized

Em

Spermatocyte

Reduction
pttft'giotv

Spentiatids

Fig. 37. Diagrams of Sex Differentiation in the Beetle, Tenebrio, showing
5 synaptic pairs of chromosomes (there are actually 10 pairs) ; in the oocyte all pairs
are equal in size ; in the spermatocyte one pair is unequal. These pairs separate in
the reduction division giving rise to two types of spermatozoa and one type of ova ;
eggs fertilized by one type of sperm give rise to females, those fertilized by the other
type give rise to males. (After Stevens with modifications.)

the other lacked, the accessory chromosome, there was only one type of
egg, since every egg contained the accessory chromosome, and he pointed
out that if an egg were fertilized by a sperm containing an accessory,
two accessories would be present in the zygote, this being the condition

130

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

of the female, while if it were fertilized by a sperrn without an accessory
there would be present in the zygote only the accessory derived from the
egg (Fig. 35 E and F, Fig. 36).

In other cases Miss Stevens as well as Wilson discovered that two
accessory chromosomes, differing in size, might be present in the male
whereas in the female they are of equal size (Fig. 37). In such cases
two types of spermatozoa are produced in equal numbers, one containing
a large and the other a small accessory chromosome, whereas every egg
contains one large accessory chromosome. If such an egg is fertilized

.4 scoria Type

KcdvtUon
Division

Malare Egg and
Polar Body

Fertilized
Egg

6

Spe ran s

Fig. 38. Diagrams of Sex Diffeeentiation in the Thread Worm, Ascaris.
The sex chromosomes are here joined to ordinary chromosomes, there being two in
the egg mother cell and one in the sperm mother cell. All eggs contain one of these
sex chromosomes, while half of the spermatozoa have it and half do not. Eggs fer-
tilized by one type of sperm produce females, those fertilized by the otner type pro-
duce males. (From Wilson.)

by a sperm containing a large accessory (the X chromosome) it gives
rise to a female, if by a sperm containing a small accessory (the Y
chromosome) it gives rise to a male (Fig. 37).

In other animals one may not be able to distinguish separate X or
Y chromosomes and yet such structures may be joined to one or two
ordinary chromosomes. This is the case in the thread worm, Ascaris
(Fig. 38), where two such accessory elements are present in the female,
each being joined to the end of an ordinary chromosome, whereas in the
male only one such element is present. Here also two classes of sperm-
atozoa are found one with and the other without the accessory element,
whereas all ova have this element, and in this case also sex is probably
determined by the type of spermatozoon which enters the egg (Fig. 38).

Even in man sex is determined in the same manner according to
several recent investigators. There are in the spermatogonia of man
47 chromosomes, accordingly to Winiwarter, one of which is the X or
accessory chromosome (Fig. 39 A). These unite in synapsis into 23

THE CELLULAR BASIS OF HEREDITY

131

pairs, leaving the X chromosome unpaired (Fig. 39, B) and in the re-
duction division the pairs separate, while the X chromosome goes entire
into one of the daughter cells, which consequently contains 23 -f- X
chromosomes, whereas the other daughter cell contains 23 chromosomes
(Fig. 39 C and D). The former gives rise to spermatozoa with 24
chromosomes, the latter to spermatozoa with 23 chromosomes. In the
female there are probably 48 chromosomes, according to Winiwarter,
there being two X chromosomes, one from each parent, and after the
reduction divisions every egg contains 24 chromosomes. If an egg is
fertilized by a sperm containing 24 chromosomes an individual with 48
chromosomes, or a female, is produced ; if fertilized by a sperm with 23
chromosomes an individual with 47 chromosomes, or a male, results
(Fig. 39).

Fig. 39. Diagrams of Sex Differentiation in Man. A, spermatogonium with
47 chromosomes one of which is the " sex " chromosome. B, spermatocyte showing 23
synaptic paira aLd a single unpaired " sex " chromosome. C, reduction division in
which the synaptic pairs separate while the sex chromosome does not divide, conse-
quently the second spermatocytes D and D' contain respectively 23 + X and 23 chromo-
somes. E and E', second maturation division in which every chromosome divides, giv-
ing rise to two equal classes of spermatids and spermatozoa, one of which has 24
chromosomes and the other 23. If an egg containing 24 chromosomes is fertilized by
a sperm with 24, a female with 48 chromosomes is produced ; if an egg with 24 chrom-
osomes is fertilized by a sperm with 23, a male results. (From Morgan after Wini-
warter.)

It must be said that other investigators, notably Guyer and Mont-
gomery, have not found 47 chromosomes in the spermatogonia of man,
but 23. Since both the latter investigators worked on negroes whereas
Winiwarter worked on white men it has been suggested quite recently
by Morgan and Guyer that there may be twice as many chromosomes
in the white race as in the black. A similar condition in which one race
has twice as many chromosomes as another race of the same species is

i32 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

found in two races of the thread worm, Ascaris megalocepJiala, but it is
still too soon to affirm that this is true of white and black races of man,
though the facts seem to point in that direction.

Similar correlations between chromosomes and sex have been ob-
served in more than one hundred species of animals belonging to widely
different phyla. In a few classes of animals, particularly echinoderms
and birds, the evidence while not entirely convincing seems to point to
the fact that two types of ova are produced and but one type of sperma-
tozoa; but the general principle that sex is determined by the chance
union of male-producing or female-producing gametes is not changed
by such cases.

On the other hand, there are many observations which seem to indi-
cate that the sex ratio may be changed by environmental conditions
acting before or after fertilization and that therefore sex is determined
by extrinsic rather than by intrinsic causes. Most of these observations,
as already remarked, are now known to be erroneous or misleading, since
they do not prove what they were once supposed to demonstrate. But
there remain a few cases which can not at present be explained away in
this manner. Perhaps the best attested of these are the observations
of E. Hertwig and some of his pupils on the effects of the time of
fertilization on the determination of sex. If frog's eggs, which are
always fertilized after they are laid, are kept for some hours before
spermatozoa are mixed with them, or if the female is prevented for two
or three days from laying the eggs after they have entered the oviducts,
the proportion of males to females is enormously increased. Hertwig
attempts to explain this extremely interesting and important observa-
tion as due to the relative size of nucleus and cytoplasm of the egg;
but in general this nucleus-plasm ratio may vary greatly irrespective of
sex and there is no clear evidence that it is a cause of sex determination.

Miss King, also working on frog's eggs, has increased the proportion
of males by slightly drying the eggs or by withdrawing water from them
by placing them in solutions of salts, acids, sugar, etc., but the manner
in which drying increases the proportion of males is wholly unknown.

Extensive statistics show that in many animals including man more
males are born than females, whereas according to the chromosome
theory of sex determination as many female-producing sperm are formed
as male-producing. It is possible to explain such departure from the
1 : 1 ratio of males and females in conformity with the chromosome
theory if one class of spermatozoa are more active or have greater vital-
ity than the other class, or if after fertilization one sex is more likely
to live than the other. In the human species it is known that mortality
is greater in male babies before and after birth than in female babies,
and if before fertilization the activity or vitality of male-producing
spermatozoa is greater than that of female-producing ones it would ex-

TEE CELLULAR BASIS OF HEREDITY 1 33

plain the greater number of males than of females. In certain insects
it is known that females only develop from fertilized eggs, and in one
of these cases, viz., Phylloxera, Morgan has discovered that this is due
to the fact that all the male-producing spermatozoa degenerate and that
only female-producing spermatozoa become functional. Possibly experi-
mental alterations of the sex ratio, such as Hertwig, King and others
have brought about, may be explained in a similar way. At least the
chromosomal theory of sex determination is so well established in so
many cases and has been found to be true in so many instances where
at first it seemed impossible of application, that it ought not be aban-
doned until unmistakable evidence can be adduced against it. For the
present at least we are justified in concluding that sex is irrevocably
determined at the time of fertilization.

{To be concluded.)

134 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

THE ORIGIN" OF NTTEATE DEPOSITS

By WILLIAM H. ROSS, Ph.D.

BDEEAD OF SOILS, U. S. DEPARTMENT OF AGRICULTURE

THE origin of all nitrate deposits was at one time accounted for by
oxidation. The theory was held that the production of nascent
nitrogen through the decomposition of organic matter caused a union to
take place between the oxygen of the air and the nitrogen of the organic
matter. Since then it has been shown that nitrates may be produced in
various ways, and new theories are still being advanced from time to
time to explain the origin of the nitrate deposits which occur in various
parts of the world. The fact that different views have often been ad-
vanced to explain the origin of the same deposit has given rise to a great
deal of discussion, and there still exists a wide difference of opinion as
to the source from which the nitrogen may have been derived. By the
source in this case is usually meant the preceding form in which the
nitrogen appeared rather than the ultimate source of the nitrogen since
this is generally admitted to be the atmosphere. The object of the pres-
ent writing is to give a review of the various theories which have been
advanced in this connection.

The fixation of nitrogen, that is, the transformation of elementary
nitrogen into a combined state, may be brought about in the laboratory
in a great many ways. Some of these processes have been shown to be
profitable commercially and large quantities of nitrates and other com-
pounds of nitrogen are now being manufactured in Europe and likewise
in Canada, at Niagara Falls, but up to the present no commercial plant
for the manufacture of " atmospheric nitrogen " products has yet been
established in this country. These various processes of fixing nitrogen
artificially may be grouped into four classes according as there is pro-
duced (1) nitrates or nitrites, (2) ammonia, (3) nitrides, or (4) cyana-
mid and its related compounds.

The fixation of nitrogen in nature also takes place in a number of
different ways, but, unlike the technical operations just referred to, this
is brought about principally by organic processes. Small amounts, how-
ever, are also fixed in nature by inorganic processes in a way analogous
to some of the artificial methods, and in this way there are formed
nitrates or nitrites, ammonia and nitrides.

The best known case of the inorganic fixation of nitrogen in nature
occurs when nitric acid is formed in the air by lightning discharges at
the time of thunder storms. The quantity of nitrogen which is combined

NITRATE DEPOSITS 135

in this way seems to differ in different parts of the world. In British
Guiana during a period of twenty years the quantity so formed amounted
each year on an average to 1.88 pounds per acre, while in Utah only
0.356 pounds was obtained annually for a period of three years. As a
result of the decay of organic matter on the earth there is usually present
in the air a sufficient quantity of ammonia to combine with all the nitric
acid formed, although in the tropics the latter may sometimes be in
excess. The ammonium nitrate which results from the combination dis-
solves in the snow and rain and in this way is carried to the earth along
with other ammonium salts. Except in some parts of the tropics the
total nitrogen recovered in this way is usually several times greater than
the nitric nitrogen formed by the electric discharge. At Kothamsted,
England, it amounted on an average during a period of eight years to
3.37 pounds per acre annually. At Ottawa, Canada, the average for the
past five years amounted to 6.18 pounds per acre.

The quantity of nitrates which is thus formed in the air is small
when considered locally, but in the aggregate the amount of combined
nitrogen which is thus restored by nature to the surface of the earth is
very great and is estimated at about 100,000,000 tons.

Other examples of nitrogen compounds which are not of organic
origin are the metallic nitrides and ammonium salts which are found in
the vicinity of volcanoes at the time of an eruption. It is probable that
they are not carried as such in the fumes of the volcano, but are formed
near the surface of the earth through exposure of molten rock to an
atmosphere of nitrogen in a way analogous to the manner in which
nitrogen is fixed artificially by the Serpek process, which consists in
heating an ore of aluminium with carbon in an atmosphere of nitrogen.
According to this view, nitrids would be formed first, and then ammonia
when the former would come in contact with water. Many analyses have
been made of the gases given off by volcanoes in different parts of the
world, and free nitrogen has always been an important constituent, but
so far as known combined nitrogen has never been reported.

A nitrogen compound of inorganic origin is also to be found in the
case of a rare mineral which occurs in some parts of Arizona, and which
has the distinction of being the only insoluble nitrate occurring in
nature. This mineral to which the name Gerhardtite has been given is
a basic nitrate of copper and is supposed to have been formed in the
earth by water charged with air percolating over copper ore. It affords
an illustration of an unusual way in which the fixation of nitrogen may
be brought about.

The organic processes, however, are by far the most important in
bringing about the fixation of nitrogen and the formation of nitrates.
That nitrogen is one of the principal constituents of plants has been
known since the beginning of the last century, but the source of the

i36 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

nitrogen was a matter of controversy for a long time afterwards. The
experiments of some investigators showed that with sterilized soil and
with all sources of combined atmospheric nitrogen cut off, the free
nitrogen takes no part in the food supply of the plant. Other investi-
gators arrived at just the opposite conclusion. These opposite views led
to a great deal of discussion, and it was not until 1888 that Hellrigel was
able to account for these conflicting results by growing leguminous
plants in nitrogen-free soils. One set of plants was watered with dis-
tilled water, while to the other set was added in addition small amounts
of leachings, containing only a trace of nitrogen, from a cultivated field.
The plants watered with distilled water made but a small growth and
soon died of nitrogen starvation, but those watered with the leachings
reached a full growth and were found to contain about one hundred
times more nitrogen than the seed sown. It was observed that the roots
of the latter plants were covered with swellings, or nodules, which con-
tained characteristic organisms while those which were watered with dis-
tilled water only had none. Furthermore, no nodules appeared and the
plants did not develop when the soil leachings were sterilized before
using. The experiments thus showed that the plants which were pro-
vided with nodules must have obtained nitrogen through the agency of
the microorganisms ; that these must have come from the soil leachings ;
and that they must have the property of fixing the nitrogen of the air.
For some unknown reason these bacteria, to which the name Bacillus
radicicola has been given, do not develop on the roots of non-leguminous
plants ; consequently, when plants of this kind are grown in the soil and
harvested the total quantity of nitrogen present gradually becomes less.
The advantage of rotating leguminous plants with crops of this kind thus
becomes clear, because when a crop of the former is grown or plowed
under as green manure the total nitrogen in the soil is increased. As the
plants decay a part of the protein nitrogen of the plant again passes into
the elementary state, part changes into ammonia, and a third part
changes into nitrates. These changes are brought about by different bac-
teria, those responsible for the formation of nitrates being called nitrify-
ing bacteria.

The amount of protein nitrogen which is converted into nitrates in
the soil by these bacteria varies with conditions and depends on the
physical condition of the soil, the quantity of organic matter present, the
moisture content and the temperature. A basic element as potash, soda
or lime must also be present with which the nitric acid formed may
unite. On a limited scale these conditons may be so controlled that large
quantities of protein nitrogen may be converted into nitrates, as is still
done in India for the production of potassium nitrate to be used in the
manufacture of gun-powder. The action of the nitrifying bacteria in
thus leading to the formation of nitrates does not bring about any in-

NITRATE DEPOSITS 137

crease in the quantity of nitrogen combined, but simply brings about a
transformation from one form to another.

Shortly after the discovery that the bacteria which are associated
with the roots of leguminous plants are able to fix nitrogen, a great many
experiments were made to determine if other bacteria have a similar
function. Very conflicting results were obtained. Some investigators
reported that certain bacteria are able to fix nitrogen, while others
arrived at an opposite conclusion with respect to the same bacteria. Ex-
periments along this line are still being made. It seems that most of the
bacteria in the soil do not bring about any fixation of nitrogen, but there
is good evidence that there are two or three kinds in addition
to the Bacillus radicicola which are able to do this. Unlike the latter,
these bacteria do not require the medium of leguminous plants, but may
be active in soils which are devoid of growing vegetation. The most
important of these bacteria have been called Azotobacter diroococcum.
It has also been shown that various fungi, alga? and other organisms
possess greater or less power of fixing atmospheric nitrogen.

A special study of the amount of fixation which may take place
through the activities of these organisms, particularly the Azotobacter
diroococcum, has been made by Headden1 and others at the Colorado
Agricultural Experiment Station. It was observed that in certain parts
of Colorado dark-brown spots occur in which nothing will grow. From
the color of the spots it was natural to assume that the cause of the spots
was due to the presence of black alkali, or sodium carbonate, which is so
commonly met with in the soils of arid and semi-arid countries. An
analysis of the soils, however, showed little or no sodium carbonate pres-
ent, but instead surprisingly large quantities of sodium, calcium and
magnesium nitrates. The spots observed were not fixed, but spread
rapidly and sometimes covered an area of several acres in extent. More-
over, new spots were noticed to appear in old and new localities. In
some cases the amount of nitrogen accumulated, as shown by analysis,
amounted to as much as one hundred tons to the acre foot. Arguments
were given to show that the nitrates could not have originated with the
irrigating water nor from concentration of ground water in the surface
layers of the soil. That the spots are the remains of great herds of ex-
tinct animals which perished from some unknown cause, was likewise
considered improbable for the reason that the areas involved are too
large/and that the spots are increasing in size and appearing in localities
where they were never before noted. The theory was therefore advanced
that the excessive quantities of nitrates were formed in situ, through the
nitrogen-fixing activity of micro-organisms in the soil.

It was actually shown that the power to fix atmospheric nitrogen is a
property common to many cultivated Colorado soils, and that this power
i Col. Agri. Expt. Sta., Bull. Nos. 155, 178 and 179.

VOL. LXXXV. — 10.

i38 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

is not confined to nitrogen fixation in solution, but is manifested in soils
as well. The principal nitrogen fixing organisms in the soil were identi-
fied as Azotobacter chroococcum. These have the power of developing
a dark brown color in cultures containing organic matter and a nitrate,
but give no color when the nitrate is replaced by organic nitrogen. The
rate at which the fixation took place was considered sufficient to account
for the formation of the nitrates found in the soil.

Exception has been taken to this view regarding the origin of these
nitrate beds by Stewart and Greaves2 who made a study covering a period
of eight years at the Utah Experiment Station of the influence of irri-
gating water upon the production and movement of nitric nitrogen in
the soil. Although the soils upon which the investigations were made
were ideally adapted both chemically and biologically to support a rapid
biological action, no unusual amounts of nitrates were found. A recalcu-
lation of the results reported by Headden showed that in the samples
which were taken from the surface of the soil at different points in the
same locality and from the same point at different depths, the nitrates
and chlorides varied in the same ratio, and that whenever an accumula-
tion of the former took place during a given period, the latter also in-
creased during the same time in the same general proportion. It was
therefore concluded that the excessive quantities of nitrates formed in
the soils of Colorado were not formed in situ, but owe their origin to the
same source as the other water-soluble salts.

Further investigations by Headden,3 however, showed that while
large amounts of chlorine generally occur with excessive nitrates, this
is accidental rather than necessary, and that on the whole there is no
ralation between the amount of nitrates and that of any other class of
salts present. Additional evidence is given to show* that the concentra-
tion in nitrates in brown spots in which nothing will grow is not due to
the accumulation of preexisting nitrates, but to the action of micro-
organisms which are able to bring about the fixation in the soil of atmos-
pheric nitrogen, and that the dark-brown color which is characteristic of
the spots is due, not to black alkali, but to the development of pigment by
the organisms.

The occurrence of nitrate deposits in caves has long been known.
During the War of 1812 and again at the time of the Civil War, the
"saltpeter" deposits in the Mammouth Cave, and in other caves in
Alabama and Georgia, formed an important source of nitrates required
in the manufacture of gunpowder. The origin of these deposits is com-
monly ascribed to the decomposition of animal remains, and particularly
to the excrements of bats. In the southwest small deposits of guano are
still to be found in some caves, but almost all deposits which are suffi-

2 Utah Agri. Expt. Sta., Bull. No. 114.

3 Col. Agri. Expt. Sta., Bull. No. 186.

NITRATE DEPOSITS 139

ciently large to be of commercial value have been removed for use in the
manufacture of fertilizers. Samples taken from some of the caves where
the guano has undergone decomposition have been analyzed by the writer
and found to run as high as 75 per cent, of potassium nitrate. Other
samples have been examined which consisted of very pure elongated
white crystals of calcium nitrate, and which had been taken from crevices
in a cave. When placed in a humid atmosphere these soon melt in the
moisture which they absorb from the air, but may be kept indefinitely in
a desiccator.

"While guano is usually considered to be the source of the nitrates
found in caves, other theories are occasionally advanced to explain the
origin of some of the deposits. Thus Hess4 considers that guano could
not be the source of the large store of nitrates which have been taken from
the Mammouth Cave at distances of over five miles from any opening
which leads to the surface, since bats go, as a rule, but a short distance
from the entrance to the cave. Moreover, in the bottom of many caves
there are to be found earths from which nitrates can be extracted, but
which do not contain any animal remains as would be expected if the
nitrates were derived from guano. To explain the occurrence of nitrates
in caves of this kind, the view is put forward that the nitrates do not
come from guano, but originate in the surface soil above the eaves
through the oxidation of organic matter by nitrifying bacteria. As the
soil in limestone regions is usually loose and porous, the nitrates are con-
sidered to be carried down by percolating water and deposited in the
floor of the caves. Air currents in and out of the caves would remove the
water by evaporation, and the nitrates would consequently remain and
would not be washed away so long as the inflow of water did not exceed
that lost by evaporation.

A similar explanation is given for the origin of nitrate deposits under
overhanging cliffs. Thus, water carrying nitrates dissolved from the soil
percolates through the earth and a portion finally oozes out at the surface
underneath where it evaporates and leaves the nitrates behind. Being
protected from the rain in this position, the nitrates in this way are en-
abled to accumulate.

The theory advanced by Hess to account for the origin of nitrates in
caves has not met with universal acceptance. Nichols5 has argued that
bats do frequent remote parts of caves; that cave earth does contain
organic matter; and that the proportion of phosphates to nitrates in the
cave earth is much too great to be accounted for on the supposition that
they were brought in by percolation from the surface soil. It is con-
sidered that while small deposits may be found in the way described by
Hess, the great bulk of the nitrates that are found in caves results from

iJour. Geol., 8, 129, 1900.
s Jour. Geol., 9, 236, 1901.

1 4o NITRATE DEPOSITS

the decomposition of bat guano. By leaching of the soluble salts from
the guano, the nitrates are removed and may be concentrated in other
parts of the cave or distributed elsewhere.

Because of their solubility, it is not to be expected that any large ac-
cumulation of nitrates can take place excepting in protected places such
as caves, or in arid countries where there is very little rain. In such
countries, however, there is very little vegetation, and consequently the
organic processes which are of such importance in bringing about fixa-
tion of nitrogen in humid countries are able to operate to a much less
extent in desert regions. "\Ye thus find that in the soil of such regions
the total nitrogen present is usually much less than in soils which sup-
port a good vegetation.

On the other hand, the soils of desert countries have marked nitri-
fying powers, with the result that a large percentage of the nitrogen
actually present is converted into nitrates. Furthermore, owing to the
low percentage of organic matter present and to the porous nature of
desert soils the anaerobic dentrifying bacteria are not so active in chang-
ing nitrates into free nitrogen, while the lack of vegetation prevents their
convertion into protein nitrogen. The nitrates which are formed are
thus enabled to accumulate, and either remain in the soil or are trans-
ferred by underground waters to other localities where they may be con-
centrated by evaporation of the water at the surface of the ground. If
there has been any introduction into desert localities of organic matter
from external sources, as may be brought about by the droppings or re-
mains of animals, the accumulation of nitrates may be correspondingly
increased. It thus happens for the reasons given that the largest
nitrate deposits are found in desert regions.

In this country few nitrate deposits are to be found apart from those
of cave origin. The most extensive so far known occur in San Ber-
nardino and Inyo Counties, California, along the shore lines or bed
beaches of what was supposed to be a former sea, but which is now geo-
logically known as Death Valley. The region popularly known as Death
Valley is that portion of the valley proper which is below sea level. The
territory covered by nitrate beds has been estimated to cover an area of
about 35,000 acres. Through erosive agencies the clay beds in which the
nitrates were deposited have been worn into buttes and ridges of charac-
teristic shape and color. The hills so formed vary from only 50 feet
high to over 300 feet. Samples taken from the niter-bearing strata in
the hills, and exposed by erosion, vary all the way from a trace to more
than 50 per cent, of nitrates. It is generally agreed that these deposits
have not been formed in situ, but have resulted from the concentration
of nitrates formed from the decomposition and nitrification of animal
and plant life which must have existed in the region at the time that the
valley was filled with water. Owing to the limited distribution of these

NITRATE DEPOSITS 141

nitrates, they are not considered of much commercial importance, and
the same may be said of all other deposits so far discovered in this
country.

Small nitrate deposits are also to he found in various other parts of
the world, as in the Sahara, in Eussian Turkestan, and in Egypt, where
nitrate earths occur which contain about 15 per cent, of calcium and
sodium nitrates. The earth has long been used locally as a fertilizer, and
its use is supposed to be increasing. The source of the nitrates in this
region is not known.

All known deposits, however, which occur, like the ones just referred
to, in various desert regions throughout the world are insignificant com-
pared with the well-known deposits in the deserts of Atacama and Tara-
paca in the north of Chile. These deposits command a great deal of
interest, not only on account of their commercial importance, but also
for the many attempts which have been made to explain why the quantity
of nitrates in this particular region should be so large compared with
any other known deposit.

The first shipment of nitrates to Europe from Chile was made in
1825. Since then the annual exportation has continuously increased
until in 1912 the total quantity exported amounted to 2,485,860 tons
of which 1,925,590 tons went to Europe, 469,100 tons to the United
States, and 91,170 tons to other lands.

The arid region in which the nitrates are found extends for about
430 miles between 13° and 25° south latitude and lies between the
Andes in the east and the Coast Eange on the west. This area lying
between the two mountain ranges does not form a continuous valley,
but is broken up by transverse ranges into a series of elevated basins or
plateaus. These plateaus are generally flat or undulating, and have an
elevation from less than 2,500 feet to more than 5,000 feet. They have
a general slope from the foot of the Andes towards the Coast Eange, and
as a result the lowest part of this plateau region, or pampa as it is called
in Chile, lies along its western border where it joins the foothills of the
Coast Eange. It is along this zone that the nitrate deposits occur. The
surface of the surrounding region is dry and sandy and vegetation is
totally absent.

The nitrate beds as they occur in different parts of this region vary
in thickness up to about six feet. They are usually found at or near the
surface, but may in some cases be covered with an overburden to a depth
as great as thirty feet. The nitrate deposits are never found pure, but
are always mixed with sodium chloride and other salts, and are impreg-
nated with insoluble earthy material. Crude nitrate may sometimes run
as high as 60 to 70 per cent, of sodium nitrate, but a deposit running 50
per cent, is considered high-grade material. Material containing less
than 16 per cent, is too low grade to be mined at a profit at present.

1 42 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

The source of these deposits is a subject which has given rise to a
great deal of discussion. Many theories have been advanced to account
for the origin of the nitrates, but all appear to fall short of adequately
accounting for all the conditions under which the nitrates are found in
Chile. It is generally considered that an organic source is the most prob-
able, but there have not been lacking explanations for the formation of
these nitrates which have been based on inorganic agencies.

Thus one of the theories advanced is that the nitrates may have re-
sulted from electric storms occuring in the Andes. It has been suggested
that the nitric acid which is formed in this way by the oxidation of the
nitrogen of the air becomes changed into calcium nitrate on coming in
contact with the limestone of the mountains, and that this in turn on
being washed down into the pampa region has been converted into
sodium nitrate in coming in contact with the sodium salts already exist-
ing there. It has also been stated that at certain seasons of the year
there is a great deal of static electricity in the air over the desert region,
owing to the strong winds and the extremely dry climate, and that the
nitric acid which is formed as a result of this condition is carried to the
ground by the moisture in fogs which drift in from the sea.

The view has also been advanced that the nitrogen in the Chilean
nitrate may have come from nitrogenous fumes given off by volcanoes in
the Andes. It has already been pointed out that nitrides and ammonium
salts are sometimes found in the vicinity of volcanoes after an eruption,
but whether these compounds result from the direct fixation of atmos-
pheric nitrogen near the mouth of the volcano, or from some combined
form of nitrogen already present in the earth is not known, but the
former view is the more probable. It has been shown, however, that the
source of the nitrogen is not organic.

It has been claimed by some that alkali carbonates are able to bring
about the fixation of atmospheric nitrogen into nitric acid in the presence
of oxidizable matter, and Pissis6 expressed the opinion that the niter
beds in Chile were formed in this way. It was pointed out that the
decomposition of feldspar rock in the region of the Andes supplied alkali
carbonates, while the protoxide compounds of iron which are common in
the rocks of the pampa are easily oxidized under ordinary conditions to
form peroxide compounds of iron. The view was accordingly put for-
ward that the alkali carbonates in contact with rocks of this kind brought
about the oxidation of the nitrogen of the air with the ultimate forma-
tion of nitrates.

Perhaps the most far-fetched attempt at an explanation of the origin
of these deposits was that presented by a writer7 in the Comptes Rendus

6 ' ( Nitrate and Guano Deposits in the Desert of Atacama, ' ' A. Pissis, Lon-
don, 1878.

7Bordas, Compt. rend., 147, 924, 1908.

NITRATE DEPOSITS 143

a few years ago. It was observed that pieces of glass left on the ground
in the vicinity of the saltpeter mines in the Province of Aconcagua,
Chile, became colored blue in a short time, while samples of the same
glass exposed on the roofs of buildings to the direct rays of the sun
remained colorless. This suggested the possibility of the soil in the
vicinity being strongly radioactive, which was thought to be confirmed by
the action on photographic plates properly protected and subjected to an
exposure in the ground for a month. It was suggested that the radio-
activity of the soil as indicated by these experiments might have had
something to do with the formation of nitrates in this part of Chile. It
is now known that all soils are slightly radioactive and to approximately
the same extent.

None of these views which have suggested an inorganic mode of
formation for the Chilean nitrates have received very general acceptance.
Much more credence is given to the theories that the nitrates found in
the deserts of northern Chile have resulted from the decomposition of
organic matter brought into the basins in which they are found from
outside sources.

One of the most popular of these theories suggests sea-weeds as the
source of the nitrates. The explanation is given that in past ages the
pampa regions were sea beaches, and that an enormous amount of sea-
weed was piled up on them. In course of time the beaches were elevated
above sea-level, and the collected sea-weeds in decaying under arid condi-
tions decomposed in such a way that the nitrogen present was converted
into nitrates, and the iodine into iodates. It may be pointed out in this
connection that immense groves of giant kelps are now to be found along
the Pacific Coast of North America, and that the proportion of iodine to
potash in the dry plants is about the same as is to be found in the crude
niter of Chile. The ratio of nitrogen to potash in the former, however,
is very much less than in the latter.

There are many objections which may be offered to this theory.
Thus, if the niter came from sea-weed it must necessarily contain bro-
mine as well as iodine, since both are present in this source, and there
is no known natural process which can bring about the separation of
bromides and iodides. So far as known, however, bromine has not been
found in any of the nitrate deposits of Chile; whereas, from analyses
made by the writer, the bromine in the giant kelps of the Pacific, for
example, is of the same order as the iodine.

Again, sea shells are never found in the nitrate beds, and the stones
in the neighborhood are sharp and jagged and show no signs of being
worn by water as they must necessarily have been if they had at one time
existed on a sea beach.

Perhaps the best known theory which has been advanced to explain
the origin of these nitrates is that they have been derived from the

144 TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

decomposition of ancient guano deposits. In defending this theory Pen-
rose8 has assumed, in the same way as those who favor a marine origin
for the nitrates, that the pampa region was once a part of the ocean
bottom, but as the region gradually rose it became a more or less enclosed
basin. At this time guano beds were supposed to have been deposited
along the borders of these waters, just as they are now deposited in the
neighboring shores of the Pacific. It is considered quite possible that
marine plants might also have collected in the basin at the same time,
and that these constituted the source of the iodine, although it is pointed
out that this element might also have originated in minerals, or mineral
springs occurring in the region. The formation, as suggested, of inland
basins of sea-water, which would ultimately evaporate, would furnish
also a source for the common salt associated with the nitrates, as well as
for the soda of the nitrates.

The guano theory, however, has been objected to on the ground that
no accumulation of phosphate has ever been found in the nitrate country,
and such must necessarily occur in amount corresponding to the nitrates
if the latter have been derived from guano. It is argued, on the other
hand, that such phosphates may actually exist, but that they have not
yet been discovered, and it is further explained that the absence of the
remains of birds and of sea shells may be accounted for on the ground
that sufficient time has elapsed since the beds were deposited to admit of
the decay of all such materials.

There is still, however, a further objection which applies to both the
sea-weed and guano theories. Thus, if the region was at one time a sea-
beach it must have taken ages, as Newton has pointed out, for the nitrate
pampa to be elevated to its present level. During these ages the region
must have passed through varying climatic conditions, including most
probably rains. It has, therefore, been argued that the nitrate deposits
are, geologically speaking, of very recent origin.

In suggesting another organic source from which the nitrates may
have been derived, Kuntze has called attention to the fact that vicunas,
and llamas, which are at home in this portion of the Andes, have the
peculiar habit of always depositing their manure in one and the same
place. Immense herds of these animals are supposed to have roamed
over the region from time immemorial, each herd having a definite
dunging place at some convenient point. As the manure accumulated its
nitrification would progress rapidly under the prevailing arid conditions.
The common salt would be derived from the urine and excrements, while
the decomposition of rocks throughout the region is considered sufficient
to account for all other salts occurring in the crude niter.

Newton9 is of the opinion that the source of the nitrates is the

s Jour. Geol, 18, 1, 1910.

9 Jour. Soc. Cliem. Ind., 19, 408, 1900.

NITRATE DEPOSITS 145

organic matter occurring in the soil of the great plain lying between the
nitrate beds and the Andes. It is pointed out that there exists in this
region all the conditions which favor the rapid conversion by nitrifying
bacteria of the nitrogen of organic matter into nitrates. The soil is
porous and basic in its nature, and contains organic matter chiefly of
ancient vegetable origin ; the temperature is high and, on account of the
absence of rain, there is no growing vegetation to absorb the nitrate, and
therefore it must accumulate. The mountain floods which swamp the
plain once in every seven or eight years are considered chiefly responsible
for transporting and concentrating the nitrates from the superficial
layers of the pampa soil to the lower western part of the pampa region
where the deposits are found. The nitrate deposits are thus looked upon
as the concentrated fertility of the thousands of square miles of land
between the watershed of the Andes and the Coast Eange. It is admitted
that electrically generated atmospheric nitrate may also be present.

Headden10 has suggested that the nitrates of Chile may have been
formed by the direct fixation of the nitrogen of the air by nitrogen fixing
bacteria in the same way as accumulations of nitrates have been shown to
have been formed in certain soils of Colorado.

It is apparent from the views which have thus been advanced to ex-
plain the origin of the Chilean nitrates that no single theory has yet been
proposed which is adequate to account for all the conditions under which
the deposits are found, and it seems most probable, as some have sug-
gested, that instead of being formed in one way only, the nitrates owe
their origin to several sources.

10 Col. Agr. Expt. Sta., Bull. No. 155.

146 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

ETHNIC FACTORS IN" INTERNATIONAL RELATIONS

By Professor MAURICE PARMELEE

COLLEGE OF THE CITY OF NEW YORK

THERE are many factors which influence international relations.
Among the most important are language, culture, religion and
commerce. If the peoples of two countries speak the same language
intercourse between them is much easier and sympathetic relations are
likely to exist between them. If two nations are of about the same cul-
ture with respect to the development of science and art, the diffusion of
knowledge, moral standards, etc., this culture is likely to serve as a bond
of union. But if the cultural differences are great they may give rise to a
feeling of antipathy, or, to say the least, the one nation is almost certain
to look down upon the other nation as being of a lower grade of culture.
If two nations are of the same religion this may serve as a bond of union.
But if they are of different religions this difference may give rise to hos-
tility, especially if one or both of these religions are of a militant sort.
If two nations have commercial relations which are to the mutual bene-
fit of both they are almost certain to remain on friendly terms with each
other. But if they are rivals in commerce such rivalry is very likely to
lead to hostility and sometimes to war.

In this article we are to discuss the part played by ethnic factors in
international relations. That is to say, we shall try to ascertain to what
extent and how ethnic differences between the peoples of nations affect
the relations of those nations towards each other. These differences are
with respect to external anatomical characteristics such as stature, facial
features, the color of the skin, the character of the hair, etc., and with
respect to the internal organs, such as the brain, and the nervous system
in general, the heart, lungs, etc., all of which play a part in determining
the psychic characteristics of a people. It is, however, very difficult to
segregate these factors and to study their effects because they are inex-
tricably mingled with the other factors which have been mentioned.
This is true, in the first place, because these ethnic characteristics have
their influence in part indirectly through the other factors. That is to
say, the language, culture, religion, etc., of a people are determined in
varying degrees by these ethnic characteristics. But it is very difficult
to determine in any specific case to what extent this is true as compared
to the influence of physical environment and such chance circumstances
as relations to other peoples.

It is also difficult to determine how ethnic differences influence
international relations directly. These differences frequently give rise

INTERNATIONAL RELATIONS 147

to feelings of antipathy, as when the color of the skin or the facial fea-
tures of one ethnic stock are regarded as ugly, if not repulsive, by
another, or when the odor of the skin of one ethnic type is unpleasant to
another. But it is evident that in some, if not all, of these cases esthetic,
and sometimes moral and religious, ideas as well are involved, so that
these antipathies are due in part, and perhaps sometimes entirely, to cul-
tural differences. It would, therefore, be difficult to say in the case of
any one of these antipathies whether it would exist on the basis of the
ethnic difference alone if the cultural differences were lacking.

It is now evident that this article must consist largely of a study of
the degree and permanence of ethnic differences. Since our interest is
mainly with respect to the future the discussion may take the form of
an attempt to answer two questions. The first is as to whether ethnic
differences are sufficiently great to keep the contrasted ethnic stocks
permanently in different cultural statuses. The second is as to whether
these differences are sufficiently great to prevent a final amalgamation
of all the ethnic stocks. In a word it is a question of the possibility and
probability of cultural and ethnic uniformity in the future.

There have been many theories as to the part played by ethnic char-
acteristics in determining the culture of a people. At one extreme we find
such a writer as Gobineau, who in his treatise on the inequality of the hu-
man races tried to prove that there is a great deal of difference between
the ethnic stocks as to their capacity for culture. At the other extreme
is Boas, who insists that there is practically no difference between the
ethnic types in their capacity for culture. It is evident that many of
the physical differences between the ethnic types do not imply mental
differences. For example, color is in the truest sense only skin deep,
and is a racial adaptation to climate. Stature, the shape of the nose,
etc., do not in themselves involve specific mental characteristics. But
great differences in the brain and the rest of the nervous system, and in
certain other of the viscera, would necessarily involve important mental
differences and therefore variation in the capacity for culture. Such
differences would be in the instinctive, intellectual and emotional
make-up of the representatives of the type. Let us see how probable it
is that there are such great differences.

There is a certain amount of variation in the size of the brain be-
tween the different ethnic types, but it is not at all certain that this
variation is sufficiently great to cause any material difference in mental
characteristics. This is indicated by the fact that as great variation is
to be found in the brains of the members of the most civilized peoples
and even among the ablest representatives of these peoples. In the
structure of the brain and of its cells, also, there is probably no great
variation, though such variations would be of even greater significance
than variations in size. In similar fashion, in the rest of the nervous

148 TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

s}rstem there is probably no great variation between the ethnic types.
When, however, we come to some of the other viscera, such as the heart
and the lungs, controlling the circulatory and respiratory processes, the
variations are probably somewhat greater as the necessary result of
adaptation to climatic conditions. It is unfortunate that we do not
have a larger amount of data, and more accurate data, as to ethnic
differences. But what we do know seems to indicate that in the funda-
mental instinctive characteristics there can be no great differences be-
tween the ethnic types. In similar fashion it is doubtful if there can be
very much variation in the intellectual capacity of these types. But in
the emotional make-up there may be considerable variation, because, ac-
cording to the prevalent psychological theory as to the nature of emo-
tions, the emotions are determined in large part by the processes of cer-
tain of the viscera, such as the heart and lungs, and we have seen that
there may be considerable variation in these viscera between the dif-
ferent ethnic types.

Let us now survey briefly the peoples of to-day with respect to this
relation between ethnic characteristics and culture. If we take the
primitive peoples the first and most important thing to be noted is that
these peoples represent all the ethnic types. If there was a close corre-
lation between ethnic characteristics and culture it would be expected
that these primitive peoples would belong to one or only certain ethnic
types, while the civilized peoples would belong to other types. Further-
more, studies which have been made of certain primitive peoples seem
to indicate no great differences in mental characteristics from civilized
people. For example, the Cambridge University Anthropological Ex-
pedition, which studied some of the most primitive peoples in the world
in Australia and Melanesia, found no great differences in the senses
and the mental processes of these savages. Dr. Myers, the psychologist of
the expedition, came to the conclusion that so far as innate mental ca-
pacity is concerned these savages are of about the same grade as Euro-
pean peasants. These facts seem to indicate that the low culture of these
primitive peoples is to be attributed principally to environment and to
such circumstances as lack of contact with other social groups.

Turning now to the civilized peoples, we find a similar heterogeneity
of ethnic type. For example, in Europe we find such heterogeneity in
every nation. And yet it is popularly supposed that the culture of each
people is due largely to peculiar ethnic characteristics. Thus we hear
the culture of the French nation attributed to the "Gallic race," the
culture of Germany attributed to the " Teutonic race," etc. But the
researches of the ethnologists have revealed the fact that in France, for
example, are represented all the principal European ethnic types. Thus
in the north of France the Nordic race is predominant, in the central
part the Alpine race is predominant, while in the southern part is to be

INTERNATIONAL RELATIONS 149

found in large numbers the Mediterranean race. Thus it is evident how
difficult it would be to trace the peculiar features of French culture to
peculiar ethnic characteristics. In similar fashion in Germany the
Nordic race is most prevalent in the north, while the Alpine race be-
comes predominant in the south. Such movements as the Pan-Ger-
manic movement and the Pan- Slavic movement are frequently regarded
as having a peculiar ethnic significance, but, for example, in the coun-
tries which constitute Pan-Slavism, namely, Eussia and certain of the
Balkan countries, all of the European ethnic types are represented, and
also a considerable intermixture of Asiatic blood. The Jews present a
similar example of this error. Most of the Jews themselves, as well as
most non-Jews, regard the Jewish people as a distinct ethnic type. But
ethnological research has shown that there is a great deal of variation
between the Jews in different countries, so that it is evident that
through intermixture the Jews have lost ethnic unity. The peculiar fea-
tures of their culture are due to their history and social status rather
than to these ethnic characteristics. So far as such movements as Pan-
Germanism, Pan-Slavism, Zionism, etc., try to preserve characteristic
cultures, they may be of great value. But when they give currency to
mistaken ideas of ethnic unity they may do a great deal of harm.

Such mistaken ideas of racial identity have frequently furnished
the basis for a national self-consciousness which has led to an assump-
tion of superiority over and hostility towards other races. A realization
of the fact that the cultural status of a people is frequently due mainly
to its environment and circumstances rather than to its ethnic character-
istics would ameliorate these hostile relations. Furthermore, these facts
suggest the possibility of a uniformity of culture the world over, which
possibility we shall discuss later in this article.

Let us now consider the second question proposed, namely, with re-
gard to the possibility of a final racial amalgamation. This is, of
course, largely a question of the feasibility of crossing between the prin-
cipal ethnic types. There are three of these t}q3es, namely, the white or
Caucasian, the yellow or Mongolian, and the black or Negro. We have
already discussed how antipathies may arise between ethnic types. We
have seen these antipathies may arise from cultural differences such as
different esthetic ideas. Thus where antipathy is based upon difference
in skin color or facial features it is largely, but not entirely, an esthetic
matter. Where an antipathy is based upon such a thing as difference in
odor it may seem to be innate in its origin and therefore permanent.
But even such an antipathy may be partly or largely the result of a dif-
ference of taste and therefore due to cultural differences. In fact, it is
very difficult to determine whether any antipathy is innate and there-
fore an insuperable barrier between races. If there is no such innate
antipathy, with uniformity of culture all antipathies should disappear.

150 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

Such a final racial amalgamation would then seem to be possible. How-
ever, there may be other obstacles in the way, and in any case it is not
necessarily advisable to work for such an end. This is a question I will
discuss a little later.

Let us now consider what have been and are the actual relations be-
tween these ethnic types. The whites and the yellows have already
mingled to a large extent, so that a considerable proportion of the popu-
lation of Asia is a cross between the white and yellow races. They have
also mixed to a slight extent in Europe. These facts seem to indicate
that there is no very serious antipathy between these two types. It is
true that at present there is a good deal of hostility between these two
races, but this is undoubtedly due in large part to cultural differences
and political difficulties.

In his relation to the black, the white has shown a good deal more
antipathy. The reasons for this are very evident, since the differences'
between the white and the black are much more striking in appearance
and much more obvious. And yet even between the white and the black
there has been a good deal of mixture. In northern Africa the two
races have been mixing for thousands of years, and even in Europe we
find traces of a slight amount of mixture in the past. In America we
find curious differences in the extent to which the white and the black
has mixed. In North America, the Anglo-Saxon has, to a large extent,
stood proudly aloof from the black, though he has frequently conde-
scended to illegitimate relations with women of color. But in the south-
ern part of North America, in Central and South America, the Portu-
guese and Spaniards have mixed very largely with the blacks and have
displayed comparatively little of the usual antipathy. These facts sug-
gest that this antipathy of the white to the black may not be as funda-
mental as it appears, and is due to esthetic ideas and cultural differences
and also perhaps to the consciousness of the fact that the blacks until
very recently were uncivilized and slaves.

Between the yellows and the blacks also there has been some display
of antipathy, though it may not be as great as between the whites and
the blacks.

I have said nothing about the American aboriginal type. In Latin
America this type has been assimilated very largely by the white, while
in Anglo-Saxon America it has become almost extinct.

These facts seem to indicate that these racial antipathies are not as
innate or as permanent as they seem to be. But this does not mean that
there are no other obstacles in the way of racial amalgamation. Each
of the ethnic types evolved in a more or less characteristic physical en-
vironment, and is, therefore, adapted to such an environment. Thus
the negro is adapted in his color, physiological processes and tempera-
ment, which is due largely to emotional characteristics, to a tropical cli-

INTERNATIONAL RELATIONS 151

mate. In similar fashion the white is adapted to a temperate climate.
Now it may be that neither of these types can become permanently
adapted to another climate. The evidence as to this is as yet inconclu-
sive and rather conflicting. But even if such adaptation could finally
take place it may hardly be worth while to attempt it, since the process
of readjustment would be rather painful. So that for these climatic
reasons it may be preferable for the principal ethnic types to remain
distinct.

If these types do remain distinct, the very important question arises
as to whether they can persist side by side on an equality with each
other, or whether some will necessarily remain permanently subject to
others. This will probably depend, in part, upon the relative prolificness
of these races. That is to say, the more prolific races will, in the long
run, have the advantage so far as numbers are concerned, but it will
also depend, in part, upon the possibility of a uniform world-wide culture.
That is to say, if a race proves incapable of attaining to as high a cul-
ture as other races, however prolific it may be, it may still remain sub-
ject to another race because of the advantage that a higher culture gives
that other race. It is believed by many that this may prove to be the
case for the negro race. However, we have seen that there is probably
no great difference in intellectual capacity between the different ethnic
types. There may, however, be a good deal of difference in emotional
characteristics, which play an important part in determining tempera-
ment, so that if the negro or any other race remains subject perma-
nently to another race it will probably be due to such emotional char-
acteristics.

We have now discussed very briefly some of the facts and proba-
bilities as to the part played by ethnic factors in international relations.
"We must now consider what practical deductions may be drawn as to
international relations in the future, especially with respect to war. In
the first place, a dissemination of knowledge as to the theory of evolu-
tion and of the ethnic relations between peoples ought to have much
effect in lessening racial prejudice, removing many international antipa-
thies, and promoting international comity. If it were generally known
that all the ethnic types have a common ancestry, and that many na-
tions are similar in their ethnic make-up, it should have a good deal
of effect towards accomplishing these ends. For example, to take a
concrete illustration, if it were generally known that northern France
is more like northern Germany ethnically than it is to southern France,
and that southern Germany is more like central France ethnically than
it is to northern Germany, this knowledge ought to have a good deal of
influence in promoting international good feeling between France and
Germany.

In the second place, it will probably on the whole and in the long

1 52 TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

run be well to develop as fast as possible a world-wide cultural uniform-
ity. I am well aware of the objections that some have to this. They
fear that such a dissemination of culture will deprive the whites of their
power over many subject races, and may in course of time even give
these races the ascendency over the whites. It is true that such uniform-
ity of culture will quite probably lead to the emancipation of these sub-
ject races, but this will in all probability be to the benefit of these races
and may also prove to be to the benefit of the whites as well. Further-
more, it is hard to believe that such uniformity of culture could ever
lead to the subjection of the whites, because the very fact of uniformity
would imply equality between the races of the world.

When we turn to the question of a final racial amalgamation, it is
hard indeed to draw any practical deductions. There is a great deal of
difference of opinion as to the advisability of miscegenation or the cross-
ing of races. It is, of course, to a considerable extent a question of
whether the races being crossed are equal in capacity or whether the one
is superior to the other. If they are equal it would appear as if there
should be no loss as a result of the crossing and if anything a gain. If
the one is superior to the other it may lose as a result of the crossing
but, on the other hand, the inferior one ought to gain so that the loss
ought not to be greater than the gain. However, we have seen that it is
hard to determine whether any race is materially superior or inferior
to the other races biologically and psychologically so that it may be that
the races should be regarded as being practically on an equality for pur-
poses of crossing. But regardless of the question as to whether the races
being crossed are equal or not there is the further consideration as to
whether their characteristics are such as to make a happy combination.
We can not judge very well as to that now but Mendelian investigation
may furnish us a basis for judging in course of time.

Non-biological writers usually regard human hybridism as a bad
thing when it is the result of a crossing between a so-called superior
and a so-called inferior race. Their opinion is based upon the fact that
these half-breeds are frequently failures in society. But such failure is
usually due to social factors though these writers attribute it to the in-
born traits of the half-breeds. Biologists regard hybridism in general
as a good thing in the animate world at large and as an important factor
in organic evolution. Biologists who have discussed human problems
and anthropologists who are well grounded in biology have usually re-
garded human hybridism as a good thing and as an important factor in
human mental and social evolution. So that it is probably true that
human hybridism in general is a good thing. However it would not be
safe to argue from such a general principle in every specific case. It
may be that under some conditions such as have been suggested above
miscegenation is not a good thing. Furthermore it is true that if a gen-

INTERNATIONAL RELATIONS 153

eral movement towards a final racial amalgamation began many difficul-
ties would arise as a result of the intimate contact of the races during
the long period which this process would take and it might be ques-
tioned whether the benefits to be gained by a final amalgamation would
more than counterbalance the difficulties of the transition period. And
in any case, as we have seen, for climatic reasons such amalgamation
may never be possible.

It is now evident that there are three possibilities as to ethnic rela-
tions in the future. The ethnic types may always remain distinct,
though there will always be a certain amount of crossing between them
as there always has been, while the different cultures will also remain
distinct. Or the ethnic types may remain distinct but culture will be-
come uniform the world over. Or a final racial amalgamation may take
place with a uniform world-wide culture. Uniformity of culture would
be the almost inevitable accompaniment of racial amalgamation so that
we need not recognize the possibility of such amalgamation with a di-
versity of culture. I would not dare to express an opinion as to which
of these possibilities is most likely to take place. But it is to be hoped
in the interests of international peace that in the course of time there
will be more or less uniformity of culture at least so far as political or-
ganization, moral ideas and systems of law are concerned.

The preceding has necessarily been a very brief discussion of a great
subject and I regret very much that I have not the space to apply the
broad generalizations which have been suggested to concrete examples.
But I hope the discussion has been sufficient to indicate the importance
of taking into consideration the ethnic factors in all international rela-
tions, as, for example, in the relations of two great European nations
such as France and Germany, in the relations of a powerful nation to
its subject peoples as the British in India, and in the relations of a great
Occidental and a great Oriental country such as the United States and
Japan.

VOL. lxxxv. — 1 1.

Portrait of Innocent X., by Velasquez. Doria Gallery, Rome.

PLEASURE IN PICTURES 155

PLEASURE IN PICTUEES

Br ROSSITER HOWARD

I. Unaccustomed Power of Vision

OUR tastes in pictures do not by any means agree — even those of very
wise critics, who ought to know the good from the bad. We might
get into all sorts of difficulties with the words good and bad; but most of
us look at pictures because we enjoy them, and our varying choices have
some elements in common. These common factors are a sort of mini-
mum wage which we ask in return for our attention, and our pay must
be immediately convertible into pleasure.

Perhaps the requirement most nearly universal is that a picture shall
look like what it is intended to represent. The popular ideal of art has
always been to paint grapes so nearly like the real fruit that the birds
will peck at them, and the only excuse for not responding to this wide-
spread demand is that the artist is unskillful.

The people's doctrine has good evolutionary reason back of it.
Vision was first developed in the animal by its use in recognizing objects,
and recognition is still its chief function and greatest pleasure. The
easier the recognition, the greater our sense of capacity; and perhaps the
largest element in the enjoyment of pictures is the sense of unaccustomed
capacity of vision. We notice this most easily in a portrait that is a
" striking likeness ;" that is, one that gives us such a sense of the person
represented that we react to it more than we should to a view of the
person himself, for we are not struck by the appearance of our friend.
As we look at such a picture we have a visual experience keener than is
our habit; our eyes have communicated to us the subject with great force
and yet with ease. Though we may say that it is the artist who has been
clever, the reason we believe so is that he has lent ability to our eyes.
Our feeling is closely akin to the one we have in golf when with an easy
swing of our club we feel the ball lifted and shot far beyond our ex-
pectation; we experience an unwonted power within ourselves, and a
consequent sense of abundant life.

This portrait of " Innocent X." by Velasquez shows us a man with
whom we are not acquainted ; yet if we should enter the presence of this
pope himself he could hardly have upon us the electrifying effect made
by his portrait as we come upon it in a cabinet of the Doria Gallery in
Rome. It is as though some vital fluid were poured through our veins.
Admiration of the artist's ability plays no part in producing this first
feeling. The forcefulness which causes our whole organism to react to

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PLEASURE IN PICTURES 157

this painting is nothing else than clearness of statement. A photograph
with every detail perfected lacks the clearness of this powerful portrait,
where the insignificant is blurred or omitted in order that we may grasp
at sight the significant. The careful reasoning of a school text-book is
not as lucid as the proverbs of " Poor Richard," which cause the mind to
leap to a sure conclusion. In a picture the essential quality is clarity ;
easy recognition is our experience of it.

This is true even in a modern landscape where the rocks and trees of
nature are but half revealed by morning mists. Though it seem that the
charm lies in the very opposite of clearness, really the artist has pre-
sented the clearest possible statement of the conditions of nature which
are the spirit of misty dawn. Every element in the landscape which
would be the same at any time of day, in all weathers, in all of nature's
varying humors, these he has almost obliterated in order that we shall see
and feel what he saw and felt that early morning in the shimmering
light. Now a man to whom a morning mist is only an obscurity will
probably seek in this picture trees and rocks, and the mist will be to him
a weariness of the soul ; the picture to him is not clear and he finds no
pleasure in it. A photograph is more like the place. On the other hand,
we might be bored by the photograph's insistent detail, which dissipates
the expression of any nature quality; and we should find the painting
a jewel of direct presentation of the subject.

The theories of most of those ultra-modern painters who are grouped
under the meaningless term " Post-impressionist " are elaborate explana-
tions of a similar aim to isolate some phase of our experience of nature
for its simpler, and therefore clearer, presentation. Such a phrase as
"the expression of our plastic consciousness" implies but the effort of
the Cubist painter to communicate with extraordinary simplicity and
force the perception of volume. It is of no importance to this discussion
if the artist does not accomplish his purpose ; it is the aim that we are
seeking.

Narrative pictures introduce an extension of this principle. Here is
Carpaccio's " St. George and the Dragon," told with delightful vivacity.
We do not believe in dragons, and we may know nothing of St. George ;
but here is a fight with the hero triumphant, and if we have any imagi-
nation we push on that spear as eagerly as we lean down the course while
watching a hundred-yards' dash — with this difference, that we doubt the
outcome of the race, but feel sure of St. George. All the relations
are clear.

Our physical vision is satisfied with easy recognition of hero, horse,
dragon and rescued princess; our mental vision interprets and relates
these separate objects with unusual facility. Now as intellect is no less
the product of evolution than is sight; as the primitive man who enjoyed
its exercise developed at the expense of the lazy man ; so to-day we are

1 58 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

led forward by delight in mental facility, and the primary pleasure in
any clear narrative is the sense of unusual ease in realizing and cor-
relating objects, figures, persons and their experiences.

In proportion as a picture surpasses the usual in the clarity with
which it presents its contents — things, thoughts and their relations — do
we react to it, feel its force in our own enhanced physical and mental
vision. Before a great work our powers seem so much more than ade-
quate that limitation vanishes, and we have a glimpse of the infinite.

IT. Constructive Emotions

The largest part of our pleasure in pictures is to see clearly and
without effort, but still it makes a difference what we see. A painter,
preoccupied with his craft, may care little about the subject, and a critic
not infrequently assumes the artisan's viewpoint ; but the people have
decided wishes. They require pleasantness, and their preference is
the result not of stupidity but of instinct. To them an unpleasant sub-
ject forcefully portrayed is but the more revolting; their aversion is
reflex, and based upon a principle they do not need to understand in
order to feel. It is as true in art as it is in nature, that the normally
pleasant is what is constructive of life, and the unpleasant is the
destructive. Nature's encouragements and warnings which have pre-
vented the animal kingdom from being wiped off the earth ages ago
and which have developed man, have been at work also in art among
all peoples at all times, producing similar results in absolutely uncon-
nected schools.

Individual tastes may be warped or even perverted by prejudice of
education or other accident of time or place, but underneath is the
broad principle that men like what they feel is life-giving. The more
life we can get at the least expenditure of effort, the better we like it;
decadents and degenerates are in this respect only abnormally near-
sighted, looking constantly for bargains in experience, though it
shortly kill them. Mere suffering, for example, is an art subject for a
decadent; the intensest experience may be had for little effort, but is
inevitably followed by a loss of vitality, or by a hardening of the
sensibilities, which means enfeebled capacity for life. On the other
hand, suffering as a necessary condition of heroism may produce an
experience of genuine life. It is less popular than the obviously
pleasant only because it requires greater art to make the heroism easily
distinguishable as superior to the suffering and because it requires
greater intellectual vision to see it. In such art the principle is more
subtly used, but it is not ignored.

We may see this most plainly in dramatic paintings. This " Pieta"
" left unfinished by Titian was reverently completed by Palma," as
Palma himself has inscribed it. It may stand as the type of the beauti-

PLEASURE IN PICTURES

i59

ful in tragedy. In conception it is supreme art, despite the faults of the
lesser painter who finished it. The mother of Jesus looks on the body
of her son with the deep, calm grief of heroic character; Joseph of
Arimathea, a strong man of the formal sect of the Pharisees, is on his
knees looking into the face of Jesus with the tenderness of a woman;
Mary Magdalene, in uncontrolled passion. Brings into relief the serf-
restraint and power of the Virgin; and the marble statues of the Old
and Xew Dispensations are raised in cold contrast with the human
emotions below. We are not simply shown a harrowing incident; we
are led into the experience of profound love, impossible to know with-
out this suffering and expressed in monumental power. We feel each
character in relation to the others, and the incident itself becomes
inseparable from these characters.

In looking on this picture we live much, live deeply and rightly.
We see far more than we ever could with our own eyes. We are lifted
out of the circle of our habitual thoughts, and experience the deepest
emotions that have led mankind from the animal into his high estate.

In great dramatic pictures, closely associated with this principle of
constructive emotions there is the element of heightened mental power.
The easy grasp of the relations among the persons, and between them

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PLEASURE IN PICTURES 161

and the incident; the sense of the relations of all the thoughts in the
picture — objects, figures, persons, characters, action, with the motives
and results of action — built into an indissoluble organism, the infinite
complexity of elements forming one great unit of thought, compelling
in its clarity— this astonishing intellectual grasp which we have without
effort is strongly stimulating. Our capacity is made to abound in re-
newed strength.

Both of these elements are present in our enjoyment of portraiture —
eminently so in this picture of Rembrandt painted by himself when he
was an old man. Knowing ones may pay their attention to the manner
of the painting, but we laymen must feel that we are face to face with
a man whose years have been rich in life.

Yet we have here sure signs of poverty and weakening physical
powers. Even if we had read nothing of Rembrandt's life we might
guess from this picture that he was poor and had little of the gentle-
man about him. No one would be better pleased, however, if he were
handsome or richly clothed ; and this fact is so plain that we must at
once accept those unpleasant conditions as a positive factor in creating
our enjoyment. These very ills clear away the conventionalities of life
and help to show us the real man. The hardships, the struggles, the
failures which develop man also reveal him. It would indeed be im-
possible to conceive of this character apart from its faults — a man led
by profound desires athwart every rule of art and society into a vision
calm, warm and powerful.

It is not that we learn about this man out of histories of art and
then apply our knowledge to the picture, nor is it that we deduce the
character from the facts that are told us in the painting; rather, though
our interpretation may be indefinite, we feel it — that is, we apprehend
•it with our whole nervous system. Our eyes rest in quiet contempla-
tion on the eyes of the old philosopher ; if we look away, led by the line
of the arm to the hands holding palette and brushes, we inevitably
look back again at the head — longest and most meditatively at the far-
seeing eyes. We seem to take on something of the old man's personal-
ity; involuntarily we feel ourselves standing as he is standing, though
our actual physical position may not change; we forget, as he forgets,
the material conditions of his life ; we assume his mood and something
of his larger character. Our individual readings of this picture will
differ widely, according to our several temperaments and the knowledge
and associations of art and life we bring to it ; nor can we hope to come
to an agreement through any analysis of facial expression. Even if we
had a common science by which we could judge of character, Rembrandt
had none; he was neither physiognomist nor phrenologist, but as he
saw with the inner eye so he painted. This is true of every great
painter. To analyze their works gives us no sure interpretation, but to

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analyze our experience of their works intensifies it and clarifies our
vision. So in viewing any portrayal of character it is not our conscious
reading of it that is significant ; rather it is our subconscious imitation
of the character that counts, bringing out some latent quality of our
own — some quality which we feel to be good, agreeable because it is
life-giving.

Again : in portraiture, great painters give us an insight into essen-
tial life beyond that which we ordinarily have. While waiting for a
train in a railway station we may spend our time " studying life," but
how many of us, with or without great effort, can ever penetrate be-
neath the thinnest superficialities? Not only are we unpractised; we
are bound by the accepted judgments of society, and the most we can
do is to pigeonhole the several types. But these great painters present
to us a person we have never before seen, and give us an immediate and
strong sense of his personality. Even though we disagree about him,
we do so rather less than we do about our friends; for in relation to
our neighbor our sight is distorted by a hundred influences. Eules of
dress, etiquette and morals have blinded us to the eternal man who lives
behind and above what we can see of him. Man strives . outwardly to
appear as his own society would have him, the perfect type of provin-
cial—the New Yorker of 1914, the Parisian of such and such a period,
or whatever; while within him is a life at once unique and universal.
The illustrator gives us the provincial man. But the great character-
painters show us through imperfections and through struggles, a life
based on the everlasting instincts of the race and the principles that
never change with our mutable standards; through unsymmetrical
development and through wreckage, we see supreme man. We put off
our blinding limitations and discern clearly.

Where this heightened vision is combined with the emotions which
nature has made us to enjoy because they are creative, our experience
is one of abounding life.

III. Harmony

Every picture, and indeed every work of art, is like a song in that it
consists of words and music — a statement and the sound, or form,
through which the idea is conveyed. Half the world listens to the
words and is more or less affected in mood by the music; the other
half listens to the music and receives the words only as a suggestion to
make definite the spirit of the music. It is not an analogy but a
translation to say that the sensuous elements of a picture — lines, colors,
lights — are visual music.

Michael Angelo's fresco "The Creation of the Sun and Moon"
gives us a feeling of overwhelming power. A titanic figure, accom-
panied by a whirl of cherubim and preceded by a speeding seraph,

1 64 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

represents the creative force of Jehovah. Infinite Deity is not reduced
to the figure of a man, but divine power is expressed in transcending
harmony of line and movement. The head is great, but it would
hardly satisfy us as a symbol of the Creator; the body is super-human,
but physical strength can never mean God: the effect on us is rather
in the uniting of these elements, and above all, of the lines of the
figures and draperies, into a symphonic pattern of crashing harmonies.

Let us see just what this means within ourselves, see how we react
to harmony of design. The mechanical process of eye and brain we
may leave to the psychologist, but we can recognize a certain sensa-
tion which we have before all things we call beautiful. It need not
trouble us if we can not agree on a definition of the word " beautiful."
We may not be able to bound the town we were brought up in, but we
know the look of it. We know that the appearance of a flower, a
Persian rug, or a great picture, entirely apart from any meaning or
association, produces in us a feeling of pleasure which for the moment
drives out of us physical fatigue, desire or any sense of limitation.
Beauty of design has been called " supreme order," and harmony, if
not the only principle involved, is by far the most important. " The
Creation of the Sun and Moon" is an example of such beauty, and an
analysis of the picture is helpful.

The sweeping line of the Creator's figure gives the theme of the
composition. Around it is a system of repetitions of that theme, in
different lengths and positions. The movement through this group and
through the. seraph is a larger development of the same curve. About
the seraph is another system of lines, partial repetitions of the
drapery fold from the left foot under the arm and continued over the
back. The little folds over the seraph's back are angular, but each dis-
cord is repeated in slight variation so that we feel a clear relation be-
tween them. The great black line of Jehovah's arms is in discordant
contact with the movement of the body, but the shock is a repetition of
the crossings of the drapery about the figure, and the line is echoed in
certain opposite diagonals. But what of it? Surely esthetic pleasure
is not to be had in such dry analysis of line. Certainly not ; the analy-
sis is but a slow and painful following of what the eye feels at once, —
a simple relationship of many elements. Harmony is an extraordinarily
simple relationship of parts, and our experience of it is an unwonted
feeling of clear vision.

It might seem at first, then, that two or three squares set side by
side would constitute the most perfect harmony. They would do so
only in the sense that an octave is the .most perfect harmony in music.
Such an arrangement would not be extraordinarily simple, but ordinary
in the last degree ; the eye sees it with habitual recognition. But if
those squares should change their proportions so that two of them

PLEASURE IN PICTURES 165

should seem to be supporting the central one, we should begin to be
interested. As the complexity increases the eye finds exercise; as the
simplicity increases the eye finds ease: it is the comparative simplicity
of the exercise that is our experience of harmony. When our percep-
tion of this simplicity is so effortless as to give us a sense of unused
capacity we feel an influx of life which we call an esthetic experience;
its cause we call harmony.

We may consider the work of art as a fraction in which the denomi-
nator is the number and variety of the elements presented to us, and
the numerator is the simplicity of their relationship; the effectiveness
varies as the value of the fraction. Of course each of the elements of
the harmony must in its turn be considered as a fraction, and so on.

When in place of an influx or life we have from harmony the pleas-
urable languor of an artificial nervous fatigue, the design will certainly
at some time be called decadent. I once went in to the Alhambra in
company with a keen-minded physician. For a moment he looked about
the sensuously lovely court, and then said, " Dope ; that is the explana-
tion of all this. The delight of those old sultans was in the nervous
fatigue caused by this infinite, inextricable, beautiful detail. We have
the same effect in certain modern music.

" But after all this talk about harmony," says some student of
theory, " the effectiveness of this picture by Michael Angelo is caused
as much by rhythm." Bhythm is one form of harmony. We find it
simplest in a swinging walk or easy run, in which we feel that the left
foot treads stronger than the right. A child makes the form clearer
by elaboration when he puts in a little shuffling hop after each step, and
calls the movement " skipping." Ehythm is no more nor less than
harmony between groups of impulses. The principle is the same in
the simplest drum-beat and the most elaborate rhythms of Richard
Straus, Botticelli, Isadora Duncan, or Shakespeare; the feeling of it
communicated to you through your ear, your eye, physical action, or
pure thought. The excitement of movement is changed to the stimula-
tion of rhythm by the principle of harmony.

As with rhythm, so with all harmony — it may be expressed in lines,
colors, sounds, ideas. Different systems of harmony in these and other
realms, are caused by the thought-habits of their authors; and so with
the different theories which explain conflicting systems. We have
most of us had this difference between senses of order brought home to
us. Our books and papers are arranged according to their contents;
the maid comes in to clean ; when we return we find everything nicely
arranged according to size and color. There is some such difference
between the classical painter and the impressionist ; both are right and
neither can hope to enjoy the harmony of the other.

But the design in "The Creation of the Sun and Moon" is not

1 66 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

merely beautiful; it is also strongly expressive. This is so partly be-
cause when we are given the right suggestion for our feelings by the
subject and by the great physical and spiritual power of the Creator
and the rushing host of heaven, our sense of these things and of the
mood they suggest is vastly increased by the inrush of life we experience
from the harmony. Many a painter has used the same color scheme for
a Nativity and a Crucifixion. But in this fresco of Michael Angelo's
the lines have a tremendous sweep; we do not merely judge them
appropriate ; as our eye swings through them, meeting successive shocks
from the cross movements, our nervous reaction is similar to that which
we have in watching a stormy surf on the rocks. The expressiveness
of lines and colors in a picture is in the awakening of physical reaction
similar to that accompanying the moods of real life. More; if we
accept the modern theory that the feeling of reflex physical reaction con-
stitutes emotion, we must find this method of expression even more
direct than that of statement, which has to pass through our intellect
before we feel it. The physical causation of emotion is a separate prin-
ciple from that of harmony, though the two are interactive.

In Nos. I. and II. I have tried to show that the most universal en-
joyment of pictures is in the enhancement of life felt in a heightened
power of vision when we see any object presented with compelling clar-
ity; that a general element in our experience of narrative pictures is
simply an enlargement of this principle to the mental perception of
persons and their actions; that a further extension is found in the
increased spiritual vision given us in the portrayal of character; and
again in the relation of characters and events in dramatic painting.
The principle of harmony is based on the same evolutionary fact — the
sense of abundant life resulting from enhanced perception. It is a
powerful factor in leading mankind beyond the mechanical vision of
logic into the unfathomable relations of the universe.

IN THE TIME OF VIRGIL 167

APICULTURE IX THE TIME OF VIRGIL

By GEORGIA WILLIS READ

#

THE science of apiculture, as it is understood to-day, is the slow
growth of centuries of human observation and investigation. For
unnumbered ages it has been a work of interest to man to reclaim these
singularly untamable insects from the state ferce naturce to that domitce
natures, as the legal phrase has it — to render their natures sufficiently
tractable to enable man to appropriate to himself the benefits of their
toil. Though bees have responded to the process of domestication less
readily than almost any other of the forms of wild life which man has
subjected to his control — since even to-day, after thousands of years
of cultivation, they slip back easily and completely into their aboriginal
state when opportunity offers — man's efforts to this end have been un-
remitting, his interest in this task has never flagged. Who knows but
that the missing link or an even more remote progenitor sacked the city
of the bees for its rich spoil, and handed down to man the instinct for
this conquest ? Always within the memory of man, at any rate, as the
ancient Romans used the phrase, meaning thereby always within the
bounds of tradition, honey has been esteemed as a delicacy for the
table, and as a valuable condiment in wine-making. The ancient Egyp-
tians, whose very cities have long since crumbled to dust, prized their
swarms of bees, which they kept in earthenware vases much as the
natives of Africa and Asia do to-day ; while it is by no means uncommon
to find in histories of ancient races mention of honey as a dainty and a
thing of price.

By the time that Virgil wrote his rambling treatise on bees, on their
characteristics and their manners, their habits and their needs, api-
culture was recognized as an important branch of husbandry. In
Virgil's estimation it ranked apparently with the more universal inter-
ests of agriculture, the raising of crops and the care of cattle, since
of the four books that he wrote on this group of subjects, one is entirely
devoted to the culture of bees. In it he gives with patient, painstaking
care, a complete guide to practical beekeeping as it was understood in
those days, and adds, one can not help thinking for his own pleasure
primarily, countless charming apicultural fancies and fables which he
had heard. Though the theories as to the life and habits of bees which
were held by the most intelligent men of that age, bear no stamp of that
absolute and unimpeachable precision which exact science imparts to
any subject, one can but marvel at the frequent correctness of their

1 68 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

intuitions and the general propriety of their observations, passing over
with uncensorious leniency the startling inaccuracy of certain of their
conclusions.

Maeterlinck, in that remarkable life of the bee in which he weaves
with threads of purest fact such a marvellous woof of poetry, passes
poor Virgil's Georgic by in impatient haste as giving merely the legend
of the bee. " All that we can glean therefrom, which indeed is exceed-
ingly little," he says summarily, as he passes on to other fields. With-
out doubt, his conclusion is just. Virgil sang in an age whose ignorance
was vast, whose myths were many, and to one who searches for knowl-
edge from the vantage ground of to-day his poem is barren soil. But
to the student of human attainment, of man's gradual triumph in
wringing from the natural world the basic truths of science, the result
is otherwise.

We are, perhaps, too prone to forget that all knowledge comes to us
as a long-accumulated heritage in which we enjoy a life interest, in
return for which, should we so desire, we may strive to add some trifle
to the principal sum. The world grows in the grace of knowledge,
albeit slowly; it moves at a glacier's pace, leaving stranded far behind
in the trail of its moraine even those who have been great in their day.
As Eenan says,

Descartes would be delighted if he could read some trivial work on natural
philosophy and cosmography written in the present day. The fourth form
schoolboy of our age is acquainted with truths to know which Archimedes would
have laid down his life.

This is true in apiculture, as in any other branch of natural science.
As Langstroth, " the father of American apiculture," declares,

Any intelligent cultivator to-day may, with an observation hive and the use
of movable frames, in a single season verify for himself the discoveries which
have been made only by the accumulated toil of many observers for more than
two thousand years.

To him who, laboring under these advantages, looks backward to learn
how much about bees the ancients were able to ascertain from the
limited means of investigation at their command, Virgil's work is rich
in pleasant surprises and astounding revelations. Without microscopes,
which enable us to examine perfectly the minutest organ of the bee, they
yet knew that the worker bees were females (as the gender of the pro-
nouns and adjectives which refer to them in Virgil's poem shows us con-
clusively), and that they never bore any young. Without movable
frames, which permit the beekeeper of to-day to examine the interior
of the hive at will, they nevertheless had a very clear understanding of
the different functions of the bees, and of the social life of the swarm.
If Virgil were to walk through a well-kept apiary of to-day, examin-
ing its regular rows of neatly painted, dovetailed hives which take the

J2V THE TIME OF VIEGIL 169

place of the "leaky, draughty" basket-work skeps with which he was
familiar, he would find cause for amazement. In his time, the bee-
keeper carried for his protection in the apiary an ineffective brazier of
coals; to-day, when we lift the lid from a hive, we quell the turbulent
swarm within by a few puffs from a long-nosed, bellows-fitted smoker.
Instead of encountering an irregular mass of unequal, crooked pieces
of honeycomb built firmly to the sides and bottom of the skep, and
affording no chance whatever for further examination unless cut ruth-
lessly from their foundations, in which case the flowing honey from the
pierced cells would drown many of the swarm, we now find either eight
or ten oblong wooden frames, each enclosing a straight sheet of
hexagonal-celled honeycomb. Upon the surfaces of these combs the bees
live, and in their cells they store -the honey and raise the young bees.
Thus at a moment's notice, and without in the least disturbing any
function of the swarm, we can study the whole economy of the hive,
whereas, hampered both by his lack of appliances and by the medieval
and impracticable interior of the hive, Virgil must either have suffocated
the swarm with acrid fumes in order to subdue it or have drowned it in
the flowing honey of the broken combs.

Though he knew much about the life of the swarm, and understood
well the different labors into which the toil of the hive is divided, his
knowledge was thus of necessity gained largely by inference, without the
aid of ocular proof. He might see the sentinels stationed at the
entrance of the hive to intercept any robbers or bewildered strangers
who might try to enter; he might also see the homecoming bees alight-
ing at the threshold, pausing an instant to balance themselves, then
darting into the hive. But he could never follow upon their track, as
we can, to see them storing their loads of nectar in the half -filled cells,
or placing in the compartments reserved for the purpose the tiny pellets
of bright colored pollen, carried home in the little pouches upon their
thighs.

Nor could he watch the deeper interests of the hive unfold them-
selves. The queen, attended by her little retinue of caretakers, goes
about the combs performing her one duty of laying her eggs, one in the
bottom of each empty cell, the male eggs in the drone cells, the female
in the worker cells. One cohort of workers cares for the brood, supply-
ing royal jelly for the nourishment of the embryo queens, if it be the
swarming season; and feeding the tiny milky worker and drone grub9
which have hatched from the three-day old eggs. Such of these grubs
as have reached the proper age are sealed over with a porous capping
under which they grow and change form until about the twenty-first
day from the laying of the eggs, when the perfect, newborn bees, still
gray and fuzzy, chew the waxen coverlets from their cells and traverse
with slow, clinging crawl the comb about them. Other workers keep

VOL. LXXXV.— 12.

i yo THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

the hive tidy by carrying out the bits of wax that have dropped to the
floor, or line with propolis the slight cracks between the warping boards.
Others again seal over such honey as has been properly ripened, while
everywhere through the hive are groups of drones, " sitting idle at the
banquets of another.''

These things he could never see; for him to view the life of the
swarm while it was being lived was impossible. He might, by tearing it
to pieces, see where and perhaps how it had been, but to do so he must
use such violence as to cause a temporary if not a lasting cessation of
the functions of the swarm. Yet in spite of the disadvantages under
which he labored, a fairly large proportion of the theories which he
advances are borne out by the knowledge of to-day. We could, as is
only to be expected, set him right about numerous facts in the life of
the bee, but of its general habits we could teach him but little, and of
its temperament even less.

It is natural, indeed, that his reading of the nature of the bee should
more nearly approximate our own, than that his theories as to the facts
of its life and the most successful methods of treating it, should tally
with those of the present day. For the character of the bee, to all
practical purposes, is the same to-day that it has always been; neither
new crosses in breeding nor the accumulative gentling effect of centuries
of cultivation seems to have modified its disposition, which is to be
learned now, as always, by personal observation. The main facts of its
life, on the other hand, and consequently the most rational and there-
fore the most successful methods of treatment, have been very definitely
determined by modern scientific investigation.

We know, for instance, as Swammerdam discovered with the aid of
his microscope in the seventeenth century, that the "king bee" is not
a king, as Virgil believed, but a queen, the only perfect female of the
swarm, who gives birth to a constant stream of workers and drones,
which keeps the swarm undiminished though the old bees are dying off
continually. We know too that the life of the individual bee, far from
being " seldom prolonged beyond the seventh summer," as Virgil
thought, is often exhausted by hard work during the honey-flow in six
or eight weeks, and probably seldom lasts longer, even under favorable
circumstances, than six or eight months, the queen being the single
exception to this rule. She sometimes lives three or four years, but is
seldom sufficiently prolific to keep up the strength of the swarm prop-
erly after her second or third year.

Virgil's theory that two colonies often came forth to battle with
each other is erroneous; he must have seen two swarms that happened
to leave their hives simultaneously and mingled in the air, as not infre-
quently happens in the height of the swarming season. He may have
chanced to see the queens of the two swarms fighting, a by no means

IN TEE TIME OF VIRGIL 171

necessary or even usual consequence of this chance coming together.
He tells us, too,

To the old falls the care of the towns,
And the guarding of the combs, and the fashioning of the cunningly wrought

homes.
The younger ones return wearied late at night,
Their legs loaded with thyme; they feed on the wild strawberries,
The blue-gray willows, the cinnamon, the glowing saffron-flower,
The rich linden-tree, and the iron-colored hyacinth.

Nowadays we know that, broadly speaking, it is just the other way —
that the older bees gather the nectar, propolis and pollen, and the
younger ones stay within the hive to feed the brood and perform there
the other necessary duties. His naive, yet not unnatural supposition
that at nightfall the bees laid themselves to rest in the cells of the
honey-comb, whereupon sleep seized their weary frames, we know to be
unfounded. Whenever it is too chilly or too windy for them to fly out,
they may be seen clustering over the surfaces of the combs, in order to
incubate the unhatched brood and to enjoy the comfortable sensation of
the animal heat thus generated. Moreover, any one who is familiar
with the interior of the hive knows that in summer every cell in every
comb is needed in a fairly strong colony for storing the incoming
harvest and for raising the young bees, while during the height of the
honey-flow it is questionable whether the bees can be said to sleep at all.
Many beekeepers believe that unless the nights are so cold as to chill
them, they work unceasingly from dusk to dawn, as well as from dawn
to dusk, during this brief period.

We can see, by the brighter light of modern knowledge, how Virgil
was wrong in these and in many smaller particulars, how he incorpor-
ated into his work the errors that were prevalent in his day, and
endorsed the methods then in vogue, superstitious and unavailing as
they too often were. But if he sometimes went astray as to his facts,
traveling, as he did, over a country with but few landmarks to guide
him, he retrieved himself in other fields. We approach the bees armed
with facts that explain their habits and throw light upon their moods,
but he was forced to solve his problem just the other way. He must
observe their disposition and their ways, and then deduce his facts as
best he could. It follows as a matter of course that he should speak
more wisely of the things that he saw for himself than of those that he
knew only by inference.

The somewhat unusual habits of the bees he read with remarkable
insight. But what he understood best of all about these strange little
insects, perhaps because in contemplating them he brought to bear upon
them the subtle comprehension that is born of sympathy, was their
character, their temperament. In this respect he speaks as a master,

i72 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

and as one whose teaching the shadow of years has not tarnished.
Here his perceptions winged themselves to their goal as swiftly and as
unerringly as the eager bees themselves fly to the hive with each load of
nectar when every hour of the summer's day warns them that the golden
harvest time is fleeting. He knew that work made the bees cheerful,
and that sunny weather cheered their hearts; that discouragement did
but make them work the harder, and that death itself, dreaded instinc-
tively by every animate thing, was to them, when set against the com-
mon welfare, a thing of naught.

Half playfully, half affectionately, yet wholly respectfully withal, he
continually likens the race of bees to the race of men.

I will tell you of sights of tiny things to be wondered at,
Great-hearted leaders, the customs of the whole race,
Their passions, tribes, and battles,

he says in his opening paragraph. In the course of his pages, " grand-
sires of grandsires are numbered," " the hearts of the bees are agitated
in war," " the kings turn to the foe great souls in tiny breasts," " sad
funeral rites are conducted." Often in the course of the poem he refers
to their homes, their dwellings, their waxed realms and rich storehouses,
their palaces and cities — a picturesque phraseology which Maeterlinck
repeats with great effect.

" Behold," says Virgil, giving us in one long paragraph a far from
uncreditable resume of the life and labors of the bee,

Behold, I will now describe the natural traits

Which Jupiter himself has given to the bees as a reward

For their harmonious humming . . .

When they fed the king of the sky in the Dictean cave.

They alone have a common offspring, a common building of the city,

And spend their lives under powerful laws.

They alone know their country and their settled home;

Mindful of the coming winter, they endure toil in summer,

And put aside for the common advantage what they have gained.

Some direct their attention toward the provisions,

And by agreement labor in the fields;

Others within the home place the nectar of narcissus

And the sticky sap from bark for the foundation of the comb,

And thence draw downward the tenacious wax;

Others raise to maturity the young, the hope of the race;

Others ripen the honey, and fill the cells with nectar;

To some has fallen by lot the guardianship at the gates. . . .

The work seethes, and the sweet-smelling honey is fragrant with thyme. . . .

An inborn love of harvesting urges on the Cecropian bee,

Each in his own function. . . .

There is one time of toil, one rest from work, for all.

In the morning they rush out from the gates; there is no delay;

Again when evening has warned them to cease

From feeding in the fields, they seek their dwellings,

IN THE TIME OF VIRGIL 173

They refresh themselves; a humming sound arises,

They sing about the entrances and the thresholds. . . .

Nor do they retire very far from the hive when rain threatens,

Nor trust to the sky when the east winds begin to blow,

But all around under the walls of the city,

They safely fetch water and venture upon short expeditions. . . .

You will wonder indeed at this custom of the bees,

That they do not idly relax their bodies in love,

Or bring forth offspring with labor;

Instead they gathered their sons

Prom the leaves and the fragrant herbs,

They themselves supply a king and little subjects

And refashion their palaces and waxen realms.

Often, too, in wandering over the rough, flinty rocks

They have worn away their wings,

And voluntarily given up their lives under their burden.

Such is their love of flowers and their glory in making honey!

Therefore, though the limit of brief life overtakes them,

Yet the race remains immortal,

And the fortune of the home endures through many years. . . .

Furthermore, not Egypt, nor great Lydia, nor the people of the Parthians,

Nor even the Median Hydaspes, so honor their king.

"While he is unharmed, all are of one mind;

If he is lost, they break their faith. . . .

They surround him with incessant hummings, and attend him

In great numbers, and expose their bodies in war,

Seeking a beautiful death through their wounds.

(It is true that bees have this feeling for the queen, understanding that
without her there is no hope for the future prosperity, or even existence,
of the swarm.) From these signs, Virgil says in conclusion, some have
maintained that the bee has a part of the divine intelligence and that it
too, in common with flocks, herds, men, and all the race of beasts, has
drawn in at birth its tiny vital spark from the god that penetrates the
earth and the sea and the profound skies — " esse apibus partem divinae
mentis et haustus getherios."
Again he tells :

The more they are exhausted, the more zealously all will set about
• To repair the ruin of the fallen family
To fill the cells and to build storehouses for the honey,

as indeed they will. He also says, when speaking of an old Corycian
who made a paradise for himself out of a few waste acres by setting out
flowers and fruits and esculent plants to grow among the brambles,

He therefore was the first to abound in prolific bees and numerous swarms,

And to force the foaming honey from the pressed combs.

He had linden-trees and many pine trees;

With just so many blossoms as each tree

Was decked in in the spring,

Just so many ripe fruits it held in autumn.

174 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

It does not seem to be forcing the meaning of this passage to infer from
it that Virgil had some knowledge of the valuable services of bees in
fertilizing plants of all kinds.

To have learned all that he tells us about bees, Virgil must have
mastered the subject of apiculture as it was understood in his time.
That he gained his information at first hand, or at least verified it by
personal observation, seems indubitable. For here and there all through
his work are convincing bits of description, sometimes merely felicitous
phrases, that recall the life of the hive forcibly to any one familiar with
it. He says:

As for what is left when, the golden sun has put winter to flight

Beneath the earth, and has revealed the sky with summer light,

Immediately they (the bees) wander over all the glades and forests,

And rifle the bright -hued flowers, and lightly-moving,

Drink from the surfaces of the streams.

From this time, joyful from I know not what delight,

They cherish their family and their home,

And make the ripened honey.

This could not fail to paint vividly for any beekeeper the yearly
awakening of the bees, when, shaking off the torpor of winter, they pre-
pare with eagerness for the advent of summer, that fraction of the year
in which alone they lead a full and active life. His description of the
listlessness and apathy of bees which are diseased at once suggests the
appearance of a colony which is suffering from the ravages of bacillus
alvei, or foul brood, the terrible, almost pestilential malady of the
apiary. He says :

But indeed life has brought our misfortunes to the bees;

If their bodies shall droop with a sad disease: . . .

The sick are of a different color;

A dreadful leanness marks their appearance;

They carry forth from the dwellings those bereft of life,

And conduct sad funeral rites;

Or clinging together by the feet, hang at the thresholds,

Or delay within their house, and are listless with hunger

And inactive from the cold which they have caught.

Again he says, when speaking of the life of the bees during the harvest
season, " the work seethes, and the sweet-smelling honey is fragrant with
thyme." The work does seethe; his phrase exactly describes the
abnormal, all-pervading activity of the swarm during the honey-flow.
Often at that time we can tell by the delicate aroma, one might almost
say the bouquet, of the honey, from what kind of flowers it is being
made. To-day only that of the mountain sage resembles in fragrance
and flavor the honey of the ancients which was made from thyme, of
which the fabled honey of Hymettus was the finest type.

Interspersed throughout Virgil's discourse are numerous precepts

IN THE TIME OF VIRGIL 175

for the guidance of the apiculturist, some of them still as sound as can
be devised, others again being incomplete or obsolete. He knew that
certain things conduced to the prosperity of the bees, and therefore to
the profit of the owner. The requisite points of a suitable situation for
an apiary, a highly important factor in successful beekeeping, he
covers very well. A dry, well-drained slope, shelter from the wind, pools
of flowing water, water being essential in raising the brood, and pro-
tection from the heat of the sun, were necessities upon which he insisted.
" Do not trust them to a deep swamp," he cautioned his disciples, " nor
where the hollow rocks resound when struck, and the echo of the voice
rebounds."

Let there be flowing fountains and pools bright with moss,

So that when the new kings lead out the swarms

And the young bees, released from the honey-combs, sport about,

The neighboring bank may invite them to withdraw from the heat,

And the tree in their way shelter them with its leafy hospitality.

Across the center of the stream, whether it pauses here or flows swiftly,

Place willows athwart, and lay in large rocks,

That they may alight on frequent bridges,

And open their wings to the summer sun,

If perchance the east wind has scattered the laggards

Or plunged them headlong into the stream.

He mentions also the need of having plenty of pasturage, though
this he proposes to provide by setting out suitable plants and shrubs :

Let him who makes such things his care bring thyme and pine trees

From the lofty mountains, and plant them far and wide about the dwellings;

Let him bruise his hands with hard toil; let him set out these shrubs

And irrigate them with friendly showers —

while to-day, when bees are kept in any numbers, a location must be
chosen near great fields of some honey-yielding plant, such as clover or
buckwheat.

He appeared to know that with bees, as with every other form of
life, the breed must be kept up from the best stock;

But when you have recalled both leaders (kings) from the battle,

Give to death him who seems inferior, lest he be a hindrance;

Permit the better one to reign in the empty halls.

For there are two kinds; the one shining with scales of gold,

Distinguished both by his shape and by his ruddy, golden hue.

The other is terrible with sloth.

As the figures of the two kings, so are the bodies of their peoples.

For the one kind is horribly ugly; . . . while the others

Shine and glitter, aglow with gold,

And their bodies are marked with even bands.

This is the better breed ; from this source at the proper season

You may extract the dulcet honey from the combs.

To-day, after a lapse of nearly two thousand years, the Italian breed

176 TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

remains distinct, its special characteristic being its superiority over all
other breeds in gathering honey; the particular marking of its best
strain is still the glistening, golden color of the three largest of the rings
of horny substance that encase the body of the bee. Even now we know
no better rule to follow in requeening an apiary than to select for the
purpose the offspring of the most beautiful and the most efficient queens
at our command.
Again he tells us:

When the inconstant swarms fly about and sport in the air,

Condemn their hives, and leave their cold dwellings,

You should restrain their unsettled minds from this vain play.

Nor is it a great task to control them;

Kemove the wings of the king; while he remains behind

None of the bees will dare to follow the path through the air,

Or to tear up the standard from the camp.

In the spring bees are sometimes guilty of this " vain play/' or swarm-
ing out, as it is called now-a-days, when feeling that summer is unduly
delayed and that their store of honey has dwindled distressingly, they
leave their hive, only to die of hunger or cold unless rescued by the
apiarist. The point of interest here, however, is that one of the most
approved of the modern methods of controlling the swarming impulse
of the bees, is to clip the wings of the queen on one side, thus preventing
her from flying away with the swarm and so necessitating its return to
the hive, since, as Virgil knew, the bees will not desert the queen.
Though he understood this principle which has become so important in
the treatment of swarming, his method of making a swarm settle is,
oddly enough, obsolete. We no longer beat the cymbals, as he directed,
or sprinkle bruised herbs upon the ground to cause the bees to cluster
and alight.

In view of the fact that artificial feeding is a very important factor
in modern beekeeping, it is interesting to note that Virgil speaks of this
process. Now-a-days the intelligent beekeeper feeds his bees not only to
keep them from starving in case their stores run low; he also supplies
them with trays of sugar syrup in the spring to stimulate them to raise
broods sooner than they would otherwise do, so that they may be ready in
large numbers to gather the harvest as soon as it comes. Virgil sug-
gested to his followers that they should introduce honey into the hives
by means of hollow reeds.

He understood remarkably well, in the main, what was necessary for
the comfort and tranquillity of the bees. He knew that they needed
constant sunshine to keep in a healthy condition, and that it was but
poor economy to stint their food supply by taking too much honey from
the hive. He thought that their homes should be kept in such neat and
tidy shape as would make it easiest for them to protect themselves from

IN THE TIME OF VIRGIL 177

their enemies. " Who will hesitate," he asks, " to fumigate with thyme
and to cut away the empty comb ?" He gives, in two divisions, a list of
those apicultural pests whose depredations the beekeeper should try to
prevent, or at least to control. Among the minor dangers that threaten
bees in the form of insects or small animals that have a taste for honey
or that eat the bees themselves, he mentions swallows, bee-martins,
newts, lizards, hornets, and spiders. When one considers the number of
bees in a single colony, however, — upwards of ten thousand in the
winter and several times as many in the summer — one can easily see
that the combined losses from these sources are insignificant.

He mentions also the bee-moth, " shunning the light ;" an accurate
description, since its custom is to remain hidden during the day. It
does not attempt to enter the hive until dusk, when the bees can not
see to attack it. This moth is a really dangerous enemy, being able to
harass seriously a strong colony, and often to destroy entirely one that
has lost its queen. As Langstroth says of it :

The bee-moth has for thousands of years supported itself ou the labors of
the bee, and there is no reason to suppose that it will ever become exterminated.

It is rather curious that Virgil nowhere makes any mention of the bee-
louse, which, to-day at least, is a source of considerable trouble to the
beekeepers of Italy, although in this country it is almost unknown.

His description of that disease of the bees already referred to — so
serious a scourge as to make it one of the chief dangers that threaten
them — completes his list. For there is very little reason to doubt that
this disease of which he speaks is the same as that now known as foul
brood, or else closely analogous to it. This is a highly contagious
disease, attacking first the brood, which decays instead of hatching; the
bees also become infected, and presently die. This malady was doubtless
known to apiculturists as long ago as Virgil's time; Aristotle, in his
" History of Animals," describes it briefly but in no doubtful terms.
Even to-day it is a justly dreaded enemy to apicultural prosperity. It is
scarcely to be wondered at that, when we have not yet devised a very sat-
isfactory method of dealing with it, Virgil's remedies should be of no
avail. To stamp it out, its spores and bacilli must be destroyed by fire or
some other equally efficient agent. His directions as to the various herbs
steeped in liquids, and the roots boiled in wine, which were to be fed
to the bees to cure this fell disease, were worthless. This treatment,
like certain precautions that he advises taking for the welfare of the
bees, such as being careful to cut down all the yew-trees near the bee-
yard, and never to burn red crabs in the fire, could not have been of the
slightest use save perchance to afford to the zealous beekeeper of those
times, who conscientiously followed these instructions, the salutary
sensations that follow duty done.

1 78 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

Unwittingly he sometimes directed his disciples wrong; yet he
labored faithfully in their service, nursing his didactic impulse carefully
until he had given them, as well as he was able, an insight into the life
of their pets. This store of sterner precepts conscientiously discharged,
he turns most willingly to those of mythological suggestion, proceeding
to tell his followers how to restock their apiaries, should they chance
to lose all their bees. He gives as a practical measure to be followed,
yet naming it a tradition withal, the old, old myth of bees springing
from dead cattle, "how the tainted life-blood of a dead bullock has
often borne bees ;" — the same old riddle, " out of the strong came forth
sweetness, and out of the eater came forth meat." Virgil says of it :

First a place small and sheltered for this very purpose is chosen;

This they enclose with a low roof of tiles and with walls,

And they add four windows of slanting light toward the four winds.

Then they seek a two-year old bullock, whose horns are just beginning to curve.

His nostrils and his mouth are covered over

Though he struggles greatly, and after he has been slain by blows,

The battered entrails are crushed within the unbroken skin.

Thus they leave him, laid in the enclosure,

And they place under his sides branches of thyme and fresh wild cinnamon.

This is done as soon as the driving zephyrs roughen the waves,

Before the meadows brighten with new colors,

Before the chattering swallow hangs her nest from the beams.

Meanwhile the liquid, warmed in the young frame, heats

And animals of a wonderful kind are to be seen,

Lacking in feet at first, but soon whirring with wings;

They mingle, and more and more take to the thin air,

Until they have burst forth as a storm poured from summer clouds,

Or as arrows from the vibrating bowstring,

When the swift Parthians first begin to fight.

Thereupon he drops easily and contentedly into that vein of poetry
that comes so gracefully from him, stringing upon a slender connecting
thread the story of the loss and the recovery of Aristaeus the shepherd's
bees, into which he introduces the whole tale of Orpheus and Eurydice.
With him, we accompany Aristaeus on his pilgrimage for aid to his
mother, a water-nymph, who sits spinning with her maidens of euphon-
ious names, Drymo and Phyllodoce, Clio and Lycorias, Xantho and
Beroe, in their translucent, glass-colored chamber in the depths of the
sea, while one of their number recounts the "numerous lovers of the
gods, from Chaos down." In his company we follow the fortunes of
Aristaeus to their happy conclusion, when, having obeyed the oracle, he is
rewarded by seeing clouds of bees come forth on the ninth day from the
bullocks that he has slain, and cluster at the top of a tree, ready to be
hived.

Filled the marvelous charm of his closing pages, it is with an effort
that we turn to consider the value of his discourse. It is a very capti-

IN THE TIME OF VIRGIL 179

vating field over which he has taken us; apiculture in his time was a
picturesque occupation, even when seriously pursued. His picture of
it is pleasing, not only as a thing beautiful in itself, but also as afford-
ing an interesting contrast to the apiculture of to-day, as enabling us to
measure our present growth by an ancient scale. Practical beekeeping
is indeed far different now from what it was in those days ; apiculture at
present shows many new features, and lacks many that distinguished
it then. Yet in one respect it remains the same, and, I venture to think,
will always do so; that is, in the enthusiasm of the bee-keeper for his
bees. Even as Aristseus, we to-day are grateful for our teeming hivefuls
With Virgil we cry,

Averter of thieves and birds, protect them.

Let gardens breathing with saffron flowers allure them,

Let the guardianship of Hellespontaic Priapus, with his willow scythe,

1 8o TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

AVAILABLE FOOD SUPPLIES

By Professor J. F. LYMAN

THE OHIO STATE UNIVERSITY

THE food problem is distinctly a modern one in the United States.
Two generations ago no such problem was clearly recognized.
Eish were plentiful; pigeons, deer, wild turkeys, water-fowl, quail and
buffalo were abundant; wild berries, fruits and nuts could be obtained
easily and in large quantities. Naturally food was cheap and there was
enough for all, and of a kind sufficiently varied to suit the taste of any.
All this has changed. Game animals have practically disappeared.
Wild berries, fruits and nuts are no longer of importance in our dietaries.
We have seen our population increase at the rate of over twenty per cent,
every ten years until the increase in production of food products no
longer keeps pace, but lags far behind, and we realize that there is such a
thing as a food problem.

If the present rate of increase continues, the population of the
United States will approximate five hundred million at the end of the
present century. Is it possible to feed that number of persons on the
products of our three million square miles ? China and India both sup-
port a population as dense; but both of these countries are distinctly
agricultural. The mass of people live on the land and are engaged in
producing food. In this country the great increase in population is in
the cities; while the food-producing class is increasing comparatively
slowly. The reports on agricultural products exported from the United
States illuminate the food problem in an instructive way. If we compare
the exports in 1912 with those for 1900, we find that the amount of
cheese shipped abroad declined 85 per cent, in that period, beef products
declined 65 per cent., pork products declined 30 per cent., corn declined
80 per cent., wheat declined 57 per cent. What do these figures tell?
Simply that we have needed the food at home to supply our increasing
millions and hence had less to sell in the markets of the world. Can we
continue to feed our people by reducing the exports in food stuffs?
Obviously not, and in many instances they have been reduced already
near the vanishing point. We have even actually begun to import meat
and corn. It is significant also that free government land suitable for
agricultural purposes is no longer available; hence we can not look for
relief by bringing under the plow large tracts of virgin soil.

Is there likely, then, to be a scarcity of food in this country in the
near future ? No, there is and will be plenty of food, but some changes

AVAILABLE FOOD SUPPLIES 181

in dietaries undoubtedly will have to be made. Let us notice. In 1910
for every man, woman and child in the United States there was produced
seven bushels of wheat, thirty-two bushels of corn, four bushels of
potatoes, and forty pounds of sugar. There were six tenths cattle for
each person, six tenths sheep, and seven tenths swine. Add to this the
fruits, vegetables, poultry and dairy products, oats, and other small
grains and we see that there is plenty of food to go around and to spare.

There was grown in the United States in 1912 corn, which if as-
sembled in one immense field might have covered Germany or France
entirely with its rustling phalanx. How many millions might be nour-
ished by the produce of this tremendous acreage ! Here is a great source
of human food at present utilized in a very slight degree.

Man takes food first of all that pleases the palate. We can no longer
make our choices on the basis of palatability alone, and a study of the
principles of nutrition must be pursued to help us out of those difficulties
which arise from a restricted supply of food. Food has two primary
functions in the body ; first, to supply material out of which the body is
built; and, second, to furnish energy to warm the body and to drive its
machinery. Perhaps the second function is the more important. Plants
alone have the power to collect solar energy and store it up in a latent or
dormant form in their seeds and other parts. Animals may, by eating
and digesting these plant materials, liberate and utilize this stored-up
energy. When corn is fed to a steer under favorable conditions three per
cent, of the energy of the corn may be recovered as meat in the edible
portion of the carcass. The remaining ninety seven per cent, was used
by the animal in its various activities and lost as far as the nutrition of
man is concerned. In pork the recovered portion amounts to sixteen
per cent. ; and with the dairy cow eighteen per cent, of the energy of the
food is found in the milk produced. Obviously this is a wasteful process,
this conversion of grain into meat and milk. It has its justification only
in the greater palatability and digestibility of the final products. Doctor
Armsby, of the Pennsylvania Experiment Station, draws the conclusion :
"all the edible products which the farmer's acres can yield will be
needed for human consumption and the function of the stock-feeder in
a permanent system of agriculture will be to utilize those inedible prod-
ucts in which so large a share of the solar energy is held and to render at
least. a portion of the latter available for human use."

But shall we solve our food problem as it has been handled in some
densely populated countries such as India and China? With an area
nearly twice that of either of these countries, the capacity of the United
States to maintain a population on the same standard as obtains in
China, for instance, would be perhaps relatively as great. It would mean
a great change in our standard of living, one to which we should not take
kindly, and one which we hope need never be adopted in this country.

1 82 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

What would the liberty-loving American think had he to subsist on the
restricted fare of the Chinaman as described by Mr. Chester Holcombe
in "The Eeal Chinaman."

Their daily food consists of rice steamed, cabbage boiled in an unnecessarily
large amount of water, and, for a relish, a few bits of raw turnip, pickled in a
strong brine. When disposed to be very extravagant and reckless of expense,
they buy a cash worth of dried watermelon seeds, and munch them as dessert.
. . . The description answers with entire accuracy for the food consumption of
the great masses of the Chinese people — not for the beggars or the very poor,
but for the common classes of industrious workingmen and their families,
whether in the great cities or in the rural districts. . . . The only luxuries of
which they dream are an ounce or two of meat at very rare intervals with their
invariable food of rice and cabbage, and the necessary tea and tobacco.

Or would the fare of India please better? Colonel Sir Thomas H.
Holditch tells us :

Probably three fourths of the entire population live on the grain of the mil-
lets, or various kinds of pulse. In lower Bengal, and in parts of Madras and
Bombay, in Burma and Ceylon, rice is the staple food of the people, . . . else-
where it is reserved for the consumption of the wealthy.

Even in Greece the food supply is much restricted, for we read in the
Consular Eeport on Industrial Conditions by Horton, 1908 :

At night the family dines on a few cents worth of rice, boiled together with
wild greens and olive oil, and bread, or wild greens boiled in olive oil and eaten
with bread or some similar inexpensive dish. Meat is eaten by the labor-
ing classes as a general thing three times a year, Christmas, Easter and on the
so-called ' ' Birth of the Virgin. ' ' Such a family as I am describing, the average
laboring man's family of Greece, rarely if ever see such things as butter, eggs
and milk.

The corn crop alone of the United States in 1912 was sufficient to
supply nourishment for two hundred and thirty million people living on
the standard maintained by the working class in China, India and some
other countries. The American, however, in general has never appeared
to relish corn as a direct article of food. A prejudice has prevailed that
corn was unfit for human food and useful only in the barn and stable for
their less discriminating occupants. The reports of government experts
to the effect that corn is as digestible and nutritious as wheat have ap-
parently made few converts to the greater use of corn. But we shall
learn to eat more corn, not because we are told of its nourishing qualities,
but because it will be prepared in an attractive form and because it will
be cheap.

Machinery has been perfected for the milling of wheat so that the
digestible portions are separated from the indigestible and a superior
human food prepared. Wheat flour stands supreme among the cereal
flours and it is likely to maintain this position, still it is undoubtedly in
the development of industrial processes that we shaTl find the solution

AVAILABLE FOOD SUPPLIES 183

of the problem of economically converting corn and similar products into
human food which will be palatable and nourishing. A good beginning
has already been made in the manufacture of starch and glucose as well
as breakfast flakes from corn. These and similar industries are bound to
grow rapidly. Nor is corn the only material which might be appro-
priated directly as human food and which is used at present little or not
at all for that purpose. Oats, barley, rye, soy beans and peanuts and
various by-products such as cottonseed and linseed cake might be
utilized more largely. Modern science will very likely devise methods
for extracting the valuable constituents from these products in such a
way that they will be available for human food in an attractive form and
nourish man in a state of highest efficiency. Some progress has already
been made along this line, but it is barely a beginning.

Does this mean that we shall all in time turn vegetarian ? No, there
will always be food for domestic animals and meat and dairy and poultry
products will always be important items of human diet. The grasses,
clovers, straws, stovers, and certain by-products of the refining processes
of seeds, etc., will always be directly unavailable as food for man and can
probably best be utilized by converting them into animal products of
various kinds. The amount of meat consumed, doubtless, will decline
and a reduction in this respect may take place without danger and with-
out detriment to the race.

Long ago Daniel, the prophet, and his companions demonstrated the
virtue of a simple vegetable diet when they refused to eat the king's meat
and wine, provided for the boys of the court, and chose rather pulse and
water. At the end of the training period, when the boys were examined,
the faces of the Hebrew children were found to be plumper and their
minds more alert and keen than those of their companions who had
dined more sumptuously, but who had, perhaps, studied less diligently.

The study of human nutrition has not yet produced a simple formula
for man's guidance in the selection of his food. Such formulas have been
successfully used in the feeding of rats, and the skillful stockman in his
feeding operations carefully follows charts and rules provided him by
experts on animal nutrition. We may expect that similar rules will
obtain more and more in human nutrition and there will be, some time
in the future, such a thing as scientific feeding of men.

1 84 TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

THE SMALL COLLEGE AND ITS FACULTY

Br ONE OF THE PRESIDENTS

THIS president has been reading an article in the Popular Science
Monthly for May entitled " The Small College and Its Presi-
dent"— hence these words.

Probably it is rarely the case, when a number of alumni, each more
than fifty years of age, foregather and begin to talk over old times, that
some one doesn't tell the story of the time he and others put a cow in
the college chapel. These stories can not all be true — there haven't
been cows enough. Probably they are more or less fictitious variants
of some fundamental cow-myth which originated under those vague
conditions commonly described as "mists of antiquity." In a similar
way it may fairly be questioned whether the awful condition described
in the article to which allusion has been made really exists in concrete
form and precisely as set forth in any particular institution.

If there is a college such as is described in this May article it
should certainly be abolished at once. It is a disgrace to the whole
system of education in America. It is very difficult to believe that,
because of their athletic prowess, athletes are given marks higher than
they deserve. It is difficult to believe that the sons of wealthy patrons
are unfairly marked in the professors' classbooks and on the registrar's
records. Whatever trustees and faculties might think, no body of
normal undergraduates would stand for any such treatment of that
larger part of their number neither athletic nor rich.

But the object of this writing is to describe briefly another small
college which is believed to be more nearly like the typical American
small college. It is something less than one hundred years old. Its
undergraduate body numbers perhaps less than three hundred. It is
governed by a rather large board of trustees. All but two of them are
college graduates, and most of them are graduates of the college over
which they now preside. It includes clergymen, lawyers or judges, and
business men — bankers, insurance men, manufacturers, merchants — in
proportion as the numbers 10, 16 and 20. It is under no ecclesiastical
control. The president of the college is ex-officio president of this board
of trustees. His powers are nowhere stated or defined in the charter
or statutes of the college. It takes a two-thirds vote of the trustees to
dismiss him, and he is ex officio a member of various committees. He
has two votes in the faculty if he cares to use them — one regularly and

THE SMALL COLLEGE 185

another in the case of a tie. To the faculty, which consists of all the
permanent officers of instruction, is, by the statutes, "committed the
government of the students." This term "government" is considered
to include both the disciplinary and the instructional functions of the
college officers.

The courses of study, prepared originally by the faculty, are pre-
scribed by the supreme governing body and changes are from time to
time made by the faculty under the authority of the trustees. Within
ten years at least there has been no case in which the wishes of the
faculty in these matters have been overruled by the trustees.

It is probably true that the president has a good deal of practical
authority. It is based upon nothing except the feeling of the faculty
that as the president is in a peculiarly responsible position both to the
trustees and to the public, because his view is necessarily wider and more
comprehensive than that of the professors through his relation to the
public, because there are after all other considerations than those of
any particular classroom which must affect the college policies — for
these and other reasons his wishes are entitled to some weight. The
president has no veto over the action of the faculty. For many years
there was a provision giving him this authority. It was repealed at the
request of an earlier president, and the present president refused to
have it restored when some of the trustees were rather disposed to
restore it.

As for the unhappy athletes in this small college it is unquestion-
ably true that they get less consideration than anybody else. Any
excuse asked by an athlete, or request for special consideration, any
explanation of failure or misconduct offered by such a person is re-
garded with peculiar suspicion — almost enough to justify the statement
in a very amusing book of college stories that " a college professor always
hates a man who weighs over one hundred and seventy-five pounds."

Similarly, it is unthinkable that this faculty should modify a stu-
dent's marks according to the social or financial prominence of his
family. One of the most excruciating and most frequent tasks of the
president is to write letters to his personal friends and to wealthy
patrons of the college explaining that their sons have been dropped on
account of deficiency in scholarship. It is not a pleasant job and the
performance of it goes far to justify the somewhat larger salary which
the president receives. Indeed, quite antithetically to the situation in
the college described last May, it is the president who has to take most
of the " knocks " arising from the actions of the governing body of the
college, the faculty, whether or not he happens to be personally in
sympathy with all that is done. Again and again has he found himself
obliged to defend acts and policies with which he was by no means in
accord.

VOL. LXXXV. — 13.

1 86 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

At present there seems to be a good deal of unrest among college
professors. It is a little difficult to see why; for, after all, the presi-
dent and the professors alike are hired men engaged for a consideration
to discharge fairly definite duties. It is difficult to see why a college
professor should make so much more fuss about losing his position than
is commonly made by an officer in a bank or an insurance company or a
corporation or in the public service. The college professor is not neces-
sarily an expert in education or in college administration as carried on
in these later days. He is apt to be a specialist, knowing something,
indeed, of many subjects and a great deal about some restricted range
of intellectual activity. Often he is absolutely without qualification for
formulating a course of study suitable for the average boy, for advising
the average student as to the studies that are best for him, or for the
construction of any educational policy whatever.

The fact that A is one of the highest living authorities on clam
shells needs to be supplemented by other facts before this man can
expect much importance to be given to his views on the training of
youth or concerning the apportionment of funds among a dozen or
fifteen different departments. In most faculties, however, there are men
not disqualified by personal disposition or training for work other than
that in their own specialty. It is the policy of our faculty to utilize the
qualifications of these men by distributing them as chairmen of active
committees to which are referred questions of discipline, choice of
electives, and similar important matters.

Probably we might do well to think twice about the importance to
*the professor or to the college of much of that which is called research
'work. A man can not teach well if he stops learning. Undoubtedly it
is much pleasanter to work in the library or in the laboratory, and much
pleasanter to work in one's own study, than it is to try to convey infor-
mation to a body of rather careless young men who would prefer not
to be instructed. But, after all, in the small college at least, the instruc-
tion of youth is the principal object of the professor's connection with
the institution. There are not many professors whose research work is
of any value whatever except to themselves. Those who are competent
to enlarge the boundaries of human knowledge constitute a different
class and are few in number. Such should have every opportunity and
every facility. Generally these men are such wretchedly poor teachers
that they have no place in the college faculty. Their service to mankind
must be rendered elsewhere and under different conditions. Of course
the college professor must have opportunity and time for continuous
self-improvement, but he mustn't be allowed to forget that his job is
that of a teacher.

It is questionable also whether the faculty should have too much
to say about its own membership. In our college, the president, when

THE SMALL COLLEGE 187

an appointment is to be made, confers freely and with entire candor
with the professors whose work is most like that which is to be done by
the new incumbent, and some decision is generally arrived at by a
sort of mutual understanding arising without formal rules. Never-
theless it has happened again and again that appointments must be
made under conditions absolutely precluding any considerable confer-
ence with members of the faculty. It is probably true that professors
have means of finding out things about candidates from other institu-
tions which lie beyond the range of the president's powers of investiga-
tion ; but there is one difficulty about the circumstances brought to light
by professors investigating each other. A good deal of the informa-
tion thus collected is not true. It is based upon personal jealousies,
pique, personal likes and dislikes — all of which give a certain pleasant
tang to life in the college faculty but which are very misleading when
allowed to count for much in judging the man who is leaving one faculty
for another.

"We are hearing a good deal just now of that freedom of thought and
of the expression of it which ought to be enjoyed by college professors.
Evidently college professors must be allowed to think without restraint
within very broad limits. The expression of their thoughts should
not be criticized or at least should not be used as a reason for dismissal
from college because some trustee happens to disagree with them.
Nevertheless, it must not be forgotten that even college professors some-
times talk very foolishly, and if a professor or a president makes him-
self and the institution which he represents ridiculous there would seem
no very great injustice in suppressing him. Isn't it a possibility that
college men are all too thin-skinned, too sensitive, too jealous of each
other, too considerate of the persons whom they think themselves to be.

Various recent developments seem to indicate a regrettable tendency
on the part of college professors toward something like class feeling;
toward the notion that they are somehow different from other people.
It will be a great misfortune if this idea is allowed to prevail, if it is
allowed to become permanent. "When we forget that everybody is pretty
much like everybody else, when any persons employed in a particular
fashion get to think that tbey are otherwise than just folks, there is
trouble brewing. This president feels pretty sure that the average
college professor is too sensible to allow himself to be betrayed for long
into such an untenable position.

Within the last ten years there have been in this small college of
ours thirty-seven men who have held permanent appointments as well as
a good many who have taken a small amount of work in emergencies or
who have been here temporarily while professors have been away on
leave of absence. Of these thirty-seven twenty are now in the faculty.
Of the seventeen who have left three were dismissed either for ineffi-

1 88 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

ciency in teaching or for the exhibition of grave defects of character.
In each case there was substantial unanimity on the part of trustees
and faculty. Two of the seventeen have retired on their pensions. One
withdrew on account of a breakdown in his health, eleven resigned, to
our great regret, to accept considerably more lucrative positions else-
where. We rejoiced in this evidence of their distinction and tried to
fill their places with men equally good. Some of these we shall prob-
ably lose by and by in the same way.

On the whole, isn't this a pretty good small college? There have
been evidences of weakness in discipline in years past, due in each case
to the mistaken leniency of the faculty. This has never been due to
outside pressure. One can't help wondering whether this small college
which was discussed last May is not suffering more from morbid
and unfounded fears on the part of the professors than from any real
danger of autocratic action by president or trustees.

DISTRIBUTION OF AMERICAN GENIUS 189

THE GEOGKAPHICAL DISTRIBUTION OF AMEEICAN

GENIUS

By De. SCOTT NEARING

UNIVERSITY OF PENNSYLVANIA

THE last few years have witnessed a friendly controversy between the
champions of nature and the champions of nurture, over the forces
that are responsible for greatness. The nature advocates have insisted
upon the importance of heredity in shaping men's lives. The nurture
advocates have laid equal emphasis upon environment. Each of these
groups has relied upon New England as one proof of the contention.

Both parties to the controversy are willing to admit that New Eng-
land has produced a considerable proportion of the great men of
America. Those scientists who throw emphasis on the importance of
heredity hold that New England, having made a contribution to the
number of distinguished men in the United States wholly out of propor-
tion to its population, stands as a substantial proof of the importance of
race qualities. Those scientists who adhere to the opposing view main-
tain with equal positiveness that the supremacy of New England has
long been exaggerated. There was no time, these men insist, at which
New England had an immense lead in the production of greatness over
the other sections of the country, if its percentage of population at that
time was taken into consideration. Furthermore, so the argument con-
tinues, the supremacy of New England in the production of distin-
guished men is being rapidly taken over by the middle west. It is in
that section that the leaders of the next generation are being born.

The contention is, in its nature, both interesting and endless, unless
some facts can be obtained which will throw some light upon the ques-
tions at issue. These, I take it, are three :

1. "Was there ever a time "when the number of distinguished men born in
New England was greater in proportion to its population than the proportion for
other sections of the United States?

2. Has there been any change in the proportion of distinguished persons
contributed by New England?

3. What contributions of distinguished persons are now being made by the
various sections of the United States?

These questions can not be answered with certainty. The available
facts make unimpeachable conclusions impossible. Nevertheless, ap-
proximations may be made which should throw some light on the ques-
tions.

The volume entitled "Who's Who in America" for 1912-13 contains

1 9o TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

18,794 names.1 This list purports to include the distinguished men
from every walk of life in the TJnited States. The compilation is neces-
sarily incomplete. There are, of course, omissions ; while the mere classi-
fication of a name in " "Who's Who in America " is no guarantee of dis-
tinction. On the whole, however, it may justly be said th.at the propor-
tion of distinguished men whose names are inserted in "Who's Who in
America " is about the same for the various professions. Furthermore,
there is no reason to suppose that the proportion secured from different
sections of the country would show any material variation. All things
considered, these 18,794 names seem to offer the most available basis for
a study that would answer the questions regarding the supremacy of New
England in its production of distinguished persons.

A study of the data in "Who's Who" was made in the following
manner. A schedule was arranged to show, first, the profession ; second,
the decade of birth; and third, the place of birth of the consecutive
names, beginning with the first page of the volume. In order to make
the information as usable as possible, the returns for each state were
separately tabulated, as were the returns for those cities which reported
a population of more than 20,000 in 1850. These items of information
were secured for the first 10,000 native-born persons. The generaliza-
tion from the first 10,000 names can safely be applied to the remainder
of the volume.

The first point of interest arises in connection with the number and
per cent, of distinguished persons from each section of the TJnited
States and the per cent, of the total population of the United States in
the respective sections. These figures (Table I.) show at a glance the
proportion of distinguished persons born in the various localities.

These returns, on their face, accord to New England a lead in the
total number of distinguished persons produced that is little short of
phenomenal. With less than a fourteenth of the population, New Eng-
land has been the birthplace of almost a quarter of the total number of
distinguished persons whose names appear in "Who's Who." The
Middle Atlantic States, with a fifth of the population, report somewhat
less than a third of the distinguished men ; the East North Central States
report almost equal proportions of distinguished persons and of popula-
tion ; while the other sections show a proportion of population consider-
ably above the proportion of distinguished persons born. There are

i" Who's Who" is published in Chicago. The editor, Albert Nelson Mar-
quis, was born in Ohio. "The standards of admission to 'Who's Who in Amer-
ica' divide the eligibles into two classes: (1) Those who are selected on account
of special prominence in creditable lines of effort, making them the subjects of
extensive interest, inquiry or discussion in this country; and (2) those who are
arbitrarily included on account of official position — civil, military, naval, religious
or educational — or their connection with the most exclusive learned or other so-
cieties." From a statement following the preface, 1912-13 edition.

DISTRIBUTION OF AMERICAN GENIUS

191

Table I

Number and Per Cent, op Eminent Persons born in the Various Geo-
graphical Divisions of the United States with the Per Cent, of
the Total Population of the United States in Each
Division in 19102

Geographical Division

Eminent Persons

Per Cent, of the
Total Populal ion

Number

Per Cent.

of the United
States, 1910

United States

10,000
2,311
2,974
2,225

542
1,091

546

161
28

122

100

23

30

22

5

11

6

2

1

100

New England

7 1

Middle Atlantic

21 0

East North Central

19 8

West North Central

12 7

South Atlantic

13 3

East South Central

9.1

West South Central

9 6

2 9

4 6

therefore three sections of the United States — New England, the Middle
Atlantic States, and the East North Central States — in which a com-
paratively large number of distinguished persons were born. These three
groups of states lie in a contiguous territory, in the northeastern section
of the United States. Of the three groups, New England, in proportion
to its population, has by far the largest proportion of distinguished
persons.

The figures in Table I. are manifestly incomplete. Changes in popu-
lation have been rapid during the past few decades. The tide of west-
ward movement has materially altered the population center. No final
conclusion regarding the position of New England as a contributor of
distinguished persons can be reached unless the gross result is corrobo-
rated by the facts showing the time at which the distinguished persons
were born, and the proportion of the population in the various sections
of the country at that time.

Table II

Number and Per Cent, of Eminent Persons Who Were Born at Certain

Times

TimenfR'rth Number PerO»nt.

Before 1850 2,818 28

1850-1859 2,715 27

1860-1S69 2,717 27

1870-1 879 1,304 13

1880-1889 95 1

1890-1899 2 —

Unknown 349 4

Total 10,000 TOO

2 Of these 10,000 eminent persons, 779, or 7.8 per cent., were women. Sex
will not be considered in the present article.

19-

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

A surprisingly large number of the eminent persons whose names
appear in "Who's Who in America" were born before 1850. Table II.
gives the time of birth by decades.

The eminent persons who were alive in 1912-13 are, for the most
part, well along in life. Only one in a hundred was born since 1880 ;
only fourteen in a hundred were born since 1870. Men born before 1870
were at least forty-two years old in 1912. In so far as time records are
concerned, this study must deal with the period prior to 1870, since the
great body of eminent persons was born before that date. More than a
quarter of the total eminent persons was born before 1850, making them
at least sixty-two years old. More than four fifths of the entire number
were born before 1870; that is, they are at least forty-four years of age.
In so far as time is a factor, interest centers in the periods before 1850,
1850-1859, and 18G0-69.

The total returns give New England a material lead in the produc-
tion of eminent persons. Is that lead maintained when the totals are
broken up into time periods ? The relation between the decade of birth,
the place of birth, and the proportion of population in each section at
the time of birth appears in Table III. The proportion of eminent per-
sons born before 1850 is compared with the population in 1850. The
proportion born between 1850 and 1859 is compared with the population
of 1860. The population figures, in each case, refer, not to the time of
birth — such a comparison is manifestly impossible. The total born in
each decade is compared with the population at the end of that decade.
This method should militate slightly in favor of New England, whose
population in each decade constitutes a slightly smaller proportion of
the total population of the United States.

Table III

Per

Cent.

Born
Be-
fore
1850

Per

Cent.

of

Pop.

1S50

Per Cent.

Per Cent.

Per Cent.

Per Cent.

Geographical
Division

Born

1850-
1859

Total
Pop.

18G0

Born
1860-

1869

Total
Pop.

1870

Born

1870-
1879

Total
Pop.

1880

Born

1880-
1889

Total
Pop.
1S90

Middle Atlantic

East North Central . . .
West North Central. . .

South Atlantic

East South Central . . .
West South Central. . .
Mountain

100

30

33

17

2

12

5

1

100

11.8

25.4

19.5

3.8

20.2

14.5

4.1

.3

.5

23
32
23

4

10

5

2

1

100
10.1
23.8
22.1

6.9
17.2
12.3

5.6
.6

1.4

19
26

27
8

11
5

2

2

100

9.1
22.9
23.7
10.0
15.2
11.4

5.3
.8

1.6

19

25

23

10

12

5

2

1

3

100

8.1

20.9

22.3

12.2

15.1

11.1

6.7

1.3

2.3

12

37

25

6

11

4

2

3

100

7.5
20.2
21.4
14.2
14.1
10.2
7.5
1 9

Pacific

3 0

2,818

2,715

2,717

1,304

95

A perusal of Table III. reveals several very evident situations. The
first three groups of States — New England, the Middle Atlantic States

DISTRIBUTION OF AMERICAN GENIUS 193

and the East North Central States — are plainly in a class by themselves.
Among these states, in every instance except one (the East North Cen-
tral States, 1850), the proportion of eminent persons born in those
groups of states is higher than the proportion of the total population
found in those states at the same time. Among the other groups of
states, in every case except two (Pacific States, 1870 and 1880), the pro-
portion of eminent persons born is lower than the proportion of the total
population found in the states. It therefore appears that of the eminent
persons born up to 1890, the vast proportion were in that northeastern
section of the United States bounded by the Mason and Dixon line on
the south, and the line of the Mississippi-Missouri Eiver on the west.

Among these northeastern groups of states New England holds a
unique position. Throughout the entire period she appears as the birth-
place of a far larger proportion of eminent persons, in proportion to her
population, than either of the other groups. During the early years her
lead was little short of remarkable. Of the distinguished persons born
before 1850, she produced almost one third, while her population in 1850
was but one ninth of the total population of the United States. The
Middle Atlantic States, with a quarter of the population, produced only
a little more than a quarter of the eminent persons. The same relation
between the two sections holds true of the decade from 1850 to 1859. In
this period New England has one tenth of the population, and one fourth
of the distinguished persons, while the Middle Atlantic States have a
quarter of the population, and about a third of the distinguished persons.
Even as late as 1880 the ratio between the proportion of eminent men
and of population is higher in New England than in any other section
except the Middle Atlantic States. At the same time, the East North
Central States, with the single exception of the years before 1850, report
a proportion of distinguished persons born only a little higher than their
proportion of the population. During the first three periods the relative
proportions of eminent persons born and of population are fairly similar
in the Middle Atlantic and the East North Central States, but at the
same time very markedly below the standard set by New England.

The considerable lead of New England and the marked lead of the
Middle Atlantic States and the East North Central States over the other
sections of the country may be tested in various ways. Instead of com-
paring the proportion of eminent persons in the various sections with the
total population, a comparison may be made with the native white popu-
lation. This seems particularly fitting in view of the large negro popu-
lation in the south, which has contributed so little to the number of
eminent persons in the country. Such a comparison is likewise desira-
ble in those states of the north where there is a large proportion of
foreign-born persons. A comparison appears in Table IV., where the
number of eminent persons per one hundred thousand of total popula-
tion and of native white population is given.

194

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

Table IV

The Geographical Areas in which Unusually High Proportions of Dis-
tinguished Persons were born

Total

Distinguished

Persons

Distinguished Persons

Geographical Area

Per 100,000

Total
Population

1880

Per 100,000

Native White

Population

18S0

United States

10,000
2,311
2,974
2,225

542
1,091

546

161
28

122

219
1,123
189
334
319
127

1,778
941

859

41

218
266

19.9

57.6

28.4

19.9

8.6

14.2

9.8

4.9

4.3

10.9

65.9
62.9
54.5
53.6
49.2
45.8

34.9
21.9

26.8

27.8
23.3
17.5

27.1

New England

72.4

Middle Atlantic

35.9

East North Central

24.4

West North Central

10.9

South Atlantic

24.3

East South Central

15.3

West South Central

7.8

Mountain

6.0

16.3

Vermont

75.5

85.8

New Hampshire

63.1

Connecticut

69.2

54.3

Rhode Island

64.8

New York

46.6

Pennsylvania

26.1

Ohio

31.5

37.0

Maryland

33.9

Virginia

30.7

The facts appearing in Table IV. do not in any material way change
the apparent status of New England with respect to the other sections
of the United States. As regards both the number of eminent persons
per 100,000 of total population, and of native-born population, New
England appears far in the lead among the other sections of the country.
New England's lead is even more marked when the situation is studied
in the individual states. The individual states appearing in Table IV.
are those which showed a proportion of eminent persons higher than that
for the United States at large. Without a single exception, these states
are in the northeastern portion of the United States. The list contains
every one of the New England States, a portion of the Middle Atlantic
and the East North Central States, and no other state. Furthermore,
each of the New England States, taken individually, shows a higher pro-
portion of eminent persons than any other single state, or than any other
group of states. The supremacy of New England lies, not in any one
state, or in any one locality. Vermont leads the list; Ehode Island
brings up the rear ; yet the proportion of eminent persons born in Ehode
Island per 100,000 of total, and of native-white population, is 30 per

DISTRIBUTION OF AMERICAN GENIUS

i95

cent, above New York, the state outside of New England coming next in
rank.

There is another test to which the figures may he subjected. There
may conceivably be some relation between the educational advantages
offered in cities and the proportion of eminent men developed in any
population. The champions of environment as the modifying factor in
life insist that the influences of city life go far to outweigh heredity
qualities. Therefore, since the northeastern portion of the United States
was the original center of educational activity, and since it now contains
the largest proportion of city population, it might well be expected to
produce the largest proportion of eminent persons.

There were twenty-seven cities which reported a population of more
than 20,000 in 1850. A separate tabulation for these gives an excellent
idea of the proportion of eminent persons born in city and rural districts.
In passing, it is interesting to note that of these twenty-seven cities,

4 were in New England,
10 were in the Middle Atlantic States,
4 were in the East North Central States.

The other six geographical divisions of states have but nine of the
twenty-seven cities.

Table V

Eminent Persons who were Born in the Cities of the United States which

had a Population of 20,000 or over in 1850, with the Per Cent, of

the Total Population of the United States living in

those Cities in 1850 and in 1880

Time of Birth

Total Eminent
Persons

Eminent Per-
sons Born in 27
Leading Cities

Per Cent.

Before 1850

2,818
2,715
2,717
1,304
95
351

599
610
591
363
38
123

21.2

1850-1859

22.5

1860-1869

21.7

1870-1879

27.8

1880-18S9

40.0

No age . . .

Totals | 10,000

2,324

23.2

During the entire period under consideration, these twenty-seven
cities contained from one twelfth to one eighth of the population of the
United States. The proportion of the total population of the United
States living in these twenty-seven cities was,

In 1850 8.7 per cent.

In 1 860 11.2 per cent.

In 1870 12.8 per cent.

In 1880 13.1 per cent.

iq6 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

These percentages afford a striking contrast to those in Table V. The
percentage of population living in these twenty-seven cities was never
more than one seventh of the total population of the United States.
During this time they reported never less than one fifth of the eminent
persons born. Whatever the cause of this preponderance of eminent per-
sons who come from a city environment, the facts are certainly remark-
able. The cities appear to be far in the lead as producers of eminence.

There is no absolute correspondence between the proportion of urban
population and the proportion of eminent persons born.3 An analysis
of the per cent, of population which is urban shows that while New Eng-
land is far in the lead of the other sections of the country, there are a
number of states which report a large proportion of eminent persons
born and a comparatively small proportion of urban population. The
reverse condition is also true. Ehode Island, with the lowest proportion
of eminent persons reported by any New England State, has the highest
percentage of urban population (93.5 per cent.) of any state in the union.
New Hampshire, with the highest proportion of any New England state,
has only 38.9 per cent, of the population urban. New Jersey, with a
percentage of 53.7 urban, reports the lowest proportion of eminent per-
sons of any state in the Middle Atlantic group.

Any tendency to attribute the supremacy of New England in the
proportion of distinguished persons which it has contributed to the pres-
ence of large urban populations is offset by an examination of the figures
for the cities themselves. The New England States are in the lead of the
other states, but the New England cities are not in the lead of cities from
other sections of the country. Indeed, an examination of Table VI.,
which contains a statement of the total eminent persons per 100,000 of
the population in 1870 for the various cities, as well as the total born in
each of the specified decades, shows very clearly that the cities in other
sections of the country are decidedly in the lead. Boston and Providence
alone, among the New England cities, have a proportion of eminent per-
sons higher than that for the United States at large.

Whatever the cause of New England's position as the undisputed

3 Per Cent, of Population (18S0) which is Urban in Those Sections and

States Having the Highest Percentage of Eminent Persons

Per Cent.
Division Urban Population

United States 29.5

New England 68.7

Middle Atlantic 49.9

East North Central 27.5

West North Central 18.1

South Atlantic 15.1

East South Central 8.4

West South Central 12.2

Mountain 23.6

Pacific 36.2

DISTRIBUTION OF AMERICAN GENIUS

197

mother of American greatness, it apparently is not due to the presence
of a large percentage of urban population. The facts showing urban
and rural population point in no conclusive direction.

Table VI

Ratio between the Number op Eminent Persons born in Certain Cities and

the Population op those Cities

Geographical Area

Decade
1850-1859

Decade
1860-1 8G9.

Decade
1870-1879.

8.9
19.6
11.4

9.1

39.5
41.2
35.6
31.2
28.6
24.4
24.1
21.1
18.3
12.4
15.5
14.5
14.3
13.2
13.2
11.4
17.9

7.0

15.0

8.1

7.8

23.9
18.3
17.4
21.9
11.6
14.1
20.2
11.4
14.4
14.2
10.6
10.8

6.4
10.7

9.8
25.8
10.9

2.6

New England

6.2

Middle Atlantic

3.1

East North Central

2.7

8.3

Cleveland

1.0

Providence

9.5

Washington

13.6

Syracuse

7.7

Milwaukee

3.6

Detroit

6.1

San Francisco

5.6

Chicago

6.3

Baltimore

6.0

Cincinnati

5.9

Philadelphia

5.6

St. Louis

3.7

Brooklyn

4.2

Richmond

4.7

Portland

8.7

7.1

To guard against the objection that the supremacy of New England
was due to the inclusion of an undue number of preachers and school
teachers in the " Who's Who " figures, an analysis was prepared of the
statistics by professions. The 10,000 persons are divided rather evenly
over the different professions, with the two exceptions of educators and
lawyers. Table VII. contains the figures for the professions at large.

Table VII
Number and Per Cent, op Eminent Persons who were in Certain

Professions

Per Cent.
Profession Number of Total

Educators 1,932 19.3

Lawyers 1,354 13.6

Business men 998 9.9

Public office holders (except Army and Navy). 916 9.2

Authors 908 9.1

Clergymen 732 7.3

Doctors 619 6.2

Scientists 614 6.1

Journalists 595 6.0

Army and Navy 430 4.3

Miscellaneous 902 9.0

Total 10,000 100.0

198

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

The returns do not show on their face any justification for the belief
that the various professions have been so picked as to militate in favor of
New England. Indeed, it is apparent that all of the leading professions
are well represented. Therefore, if New England makes a fair showing
in a goodly number of the professions, the conclusion may be justifiably-
drawn that New England stands out in specific instances, as well as in
general, as the producer of eminent persons.

The figures in Table VIII. contain a statement of the proportion of
persons in the different professions for each of the geographical divisions
of the United States.

Table VIII

Per Cent, op Eminent Persons in the Five Professions having the Largest

Number of Names in "Who's Who," Classified by Place of

Birth, for those Sections having the Highest Number

of Eminent Persons

Place of Birth

New England

Middle Atlantic. . .
East North Central ,
West North Central
South Atlantic ....
East South Central .
Other Sections. . . . ,

Educa-
tors

Lawyers

Business
Men

Public

Office

Holders

Authors

24.2

17.1

26.8

16.9

26.5

25.2

29.8

33.3

20.1

30.7

25.7

22.0

21.6

23.8

21.5

5.7

4.9

5.1

7.3

5.7

12.7

13.2

7.9

15.4

6.5

5.0

8.2

3.0

9.6

5.4

1.5

4.8

2.3

6.9

3.7

100.0

100.0

100.0

100.0

100.0

All Pro-
fessions

23.1

29.8

22.2

5.5

10.9

5.4

3.1

100.0

The supremacy of the northeastern section of the United States is
again amply demonstrated. Throughout the period under consideration,
this section of the country has contained less than three fifths of the
total population.4 Tbere is an almost equal percentage of educators in
the three sections. The Middle Atlantic States lead notably in the per-
centage of lawyers and business men, while among public office holders,
authors and all other eminent men, the three sections are on compara-
tively equal terms.

The time has now come when the three questions propounded at the
outset of this paper may be answered with some color of authority. The
answers are not final, but they are significant in so far as "Who's Who"
is authoritative.

The answer to question one is clear and unequivocal. "Was there
ever a time when the number of distinguished men born in New England
was greater, in proportion to its population, than the production for the
other sections of the United States?" In the past New England has

4 In 1850 the New England States, the Middle Atlantic States and the East
North Central States contained 56.7 per cent, of the population; 55.7 per cent,
in 1860; 55.5 per cent, in 1870.

DISTRIBUTION OF AMERICAN GENIUS 199

towered head and shoulders above the other sections of the United States
in her production of eminent persons. Two other sections, the Middle
Atlantic and the East North Central States, alone approach her record,
and they lag far behind her pace.

The second question is not so susceptible of positive answer — " Has
there been any change in the proportion of distinguished persons con-
tributed by New England?" Such a change has undoubtedly taken
place. Until 1880 New England took first rank. Up to that time her
supremacy can not even be disputed. With that decade, New England
drops behind the Middle Atlantic States. Whatever the cause of the
change, the change is itself forcing the New Englander's lead very hard.

The third question: "What contribution of distinguished persons
is now being made by the various sections of the United States ?" may
not be answered in any dogmatic way. New England is evidently con-
tributing a less high proportion of distinguished persons. The Middle
Atlantic States, the East North Central States, and the Pacific States are
striding rapidly to the front. Thus far (the decade of 1880-1889) the
Middle Atlantic States lead, with New England second, and the East
North Central States third.

All the facts at hand point to New England as the one-time birth-
place of the largest proportion of distinguished persons. The center is
shifting, however, into New York, Pennsylvania and Ohio. That New
England once held the palm is a statement that must go without chal-
lenge. That she can or will continue to hold it seems doubtful. Mean-
while, of the persons whose names found their way into " Who's Who in
America" an overwhelming proportion seem to have been born in that
section of the northeastern United States bounded by the Mason and
Dkon line on the south, and the Mississippi-Missouri Eiver on the west.

200 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

THE ROLE OF SEX IN THE EVOLUTION OF MIND

By Professor S. J. HOLMES

THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA

THE reason for the existence of sex is one of those biological problems
which has long perplexed the scientific world, and to-day its solu-
tion seems as remote as it did a century ago. Many remarkable dis-
coveries have been made in regard to the microscopic structure and
development of the germ cells. We have learned much of the general
biology of sex, and the probable evolution of sex in the organic world.
And substantial progress has been made in respect to the old problem
of the determination of sex. But to the question, Why came there to be
two sexes at all? or, in other words, Why did not organisms continue
to reproduce asexually as it is probable they once did ? we can only offer
answers that, at best, are very hypothetical. The bacteria and the blue-
green algse, so far as careful investigation has yet ascertained, reproduce
exclusively by the asexual method, usually by fission or the formation
of spores. But among the higher plants and in nearly all animals we
find the existence of two sexes of very general occurrence. While the
fact that sex is absent in the lowest forms of life indicates that evolu-
has proceeded, at least a certain distance, without its aid, and suggests
the possibility of the evolution of sexless forms of a high degree of
organization, yet the general prevalence of sex in all but the most primi-
tive organisms points to the conclusion that sex has played a funda-
mental role in the evolution of the organic world. There are many
theories as to the part which sex has played, but the profound disagree-
ment among several of these which have secured the widest following is
significant of how little is positively established in regard to this subject.
While the cause of the development of sex may remain obscure, it is
not difficult to point out some of its consequences, although it would be
futile to attempt a very accurate picture of what the organic world would
be had sex never been evolved. Even if the processes of variation and
selection had gone on to the same extent — which is scarcely probable —
the absence of sex would have given a very different direction to evolu-
tion from that which was actually followed. Many of the most complex
structural arrangements of organisms have especial reference to the
union of the germ cells. The color and scent of flowers, and their many
and beautiful adaptations to secure cross fertilization would never have
appeared if plants were propagated exclusively by the asexual method,
and this would doubtless have entailed more or less extensive changes
in other parts of the organism. In animals the structural peculiarities

ROLE OF SEX IN THE EVOLUTION OF MIND 201

associated with sex are as a rule among the most complex features of
the bod}'. Some animals, to be sure, simply discharge their sex cells
into the water, leaving their union to chance, but in the majority of
cases, especially in higher forms, there exist elaborate mechanisms to
insure the meeting of these cells. Correlated with these structures we
find mating instincts which frequently manifest themselves in complex
modes of behavior. More acute senses have been evolved in many cases
very largely for effecting the meeting of the sexes. The large antenna?
of male moths, the large eyes of the common drone bee, and the audi-
tory apparatus of the male mosquito are a few of the countless illustra-
tions of this fact. The various apparatus in insects for making sounds
which are found in crickets, locusts, cicadas, etc., are devices for secur-
ing the meeting of the sexes, and the complementary development of
the auditory apparatus in the same insects has doubtless been furthered
through the evolution of these structures.

Much of the elaborate organizations of the imago stage of insects has
reference, directly or indirectly, to activities concerned in mating and
depositing the eggs in the proper environment for the development of
the young. There is a relatively long larval or nymphal period chiefly
devoted to the vegetative functions of assimilating nutriment and
growth ; in many cases the imago takes no food, or need take none,
before the eggs are fertilized and laid; and in several species the mouth
parts have become so completely atrophied that food taking is impos-
sible. Mating not infrequently occurs soon after the insects emerge
from the pupal covering. In the may-flies, which live but a short time
in the winged state, in order to mate and deposit their eggs it is prob-
able that the imago stage would long ago have disappeared were it not
retained as a means of effecting the union of the sexes. The same is
doubtless true of many other insects. The activities of the imago state,
broadly speaking, are primarily altruistic ; they are concerned mainly
with the welfare of other members of the species. They are also expen-
sive. In the winged state numerous new enemies are encountered and
many lives are lost. In the pupa stage which prepares for it there is
commonly an extensive tearing down of old structures and the building
up of new ones, during which the'insect is helpless against many enemies.

Mating activities are almost everywhere among the most complex per-
formances of an animal's life. The opposite sex must be distinguished
from all other creatures and responded to accordingly. Often pursuit and
capture or winning over are the necessary preliminaries to sexual union.
All this puts a premium, so to speak, on the sharpening of the senses,
the development of strength and activity, and the evolution of the
higher psychical qualities. Consider the mating activities of crustaceans,
the courtship of spiders, the breeding habits of fishes, and still more
the elaborate wooing of male birds, and it will become manifest how

VOL. LXXXV. — 14.

202 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

greatly the institution of sex has stimulated the evolution of complex
modes of behavior.

All the facts here cited are trite enough, even to the non-biological
reader. But while it is sufficiently evident that the differentiation of
the sexes has promoted the development of behavior in relation to mat-
ing, it may be well to point out the enormous indirect consequences of
this development in respect to the evolution of mind in general. In the
evolution of behavior one kind of instinct grows out of another just as
new organs are usually formed through the elaboration of some pre-
existing structure. A general elaboration of instinctive reactions in
regard to any one sphere of activity affords, therefore, a basis for the
differentiation of more complex and specialized behavior in respect to
other activities. To take a concrete illustration : The primary function
of the voice in the vertebrates was to serve as a sex call, as is now its
exclusive function among the Amphibia. Later and secondarily it came
to be employed in relation to the protection of the young (through
various instinctive calls) and as a means of communication with other
members of the species. Finally in man it afforded the means of articu-
late language. It is not improbable, therefore, that the evolution of the
voice, with all its tremendous consequences with respect to the evolu-
tion of mind, is an outgrowth of the differentiation of sex. Were it not
for its value in effecting the mating of the lower vertebrates the voice
might never have been evolved and man never have become man.

While the specialization of senses which in certain cases at least has
been carried on mainly for sexual purposes has doubtless afforded the
basis for the elaboration of many instincts, it is practically impossible
to trace in detail how various instincts, sexual and other, have acted
and reacted on one another's development. But we can discern enough
of the influence of sex differentiation on the evolution of behavior to
feel assured of its importance. The necessity for solving the one
problem that confronts all dioecious animals which do not simply shed
their sexual products at random into the water, has tended to keep
behavior in one sphere up to a certain minimum standard. The male
must find and impregnate the female, and this fact sets a certain limit
to his degeneration, at least in some period of his life, because any
further degeneration would involve fundamental changes in the method
of reproduction which may not be possible. But besides acting as a
check to degeneration, the necessity for mating has in general been a
constant force making for the evolution of activity, enterprise, acuity of
sense, prowess in battle, and the higher psychic powers. One can not
pretend, except in the most general terms, to gauge its role in the
evolution of mind, but it has evidently been a factor of enormous
potency.

THE PROGRESS OF SCIENCE

203

THE PKOGRESS OF SCIENCE

THE MARINE BIOLOGICAL
LABORATORY

Louis Agassiz established in 1873 a
marine biological laboratory on the Is-
land of Penikese in Buzzard 's Bay,
south of Wood's Hole. Following his
death the school was abandoned, but
the plan was renewed in 1880 by the
establishment of a seaside laboratory
at Annisquam, in which Alpheus Hyatt
was especially active. In 1888, the lab-
oratory was reorganized and placed at
Wood's Hole, where Spencer Baird had
in 1881 established the marine labora-
tory of the U. S. Fish Commission.
The natural advantages of fauna, cli-
mate and accessibility make Wood's
Hole an ideal situation, and under the
direction of C. O. Whitman a group of
investigators gathered there in the sum-
mer who made the laboratory the chief
center of biological research in this
country and elsewhere only rivaled by
Naples. After the death of Whitman,
Professor Frank R. Lillie, of the Uni-
versity of Chicago, was made director,
and later Professor Gilman A. Drew be-
came assistant director, residing perma-
nently at Wood's Hole. The labora-
tory has continued to grow in size and
influence until last year there were 122
investigators and 69 students at wprK.
If they were paid for their investiga-
tions at the rate other research institu-
tions pay the cost would be more than
half a million dollars a year.

As a matter of fact the laboratory
has been conducted practically without
endowment and with the simplest
buildings and equipment. Some thirty
universities and other institutions have
cooperated in a modest way, but the
work of the laboratory has been essen-
tially a contribution of the biologists
working there. There was urgent need
of a fire-proof building that could re-
main open in the winter, and this has

now been provided by Mr. Charles R.
Crane, of Chicago, who in recent years
has been the generous and sympathetic
patron of the laboratory.

The building, an illustration of which
is here shown, was planned by Mr.
Charles Coolidge, of Boston, his de-
signs being a gift to the laboratory, of
which he has long been a trustee. The
detailed arrangements are the result of
much study with the help of many biol-
ogists and other laboratory men, and
they have been admirably carried out
by the assistant director, Dr. Drew.
The building— 50 X 90 feet— is con-
structed of tapestry brick with wide
joints resting on a granite foundation,
and trimmed with gray stone. It faces
south on the Wood's Hole Harbor,
about 150 feet away. The basement
contains the chemical-supply room,,
janitor's quarters, heating plant, pack-
ing room and toilets. The first floor is.
divided into research rooms for zoology
and physiology. A library with shelv-
ing for 20,000 volumes occupies the
south half of the second floor with ac-
cession and storage rooms. The re-
mainder of the floor and the third floor
are occupied by research rooms. The
roof carries a tank house with two tanks
for salt water of 10,000 gallons each.
The. entire interior construction is of
steel and reinforced concrete, with par-
titions of tile and granolithic floors,
completely fire-proof.

The salt-water circulation is driven
by electric automatically controlled
motors, which open into two hard rub-
ber pumps with a daily capacity of 75,-
000 gallons each. A gasolene engine •-
held in reserve in case of breakdown of
the electric power service. The pipes
and valves are all of lead, so that me-
tallic contamination of the water can
not possibly occur; the harbor water is

204

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

New Building of the Marine Biological Labokatokv.

of exceptional purity, owing to the
strong tidal currents.

Each research room has a cement
floor tank 5X3 feet, with a cement
water table above, heavy birch tables
surrounding the outside walls on which
they are carried on iron brackets;
gas and electricity for lighting or
power, automatic telephone service to
.all other rooms in the building and to
-other buildings, steel shelving, fresh-
water sink, etc.

The dedication exercises took place
on July 10, and occupied the entire day.
In the morning all the buildings were
open for inspection and parties of visi-
tors were conducted through by guides.
The laboratory steamer took out a
dredging party. Lunch was served to
about 600 guests in the laboratory
mess. The afternoon exercises were
held in a large tent, with music by the
Russian Balalaika Orchestra from New
York. Mr. Crane presided and three
short addresses were made by Professor
Lillie, Professor Conklin and Dr. Hugh
M. Smith, the U. S. Fish Commission,]-,
followed by an address on "The Needs
of Research," by Dr. R. S. Woodward,
president of the Carnegie Institution.

THE ST. PAUL MEETING OF THE

NATIONAL EDUCATIONAL

ASSOCIATION

So far as can be gathered from the
meager despatches from St. Paul, the re-
cent meeting of the National Educational
Association was successful in attendance
and in programs and maintained the pro-
gressive policies which have gained as-
cendancy in recent years. It will be re-
membered that the so-called "oid
guard ' ' was definitely defeated in Bos-
ton, when the official nomination to the
presidency of Mr. Z. X. Snyder, presi-
dent of the Colorado Normal School,
was superseded by the election of Mrs.
Ella Flagg Young, superintendent :>f
the Chicago Schools. The New York
Evening Post says editorially that it is
"astounding" and "wholly unex-
pected" that the association should
vote in favor of the right of suffrage
for women, but a similar resolution was
passed unanimously at Chicago two
years ago.

Among other principles and policies
—commonplaces or radical innovations
in accordance with one's point of view
— which the association has favored are
increased powers for the National Bu-
reau of Education and the establish-

THE PROGRESS OF SCIENCE

20-

One of the Old Buildings of the Marine Biological Laboratory.

ment of a national university; increased
national support of instruction in agri-
culture and domestic economy, such as
congress has provided in this session ;
federal legislation in regard to child
labor, marriage and divorce; for in-
struction favoring international good
will and against military training in
the schools; the use of the public
school houses and grounds as social and
recreation centers for the community;
school district parks with instruction in
gardening; vocational training and vo-
cational guidance; instruction in sex
hygiene in normal schools, but not in
public schools, and the acceptance by
the college of the education supplied by
the high school. The association is nat-
urally in favor of increased salaries for
teachers and it endorses equal pay for
equal work by men and women.

This year a resolution was passed con-
demning the activities of the General
Education Board and the Carnegie
Foundation for the Advancement of
Teaching. Like the recent action of
congress in forbidding cooperation be-
tween the Department of Agriculture

and the General Education Board and in
refusing a charter to Mr. Rockefeller's
new foundation, this may in part be due
to antagonism to men whose names have
been associated with business methods
and results which are no longer ap-
proved. But there is a wide-spread
aversion to the meddling of these corpo-
rations with public education, or even lo
their dictating policies to other endowed
institutions.

There was elected as president of the
association for the next year, Dr. David
Starr Jordan, from its establishment
president and now chancellor of Stan-
ford University, distinguished equally
for his work in science, in education and
for social progress.

MAJOR LEONARD DARWIN'S AD-
DRESS BEFORE THE EUGEN-
ICS EDUCATION
SOCIETY

In his address as president of the
British Eugenics Education Society
given at the annual meeting held in
London on .July 2, Major Darwin said
that as citizens they must aid in the

Dr. David Starr Jordan,
Chancellor of Leland Stanford Junior University. President of the National Educa-
tion Association.

THE PROGRESS OF SCIENCE

20:

cure of the sick and in the alleviation of
the destitute even though they saw that
the multiplication of the less desirable
types of humanity might thus be en-
couraged. One consideration, however,
made them hope that eugenic advan-
tages would not infrequently spring from
reforms intended to affect human sur-
roundings. The philanthropist 's efforts
resulted in the more easily cured or re-
formed being separated out from those
less amenable to environmental influ-
ences. As social reform proceeded, and
as the unfit were thus more and more
clearly marked out from the nation at
large, the numbers to be considered
with reference to eugenic reform would
be proportionately diminished, and ra-
cial progress would thus be facilitated.
Social reforms producing these eugenic
by-products must be utilized, as for ex-
ample the proposed changes in the treat-
ment of the habitual criminal. Im-
provement in environment would, no
doubt, cause a diminution in crime, but
a remnant of habitual criminals would
remain, whose strong natural tendencies,
being subject to the laws of natural in-
heritance, would infallibly tend to reap-
pear in their descendants. To lessen
their fertility seemed, therefore, within
the scope of eugenic reform. Crime had
a marked tendency to run in families.

Individuals endowed with those nat-
ural qualities, mental or physical, which
render resistance to crime more than
ordinarily difficult, are often brought
into bad surroundings, mental or phys-
ical; this bad environment reacted on
them, dragging them down in body and
mind, and this action and reaction con-
tinuing either in the individual or gen-
eration after generation, the final resul-
tant of these forces often was a long
series of short imprisonments. The
aim of the social reformer was, when
possible, to break the vicious circle by
at once removing the link of bad en-
vironment; whilst the eugenist would at
the same time also strive to strengthen
the innate characters of the individuals
composing the coining generations.

This latter result might be obtained by
selective breeding.

A study of criminal family statistics
surely must make the believer in en-
vironmental effects demand the segrega-
tion of the criminal-parent, both to safe-
guard the lives of those children who
have been born into foul surroundings
and to lessen the numbers of those chil-
dren who would be born to face the per-
ils thus arising. In short that seemed
to be the right policy to adopt from
whatever direction they approached this
subject.

Much would have to be done before
the machinery established under the
mental deficiency act would produce the
best possible results, and unquestionably
this was the field to which the eugenist
could now most usefully turn his atten-
tion. They could not form any trust-
worthy estimate of the number of crim-
inals who would be dealt with under the
: provisions of the act, and they would
sooner or later be driven to enquire
whether some steps ought not to be
taken with regard to the remainder of
their habitual criminal population. If
he could only be proved to be either very
stupid, very weak or utterly worthless,
was the man who committed crime after
crime to be allowed to go on breeding
freely? Few who had studied these
questions with care had any doubt that
habitual criminals ought to be detained
for longer periods than at present,
whilst every effort should be made to
make that detention more curative in
its effects.

The foregoing considerations had led
many criminologists to advocate the sys-
tem of "indeterminate sentences" in
the case of habitual criminals. A re-
form much more easily obtainable, and
one which the eugenist ought to en-
deavor to promote, would be the amend-
ment of the prevention of crimes act in
such a manner as to make it more readily
applicable to the man of many minor of-
fences. This act could easily be
amended so as to make it easier to in-
crease the periods of detention of those

208

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

thousands of unfortunate persons who
[Misst'ssed defects of character which
drove them whenever free io a life of
crime and made them an intolerable
nuisance to society — defects which
would inevitably reappear to some ex-
tent in their descendants if they had
any. If they could get the paramount
racial duty which they owed to posterity
incorporated as an essential part of the
moral code of the nation, then they
would be on the high road to success.

SCIENTIFIC ITEMS

We record with regret the death of
Dr. Frederick W. True, assistant direc-
tor of the Smithsonian Institution,
known for his contributions to zoology,
especially of the Cetacea; of Professor
Seth Eugene Meek, assistant curator of
zoology at the Field Museum of Natural
History, Chicago, who was an authority
on fishes and reptiles; of Dr. Eupert
Norton, assistant superintendent of the
Johns Hopkins Hospital; of Dr. Joseph

Reynolds Green, F.R.S., known for his
researches in plant physiology, and of
Professor Hugo Kronecker, of Berlin,
distinguished for his contributions 1o
physiology.

At the recent meeting of the Ameri-
can Medical Association, its gold medal
was conferred on Surgeon General Wil-
liam Crawford Gorgas, who has also re-
ceived honorary doctorates of laws from
Princeton and Yale Universities. — The
degree of LL.D. was bestowed by the
University of California on commence-
ment day on Eugene Woldemar Hil-
gard, from 1874 to 1906 professor of
agriculture and dean of the College of
Agriculture; on George Holmes Howi-
son, Mills professor of intellectual and
moral polity from 1884 to 1909.

Mrs. Morris K. Jesup, who died on
June 17, bequeathed $5,000,000 to the
American Museum of Natural History
and made other bequests to public in-
stitutions amounting to $3,450,000.

THE

POPULAR SCIENCE
MONTHLY.

SEPTEMBER, 1914

AN EXPEDITION" TO THE CORAL EEEFS OF
TORRES STRAITS

By ALFRED GOLDSBOROUGH MAYER

EARLY in September, 1913, the expedition of the Department of
, Marine Biology of the Carnegie Institution of Washington
arrived at Thursday Island in Torres Straits off the northern end of
Cape York.

Thursday Island owing to the deep water in its vicinity has grown
to be a busy port of call, although it is barely a mile in length and is
so completely surrounded by the larger members of the archipelago that
only the most detailed British Admiralty charts records its name, and
even the painstaking Captain Cook who first sailed past it in the
"Endeavour" in 1770, merely notes it as one of the Prince of Wales
Islands.

Yet to our eyes it seemed an important place. Four of us — Clark,
Harvey, Mayer and Tennent, together with Mr. John Mills, the able
engineer of our naptha launch, had come nearly half the distance
around the world from the eastern states of America, while Mr. Potts
had left his cloistered quarters in Trinity Hall, Cambridge, and Mr.
E. M. Grosse, the artist, had joined the expedition in Sydney.

Thursday Island was the intended objective of our journey for
Saville-Kent in his beautifully illustrated book upon the Great Barrier
Reef of Australia had especially designated it as being the site par
excellence from which to study the coral reefs of Torres Straits.

Our surprise and disappointment was great therefore when we found
the coral reefs to be overwhelmed with a layer of mud above which only
the largest corals could raise their heads and thrive. The region seemed
an ideal one only for masses of fleshy, dull olive-green alcyonaria
(Sarcophyton) superficially resembling huge lichens several feet in
diameter. The remarkably strong currents with their freight of silt
and mud were fatal to luxuriant coral growth and the echinoderm life
was hopelessly deficient, so that even the cheerful Clark, as enthusiastic
a collector as ever lived, was in despair.

vol lxxxv. — 15. >*•

2io THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

Fortunately, Mr. Charles Hedley, of Sydney, the distinguished stu-
dent of coral reefs, had in a measure prepared us for disappointment
and had kindly told us of the clear blue ocean water and rich coral
reefs surrounding the Murray Islands 120 miles from Thursday Island,
within 5 miles of the outer edge of the Great Barrier Reef and 75 miles
south of the coast of New Guinea.

To the Murray Islands therefore we saw we must go with all speed,
a feat, however, somewhat easier to plan that to accomplish, for in the
intervening region were hundreds of uncharted coral reefs, and of all
the fleet of schooners at anchor in Thursday Island harbor but one
would venture to undertake the hazard of the voyage.

No sooner did the owner of this daring craft agree to take us, how-
ever, than he and his vessel disappeared in the night, leaving us stranded
upon Thursday Island.

In response to kind letters of introduction from the British Am-
bassador Lord Bryce, the officers of the Australian government were
most cordial in their efforts in our behalf, and never did we appreciate
their generous aid more deeply than in the present emergency, for at
the request of the Honorable W. M. Lee-Bryce, Esq., resident of
Thursday Island, Messrs. Arthur and Hockings permitted the use of
their power, schooner Kestrel to transport Messrs. Clark, Grosse, Harvey,
Potts and Tennent to Darnley Island only 25 miles from the Murray
Islands.

In the meantime, Mr. Mills and the director of the expedition set
out to sea in a small launch to search for the truant schooner which we
finally found snugly anchored in the lee of the peak of a beautiful palm-
clad island within 25 miles of Endeavor Strait.

The "recapture" of the schooner was speedily effected and soon we
were scudding over the waters toward the elusive Murray Islands. Our
crew were black, very black, and each man's nose was pierced so as to
confer as romanesque an outline as it is possible to attain with an
originally negroid nasal organ. Moreover, the captain's ears were
slashed and torn in a manner to delight the heart of a rat-catching
terrier. His weather-beaten face bore many a scar, and one. eye seemed
to have seen better days, but more perfect discipline one never saw
maintained upon a schooner than that enforced by our erstwhile head-
hunting commander. They sprang to obey his almost whispered orders
with an alacrity that would have done credit to the crew of a man-of-war.

Without chart or compass we sailed over a sea marked " dangerous "
on the maps we might have had but chose to dispense with.

Each day we threaded our way among the intricate passages between
jagged coral reefs, keeping in the deep blue between the patches of
emerald-green edged with foaming breakers; and always the steady
southeast trade wind urged us onward. At night, we lay at anchor close

CORAL REEFS OF TORRES STRAITS

21 r

Bampton I

'S'BristOW I

Saibai i

9

Keats I

C70arnl

K

J
Murray Is

' 7

f

-Badu

Longl^

At I

JZQHorn "s

v/*"^ »'./ ^Albany
Pr. of

Wales I

9

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?

145°

SCALE
10 0 10 30 30 40 50 MILES
I i I I I ' ' '

Map of Torres Straits.

under the lee of reefs and the drowsy roar of the ocean lulled us into
sleep.

At Darnley Island we found our associates most comfortably housed
in the home of the magistrate, Mr. T. Arnold Williams, from which
hospital roof, indeed, they were most unwilling to be "rescued."

But at last the peaks of the three extinct volcanoes which constitute
the Murray Islands loomed through the tropic haze, and still struggling
among the maze of reefs, we made for Maer Island, the largest of the
group and anchored under the lee of the mountain wall by the side of
its palm-edged beach.

As our naptha launch approached the shore, the sands became black
with natives all gesticulating in much excitement, but we were most

2i2 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

cordially and kindly received by the magistrate and school teacher,
John Stewart Bruce, Esq., who for more than twenty years has lived
alone among the natives laboring to fit them to meet the oncoming of
civilization. Throughout our stay on Maer Island, the constant kind-
ness and excellent advice of Mr. Bruce was indispensable to the suc-
cess of our studies, and incidents exhibiting his rare personal charm
and high character we shall always recall as the happiest of our
memories.

Through the kind permission of the government, we were allowed
to occupy the courthouse and the jail for laboratory quarters.

The courthouse was an airy, cheerful one-roomed concrete building
which the natives under the leadership and instruction of Mr. Bruce
had succeeded in erecting after four years of the most strenuous and
concerted effort in the history of the island.

The jail, on the other hand, was a flimsy hut of pandanus thatch, but
it served admirably as a storehouse for our apparatus and supplies.

As may be imagined, our visit put an end to the orderly adminis-
tration of island justice. Deferred jail sentences were henceforth the
only sort that could be enforced upon wife-beaters and other disturbers
of the serenity of the island, but an even more dreadful punishment
was quickly devised by the chief, or Mamoose, who condemned male-
factors to work for us.

This punishment, however, soon lost its sting in proportion as the
fame of the achievements of Jimmie, our cook, became spread abroad.
Four cups of strong coffee, five fish balls, a large piece of turtle meat,
four bananas and a yam constituted an average 5:30 a.m. "breakfast"
for our native assistants, so it may be imagined that starvation was
not the rule of our camp.

The impression should not arise, however, that our native servants
were reprobates, for those whom we chose were good and faithful.
Indeed, we employed the same men who had served Professor Haddon,
whose accounts have made the anthropological and geological aspects
of the islands so well known.

Fortunately one of our party could claim the honor of Professor
Haddon's personal friendship, -an "open sesame" to the Islander's
highest consideration, but despite the initial respect thus inspired, the
natives soon decided that we of the scientific staff were all hopeless but
quite harmless lunatics who were being taken around the world under
the guidance of our engineer, Mr. Mills. Indeed the wonderful be-
havior of the launch and the miraculous achievements of " Johnmills"
who could " saw iron " were soon immortalized in song and will doubt-
less remain as a revered tradition of the island.

Maer Island is an extinct volcano which in its active days burst
through the old limestone floor of the wide Barrier Eeef plateau which

CORAL BEEFS OF TORRES STRAITS

213

rf^ ■.» ,.,1>****,»»Wm,(

%

SLAND

S. L*l 9* SS' E Long 144' r

From Sunt?) b? Ciptun 0»«n 189J

and A. a Mvtt 1911

as has been shown by Andrews, Griffith-Taylor and Hedley, was once
above the sea but is now submerged to a depth of from 90 to 180 feet.
Shattered fragments of the old limestone are found imbedded in the
ash crater of the volcano.

On the western side of the island, the crater rim rises to a height
of about 750 feet, the seaward slope being steep and evidently deter-
mined by the angle of repose of the ejected ash.

In later times, however, the volcano appears to have exploded and
destroyed the northern part of the crater rim, out of the break in
which there flowed a tongue-shaped mass of lava which now constitutes
the northern half of the island. The last volcanic activity issued from
a small ash-cone in the cup of the old crater, and then the island lapsed
into its unbroken quietude.

A luxuriant growth of cocoanut palms, and forest trees now covers
the old lava, while coarse grass grows rankly over the ash slopes of the
crater. The torrential rains of the wet season from November to March

■PREVAILING WIND

Sea Level

/Reient^i
ACoraU|

*«"" J •* 4 AND L*VA

S.E. TRADE
Sea Level

~^ ' ■

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-R.dje v

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decent ''Coral?

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Old limestone

t t t
♦ . i

T +

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N.W.-S.E., Section of Maer Island. (Diagrammatic.)

2i4 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

have cut three ravines down the slopes, and in former times, before
the coral reef grew seaward to protect the island, the sea commenced to
cut into the shores, forming a precipice about 20 feet high along the
southeastern side of the island.

But, after the volcanic fires had ceased, corals began to grow along
the shores and soon the island was surrounded by a fringing reef. The
steep seaward slope and outer edges of this reef provided the best foot-
hold for the growth of corals, and no sooner did the old ones die than
new growths took possession of the coveted space and thus the reefs
pushed seaward from the shores and the old volcano was protected from
the attack of the breakers which now break impotently upon the outer
edge of the ever-widening reef.

As is always the case under these conditions, the reef advanced sea-
ward most rapidly against the wind, for corals thrive best in agitated
water which is free from silt. Thus the reefs are three times as wide
on the southeastern as on the northwestern sides of the island, for not
only is the water too calm for the most luxuriant coral growth on the
leeward side, but the mud which is washed over the reef-flats during the
ranry season interferes seriously with coral growth. It is due also to
this fact that the reef — or platform — is narrow wherever the silt from
the streams washes over it, and wide wherever it is covered with pure
ocean water and exposed to the full force of the breakers.

Maer Island is oval, about three miles long and one and a half wide
and the southeast trade-wind causes the water currents to sheer in oppo-
site directions from the middle of the southeast shore, and eddies are
formed at both ends of the island, and these deposit water-washed sand
along the leeward side, thus forming dunes at the ends and a sand
beach along the middle of the leeward side, and converting the originally
oval shape of the island into a crescent with its horns and concavity
directed down the wind. Indeed Hedley and Griffith-Taylor, and Wood-
Jones have shown that the crescentic shapes of coral atolls are formed in
this manner in obedience to the direction of the prevailing winds and
currents.

In short, the width and character of the reefs surrounding Maer
Island are determined by the shore conditions ; and it is quite clear that
the island has not developed in the midst of a preexisting reef-flat, but
that the volcano was formed before the modern reefs began to grow
around it. Moreover, they are all fringing reefs that have grown out-
ward from the shore and thus the " lagoon " of the great southeast reef
is only 18 inches deep and its bottom is of hard coral with none of the
mud and occasional reef patches seen in the bottoms of all lagoons be-
tween barrier reefs and the shore.

Indeed according to a theory which has been put forth by Penck,
and more recently by Professor R. A. Daly, barrier reefs originated

CORAL REEFS OF TORRES STRAITS 215

in a manner quite different from that of the recent fringing reefs of the
Murray Islands. According to these students water was abstracted from
the sea to form the great polar ice caps of the glacial epoch, and Pro-
fessor R. S. "Woodward has demonstrated mathematically that a still
further lowering of level in tropical seas must have resulted from the
attraction of the ice caps for the ocean surrounding them.

Thus the level of the tropical oceans may have been about 120 feet
lower than at present. Now under these conditions the oceans would
wash away the shores forming platforms along the tropical coasts at a
level which would be about 120 feet below the present surface of the
water.

Then when the ocean began again to rise, after the close of the
glacial epoch, corals would grow along the outer edges of these platforms
and thus Atolls and Barrier Reefs have been formed ; the Atolls growing
upon the truncated summits of mountains.

Andrews called attention to the fact that the platform upon the
outer edge of which the Great Barrier Reef has grown, extends south-
ward far beyond the latitude of corals, and Vaughan has observed that
the platform of the Florida reef extends far northward beyond the last
coral reefs. Also we may observe the Barrier Reef platform extends
northward to the coast of New Guinea although the corals are killed in
the wide region of the Bligh Entrance by the silt of the Fly and other
great Papuan rivers. Thus it appears that the corals have merely
grown as break-waters upon the seaward edges of platforms which were
formed before the reefs themselves developed.

In some respects, the Pacific reefs are markedly different from those
of the Atlantic. In the Pacific, one misses the beautiful sea fans and
gorgonians that wave in languid grace to the rhythm of the surges in
the crystal waters of Florida and the Bahamas. Instead, we find large
areas of leathery-looking alcyonaria, or fleshy eight-rayed corals,
Sarcopliyton and Alcyonium, and in the crevices one often sees the
giant clams Tridacna, their valves opened to show the beautiful mantle
edges of malachite green, or blue, yellow or mottled with brown in a
gamut of color, no two individuals being alike.

There are almost twice as many kinds of corals in the Pacific as
in the Atlantic, and some of the more fragile of these grow luxuriantly
down to depths of 60 feet or more, whereas in the Atlantic the coral
reefs thrive well only in shallow water not over 20 feet in depth.

But the most striking feature which distinguishes the Pacific reefs
is the development of a ridge which actually projects half a foot or
more above low tide level and extends along the outer seaward edge of
the reef-wall wherever the breakers dash. In the Paumotos, this ridge
is dull reddish pink in color, and it is composed of a mass of stony
seaweeds or nullipores of the sort called Lithothamnion, and also of

216 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

■■

The Lithothamnion Ridge along the Seaward Face of the Southeast Reef of

Maee Island, Murray Islands.

bryozoa which are remarkable lime-secreting organisms related more
closely to the worms than to any other phylum of the animal kingdom.

This lithothamnion ridge thrives only where the breakers strike in
full force upon its living barrier, and it serves as the chief protector of
the island, breaking the force of every wave that approaches the wind-
ward shore.

Clustered in the tide pools of this lithothamnion ridge, with the
waves dashing constantly over them one finds living corals which cling
tenaciously to the shallow crevices and grow into thin encrusting forms
instead of into dome-like shapes as in more protected waters; or their
branches are remarkably short stump-like and gnarled and tend to bend
inward toward the shore after the manner of the ragged trees that
survive along a wind-swept coast.

At Maer Island, the lithothamnion ridge extends along the extreme
outer edge of the southeastern reef between 1,800 and 2,200 feet from
shore, and it forms a veritable dam which prevents the escape of the
water from the basin of the reef-flat at the lowest tides, so that at the
low tide of the springs, one finds here a great shallow marine lake about
1,700 feet wide, 2| miles long, and only about 18 inches deep.

About 3,600,000 coral heads grow upon the hard rocky bottom of
this natural aquarium, and in the middle region of the reef-flat, 1,000
feet from shore, fully 50 per cent, of the bottom is covered with heads
the dominant species being the delicate and profusely branched Seria-
iopora histrix which forms a veritable coral forest, growing so luxuriantly
that no other species can thrive so well in this region as it does nearer
shore or farther out upon the reef. It is evident that there is a struggle
for existence between the different sorts of corals, and the Seriatopora

CORAL REEFS OF TORRES STRAITS 217

wins in this strife for place in the region 1,000 feet from shore. It is,
however, very sensitive to high temperature, and the warm shallows
close to shore are fatal to it so it can not survive within 550 feet of the
beach. Also, being very slender, it can not survive the rush of the
breakers and, thus it disappears about 1,670 feet out from shore where
the surges shatter its fragile stems. Delicate and sensitive to high tem-
perature, to silting, and to agitated water as it is, however, if condi-
tions be ideal for its existence, it thrives so well that all other corals,
even those that can live anywhere over the reef- flat, must give way to it.
The amount of food required to support the vast coral population of
this reef-flat must be very great, especially, as Dr. Vaughan discovered,
corals are strictly carnivorous and will not even attempt to capture
plants. The minute floating animal life of the ocean is therefore the
chief source of food for corals. Moreover, Dr. Vaughan showed that it
is possible at a glance to tell the difference between a fat-looking, well-
fed coral and the thin, drawn appearance of a starved one. The corals
of the southeast reef of Maer Island, however, all seem to be well fed,
and thus it appears that the question of food has little or nothing to
do with their struggle for existence.

There are, however, no large heads upon this reef, only a vast array
of small ones.

Now the Murray Islands are in a fortunate region which is never
visited by hurricanes, and thus the corals grow on for ages undisturbed
by severe storms. Along the entire southeast beach only two small coral
heads were found tossed ashore by the waves, a striking fact in contrast
with the great heaps of dead coral ten feet high, found strewn along
the shores of the Paumotos Islands where severe hurricanes occur.

SP*^ * I "~~

haT JSk*? * ' * % ^Tl

.>■*■■ < jT* ■

7JP. '<-*'JH

'• _ jj

K ''*£m

::AMB

.

Pocillopora damicornis. The fragile specimen on the right grew in the calm
waters of the reef flat. The rigid one on the left grew in a tide pool among the
breakers. Murray Islands, Torres Straits.

2l8

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

Bridal Veil Falls, Gavett's Leap, in the Blue Mountains of New South Wales, show-
ing the characteristic block faulting seen along this part of the Australian coast.

There are, however, parts of the Great Barrier Eeef region which
are afflicted periodically by hurricanes and the reefs in these regions
consist of large coral heads quite far apart instead of great numbers
of small ones close together. Moreover, the pure ocean water of the
Murray Islands is fairly free from silt, whereas that of Thursday Island
bears a vast amount of mud in suspension and this, also, is fatal to corals
and buries the small heads more readily than the large, and thus the
reefs of Thursday Island are not rich, but the coral heads are of large
size and are widely separated.

It is interesting to see how the 40 or more species of corals that grow

CORAL REEFS OF TORRES STRAITS

219

upon the southeast reef-flat are distributed, and in order to gather a
census of the corals, a line was surveyed across the reef, and at intervals
of 200 feet, squares of 50 feet on the side were staked off and all the
coral heads on each square were counted.

The shallows within 350 feet of the shore" lack corals, the bottom
being covered with a thin layer of limestone mud which supports a
vigorous growth of a short-bladed eel grass, Posldonia australis.

On the square whose center was 400 feet from shore, only three small
coral heads were found, and these were growing upon loose corroded
limestone blocks which had been washed shoreward from the outer parts
of the reef-flat. As one goes outward, however, the coral heads steadily
increase in number becoming a maximum at 1,425 feet from shore where
there were 1,838 coral heads on the square. Even the crest of the
lithothamnion ridge 1,750 feet from shore had 201 living coral heads
clinging to the bottom of its shallow tide pools, although the ridge itself
was here fully six inches above the level of the lowest tides.

There must be some cause for this tendency on the part of the corals
to grow best at considerable distances from shore. The truth of the
matter is that corals are very sensitive to changes of temperature and
an ocean as cold as 56° or as warm as 98° F. would be fatal to all the
reef-building forms. The more delicate corals such as the finely-
branching Seriatopora or the "stag horns," formerly known as Madre-

Pout Moresby, Papua, showing the drowned character of the coast.

220

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

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CORAL REEFS OF TORRES STRAITS 221

pora but now called Acropora, are killed at 97.5°, and cease to take food
at about 90.5% while the more resistant forms such as various species of
Siderastrea, and Porites and some of the brain corals, survive to 100°.
or even 102° F., but cease to feed at from 95° to 97.5° F. Now, in
general, those corals which are most sensitive to high temperature are
correspondingly so to the smothering effects of silt. The more deli-
cate forms such as Acropora, Pocillopora and Seriatopora are killed by
being buried for only 10 to 1-i hours beneath the mud, whereas, those
corals which die at 100° can withstand as much as 40 to 50 hours of
burial and Siderastrea radians of the Atlantic, which dies at 102°, can
survive being buried 72 hours without apparent injury. It seems,
therefore, that high temperature may produce death by causing asphyxi-
ation, and thus those corals which can withstand the highest temperature
are usually those which are best able to resist being covered by mud and
silt, and these are the very corals which live in the hot, muddy shallows
near the shore, while corals which require pure water live far out upon
the reef, where the temperature is lower.

It will be recalled that Winterstein who studied frogs decided that
the nervous paralysis that results from high temperature was caused
by asphyxiation; but later Babak, and Amerling showed that some of
the frogs and toads are very resistant to lack of oxygen but easily para-
lyzed by heat, while the reverse is the case with others. Becht also casts
doubt upon the asphyxiation theory by showing that recovery from heat
paralysis can take place in the absence of oxygen in the water surround-
ing the nerves of the frog or of the horse-shoe crab (Limulus). Oxygen
may however have been derived from the tissues themselves.

Among corals we find that Favia fragum and Ma?andra areolata are
more resistant to the effects of C02 or of silt than one would expect from
their death temperatures, which are fairly low. If however they be
buried in the sand and then heated they are still nearly as resistant as
if in the open water, whereas sensitive corals such as Acropora or
Oroicella are killed at lower temperatures 'if buried than if heated in
the open water.

The explanation may be that Favia and M. areolata can survive at
a low as well as at a high rate of metabolism, in other words " hibernate "
under the mud; and thus be almost as well able to resist heat in this
condition as when living at a higher rate of oxygen-consumption in the
free water of the ocean.

We still incline to the belief, therefore, that high temperature may
produce death in corals by asphyxiation, although other factors may
complicate the matter, as is so often the case in physiological reactions.

Vaughan, indeed, has shown that those corals which live in muddy
regions are quite able to free themselves from silt by means of the cilia
which cover their surfaces, but those forms which live in the pure water
of the outer parts of the reef are not so efficient in this respect.

222

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

Termite's Xest, Prince of Wales Island, Torres Straits.

We saw that there is evidence of a struggle for existence between
the various kinds of corals, and according to Darwin's theory, we would
expect this to have improved the corals. The Australian forms must
withstand a very high temperature during the calm, hot days of the
"northwest" season, while those of Florida must suffer annually from
cold " northers." Yet, our experiments show that the Australian corals
are quite as sensitive to high temperature as are those of Florida, and
conversely the Florida corals can not withstand cold any better than can
those of tropical Australia. In other words, natural selection has not
improved the heat-resisting or cold-withstanding powers of the corals
and yet temperature is a factor of primary importance in determining
the life or death of reef corals. Of late years we have been steadily
losing respect for the efficacy of natural selection as a means of devel-
oping morphological or physiological adjustments.

We must conclude that "corals are corals," and their behavior is
essentially alike both in Florida and in Australia.

CORAL REEFS OF TORRES STRAITS

223

As we have seen, the " lagoon " of the reef flat on the southeast side
of Maer Island is shallow, being only about 18 inches deep at the lowest
tide, although covered by about 8 feet of water at high tide. When the
low tide falls at the hottest part of the day, at about 3 o'clock in the
afternoon, the water of the reef flat is several degrees warmer than the
air, but in the early morning before sunrise, the water is always colder
than the air. This shows that the lagoon water derives most of its heat
during the day from direct solar radiation, and at night the surface of
the water radiates heat into outer space and thus becomes colder than
the air. It has been commonly supposed that the temperature range of
ocean water is less than that of the air, but this is evidently not the case
in shallow lagoons in the tropics where the range in air temperature is
slight. Indeed, during five weeks in September and October at the
Murray Islands, the difference in air temperature between the hottest
day and coolest night was only 10° F., the hottest being 86° and the
coolest 76° ; but during the same time the water over the southeast reef-

mam

m&

Natives of Kuranda, Queensland, standing in front of their house. Australian

aborigines.

224 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

flat ranged through 21°; the hottest being 93° and the coolest 72° F.
Thus the reef-flat corals must be able to withstand a considerable range
in temperature.

In the Pacific, the lithothamnion ridge always grows along the sea-
ward face of reefs, provided the reef is exposed to the breakers, for the
lithothamnion can thrive only in strongly agitated water. This ridge at
Maer Island is only about six inches above low tide, for the breakers are
not very high, the force of the rollers being partially spent upon the reefs
of the Great Barrier six miles to the eastward of the Murray Islands.

We saw that at low tide the southeast reef flat of Maer Island is a
wide shallow lake dammed in by the lithothamnion ridge. Now as the
reef grew seaward this lithothamnion ridge always remained as a narrow
boundary wall upon its advancing edge.

Thus in former times when the reefs began to grow outward, the
lithothamnion ridge must have been close to the shore, whereas now it
is from 1,800 to 2,200 feet out to sea. The lagoon behind this ridge is
about eighteen inches deep and it is evident that as the reef advanced out-
ward the shoreward edge of the lithothamnion ridge must have disin-
tegrated or dissolved and has thus disappeared. Indeed, the disinteg-
ration of the dead inner edge of the lithothamnion ridge is very apparent
in its ragged outline and the many loose blocks which are detached from
it and washed shoreward, the process of disintegration being accelerated
by the boring of numerous echinoderms; and it is evident that in
same manner, a thickness of about two feet of limestone has disap-
peared so that the bottom of the present lagoon is now about eighteen
inches below the crest of the lithothamnion ridge.

Sir John Murray and Alexander Agassiz believed that limestone was
dissolved by sea water, but Dr. T. Wayland Vaughan collected samples of
water from the lagoon of Tortugas, Florida, for an entire month and
these were analyzed by Mr. E. B. Dole, who decided that they contained
no free carbon dioxide. Now, without carbonic acid, or some other free
acid, sea-water can not dissolve limestone.

The Tortugas is peculiar in being surrounded by wide areas of chalky
mud and, moreover, the surface waters of the Florida-Bahama contain,
according to Drew and Kellerman, great numbers of bacilli which cause
a precipitation of calcium carbonate composed of such minute colloidal
particles that they float for some time before sinking to form the impal-
pable limestone ooze of the sea bottom, and, finally, to change into oolite
in the manner explained by Linck and by Vaughan, oolite being a rock
composed of small calcium carbonate balls causing it to resemble fish roe.

One might expect therefore that the excessive amount of calcium
carbonate in the water would hold the carbon dioxide in chemical com-
bination, but Dr. Shiro Tashiro working with his marvelously sensitive

CORAL REEFS OF TORRES STRAITS 225

bromites, finds that carbon dioxide is set free, and discharged into the
air, from the Tortugas sea-water at ordinary atmospheric pressures and
temperatures. The whole question as to the condition of the carbon
dioxide within the ocean itself is therefore thrown open to be deter-
mined by future researches. It is still possible, however, that the sea-
water of Florida can not dissolve limestone and if this be true, the
lagoons of the Florida-Bahama region were not formed by marine solu-
tion; but as yet no direct tests have been made to determine the efficacy
of the water of the reefs as a limestone solvent, although the writer
has begun a series of experiments to test this at Tortugas.

It seems that the limestone of the shallow southeast reef-flat of Maer
Island must dissolve, for the disintegrated coral sand disappears in situ,
there being very little sand either on the hard, rocky bottom of the lagoon
or on the beach.

There are, however, several factors other than sea- water which might
cause such solution, for it is well known that when rain-water percolates
through dead leaves it gains a considerable charge of carbonic acid and
this has been the cause of the solution which has resulted in the forma-
tion of the numerous caverns seen in all limestone regions. It is evident
that the torrential rains of the wet season at Maer Island cause a great
outpouring of fresh water from the shores over the reef flat and this must
dissolve the limestone. This is not necessarily injurious to the living
corals, however, for experiments made at Maer Island show that all spe-
cies can survive being in sea-water diluted with an equal volume of rain-
water for at least four and a half hours, and most of the forms can sur-
vive twelve hours of such treatment. The fact that there is but little
coral sand along the southeast beach indicates that after it is cast ashore-
it is soon dissolved by the terrestrial drainage in the wet season.

There are, also, other agencies which dissolve limestone, for Professor
Treadwell finds that worms which form burrows in dead coral heads are
decidedly acid, and many sponges and boring plants are well known to
dissolve the shells of molluscs. In addition, Stanley Gardiner, Wood-
Jones, and others have observed that echinoderms which swallow large
amounts of calcareous sand probably dissolve a certain percentage of it
in their digestive tracts. We thus see that limestone is built up by
some agencies and destroyed by others and the resultant condition of the
reefs represents the balance between these antagonistic tendencies.

This leads us to the question of the rate of growth of corals, a subject
which has been studied in greatest detail by Dr. Vaughan at Tortugas,
Florida, and in the Bahamas, but upon which many other students have
worked in a less exhaustive manner. For example, in 1890, Saville-Kent
measured and photographed certain corals off Vivien Point, Thursday
Island, and some of these we succeeded in identifying and remeasuring
in November, 1913, and it appeared that a brain coral, Sympkyllia, which

VOL. LXXXV. — 16.

226

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

Natives of the Murray Islands, Torres Straits. Wearing " Dahis.'

the Ply River Delta type.

Fapuans of

was 30 inches in diameter in 1890 had increased to be 74 inches in 1913.
Also, a huge coral which Saville-Ivent called " Pontes astrceoides" was 19
feet in diameter in 1890 and 22 feet and 9^ inches in 1913. On the other
hand, a certain gray-green Gondastrea, which was 8 feet, 2 inches wide in
1890 had not grown during the intervening 23 years. Indeed, Dr.
Yaughan's growth experiments upon Florida corals show that perhaps
all corals grow to well-defined sizes and then cease to enlarge. However,
the corals that did grow at Vivien Point had increased in diameter from
44 to 45| inches in 23 years, or about 1.9 inches per annum.

Thus charts of channels which are only occasionally used, and the

CORAL BEEFS OF TORRES STRAITS

227

bottoms of which are covered with corals, should, state that an upward
growth of at least one inch per annum may be expected.

But other studies apart from those upon coral reefs were conducted
at the Murray Islands. Dr. Hubert Lyman Clark, of Harvard, found
many species of the delicate feathery "sea lilies" or crinoids, which live
among the coral heads below low tide. These crinoids were, by some,
supposed to be sedentary animals but Dr. Clark found that at least cer-
tain forms can swim actively through the water using their long graceful
arms as oars. In cretaceous times crinoids were abundant along our own
shores but are now common only in the depths of the Atlantic Ocean and
in the shallow water of the western tropical Pacific and Malayan region
northward to Japan.

There were also great numbers of slender serpent stars, rapidly mov-
ing forms which usually live in crevices among the rocks and scuttle off

Goveknob Murray's Servants. Natives of Port Moresby. Papua. Types of the na-
tives of the S.E. coast of New Guinea.

228

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

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CORAL REEFS OF TORRES STRAITS 229

with great rapidity when disturbed. They are often called "brittle
stars," for if one seizes an arm it is promptly cast off, permitting the
major portion of the animal to escape. Their beautiful sculpturing, rich
colors, and the ornate patterns of their disks were admirably figured in
color by Mr. E. M. Grosse, who executed more than 100 beautiful draw-
ings which will serve to illustrate Dr. Clark's purposed paper upon the
Echinoderms of Torres Straits. Indeed, Dr. Clark aptly called the region
" a paradise for echinoderms," and it appears to be the richest known lo-
cality in the world for shallow-water forms of these animals, for Dr.
Clark found 51 species at Maer Island alone, and in addition, he collected
26 others at Badu, Darnley and Thursday Islands; making 177 from
Torres Straits. Thus his collection is a notable addition to that of the
Museum of Comparative Zoology at Harvard, which was probably al-
ready the greatest gathering of specimens of echinoderms in the world.
In almost every instance Mr. Grosse's figure is the only colored drawing
of these Torres Straits species, and thus Dr. Clark's paper will be a
classic upon the subject of tropical Pacific echinoderms.

117 species had been previously recorded from Torres Straits,
and of these, Dr! Clark found only 42, but in addition he found at
least 45 not previously known to science, so that at present fully 250
echinoderms are known from this extraordinary region.

As is well known to physiologists, the important subject of the pene-
tration of living cells by alkalies has for several years engaged the atten-
tion of Dr. E. Newton Harvey, of Princeton, and his results essentially
support Overton's lipoid theory, namely, that those substances which are
most readily dissolved in fat-solvents enter living cells most readily ; and
this leads one to suspect that the cell surface may be lipoid, or fat-like in
nature.

Xo one had been able to test this hypothesis for acids, until Dr. Har-
vey discovered a holothurian at the Murray Islands, Stycopus ananas,
the intestines of which are purplish-red. If placed in acid, however,
they turn bright red, and in alkalies dark purple; and these changes
are reversible and may take place in weak acids or alkalies without kill-
ing the cells. Dr. Harvey used 24 different kinds of acids in dilute
solutions upon this animal and found that those which are most poison-
ous penetrate most rapidly, and all the acids penetrate about in the ratio
of their degree of toxicity. There is, on the other hand, no relation be-
tween the degree of dissociation of an acid and its rate of penetration
of the living cells ; and there is only a fair but by no means perfect
agreement between the rate of penetration and the solubility of an
acid in xylol.

Overton's theory applies, however, with the majority of acids, but
the agreement is not perfect, and hence Harvey concludes that the power
of penetration of an acid depends not only on its lipoid solubility but

230 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

also upon the affinity of the acid for certain protein substances of the
cell surface.

Mr. Frank A. Potts, of Trinity Hall, Cambridge University, reports
that he found at the Murray Islands a small lobster-shaped crustacean
called Alpheus which lives among the arms of crinoids and usually re-
sembles the rich brown or mottled color of its host. Upon examining
some of these Alpheus, Mr. Potts noticed numerous small pink sac-like
bodies attached to their legs and these sacs contain the eggs and young
larva? of a barnacle-like animal which is evidently a parasite infesting
the Alpheus. In fact this degenerate barnacle grows within the tissues
of the Alpheus, and losing all semblance to a crustacean, changes into
a mass of root-shaped branches which at intervals send out sac-like
genital organs, these being the only special organs it possesses. When
the Alpheus moults, the sacs are cast off and each little larva is doubt-
less liberated to wander for a time as a free-swimming minute crusta-
cean and finally to find an Alplieus and to enter its body and change
into a root-like parasite, losing its eyes, legs, antennules, and all organs
of special sense to grow into a mere root-like form which sends out its
genital sacs upon the legs of its unfortunate host. The name of this
very degenerate creature is Thylacoplethus.

Another curious animal which attracted the attention of Mr. Potts
was a crab called Hapalocarcirvus, the female of which settles down while
still very small and immature among the branches of the PocMopora
coral. Here the breathing of the crab produces a water current and this
causes the branches of the coral to thicken and finally to enclose the
crab in a capsule, leaving only a small aperture far too small to permit
of its escape, but large enough to admit the minute male of the species
who visits the chamber at the time the female moults.

Professor David Hilt Tennent, of Bryn Mawr College, while at the
Tortugas Laboratory in Florida, discovered that the hybrid larva? of
certain echini can be caused to resemble either their father or their
mother in response to definite changes in the alkalinity of the sea-
water. The cytology of this matter has attracted much attention and
discussion, and Professor Tennent went with us to the Murray Islands
to continue studies of similar import and to study other hybrid crosses
between echinoderms.

He caused an artificial cross to occur between a crinoid and an
echinus and carried the larva? farther than had previously been done.

Some of Professor Tennent's best studies were carried out upon
Badu Island where members of the expedition enjoyed the privilege of
being the guests of the Eeverend F. W. Walker, the able managing di-
rector of the "Papuan Industries, Limited," which is devoted to de-
veloping arts and crafts among the natives thus to enable them to be-
come self-supporting in the broad civilized sense of the term, and to

CORAL REEFS OF TORRES STRAITS 2.31

restore that self respect and interest in life which the too sudden intro-
duction of civilization has in large measure crushed out among them.
Interesting and hopeful results are heing achieved by this sociological,
rather than purely religious, enterprise. The natives must first learn
how to earn a living before they can make any real advance in the
development of a moral and social standard to which they can hold as
things of their own initiation. At present a mere semblance of civiliza-
tion has been forced upon them from outside, but a race to survive
must be the father of its own ideals.

After leaving the Murray Islands, Mr. Potts and the leader of the
expedition went to Port Moresby, Papua, where His Excellency, the
Honorable John H. P. Murray, the governor, was so kind as to invite
us to be his guests at Government House during the entire period of
our visit.

The English deserve the greatest credit for the altruistic govern-
ment which is being administered to benefit and uplift the native popu-
lation. " Fair play for the Papuan " is the watch- word of the colony.

Malaria is still the dreaded pestilence of Papua, and for generations
yet to come many noble English lives must be extinguished by its
ravages, but- despite the dull heat, the certainty of ennervating illness,
and the vast areas yet unknown to any save the savage in the stone age,
this little band of high-minded men has not lost heart but year by year
intertribal wars, cannibalism and sorcery are becoming things of the
past, and the natives are slowly but willingly acquiring their first lessons
in civilization.

Without detracting from the honor due the missionary who leaves
home and friends and seeks the degraded places of the earth, let us
not forget the equally altruistic civil servant whose hardships and
dangers and devotion to duty we are all too apt to belittle or overlook,
yet whose service though less conspicuous than that of his religious co-
worker is equally significant for the raising of England's standard of
freedom before the eyes of the whole earth.

2 32 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

THE CELLULAE BASIS OF HEEEDITY AND
DEVELOPMENT. II

By Professor EDWIN GRANT CONKLIN

PRINCETON UNIVERSITY

C. The Mechanism of Heredity

The mechanism of heredity, as contrasted with the mechanism of
development, consists in the formation of particular kinds of germ cells
and in the nnion of certain of these cells in fertilization. We have
briefly traced the origin, maturation and union of male and female sex
cells in a number of animals, and in these phenomena we have the
mechanism of the hereditary continuity between successive generations.
But in addition to these specific facts there are certain general consider-
ations which need to be emphasized.

I. The Specificity of Germ Cells

The conclusion is inevitable that the germ cells of different species
and even those of different individuals are not all alike. Every in-
dividual difference between organisms must be clue to one or more dif-
ferentiating causes or factors. Specific results come only from specific
causes. These causes may be found in the organization of the germ
cells or in environmental stimuli, i. e., they may be intrinsic or extrinsic,
but as a matter of fact experience has shown that they are generally
intrinsic in the germ. In the same environment one egg becomes a
chicken and another a duck ; one becomes a frog, and another a fish, and
another a snail; one becomes a black guinea-pig and another a white
one ; one becomes a male and another a female ; one gives rise to a tall
man and another to a short man, etc. Since these differences may occur
in the same environment they must be due to differences in the germ
cells concerned.

On the other hand, different environmental conditions may he asso-
ciated with similar developmental results. Loeb and others have found
that artificial parthenogenesis may be induced by a great variety of
environmental stimuli, viz., by salt solutions, by acids and alkalies, by
fatty acids and fat solvents, by alkaloids and cyanides, by blood serum
and sperm extract, by heat and cold, by agitation and electric current.
There is certainly nothing specific in these different stimuli. Similarly,
Stockard has discovered that cyclopia, or one-eyed monsters, may be pro-
duced by magnesium salts, alcohol, chloretone, chloroform, and ether.
In all such cases it is evident that the specific results of such treatment

THE CELLULAR BASIS OF HEREDITY 233

are clue to a specific organization of the germ rather than to specific
stimuli.

Why does one egg give rise to a chicken and another to a duck, or a
fish, or a frog? Why does one egg give rise to a black guinea-pig and
another to a white one, though both may be produced by the same
parents ? Why does one child differ from another in the same family ?
Why does one cell give rise to a gland and another to a nerve, one
to an egg and another to a sperm? If these differences are not due
to environmental causes, and the evidence shows that they are not, they
must be due to differences in the structures and functions of the cells
concerned.

Many differences in the material substances of cells are visible, and
many more are invisible though still demonstrable. These differences
may not be detectable by chemical or physical tests, and yet they may be
demonstrated physiologically and developmentally. The most delicate
of all tests are physiological, as is shown by the Widal test in typhoid
fever, the Wassermann reaction in syphilis, the reactions of immunized
animals to different toxines, etc. Lillie has recently shown that egg
cells give off a substance which he calls fertilizin, which can be detected
only by the way in which spermatozoa react to it. No chemical or
physical test can distinguish between the different eggs or spermatozoa
produced by the same individual, but the reactions of these cells in
development prove that they are different. Undoubtedly chemical and
physical differences are here present, but no chemical methods at present
available are sufficiently delicate to detect them. The developmental
test proves that there must be as many kinds of germs as there are dif-
ferent kinds of individuals which come from germs. It is one of the
marvelous facts of biology that every individual which has been pro-
duced sexually is unique, the first and last of its identical kind, and
although some of these individual differences are due to varying environ-
ment, others are evidently due to germinal differences, so that we must
conclude that every fertilized egg cell differs in some respects from every
other one.

But are there molecules and atoms enough in a tiny germ cell, such
as a spermatozoon, to allow for all these differences? Miescher has
shown that a molecule of albumin with 40 carbon atoms may have as
many, as one billion stereoisomers, and in protoplasm there are many
kinds of albumin and proteins, some with probably more than 700
carbon atoms. In such a complex substance as protoplasm the possible
variations in molecular constitution must be well-nigh infinite, and it
can not be objected on this ground that it is chemically and physically
impossible to have as many varieties of germ cells as there are different
kinds of individuals in the world.

Even with regard to morphological elements which may be seen with
the microscope it can be shown that an enormous number of permuta-

234 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

tions is possible. It seems probable, as Boveri has shown, that different
chromosomes of the fertilized egg differ in hereditary potencies, and
where the number of chromosomes is fairly large the number of possible
combinations of these chromosomes in the germ cells becomes very great.
In woman, where there are probably 48 chromosomes, and, after
synapsis, 24 pairs of maternal and paternal ones, the possible number
of permutations in the distribution of these chromosomes to the different
egg cells would be (2)24, or 16,777,036, and the possible number of
different types of fertilized eggs or oosperms which could be produced
by a single pair of parents would be (16,777,036) 2, or approximately
three hundred thousand billions. But probably other things than
chromosomes differ in different germ cells, and it is by no means certain
that individual chromosomes are always composed of the same chromo-
meres, or units of the next smaller order, and in view of these possi-
bilities it may well be that every human germ cell differs morpholog-
ically and physiologically from every other one, in short that every
oosperm and every individual which develops from it is absolutely
unique.

Indeed, the production of unique individuals seems to be the chief
purpose and result of sexual reproduction. In a sexual reproduction
the individual variations which occur are chiefly, if not entirely, due
to environment, but in sexual reproduction they are also due to new
combinations of hereditary elements. The particular germinal organi-
zation transmitted from one generation to the next depends upon, (a)
The ancestral organization, (b) The particular character of the cell
divisions by which the germ cells are formed, (c) The particular kinds
of egg and sperm cells which combine in fertilization. The ancestral
organization determines all the general characteristics of race, species,
genus, order, phylum. It determines the possibilities and limitations of
individual variations. Given a certain ancestral organization, the indi-
vidual peculiarities of the germ cells are determined by the particular
character of cell division by which the germ cells are formed, and the
peculiarities of the individuals or persons which develop from these
cells are determined in large part by the particular kinds of germ cells
which unite in fertilization.

The behavior of chromosomes in maturation and fertilization is like
the shuffle and deal of cards in a game, and apparently with the same
object, namely, never to deal the same hand twice. To make this com-
parison more complete suppose that kings be discarded from the pack,
leaving 48 cards of two colors, red and black, which we will compare
to the 48 maternal and paternal chromosomes in the human oocyte ; sup-
pose that in the shuffling of these cards corresponding cards of the red
and the black suits are temporarily stuck together so that the ace of
diamonds is united with the ace of clubs, the queen of hearts with the
queen of spades, etc., thus forming 24 red-black pairs of the same

THE CELLULAR BASIS OF HEREDITY 235

denominations. If these cards are then dealt into two hands, one card
of each pair going to one hand and the other to the other hand, we will
have two cards of each denomination in each hand, but if the cards are
dealt indiscriminately some of them will be red and some black. This
description parallels what takes place in the maturation of the human
ovum, except that there is no evidence that there are more than two
suits of chromosomes, one maternal and the other paternal.

To carry out this comparison in the case of the maturation of the
human sperm where there are only 47 chromosomes it is necessary to
take another pack and discard an additional card, say the queen of
clubs; then in the union of corresponding red and black cards into
pairs the queen of hearts unites with the queen of spades, but the queen
of diamonds remains alone, and when the cards are dealt into two hands
as before one hand will contain 24 cards and the other 23.

If now we complete this comparison by extending it to what takes
place in fertilization we must take one hand from each of these deals
and put them together into one pack; though this pack would contain
cards of every denomination there would be varying numbers of red and
black cards and a mixture of cards from two distinct packs. In no
game of cards do corresponding cards from different packs have slightly
different values nor are half of the cards taken from one pack and half
from another (at every game), but this is just what happens in the
shuffle and deal of the chromosomes. Because of the mixture of chro-
mosomes from distinct individuals in every generation, each of which
has its own peculiar value, the game of heredity becomes vastly more
complex than any game of cards.

This illustration may serve to make plain the fact that the pur-
pose of maturation and fertilization is, in part, this shuffle and deal of
the chromosomes, and its result is that every oosperm and every in-
dividual which develops from it is different from every other one.

This conception of the specificity of every germ cell, as well as of
every developed individual, sets the whole problem of heredity and
development in a clear light. The visible peculiarities of an adult
become invisible as development is traced back to the germ, but they do
not wholly cease to exist. Similarly, the multidinous complexities of
an adult fade out of view as development is traced to its earliest stages,
but it is probable that they are not wholly lost. In short, the specificity
of the germ applies not merely to those things in which it differs from
other germs, but also to characters in which it resembles others — in
short, to hereditary resemblances no less than to hereditary differences.

The mistake of preformation was in supposing that germinal parts
were of the same kind as adult parts ; the mistake of epigenesis was in
maintaining the lack of specific parts in the germ. The development
of every animal and plant consists in the transformation of the specific
characters of the germ into those of the adult, but not in the formation

236 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

of structures or characters de novo. From beginning to end develop-
ment in a series of morphological and physiological changes, but not of
new formations or creations. It is only the incompleteness of our
knowledge of development which allows us to say that the eye or ear or
brain begin to form in this or that stage. They become visible at cer-
tain stages, but their real beginnings are indefinitely remote.

II. Correlations Between Germinal and Somatic Organization

All the world knows that the organization of the germ is not the
same as that of the developed animal which comes from it, and yet the
specificity of the germ indicates that there must be some correlation
between the germinal and the developed organization — in short, there is
not identity of organization, but correlation of organization between the
germ and the adult. What correlations are known to exist between
the oosperm and the developed animal ?

1. Nuclear Correlations

Many biologists maintain that the nucleus and more particularly
the chromosomes are the exclusive seat of the " inheritance material "
and that all the "determiners" of adult characters are located in them.

There are certain general and a priori reasons for assuming that the
chromosomes are important factors in heredity and differentiation;
(1) they come in approximately equal numbers from the father and
the mother, (2) one half of each of the maternal and paternal chromo-
somes is distributed to each cell of the developing organism, (3) in the
formation of the egg and sperm cells the normal number of chromosomes
is reduced by one half, and (4) in fertilization the normal number is
restored by the union of the chromosomes of the egg and sperm. It is
a remarkable fact that the determiners or factors of certain inherited
characters come in equal numbers from both parents and that in spite
of their ultimate association in an individual they may be separated or
"segregated" in the formation of that individual's germ cells. Such
inheritance is known as Mendelian and will be treated at length in the
next lecture, but it may be said here that the association, distribution
and segregation of Mendelian factors and of maternal and paternal
chromosomes is exactly parallel. This is strong evidence that these
factors are associated with the chromosomes.

There are also certain special reasons for considering that the
chromosomes are important factors in heredity and development. (5)
Boveri has studied the abnormal distribution of chromosomes to dif-
ferent cleavage cells in doubly fertilized sea-urchin eggs, and has found
evidence that the hereditary value of different chromosomes is different.

(6) McClung, Stevens and Wilson have discovered that the determi-
nation of sex is associated with the presence or absence of a particular
chromosome, the X-chromosome, in the spermatozoon which fertilizes

THE CELLULAR BASIS OF HEREDITY 237

the egg. If an egg is fertilized by a sperm which lacks the X-ebromo-
some a male is produced; if fertilized by the other type a female results.
(7) Finally, Morgan has found that there is a linkage of certain somatic
characters with sex in the fruit fly, Drosophila, which can be readily
explained by assuming that the determiners for these characters are
in some way associated with the sex chromosome.

We have in these facts a remarkable correlation between the dis-
tribution of the chromosomes and the occurrence of certain characters
of the adult animal. The association of maternal and paternal chromo-
somes in fertilization and their segregation in the maturation of the
germ cells is parallel to the association of Mendelian characters in the
zygote and their segregation in the gametes; if the distribution of
chromosomes in cleavage is abnormal the larva shows abnormal char-
acters (Boveri) ; sex determination is associated with the distribution of
a particular chromosome to one half of the spermatozoa, and the fertil-
ization of the egg by one type or the other of spermatozoa (Wilson) ;
the linkage of certain characters with sex finds a ready explanation by
assuming that these characters are associated with the sex chromosome
(Morgan).

2. Cytoplasmic Correspondences

On the other hand, the most direct and the earliest recognized cor-
relations between the oosperm and the developed animal are found in
the polarity and symmetry of the fertilized egg and of the animal to
which it gives rise.

(a) Polarity

In all eggs there is a polar differentiation, one pole, at which the
maturation divisions take place, being known as the animal pole, and the
opposite one being known as the vegetative pole. The substance of the
egg in the vicinity of the animal pole usually gives rise to the ectoderm,
or outer cell layer of the embryo; the portion of the egg surrounding
the vegetative pole usually becomies the endoderm or inner cell layer.
The axis which connects these poles, the chief axis of the egg, becomes
the gastrular axis of the embryo and in every great group of animals
bears a constant relationship to the chief axis of the adult animal. The
polarity of the developed animal is thus directly connected with the
polarity of the egg from which it came (Figs. 23, 26, 29, 30, 40, 41).

(b) Symmetry

In many cases the symmetry of the developed animal is foreshadowed
in the symmetry of the egg. The eggs of cephalopods (Fig. 40) and of
insects (Fig. 41) are bilaterally symmetrical, while they are still in the
ovary; in other cases, such as ascidians, amphioxus and the frog,
bilateral symmetry appears immediately after fertilization (Fig. 29, 1,
2), though in some of these cases there is reason to believe that the

238

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

eggs are bilateral even before fertilization; in still other cases bilater-
ality does not become visible until later in development and we do not
now know whether it is present in earlier stages or not; but wherever
it can be recognized in the earlier stages it is certain that the bilateral

Fig. 40. Fig. 41.

Fig. 40. Outlines op the Unfertilized Egg of a Squid, Lollgo, showing the
polarity and symmetry of the egg with reference to the axes of the developed animal ;
d, dorsal; v, ventral; I, left; r, right; a, anterior; p, posterior. (After Watase.)

Fig. 41. Median Section through Egg of a Fly, Musca, just after fertilization,
showing the relations of the polarity and symmetry of the egg to the axes of the de-
veloped animal ; the long axis of the egg corresponds to the antero-posterior axis of
the animal ; d, dorsal ; v, ventral ; m, micropyle through which sperm enters the egg ;
g, glutinous cap over the micropyle ; r, polar bodies ; p, egg and sperm nuclei ; do,
yolk ; k, peripheral layer of protoplasm ; dli, vitteline membrane of egg ; ch, chorion.
(After Korschelt and Heider.)

symmetry of the egg bcomes the bilateral symmetry of the developed
animal.

(c) Inverse Symmetry
In most animals bilateral symmetry is not perfect, certain organs
being found on one side of the mid line and not on the other, or being
larger or differently located on one side as compared with the other;
among all such animals variations occasionally occur which show a
complete reversal of these asymmetrical organs, i. e., in man the heart
and arch of the aorta may occur on the right side instead of the left,
the pyloris and chief portion of the liver on the left instead of the
right, etc. Among certain snails this inversion of symmetry may occur
regularly in certain species and not in others, the inverse form being
known as sinistral and the ordinary form as dextral (Fig. 44). In
these sinistral snails, and probably in all animals showing inverse sym-
metry, the embryo is inversely symmetrical and every cleavage of the
egg from the first to the last is the inverse of that which occurs in

THE CELLULAR BASIS OF HEREDITY 239

dextral snails (Figs. 42, 43). There is good reason to believe that in
such cases the unsegmented egg is also inversely symmetrical as com-
pared with the more usual type (Kg. 42). In all of these cases there
is a direct correspondence between the polarity and symmetry of the

Fig 42. Inverse Symmetry in the Unsegmented Egg and in the First and
Second Cleavages. Figs. 42, 43, 44. The cause of inverse symmetry in snails. In
each case the right-hand column represents dextral forms, the left-hand column sinis-
tral ones.

oosperm and the polarity and symmetry of the developed animal (Fig.
40-44).

(d) Localization Pattern

In many animals the ectoderm, endoderm and mesoderm may be
traced back to areas of peculiar protoplasm in the oosperm, but in
addition to this one can recognize in the ascidian egg areas of peculiar
protoplasm which will give rise to mesenchyme, muscles, nervous system
and notochord, and these substances are present in the oosperm in the

240

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

approximate positions and proportions which they will have in the
embryo and larva (Figs. 28-31).

Indeed, there are types of localization of these cytoplasmic materials
in the egg which are characteristic of certain phyla; thus there are the
ctenophore, the flat-worm, the echinoderm, the annelid, mollusk and
the chordate types of cytoplasmic localization (Fig. 45). The polarity,
symmetry and pattern of a jelly fish, star-fish, worm, mollusk, insect or
vertebrate are forshadowed by the characteristic polarity, symmetry and

Fig. 43. Invebse Symmetry of the 3d, 4th. 5th and 6th cleavages. The
cells la-Id, 2u-2d and 3a-3rf give rise to all the ectoderm ; 4tf or M gives rise to meso-
derm ; Aj B, Cj D to endoderm.

pattern of the cytoplasm of the egg either before or immediately after
fertilization. In all of these phyla eggs may develop without fertiliza-
tion, either by natural or by artificial parthenogenesis, and in such cases
the characteristic polarity, symmetry and pattern of the adult are
found in the cytoplasm of the egg just as if the latter had been fertil-
ized. The conclusion seems to be justified that these earliest and most
fundamental differentiations which distinguished the eggs of various
phyla are not dependent upon the sperm.

THE CELLULAR BASIS OF HEREDITY

241

All of these correspondences between the polarity, symmetry and
pattern of the egg and of the developed animal are found in the cytoplasm.
It is possible that the polarity may be carried over from generation to
generation through the egg cell, but the symmetry and localization

Fig. 44. Inverse Symmetry in Late Embryos and Adult Stages. In 1, cross
hatched area is blastopore ; cells shaded by lines mesoderm, other cells endoderm ; the
spiral twist of the snail begins in opposite directions in the two embryos. In 2 the
adult organization is shown with all organs inversely symmetrical ; os, olfactory or-
gan ; a, anus ; L, lung ; V, ventricle ; K, kidney. In 3 sinistral and dextral shells of
adult snails are shown.

pattern develop in the ovum before or just after maturation. In this
differentiation and localization of the egg cytoplasm it is probable that

VOL. lxxxv. — 17.

242

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

certain influences have come from the nucleus of the egg, and perhaps
from the egg chromosomes. There is no doubt that most of the differ-
entiations of the egg cytoplasm have arisen during the ovarium history
of the egg, and as a result of the interaction of nucleus and cytoplasm ;

CTENOPHORE

ect.

TURBELLARIAN
.ect

mes.

ECHINODERM

ASCIDIANII

end.

eci

ASCJDlAN II

ect.

AKNEIID

c-9x«

jft?^&£\^

\

J proto. |

1 \
1 1 1

v_

A. ^Nw .

ig$RH>V. /

" ( ' y

|pP%ns,

end. ~~~==

end.

Fig. 45. Types op Egg Organization in Difpeeent Phyla ; cross-hatched area,
mesoderm or mesenchyme (mes) ; horizontal lines, endoderm (end) ; ciear area, ecto-
derm (ect). In the first four figures the pattern of localization Is that which is
found at the close of the first cleavage ; in the annelid egg the localization of later
stages is projected upon the egg.

but the fact remains that at the time of fertilization the hereditary
potencies of the two germ, cells are not equal, all the early stages of
development, including the polarity, symmetry, type of cleavage, and
the pattern, or relative positions and proportions of future organs, being
foreshadowed in the cytoplasm of the egg cell, while only the differ-
entiations of later development are influenced by the sperm. In short,
the egg cytoplasm fixes the general type of development and the sperm
and egg nuclei supply only the details.

We are vertebrates because our mothers were vertebrates and pro-

THE CELLULAR BASIS OF HEREDITY 243

duced eggs of the vertebrate pattern ; but the color of our skin and hair
and eyes, our sex, stature, and mental peculiarities were determined by
the sperm as well as by the egg from which we came. There is evi-
dence that the chromosomes of the egg and sperm are the seat of the
differential factors or determiners for Mendelian characters, while the
general polarity, symmetry and pattern of the embryo are determined
by the cytoplasm of the egg.

It will be observed that the correlation between chromosomes and
adult characters is different in kind from that between the cytoplasm
of the egg and the adult characters ; in the latter case polarity, symmetry
and pattern are of the same kind in the egg and in the adult, and the
correspondence is comparatively close; in the latter there is no cor-
respondence in kind between the chromosomal peculiarities and the
peculiarities of the adult. This fact might suggest that the chromo-
somal organization may be more fundamental than that of the cyto-
plasm. There are reasons for believing that many substances of the
cell are formed by the interaction of nucleus and cytoplasm, and most
probably the chromosomes are an important factor in this process. But
in no case is the cytoplasm a negligible factor — in no case does it serve
merely as food for the chromosomes. The entire cell, nucleus and
cytoplasm, is concerned in heredity and differentiation.

D. The Mechanism of Development

Development consists in the transformation of the oosperm into the
adult. What is the mechanism by which this transformation is
effected? There is progressive differentiation of the germ into the
developed organism, but by what process is this differentiation ac-
complished ?

Many different processes are concerned in embryonic differentiation.
From the standpoint of the cell the most important of these are (1) the
formation of different kinds of substances in cells, (2) the localization
and isolation of these substances, (3) the transformation of these sub-
stances into the various structures which are characteristic of the dif-
ferent kinds of tissue cells. We shall here describe only the first and
second of these processes which are of more general interest than
the last.

1. The Formation of Different Substances in Cells

Differentiation consists primarily in the formation of different kinds
of protoplasm from the proptoplasm of the germ cells. It is plain that
different kinds of protoplasm are present in the two germ cells before
they unite in fertilization, but in the course of development the number
of these substances and the degree of difference between them greatly
increase.

Actual observation shows that by the interaction with one another of

244 TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

substances or parts originally present and by their reactions to external
stimuli new substances and parts appear which had no previous exist-
ence, just as new substances result from chemical reactions. This is
" creative synthesis " in philosophy, epigenesis in development. Differ-
entiations appear chiefly in the cytoplasm, but only as the result of inter-
action between cytoplasm and nucleus. Similarly, it may be argued,
smaller units of organization, such as chromosomes or chromosomeres, do
not in themselves give rise to any adult part, but only as they interact
upon one another are new parts formed.

In many cases the first formation of such new substances appears in
the immediate vicinity of the nucleus and, like assimilation itself, is
evidently brought about by the interaction of nucleus and cytoplasm.
In certain cases it can be seen that the achromatin and oxychromatin
which escape from the nucleus during division take part in the forma-
tion of new substances in the cell body, and since the oxychromatin is
derived from the chromosomes of the previous cell division, it is probable
that the chromosomes are a factor in this process.

Weismann maintained that the chromosomes and the inheritance
units contained in them undergo differentiation by a process of disin-
tegration and that these disintegrated units escape into the cell body
and there produce different kinds of cytoplasm in different cells. A
somewhat similar view was advanced by deVries in his theory of intra-
cellular pangenesis. However, as we have seen already, there is good
evidence that the chromosomes do not undergo progressive differentia-
tion in the course of development; they always divide with exact
equality, and even in highly differentiated tissue cells their number and
form remain as in embryonic cells.

On the other hand, the cytoplasm undergoes progressive differentia-
tion, and when by pressure or centrifugal force such differentiated cyto-
plasm is brought into relations with strange nuclei the differentiations
of the cytoplasm are not altered thereby, thus showing that the dif-
ferent nuclei are essentially alike and that differentiations are mainly
limited to the cytoplasm. Thus the differentiations of cells are not due
to the differentiations of their nuclei, but rather the reverse is true, —
such differentiations of nuclei as occur are due to differentiations of
cytoplasm in which they lie. Nevertheless, differentiations do not take
place in the absence of nuclear material, and it seems probable that the
interaction of nucleus and cytoplasm are necessary to the formation of
the new cytoplasmic substances which appear in the course of devel-
opment.

2. Segregation and Isolation of Different Substances in Cells

But differentiation consists not only in the formation of different
kinds of substances in cells, but also in the separation of these substances
from one another. This separation is brought about to a great extent

THE CELLULAR BASIS OF HEREDITY 245

by flowing movements within cells which are associated especially with
differential cell division.

In all these processes of heredity and development cell division plays
a particularly important part. If cell divisions were always exactly
alike there could be no initial difference between the daughter cells, and
unless acted upon by different stimuli all cells would remain exactly
alike. But there is much evidence that daughter cells are often unlike
from the time of their formation, and that different stimuli act upon
them to still further increase this initial difference.

(a) Differential and Non-differential Cell Division

When each half of any dividing unit is like the other half the divi-
sion is non-differential. So far as we now know the divisions of all the
smallest elements of the cell are of this sort; there is no good evidence
that the plastosomes, the chromomeres, or the chromosomes ever divide
into unlike halves, though in the maturation divisions the separation of
whole chromosomes leads to the appearance of a differential division of
the chromosomes. But while all of the cell elements may be supposed to
grow and divide into equivalent halves, there may be an unequal distri-
bution of these halves in cell division, so that the two daughter cells are
unlike. This is what is known as differential cell division and it plays
a most important part in differentiation. While the chromosomes are
equally distributed to the daughter cells, except in the case of the
maturation divisions, the achromatin and the oxychromatin of the
nucleus are not always distributed equally and this is probably a most
important factor in development. The divisions of the cytoplasm of
the egg are frequently differential and such divisions are known to play
a great part in the embryonic differentiation.

In the differential divisions of the cytoplasm unlike substances be-
come localized in certain parts of the cell body, chiefly by means of
definite flowing movements of the cytoplasm, and when cell division
occurs these substances become permanently separated by partition
walls. In this way irreversible differentiations are formed. If the
formation of partition walls is prevented, the different substances within
the cell body may freely commingle, especially during nuclear division
when the cytoplasmic movements are especially active; in such cases
differentiation is arrested even though nuclear division continues. In
the developing eggs of most animals partition walls between daughter
cells are necessary to prevent the commingling of different kinds of sub-
stances, which are sorted by the movements within the cell and are
isolated by the partition walls. In some cases, as for example, in cer-
tain protozoa, the commingling of different kinds of protoplasm within
a cell may be prevented by the viscosity of portions of the protoplasm,
or by the formation of intracellular membranes, or by a reduction to a
minimum of the mitotic movements within the cell by the persistence of

246 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

the nuclear membrane during division. In general the degree of dif-
ferentiation may be measured by the degree of unlikeness btween differ-
ent cells, and by the completeness with which the protoplasm of different
cells is prevented from intermingling.

All the phenomena of life, including heredity and development, are
cellular phenomena in that they include only the activities of cells or
of cell aggregates. The cell is the ultimate independent unit of organic
structure and function. The only living bond between one generation
and the next is found in the sex cells and all inheritance must take place
through these cells. Inherited traits are not transmitted from parents
to offspring but the germinal factors or causes are transmitted, and
under proper conditions of environment these give rise to developed
characters. Every oosperm as well as every developed organism differs
more or less from every other one and this remarkable condition is
brought about by extremely numerous permutations in the distribution
of certain parts of the sex cells in maturation and fertilization. Sex
is an inherited character dependent upon an alternative distribution of
certain chromosomes of the nucleus. There is much evidence that the
factors for all sorts of alternative characters are associated with the
chromosomes. The differentiation of the oosperm into the developed
organism is accomplished in part by the associations and dissociations
of germinal units which lead to the formation of new materials and
by the segregation and localization of these materials in definite cells.

Germ cells and probably all other kinds of cells are almost incredibly
complex. We know that former students of the cell greatly under-
estimated this complexity and there is no reason to suppose that we
have fully comprehended it. What Darwin said of the entire organism
may now be said of every cell.

An organic being is a microsome — a little universe, formed of a host of self-
propagating organisms, inconceivably minute and numerous as the stars in
heaven.

DECREASING POPULATION OF FRANCE 247

THE DECREASING POPULATION OF FRANCE

By Pbofessor JAMES W. GARNER

THE DNIVEBSITX OF ILLINOIS

I. The Present Status of the Population

ONE of the leading newspapers of France, in an editorial in Feb-
ruary, 1912, declared that the day on which the results of the
next quinquennial census were known would be one of national mourn-
ing for the people of France. The Parisian journals in commenting
on the census returns when they were made public in May, 1912, char-
acterized the conditions which they revealed by such terms as "de-
plorable," " profoundly desolating," " extremely disquieting," " lament-
able" and "dolorous." The prevailing tone of their comments was as
if the country had experienced some great calamity or had suffered a
national bereavement. So profoundly impressed was the government
that it proceeded at once to appoint an extra-parliamentary commission
(the second since 1902), to "investigate the question of depopulation,
and to recommend measures for combatting the evils which threaten
the extinction of the nation." M. Klotz, minister of finance, in his ad-
dress to the commission, urged upon it the necessity of prosecuting its
investigations with celerity, for, he said, " depopulation is no longer a
vague menace to our country; it is a national danger, at once pressing
and immediate, and one which demands rapid and efficient measures."
M. Leon Bourgeois, addressing the Congress for Social Hygiene about
the same time, spoke in a similar tone, declaring that France was threat-
ened with two dangers, one foreign and one domestic. "While she was
prepared to make any sacrifice, he said, for the cause of national de-
fense, she must also consider seriously the danger with which the coun-
try is confronted by the decline of the birth-rate and the comparatively
high rate of mortality among the French people. Speaking before the
same congress, Senator Eibot, a former premier, declared that " our
people must be instructed in the perils that menace us ; it will require
all the resources and strength of the government to combat success-
fully the dangers which now imperil the very existence of the French
people." No one can read the comments of the statistical experts,
sociologists, economists and publicists on the census returns of 1911
without feeling that the nation is really alarmed at the seriousness of
the danger with which it is confronted. The census revealed the fact
that in 64 of the 87 departments into which France is divided the pop-
ulation had decreased during the past five years and that the number

248 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

of births during the preceding year in the nation at large was inferior
by 34,869 to the number of deaths. True, the total population of the
republic increased during the quinquennial period (1906-11), but this
increase represented almost entirely the growth of Paris and a few other
large cities, itself a result of foreign immigration, which now averages
over 120,000 persons a year. Only 23 departments (the number was 55
in 1910) showed any increase at all, and except in those departments
containing large cities, the increase was trifling. The departments of
Upper Loire, Lot and Yonne each lost about 11,000 inhabitants, Allier
and Manche, over 11,000, Somme, 12,400, Nievre, 14,600 and Ardeche
over 15,000.

The disquieting feature of the situation is that while the popula-
tion of France has long been practically stationary and is now begin-
ning to decline, that of her neighbors continues to increase by leaps and
bounds. While the French population since 1872 has increased only
from 36,102,000 to 39,601,000, or only about three and a half millions,
that of Germany has increased from 40,000,000 to 65,000,000, or a gain
of 15,000,000 souls, and this in spite of the several millions that Ger-
many has lost by emigration to foreign lands. During this period the
population of the United Kingdom has increased from 31,840,000 to
more than 45,000,000; Austria-Hungary from 35,700,000 to more than
49,000,000, and Eussia from about 80,000,000 to 155,000,000 (1908),
and all this notwithstanding the heavy loss which these countries have
sustained through emigration to foreign countries and to their colonies.

M. Bertillon, speaking before the Society of Friends of the Univer-
sity of Paris, in 1912, called attention to the fact that in 1815 the
French constituted 18 per cent, of the civilized people of the world ; now
they constitute only 10 per cent. Against 50,000,000 people who speak
French, there are to-day, he says, 120,000,000 who speak German and
150,000,000 who speak English. In 1789 France stood first among the
powers of Europe in respect to population ; to-day she stands sixth and
is followed closely by Italy. M. Bertillon pointed out the economic and
other consequences to the nation that must result from this loss of pop-
ulation. French exports have almost ceased to increase for lack of
producers and manufacturers, while those of Germany have nearly
doubled during the last thirty years. In case of war Germany now has
fifty per cent, more conscripts than France to put into the field
whereas forty years ago the two countries were in this respect on a
footing of practical equality. France has no men available to send to
her colonies and few to spread French influence abroad. M. Bertillon
calls attention to the fact that technical and scientific works whose
readers are necessarily limited in numbers but which nevertheless are
the essential marks of progress will be published in the language
spoken by the largest number of people. For Europe this language was
once French, but it has ceased to be such. During the past century, while

DECREASING POPULATION OF FRANCE 249

the birth-rate of all the other countries of Europe greatly increased, that
of France steadily declined. In 1801, the number of births in France
was 1,007,000, by 1836 the number had fallen to 927,000, in 1876,
it was 847,000; in 1896, 807,000; in 1901, 857,114 and in 1911,
742,114. In 1897 the number of births exceeded the number of deaths
by 108,000; in 1902 the excess was 83,000; in 1906 it was only 26,000
and in 1911 there was, as I have said, a deficit of 34,869, an amount
equal to the loss of a city the size of Luneville, Verdun or Bar-le-Duc.

While the natural increase in the population of France has for many
years been a negligible quantity, the average annual excess of legitimate
births over deaths in Germany is at present in the neighborhood of
750,000 (last year it was 900,000) ; in Austria-Hungary more than
600,000; in the United Kingdom nearly 500,000 and in Italy more
than 300,000. The fact that Germany in particular is adding by natural
increase nearly a million souls to her human resources every year, while
France is not only adding nothing to hers, but, on the contrary, is
losing a portion of what she has, is not only a source of disquietude, but
of genuine alarm. In a sense Von Moltke did not exaggerate when he
said Germany is gaining every year a battle over France by reason of
the addition to her population of nearly a million souls. Nor did M.
deFoville, of the Institute, when he declared that France is losing every
fifteen years four army corps.

The recent census statistics show a declining birth-rate in all the
departments without exception. In many of them the rate of mortality
exceeds the birth-rate by a third, while in some it is twice as great.
From 1810 to 1911, the birth-rate for France, as a whole, decreased
from 31.8 per thousand to 19.6, while in some departments, like Ga-
ronne, it is only 13.6; in certain parts of Normandy and Gascony it is
as low as 10.9 and even 8. According to statistics published by the
city of Paris in April of last year there was an average of but one birth
in the capital for every thirty families during the past year.

Parallel with the decreasing birth-rate has gone a steady diminu-
tion in the size of French families. In 1800 each household had an
average of 4.24 children; in 1860 it had fallen to 3.16, now it is
slightly more than two and among many categories of persons like the
wealthy of Paris, poorly paid state employes and small landed pro-
prietors in certain provinces it is still smaller, in some cases being as
low as 1.5.

According to official statistics published in 1908 by the ministry of
labor, there were 1,804,710 families in France that had no children;
2,966,171 that had only one child; 2,661,978 that had two; 1,643,415,
that had three, and only 987,392 that had four. Altogether there were
only 2,238,780 families having four or more children, leaving 9,076,274
families having from but one to three or none at all.

25 o TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

II. Causes

A variety of causes, hygienic, social, economic and legal, have been
offered in explanation of the conditions described above in respect to
the state of the French population. First of all, an unnecessarily high
rate of mortality among the French people is said to be partly respon-
sible. For all France the number of deaths per 1,000 of population is
in the neighborhood of 20, whereas in England, Holland, the Scandi-
navian countries, Germany and Switzerland it is considerably lower,
the rate being as low as 14 in Norway and 17 in Sweden. Infantile
mortality is especially high in France, one third of all deaths occurring
before the end of the third year. The ravages of tuberculosis among
the French also contribute greatly to the elevation of the death rate.
M. Bourgeois recently stated before the Congress of Social Hygiene that
although the death-rate from tuberculosis had fallen in England and
Germany from 11 per 10,000 of the population, the rate in France was
22.5. The rate of mortality on account of this disease is especially
high in Paris, where in 1908 there were 13,600 deaths therefrom.

Alcoholism was declared by the Klotz commission to be partly re-
sponsible for the high infantile mortality and to some extent also for
the small birth-rate. The commission produced statistics to show
that in those departments where there has been a large increase in the
consumption of alcohol, there has been a corresponding increase in the
rate of infantile mortality. Senator Eibot declares that alcoholism and
tuberculosis are fast obliterating the French race and this opinion is
supported by the testimony of a number of noted specialists in alcoholic
diseases. Statistics show that there has been an enormous increase in
the amount of alcohol consumed in France (the average per capita
consumption is about fourteen litres per year and in certain cities of
Normandy it is as high as twenty-nine) and they also show that a large
percentage of the inmates of the hospitals and insane asylums are alco-
holics. But as M. Bertillon has declared, while alcoholism is undoubt-
edly exerting a terrible effect upon the quality of the young and is con-
tributing to race degeneracy, it is not an immediate cause of sterility
and does not necessarily affect the number of births. Moreover, there
are other nations where the evil of alcoholism is equally great, for ex-
ample, England, Germany and Belgium, and yet those countries have
a relatively high birth-rate.

The decline of religious faith and of traditional beliefs among the
French is regarded by many persons, among whom may be mentioned
the distinguished economist, Paul Leroy-Beaulieu, as one of the con-
tributory causes for the small birth-rate. The scriptural injunction to
multiply and replenish the earth no longer has the moral influence upon
the French mind which it once had. The obligation to rear families
which has always been regarded as a religious duty naturally rests

DECREASING POPULATION OF FRANCE 251

lightly upon a people who have all but repudiated religion. The ad-
versaries of religion, however, place the responsibility for the low birth
rate at the door of Catholicism which has not only withdrawn from
married life a large portion of the population both male and female,
but does not encourage marriage among the laity. The latter charge
the catholics emphatically deny, and as evidence that Catholicism is not
responsible they point to Brittany, Finistere and other strongly catho-
lic provinces where the birth-rate is the highest in France. If the birth-
rate for all France, says M. Leroy-Beaulieu had been since 1871 equal
to that of Finistere, France would have to-day 53,000,000 inhabitants
instead of only 39,000,000. Moreover, the catholics point out that in
Quebec, a strongly French catholic province, the birth-rate is more
than twice as high as that of France, and that Belgium with its compar-
atively high birth-rate is a country where Catholicism is strongly in-
trenched. It is sometimes complained that one cause of the evil is to
be found in the paucity of marriages, but the statistics show that there
has been a steady increase in the number for many years (e. g., from
269,332 in 1890 to 307,788 in 1911, and this notwithstanding the fact
that there was little increase of population during this period), yet the
birth-rate has declined. It seems clear that it is not more marriages
that France needs, but more productive marriages; it is infecundity
that is responsible for the diminishing population and not lack of mari-
tal unions.

Some students of the question, like M. Henri Joly, see in the grant-
ing of divorces, the number of which steadily increases every year, one
of the secondary causes; but this may be doubted. On the contrary, it
might be argued that divorce conduces to the increase of the birth-rate
by permitting the dissolution of sterile unions and the contracting of
others. Moreover, there was no divorce law in France before 1884, yet
the population had long since ceased to increase except in trifling pro-
portions. Finally, divorce is practised in other countries where the
birth-rate is high ; if it contributes to the diminution of the population
in France, why does it not have the same effect elsewhere? The pro-
hibition of the judicial determination of paternity in the case of illegi-
mate children has long been regarded as a secondary cause of the low
birth-rate, since it encourages illicit cohabitation in the place of law-
ful marriages. This legal incentive to " free unions " has been removed,
however, during the past year by the enactment of a law empowering
the courts to ascertain and determine the father of an illegitimate
child which he refuses to recognize. The enactment of this law, says
the Temps, was a great victory in the interests of morals and humanity
and one which required fifty years to achieve.

The spirit of luxury and ease and the high state of wealth are also
held responsible for the disinclination among the French to rear chil-
dren. The census statistics show that in the richest regions of France,

25 2 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

like Normandy, Burgundy and the Valley of the Garonne, the birth-
rate is the lowest, while in the poorest provinces like Brittainy, the Nord
and Lozere it is the highest. They show also that it is twice as high
among the poor of Paris as among the rich and that it is fifty per cent,
higher among fishermen and sailors than among landlords and the pro-
fessional classes. But this is a phenomenon not peculiar to France; it
is found in all countries where there is a high state of civilization and
therefore does not explain why the birth-rate is lower in France than
in other countries where similar conditions prevail.

Our conclusion, therefore, is that the principal causes of the low
birth-rate are not due to external conditions, social, legal or religious,
but are the result of the general attitude of the French toward family
life. The relatively high rate of mortality, inadequate hygienic condi-
tions, alcoholism, divorce and the other causes mentioned may be con-
tributory factors, but the chief reason is that the French people do not
desire to have children. This attitude has been powerfully accentuated
by the neo-Malthusian propagandists who by personal solicitation and
the distribution of literature encourage the voluntary limitation of
births and the practise of abortion, under the pretext of hygiene and
the dissemination of philosophic and scientific doctrines. Limitation
of the population is to them a legitimate means of combatting poverty
and misery, a policy all the more justifiable, they argue, because of the
high cost of living and the increasingly hard struggle for existence.
Quality rather than quantity of population, they maintain, is the true
test of civilization and national greatness. Moreover, the population
of France is already as large as its resources can adequately support and
therefore nothing is to be gained by producing a surplus to be forced
by necessity to emigrate to America or to Madagascar and to the colon-
ies of Africa. This very active propaganda is now being vigorously
combatted as a national crime by men like Jules Lemaitre, Edmond
Perrier, Senator Berenger and others, and a bill for its suppression is
being considered by the senate with every likelihood of becoming a law
at an early date. Statistics seem to leave no .doubt that the propaganda
in favor of race suicide is exerting a marked influence on the birth-rate
in many parts of France. In Eoubaix, for example, where it has been
particularly active, the number of births decreased from 3,837 in 1897
to 2,568 in 1906. Likewise in Turcoing the birth-rate has fallen
from 34 per 1,000 inhabitants to 19 since the beginning of the
propaganda in that city. This propaganda, says Dr. Lebec, is costing
France an army corps every five years. Senator Paul Strauss in re-
porting the conclusions of the extra-parliamentary commission on de-
population recently referred to the " agonizing results " of the Malthu-
sian crusade, and declared that statistics collected by Dr. Doleris
showed that between 1898 and 1904 the number of cases of abortions
treated in the maternity hospitals had tripled and that the number

DECREASING POPULATION OF FRANCE 253

represented 18 per cent, of all cases treated in such institutions. In
Paris the number of abortions is estimated to exceed the number of
births and fully two thirds of these are said to be provoked. Dr.
Georges Bertillon estimates that the annual number of such cases is not
less than 50,000 for all France, and Premier Barthou in the course of
the discussion during the past summer of a proposed law to restrain
the practises of the Malthusians asserted that the number of abortions
was probably as high as 100,000 per year.

One undoubted reason for the voluntary limitation of the number
of births is to be found in the small incomes of the laboring classes and
the petty employes of the state. That a laborer who receives but 80
cents a day or a letter carrier whose salary is only 200 or 250 dollars a
year can not rear a family, especially in a city like Paris, however much
he may desire to do so, is a proposition which is scarcely controvertible.
Consequently they feel under an economic necessity of limiting the size
of their families. It is notorious that the number of functionaries in
France is excessive (nearly one million, or one fortieth of the total pop-
ulation) and that they are miserably paid, their average salary being
scarcely more than 500 dollars per year. This explains why the birth-
rate among them is lower than that of any other class except the rich,
the average number of children per family being but one and a half.

Students of the depopulation problem are all agreed that another
important cause of the voluntary limitation of births is the excessive
spirit of economy and the passion for saving which prevails among all
classes in France and especially among peasants, shopkeepers and small
proprietors. Statistics show that in those communities where the num-
ber of certificates of deposit in the savings banks is the largest, the
birth-rate is the lowest. Every father feels under the necessity of pro-
viding a dot for his daughter and it is one of his chief ambitions to
leave an inheritance for his sons. Among the poorer classes this am-
bition can be realized only when the number of children is limited.
There is also among the French an extreme reluctance to see their
fortune divided through the operation of inheritance laws. As the
existing law does not permit free testamentary disposition, but allows
each child an equal share of the inheritance, the only way by which the
father can prevent the division of his estate after his death is to leave
but a single child to inherit it. The French peasant loves his land
more than he loves children, and his ideal is, therefore, a single heir
married to a single heiress. He is willing to have his name disappear
with his death if his heir is a girl, rather than see his estate divided,
which must necessarily be the case if he leaves several children. There-
fore he leaves only one. M. Paul Leroy-Beaulieu, who since the death
of M. Levasseur is probably the highest authority in France on matters
relating to population, attributes the low birth-rate to the new demo-
cratic conception of the family — a view which regards children as a

2 54 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

burden and which desires that the family from one generation to
another shall rise in the social scale. Every parent desires that his
children shall occupy a higher social position than he himself did. The
laborer's ambition is to see his son a landlord or a functionary; the
peasant wants his son to be a monsieur, an advocate, a doctor or a mer-
chant; and the petit bourgeois has similar ambitions. The only means
of realizing such ambitions is to limit the number of children to whom
the fortune is to be left. This capillarite so dale — this striving of each
social molecule to rise higher in the organism — is, he thinks, the prin-
cipal cause of the infecundity of the French race, at least during recent
years.

III. Proposed Kemedies

Such are the more important causes to which are attributed the de-
clining population of France. Turning now to a consideration of the
proposed remedies, we find that they are as various as the causes and are
hygienic, legislative, administrative, fiscal and social in character. First
of all, the death-rate, especially among infants, may, and should be,
reduced to the level attained in other countries of Europe. More than
one sixth of the children born in France, or between 150,000 and 170,-
000, die every year, and of these one third die during the first month
after birth. This is a "veritable disaster" to the nation, says the com-
mission on depopulation, and it should be met by better sanitary meas-
ures, medical surveillance, more effective inspection of the milk supply
and gratuitous assistance to the poor. Maternal nourishment should
be encouraged by every means, in default of which measures should be
taken to assure a supply of sterilized milk to children who are de-
pendent upon the dairy for their nourishment. Furthermore, legisla-
tion should be enacted forbidding the employment of mothers in indus-
trial establishments at least six weeks before and after accoudiement,
and such establishments should be required to provide places at which
babies may be nourished by their mothers.1 By such measures as these
at least 50,000 children, it is claimed, could be saved for the nation
every year.

State aid and initiative in the construction of cheap tenement
houses for large families, in the cities where rents are high and the cost
of living excessive, has been advocated by many social reformers. Last
year the parliament adopted a building code governing the erection of
such houses, and it contained special provisions in favor of large fam-
ilies. During the past year a law was also passed providing for public
assistance for large families and making the expense of such assistance
obligatory upon the departments, but providing also that the state and
the communes should share a portion of the cost. The law enacts that
every head of a family having more than three legitimate children and

i Such a law has been enacted since the above waa written.

DECREASING POPULATION OF FRANCE 255

the resources of which are insufficient for their support shall receive an
additional grant for every child above the third under thirteen years of
age. The amount of the allocation is to be determined by the munici-
pal council subject to the approval of the Council General and the
Minister of the Interior, but it can not be lower than 60 francs per
year for each child nor superior to 90 francs.

More effective measures for combatting tuberculosis, the abolition
of divorce, legislation permitting the judicial determination of pater-
nity in the case of illegitimate births and the suppression of convents
with their 60,000 female celibates are some of the other secondary
remedies proposed, but it is certain that such measures will not reach
the real cause of the evil. As I have said, the parliament passed a law
during the past summer authorizing the judicial determination of il-
legitimate paternity and its results will be watched with interest. In
regard to the suppression of convents, M. Bertillon has remarked that
at best it would not result in the addition of more than four or five
thousand children annually to the population, whereas France needs
at least 500,000 more births per year.

The restoration of religious sentiments would, according to many
students of the problem, result in a new attitude toward the obligation
to rear families. Among those who share in this view is M. Leroy-
Beaulieu who, in a recent article in the Journal des Debats, protested
against the government's hostile attitude toward the traditional relig-
ious beliefs of the people. It is necessary, he declared, that our states-
men should at once abandon the absurd and odious war which they have
waged for a quarter of a century, and particularly during the last fif-
teen years, against our country's traditional religious beliefs.

The criminal suppression of the methods now being employed by
the Malthusian propagandists is another proposed remedy. During the
past year the senate has had under consideration a law for this pur^
pose and one which proposes to give the correctional tribunals jurisdic-
tion of cases of abortion, with a view to rendering convictions in such
cases more certain. Senator Barthou, Premier and Minister of Justice,
in advocating the adoption of this law in 1912 said : " I am certain that
the senate will understand that the proposed law is a measure of public
safety and national salubrity." There is little doubt that the suppres-
sion of provoked abortions and of infanticide would have important
results upon the increase of the population, and it is equally certain
that the best public sentiment of France demands legislation for this
purpose, but its enforcement would obviously be attended with great
practical difficulties.

Simplification of the formalities of marriage with a view to en-
couraging an increase in the number has also been advocated. It may
be added that by laws passed in 1896 and 1897 a number of the old
rigorous requirements of the civil code were abolished, notably those

256 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

relating to age, residence in the commune and consent of parents, and
the removal of these restrictions was actually followed by a large in-
crease in the number of marriages (from an average of 281,000 per
year prior to 1896 to 323,000 since 1907), but there is much complaint
that the formalities still required and the legal fees exacted are exces-
sive and constitute a real hindrance to marriage. But, as I have re-
marked, the number of marriages is already comparatively large in
France and there has been a wholesome increase from year to year. In
all probability, therefore, such a remedy would not produce any ap-
preciable results.

The modification of the naturalization laws with a view to facili-
tating the acquisition of French nationality and thereby encouraging
immigration has also been advocated as a means of increasing the pop-
ulation. The existing requirements are too rigid, says M. Leroy-Beau-
lieu; France, he thinks, could well afford to naturalize 50,000 foreign-
ers a year since the density of her population is far less than that of
Germany, Italy and Belgium, and by thus encouraging immigration the
country would find a new source from which its declining population
could be recruited. Reform of the inheritance laws so as to allow the
father a right of free testamentary disposition, as is the rule in other
countries of Europe, has been widely urged in recent years. The exist-
ing provisions of the civil code, as I have said, compel the division of
the inheritance when there is more than one child, and the general re-
luctance among small proprietors of having their estates split up into
parcels conduces to the voluntary limitation of their offspring. All
those who have investigated the question are of the opinion that the
proposed change would result in a marked increase of the birth rate.
M. Bertillon goes further and proposes a more heroic remedy, namely,
the treating of single children in respect to an inheritance as if they
had brothers and sisters; he would, for example, impose a tax of 30 per
cent, on the inheritance when there are two children and 60 per cent,
when there is but one. In other words, where there is but a single
child he would have the state confiscate that portion of the inheritance
which would go to the other children if there were any.

A more reasonable proposal of this kind has been made by Colonel
Toutee, namely, that the law should regulate the inheritance according
to the size of the families of the heirs. Thus if two heirs are left, one
of whom has three children and the other none, the estate should be
divided into five parts, of which four should go to the first heir and
one to the second.

The suggestion has often been made that the state should offer
bounties for the production of children and numerous bills have been
introduced into the parliament for this purpose. One of the more
recent was a proposal by M. Messimy, a former minister of war, pro-
viding for the payment of a bounty of $100 for every child above the

DECREASING POPULATION OF FRANCE 257

fourth. But for fiscal reasons such proposals have not been favorably
received. A proposed measure which has many advocates is the em-
ployment of the taxing power for the purpose of chastising celibates
and the heads of families without children. The rearing of children,
says M. Bertillon, one of the strongest advocates of the taxation of
celibacy and infecundity, should be considered as a public duty in the
same way as service in the army and the payment of taxes. The act of
rearing a child should be considered as equivalent to the payment of a
tax ; he who does not discharge this duty should be subject to a sur tax ;
those who do, should be wholly or partially exempted from taxation.
The statistics show that there are more than 1,500,000 male celibates
over 25 years of age in France, nearly 2,000,000 families without any
children at all, nearly 3,000,000 which have but one child each, and
2,500,000 which have but two each.

A sur tax on such persons would be to a large extent a tax on the
rich and well-to-do and it would make possible a reduction of the taxes
on the comparatively small number of large families which are to be
found, for the most part, among the poorer classes.

Fiscal measures whose purpose is to discriminate and to punish
celibacy and infecundity are, however, objectionable to many persons
who believe that the better remedy consists in measures of a more
elevated character addressed to the moral sentiments — measures which
will tend to reward and honor fecundity and which shall have the
character of a mark of recognition by the state of its esteem for those
who have contributed to its strength and perpetuity by the rearing of
families. Such a measure is the oft-repeated proposal to give the pref-
erence in the matter of appointments to the lower posts in the public-
service which do not require special qualifications, to the heads of
families and especially to the heads of families containing more than
three children. This proposal has been advocated by Messrs. Bertillon,
Leroy-Beaulieu, Levasseur, Senators Lannelongue, Piot and many
others and has been the subject of numerous bills in parliament. M.
Leroy-Beaulieu has, I believe, even proposed that no one be appointed a
functionary who does not have at least three living children. This
proposal recalls the action of a former prefect of the Seine, M. Poubelle,
who refused to appoint to certain inferior positions, any man who was
not the father of at least three children. But this is a rather heroic
remedy, hardly conducive to administrative efficiency, and would
scarcely be practicable unless the state should increase the present mis-
erably low scale of salaries now allowed its employes, many of whom
find it impossible to support a family of three children out of their
official incomes.

A more moderate proposal is that the state should take account of
the size of the family in fixing the salaries and retiring pensions of

vol. lxxxv. — 18.

258 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

public functionaries. This suggestion has been made by the commis-
sion on depopulation and by many writers and social reformers. Bills
embodying this idea have frequently been before parliament, and in
1908 the Chamber of Deputies adopted a resolution inviting the
government to introduce a projet for granting to the employes of the
state receiving small salaries an allocation in proportion to the size of
their families. Some of the administrative departments have in fact
already adopted such a policy. Thus in the department of indirect
taxes, every employe whose salary is less than $440 a year and who has
three or more children under eighteen years of age receives a subsidy of
$12 a year. Likewise in the post-office department and in the customs
service there is a similar grant of $9.00 per year. Somewhat similar
allowances are made by the state railroads and other branches of the
public service. Thus the principle has already been given an extended
application, though on a somewhat small scale. Not very different in
principle and without the objections which characterize punitive taxa-
tion of celibacy and infecundity is the proposal advocated by M. Leroy-
Beaulieu and others to take into account the size of the family in fixing
the amount of the personal tax, which, in France, is mainly a tax on
habitation and one which therefore weighs heavily upon renters having
large families. This principle has been embodied in the tax systems of
various continental states, notably in the German income tax law which
allows a reduction of $12.50 in the amount of the tax for every child
under fourteen years of age. The abolition of the tax on doors and
windows, letters patent, the octroi and others of a similar character
which are peculiarly burdensome to the poor would be, as has often
been asserted, conducive to the rearing of larger families.

IV. Conclusions

Such are some of the means that have been proposed for combatting
the conditions which threaten France with depopulation. Some of
them, like discriminating measures against celibates, the payment of
bounties for the production of children, the exemption of heads of
families from certain public impositions, and the partial confiscation of
inheritances where there is but a single child, were tried by the
Eomans, but they were largely illusory and of little effect. Of the
other measures proposed, some are impracticable, others are impossible
of execution and still others would be productive of but slight results.
The true remedy lies not in legislative, administrative o*r fiscal meas-
ures, though some of these may contribute toward the checking of the
evil, but in a reform of the morals and customs of the French people.
There must be a fundamental change in the attitude of French men and
women toward the obligation to rear families ; there must be an awaken-
ing to the duty which devolves upon the citizen to contribute to the

DECREASING POPULATION OF FRANCE 259

perpetuity of his race through the rearing of children as to defend it in
time of war or to pay taxes for the maintenance of government. Any
and all measures which shall contribute toward an awakening of the
people to the importance of this national duty are worthy of encourage-
ment and of adoption. The solution of the problem is not dependent
upon external measures and remedies ; it is to be found almost entirely
in the moral sentiments and social customs of the people themselves.
Zola did not exaggerate when he said : " France will never be depopu-
lated unless she wishes to be." The late Emile Levasseur once remarked
that it was "truly humiliating to think of a nation of thirty-eight
million souls, which by its age, its industry and commerce is one of
the wealthiest of the globe and which by its intellectual activity, its arts
and its sciences is one of the most capable of enlightening the world
and which under republican government has during the last quarter of
a century recovered in the European concert the place of a great power,
is a nation which, according to the statistics is destined to disappear."
Mr. Eoosevelt's warning at the Sorbonne in 1907 that "neither luxury,
nor material progress, nor the accumulation of wealth, nor the seduc-
tions of literature and of art, should take the place of those fundamental
virtues the greatest of which is that which assures the future of the
race " made a deep impression at the time it was delivered and has not
been entirely without result. It is no exaggeration to say that at no
time in the past have so many thoughtful Frenchmen been aroused to
a realization of the consequences that must inevitably result from the
continued decline of the population. This is fully attested by the
organization of societies to increase the population, by the formation
of parliamentary groups with the same end in view, by the appointment
of parliamentary and extra-parliamentary commissions to study the
question and to search for the remedies, by legislative and administra-
tive measures of various kinds and by the discussions and publications
of scientific bodies and of economists, sociologists and publicists. No
one can read the extensive literature to which the discussion of the
problem has given rise without feeling that the question is now regarded
as a serious and pressing one and that the nation proposes to grapple
with it as such.

260 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

THE EISE OF A NEW PKOFESSION"

Br Pkofessob EDWARD D. JONES

UNIVERSITY OP MICHIGAN

IE we consider the industrial history of the United States, for the
span of a long generation, dating backward from this year of grace
to about 1840, we can distinguish at least three great movements which
have occupied the minds of men in industry.

The Age of the Pioneer

The first period was still engaged, as previous decades had been, in
the process of settling the country, and of starting those simple basic
industries which are the foundation of civilized life.

In 1840 Boston was not yet connected with Albany by rail, nor
Albany with Buffalo. The grain elevator had not yet been devised;
and no coke ovens yet existed near Connellsville. The first steamboat
liad just been seen at the Soo ; and in Iowa they were plowing a furrow
from the Mississippi river west 100 miles to guide settlers. A few
pioneers were beginning to pass over the Oregon trail; and Fremont
was just describing Utah in the papers. It was not until 1845 that
copper was produced in upper Michigan. It was only in 1852 that
Chicago was connected with the East by railway. The locomotive did
not reach the Missouri river until 1859, nor the Pacific coast until
ten years later.

The mention of the pioneers calls for a word of tribute. Our
nation's first industrial task was the stupendous one of clearing the
farms, and of building the common roads, and of establishing villages
and cities, and opening outlets for the marketing of surplus products.
Perhaps the history of the pioneers was, indeed, but "The short and
simple annals of the poor." Carlyle dismissed America with the con-
temptuous summary, "Hitherto She but plows and hammers." The
work of opening the country was simply the first duty. But it was not
industry of the cramped mechanical sort which Carlyle knew in the
grimy manufacturing towns of Scotland. The pioneers partook some-
what of the nature of the explorers. Their advance westward had the
stirring quality of a military reconnaissance directed against the hostile
forces of nature which were entrenched in the wilderness. The victory
was not to mere economy and patience, and the weaker virtues, but to
industry animated with boldness, directed by invention, and ennobled
by sacrifice for the future. The pioneers were rugged, self-reliant men

THE RISE OF A NEW PROFESSION 261

and busy contented women. Into the enjoyment of the fruits of their
labors we have all of us entered.

The Age of Mechanism

The second industrial movement of the period we are considering
centered upon the task of providing an adequate mechanical equipment.
Its purpose was to develop inanimate sources of power, by means of
which the burden of physical toil could be, to some extent, lifted from
human shoulders.

Accordingly, the second act transfers the scene of industry from the
field to the factory. The first billet of Bessemer steel was produced in
America in a little furnace at Wyandotte, near Detroit, in 1864. The
first band-saw was brought from Paris to New York in 1869. The first
middlings purifier was built in Minneapolis in 1870. The twine-binder
was invented in 1874. In the wonderful Centennial year of 1876, there
was given to the country the telephone, the incandescent light, the
typewriter and the first steel-frame building. Since those years, the
American farmer has come into the possession of a well-nigh perfect
equipment of agricultural implements. Our factories have been filled
with machinery, our offices with appliances, and our stores with furnish-
ings, until it is generally conceded that no people of the world excel the
Americans in the use of mechanical facilities.

The Age of Administration-

And now that these achievements are no longer in their origins, and
the issues called up by them are recognized as virtually settled, and
there is no longer any opposition to try men's souls in establishing and
defending them, a third great industrial problem can be seen to emerge
and become the center of interest. This is the question of administra-
tion. Upon this generation is laid the task of discovering, testing and
establishing in general use those methods of organization and manage-
ment by which the great productive agencies now within the possession
of industry can be united, subjected to proper control, stimulated,
guided, inspected, instructed and rewarded, to the end that they may
serve society with efficiency. In short, the problem is that of originating
and formulating a science of administration which shall comprise those
basic principles and practical policies required for the guidance of great
affairs.

Self-Made Men

This administrative phase of our industrial evolution has, of course,
already a history of value, and this history is concerned with the doings
of a very interesting generation of men. For years the United States,
with its enormous domestic market, its ample capital, its freedom from
tradition and its colossal daring, has been perhaps the most favorable

262 TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

spot in the world for trying out new ideas of organization and manage-
ment.

The men who first took advantage of these conditions were, for the
most part, self-made men. We often refer to them as captains of indus-
try. The majority of them were individuals of motor temperament,
endowed with exceptional talents, who fought their way upward and
gained eminence, through a rough-and-ready struggle for the survival
of the fittest.

These men .seized leadership by right of ability, but, technically
speaking, they secured it as the perquisite or privilege arising from the
ownership of great fortunes. They lived in a day when men generally
managed their own capital. In most cases they were the first to
build up institutions of great size in the lines of industry with which
they were connected. These circumstances involve the point that had
not these men built up fortunes they could not, individually, have be-
come administrators. The price of their economic power was to make
everything bend to the getting of money. In other words, they had to
create the kingdoms over which they later ruled.

Their policies were, therefore, like those of most conquerors, simple,
often crude and sometimes morally abominable. They were often drive-
masters, and not infrequently they resorted to the intellectually con-
temptible methods of unfair trade. Yet we do not withhold admiration
for the splendid independence and energy which they exhibited. They
generally possessed a thorough knowledge of details, due to the small
beginnings from which they had started. They had the ease and speed
of decision due to long experience and gradually imposed responsibility.
The names of the leaders of this generation of giants will long remain
household words in America.

If we pause to consider broadly this introductory period of adminis-
tration, we can see that it was marked by strenuous rather than finely
calculated action, and by physical rather than intellectual tests. Most
important of all, it was characterized by a confusion or conflict between
the principles of the true art of administration and the requirements of
the process of amassing a fortune. We are so accustomed to measure
mastership in industry by the increase of the wealth of the individual,
that it is difficult to perceive that there can be any such thing as an
independent art, with principles and ideals of its own. If we turn to
politics we are able to see that a man's record for efficiency as a mayor
of a city does not depend upon his getting rich in office. Neither do
we measure the skill of our military leaders by their strategy in gather-
ing private booty, nor the capacity of our statesmen by their ability to
insure tranquillity and prosperity to themselves, rather than their coun-
try. In all of these cases we have the conception of the requirements
of an art or polity. The standards of judgment are entirely distinct
from the state of the private fortune of the administrator. It is this

THE RISE OF A NEW PROFESSION 263

method of judging which is beginning to make itself felt in industry.
That we have not more generally used such tests hitherto is one of the
reasons why broad and intellectually respectable principles have been so
slow in gaining control of industrial action, and why it has been so
difficult to detect the really capable administrators among the crowd
of men who are merely, and perhaps even accidentally, rich.

The early administrators, living in a highly individualistic and self-
confident society, worked out rules of action each man for himself.
Many of them were rather builders than administrators, emphasizing
the builder's tests of size and growth. They made many mistakes which
they could not perceive because, living in a community which had
broken sharply with the past, and which had little applicable history of
its own, they thought little of lessons drawn from the past. As they
were devoted to little else than business, they saw few analogies between
the administration of industry and of other forms of social action.

Being so much in a world of their own creation, they looked upon the
administration of the organizations with which they were connected as
their own private business. Such organizations were, therefore, in
many cases, no more than mere extensions of themselves, incapable of
serving as the object of the loyalty of the various classes of persons which
might become connected with them. While these men sometimes made
notable technical achievements, and claimed the title of super-men, they
were, many of them, mere master mechanics, putting men and equip-
ment together into corporations in a wooden way and driving them with
their individual will power, rather than true administrators with a
social sense.

And so it is that, in spite of the magnificent physical development
of industry, and the more noble spirit which now begins to animate it,
the conduct of affairs is often thought of as something cold, mechanical,
and out of line with the ethical feeling of the time — as a matter of end-
less negotiations and compromises and makeshifts which can not bottom
themselves on permanent principles. And, because it has received this
(reputation, many fine spirits keep clear of it, as they do also from
politics. And many others who take part in it do so without making a
fair effort to comprehend its possibilities.

New Conditions

Since the ranks of the first generation of administrators have begun
to be seriously thinned by death, a notable change has been taking place
in the character of our industrial leadership and in the conditions under
which it is exercised. The natural growth of businesses into units
embracing, under a single administration, hundreds and even thousands
of stockholders and employees, and which must unite many minds in
operations requiring long periods of time for their completion, calls for

264 TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

searching tests and clear and stable policies. The use of the corporate
form of organization, which makes the business unit the dependent
creature of the state, coupled with the increasing sensitiveness of public
opinion to the probity of the financing and the humanity of the opera-
tive policies employed, unite to demand a more skillful diplomacy, and
methods which will bear public inspection. The question of getting
adequate administration has now become pressing.

Administrative Helps

If the task of the executive is now more difficult than before, there
have been provided various helps to assist in its performance. In the
first place, the physical sciences have been applied to industrial opera-
tions in a multitude of ways in recent years. They assist in the test-
ing of materials, the refining of productive processes, the preservation
of the health of the operative, the sharpening of technical standards,
and the provision of new forces and instrumentalities. A second aid is
the greatly improved systems of accounting and cost accounting, and
the developing theories of valuation, which serve as the administrator's
chief instruments of precision, where problems of value rather than
problems of physical processes or of human nature are concerned. A
third aid is what is commonly called "system"; a somewhat indefinite
mass of rules of procedure, together with appropriate equipments, relat-
ing especially to office work, and representing the accumulated experi-
ence of innumerable official minds. The most recent aid is "scientific
management" which, taking its rise as a philosophy of the shop, has
culminated in a group of principles constituting an encouraging ear-
nest of a forthcoming more fully developed science of administration.

The Professional Administrator

The large business enterprises now required to meet society's need
are gathering the money of hundreds of investors, so that individual or
family domination resting upon ownership must decline as a system.
Between the multitude of stock and bond holders, on the one side, con-
stituting the proprietors, and the still greater multitude of employees,
on the other, there is being created a central strategic position to be
occupied by the professional administrator. The whole situation of
industry now conspires to create an opportunity for a new race of
executives which shall justly appreciate the various classes of respon-
sibilities resting upon it. Upon these men will rest a sort of trustee-
ship to preserve the property entrusted to them, and a sort of leader-
ship to guide and guard their employees. Upon them will also rest a
general responsibility to the public to help this day to live its life, and
this generation to make its contribution to progress.

Wanted, therefore, new leaders for industry, who shall unite with

THE RISE OF A NEW PROFESSION 265

native talent, trained minds. "Who shall believe that the sea of affairs
can be charted, and can be sailed by the aid of eternal principles and a
fine exact technique of diplomatic and humane methods, and who shall
be at least as much devoted to the ennoblement of their art as to their
own advancement.

Transitional Difficulties

The new order always evolves out of the old with pain and mis-
understanding. The new is long looked upon from the inadequate view-
point of the old. The exigencies of the new situation are always upon
us before the teachings of the old have been sufficiently deliberated upon
to yield a settled philosophy of action. It is not surprising that this
generation should be embarrassed in finding new maxims and ideals,
while it is yet blinded by the brilliant achievements of the age of the
captains of industry. The shadows of the great founders still fall upon
the present-day executive in many forms. In one case it is the tradi-
tion of methods once successful, and of conceptions and tests once con-
sidered adequate. In another case it is embodied as the incompetent
heir, invested with an estate and the glamor of a successful name, and
set as an amateur to rule over experts. Again, the shadow of a depart-
ing order takes the form of a vast enterprise, which was, perhaps, ori-
ginally builded with enthusiasm to great size and power, but which is
now a shell with many a sheltered spot within, where weak men may
vegetate as clerks, perpetually referring matters from one to another, or
strong men may be induced to trust to " the impulse of an early start,"
or to " interlocking directorates/' or " banking control," or " dominating
influence on the market," or to " predatory competition," or to anything
else than service.

Perhaps the chief hinderance to the development of the scientific
administrator in America will prove to be what we may call the danger
of the entrenched position. The significance of this danger was long
ago pointed out by Machiavelli, who warned his ideal prince of the
harm wrought by strong fortresses. His words, written in 1513, are
still full of significance. He said,

Whenever either princes or republics are afraid lest their subjects should
revolt, it results mainly from the hatred of the subjects on account of the bad
treatment experienced from those who govern them; and this comes either from
the belief that they can best be controlled by force, or from lack of sound judg-
ment in governing them. And one of the things that induce the belief that they
can be controlled by force is the possession of fortresses with which to menace
them; and thus the ill treatment that engenders hatred in the subjects arises
in great measure from the fact that the prince or republic hold the fortresses,
which (if this be true) are therefore by far more injurious than useful. For,
in the first instance, they cause you to be more violent and audacious towards
your subjects; and next, they do not afford the security which you imagine.

And, further, he says:

266 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

A good and wise prince, desirous of maintaining that character, and to
avoid giving the opportunity to his sons to become oppressive, will never build
fortresses, so that they may place their reliance upon the good will of their sub-
jects, and not upon the strength of citadels.i

Whence the Supply Will Come

In this day of large and permanent undertakings, industry can not
afford the risk of administrators who, being ignorant of principles, must
govern by extempore decrees. Nor can it endure to educate those who
will become wise only through disasters. Society is no longer satisfied
to prepare its physicians or lawyers or engineers by an unregulated
process of learning through experience. If administration is an intel-
lectual pursuit, it is not sufficient to trust to such processes for adminis-
trators.

Furthermore, business experiences now less than formerly offer
themselves as an educational ladder apt for the upward climbing of the
growing mind. It is only in the world of small independent business
that responsibility increases gradually and pari passu with ability. The
typical captain of industry advanced step by step. As his experience and
powers of mind grew, his business increased and enlarged his respon-
sibilities by almost imperceptible increments. In the end he emerged,
as a scholar might graduate from a carefully graded school, having
passed through a finely graduated scale of functions, extending from the
simplest to the most difficult things. Business experience less and less
offers this encouraging educational aspect. Superior minds are as much
wanted as ever, but they are wanted already trained in those general
principles of administration which the last generation only grasped as
the result of prolonged experience. Young men must now expect to
enter some department of an organization which is already large, and
to remain for long periods engaged in highly specialized functions,
making such upward advance as is made by sudden leaps.

Already the dearth of administrators, who are grounded in general
principles, is keenly felt in industrial affairs. The late Mr. Dill once
said that he could secure a million dollars ten times while he was find-
ing a man with the capacity to administer the affairs representing a
million dollars at work. One of the reasons for the excessive concentra-
tion of administrative control in American business is the lack of an
adequate supply of executives. And this is also one of the reasons why
we overload good men and wear them out so rapidly.

What natural processes fail to do for us we must accomplish by
educational agencies. To make education effective, however, we must
establish the principles and policies which are to be mastered, so that
training may form the mind of the executive more certainly, more
rapidly, and more thoroughly than unregulated experience can do.

i "Discourses," Bk. II., Ch. XXIV.

THE RISE OF A NEW PROFESSION 267

New Conceptions

Great leaders come in response to great issues. When the school
can present to its students a stimulating view of life, a superior raw
material is attracted to it as by a lodestone. In the struggles of life
men are inspired to great exertions when new ideals become vivid to
them. War produces capable generals, intellectual conflict breeds a
generation of acute thinkers, prophets arise to preach new gospels. It
matters little what difficulties there are. "Truth," says Nietzsche,
" does not find fewest champions when it is dangerous to speak it, but
when it is dull." Industry insists upon efficiency, but efficiency may be
chiefly insured by discovering great inspiring tasks.

The old ambition to build up big business units, and to accumulate
great fortunes, is now no longer quite as fresh and full of zest as it
once was. It does not get the response, and call out the best men, as in
the old dramatic buccaneering days. To simply repeat what the last
generation did in the way of piling up fortunes, and to do it on the
same intellectual and ethical and esthetic plane, but without the novelty
of being the first to do it, nor the freedom of action of the day of laissez
faire, is not to set forth a very exciting aim. In the sphere of the intel-
lect there is nothing especially notable about doing it. The hungry
intelligence of industry is asking for great new objectives worthy of
effort, like the opening of the continent or the building of the railroads.
A new and larger conception of the function of industrial leadership is
called for. The great resources of the country subdued by the pioneers,
and the elaborate equipment provided by the engineers, combine to set
the stage for a high statesmanship and for a fine diplomacy to begin to
play their role in industry. Since it inherits ample physical equipment,
the new generation can be less material in its aim, and give itself to
providing an intellectual equipment. As we live in a more advanced
stage of society, the thought of the administrator should be less of
equipment than of policies governing operations, less of operations than
of ultimate ends, less of his own part in those ends than of the harmony
of the ends themselves with the aspirations and constructive tendencies
of society. The result of this can be nothing less, ultimately, than a
body of broad, permanent, and socially beneficent principles of action,
to which superior minds, forming an aristocracy in industrial affairs,
will swear allegiance.

The administrator who is willing to take part in this movement will
find himself upon an intellectual frontier, with the opportunity opened
before him, as before his forefathers, to become a pioneer. It is not
now a frontier of axe and plow, nor of engines and machinery, but of
principles and policies. The administrative problems awaiting solution
are almost innumerable. The executive who carries the scientific spirit
into his work will find an opportunity to make more clear the concep-

268 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

tion of authority and responsibility, and to formulate the rules of their
distribution. He will study the coordination of mutually functioning
agencies, and the means of their supervision. He will find need to more
precisely determine the basis upon which rests the division of labor be-
tween administration and operation, and between principal matters and
details. He will concern himself with the meaning and use of standards
and sequences and schedules, and will attack the great problem of
framing a theory of rewards and punishments adequately adjusted to
the moral sense of the time.

The Fellowship of Administrators

What the military leader was in the ancient days of constant war,
and the statesman in the period of the formation of great empires, the
industrial executive may be considered to be in this commercial age.
He is the leading exponent of organized action in the world. He should
dignify his task, boldly conceiving it on the highest plane of which he
is capable. He is the intellectual heir of all the executives of the past,
and has resting upon him the mandate not to disgrace the succession.
It is open to him to maintain a stimulating communion with his pre-
decessors— with all the great military leaders and statesmen and diplo-'
mats whose history is preserved for us — and from their experience to
gather basic principles of action. Why should not the business execu-
tive practise Caesar's leniency, and his art of making common cause with
his men, or endeavor whether Napoleon's celerity may not be used in the
bloodless battles of economic service ? Why should he not be stinmlated
by Eichelieu's example to strive for coolness in analysis, or be moved by
Sir Philip Sidney's charm to practise the art of winning friends?

Brought into contact with the thoughts and deeds of great minds,
the business executive need not feel alone in the smallest village or the
most distant engineering camp. He will find that before him the great
company of the world's executives has had to deal with the same weak-
nesses of human nature as those against which he combats, and has
relied upon such virtues and employed such methods of organization
and administration, in bringing men to effective joint action, as are
open equally to him. The fields of leadership ma}', indeed, have been
different, but the fundamental principles have been largely the same.

Viewed thus, work again becomes a challenge. The function of the
business executive is seen to lose its isolated and empirical character, and
acquire a history, and an intimate relation with all other branches of
society's organized effort. It is lifted onto the plane of an intellectual
achievement, and so offers a foundation upon which to erect ideals of
a professional character.

THE RISE OF A NEW PROFESSION 269

The Outlook

A previous age witnessed the industrial revolution, which intro-
duced the machine, and through it worked the entire reconstruction of
society; now a second industrial revolution is in progress, which aims
to lay a foundation of administrative principles underneath business
practise, and which will inaugurate a new era of progress.

It lies within the power of this generation to end much of the
drudgery and antagonism from which the operative classes suffer, by
devising more just methods of partnership with the other factors in
industry, and by harmonizing administrative methods with the require-
ments of human nature. It will be possible to unlock much of the
energy of administrators, which is at present unused, because of the
lack of an enthralling object of effort. It will be possible to raise the
general tone of industry, by setting forth new ideals of efficiency, dis-
tributive justice and democracy.

27o TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

THE PICTUEE AND THE TEXT

By Pkofessoe ROBERT MACDOTJGALL

NEW YORK UNIVERSITY

THE place of illustration in book-making is found to vary through
a wide range of values as one reviews a series of volumes at hap-
hazard. In some the pages are flooded with pictures, from thumb-nail
sketches on the margins to full-page prints in the natural colors of the
original ; in others page succeeds page in unbroken letter-press, without
an illustration from cover to cover. Here, too, the picture is a true illus-
tration of the text it accompanies; there it has scarcely more relation to
the contents of the page it fronts than the engraving on a drawing-room
wall bears to the volumes that may lie on a table before it. The sig-
nificance of the picture, as an illustration, varies as much as, let us say,
the artistic merit of its execution; and its value in any individual case
may lie anywhere between zero and ideal adequacy.

The reasons for such fluctuation in the employment of illustration
are of course legitimate as well as illegitimate. In one case, illustration
may be indispensable, in another, inadmissable ; the book-maker, whether
author or publisher, is guided by the nature of his subject. In general,
the material dealt with must be picturable if illustration is to be practi-
cable. Only a small part of what the mind deals with in representative
thought is thus picturable, and reflection itself is but one of the many
interests which life comprises. To be presented in this spatial and visi-
ble manner the subject must be both concrete and material. Not all
such subject-matter, indeed, can be successfully represented; but to con-
form to the conditions of picture-making it must at least fulfill these re-
quirements.

Much of our interest, both speculative and practical, falls outside
this field of sensible reality. The relations and laws of things in the
material world, for example, are abstractions which we formulate from
the observation of a series of such individual concrete objects; and these
abstractions, or generalizations, can not be represented pictorially, except
figuratively, in a symbolic scheme. Such principles are aspects of the
material world, though unpicturable ; but there is another range of
reality which does not offer itself to such treatment at all. Subjective
experience has no sensible or representable content upon which to seize
as the basis of an appeal to the eye. The absurdity of such a conception
may be indicated by asking the shape of a thought, the color of anger,
or the speed of a desire. When things belonging to this realm are writ-

THE PICTURE AND THE TEXT 271

ten of, some other phase of the reader's understanding must be appealed
to than that of visual imagination.

If the elementary content of subjective reality be unpicturable, much
less can its abstract aspects be rendered in spatial forms and relations.
Thus scientific and logical analysis, explanation and philosophical re-
flection, and the whole literature of appreciation are debarred by the
nature of their subject-matter from direct appeal through illustration.
Works on logic and metaphysics — proverbially hard thinking — are ren-
dered more unrelievedly so by the pages of close-packed type which fol-
low one another in unbroken succession from beginning to end of the
book. Yet it is just in such fields as this that illustration is most
needed. Discussion of concrete things is readily apprehended by the
ordinary mind, for it finds little difficulty in representing its substance
in imagination ; but to follow a process of abstract thought for any con-
tinuous period necessitates a more sustained act of attention and a mind
disciplined by reflection. To make them generally comprehensible such
abstract works imperatively demand illustration; and since a pictorial
commentary is out of the question exposition must proceed by an ex-
emplification of the concept or law to which the term illustration in its
wider sense is of course commonly extended.

Pure science labors under the same difficulty as logic and meta-
physics. The work of reflective thought, in all its forms alike, is to
extract from a multitude of vivid but confusing facts some common type
or law to which they conform, and the elaboration of norms and princi-
ples in this field is found by the average mind hardly less repellant than
in philosophy itself. The process is laborious; it is insecure; it is un-
substantial. Works on pure science are not read as are those on experi-
mental science and natural history, because their abstractness makes
them more difficult ; and the writer, especially if he appeal to a technical
class of readers, feels that his concern is primarily in making clear the
theory he is developing, together with its evidence — not in illustrating
each aspect of it by concrete examples.

The limits of illustration and the function it logically performs thus
involve a certain contradiction. Its availability and its desirability stand
in inverse relations. Where it is least needed — that is, when the concrete
things of the sensible world are dealt with, it is entirely feasible to intro-
duce it; but where it is most needed — in facilitating apprehension of
abstract conceptions, its use is practically impossible. There is therefore
to be expected a surfeit of pictures in the one case and a dearth, if not a
complete absence, of them in the other.

Within the field where pictorial illustration offers itself as an adjunct
to literary treatment the further question arises of the relation which
text and picture logically bear to one another, and the specific service
which illustration renders to the reader. It may be assumed that the
function is thus specific, and that text and picture theoretically form

2 72 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

parts of a single exposition. The crudest defect in illustration is a
neglect of this fundamental requirement, yet it is a fault which has wide
prevalence in certain forms of book-making to-day. A fixed amount of
illustration per chapter, or hundred pages, is supposed to be expected by
the reader, and an illustrator is engaged to furnish the required number
of pictures. In the class of books where this custom prevails — for ex-
ample, in light fiction — the quality of the demand for illustration falls
to its lowest point. There is practically no situation the understanding
of which requires visual exemplification. The story itself is commonly
little more than a succession of pictures, each relatively simple and
having a completely obvious relation to its neighbors. It is partly, at
least, because the reader's demand is so far from exacting that such
slight consideration is given to the really illustrative character of pic-
tures in works of this class

When the primary function of the picture has thus lapsed, the reason
for its introduction is to be sought elsewhere ; for value of some kind it
must possess if its introduction is not to be regarded as a sheer miscon-
ception of the reader's desire. This reason is to be found, it need hardly
be said, in the mere decorative function of the picture. It is a trivial
motive, which also ignores a fundamental canon of esthetics, yet one
which has a distinct psychological value. It neglects the require-
ments of esthetics, for if the making of a book be treated as a work
of art, everything which appears between its covers should be instru-
mental to the development of the central conception for which the
work stands. No picture, from this point of view, is admissible which
does not help — in the strictest sense, which is not indispensable — to
make the meaning clear. But if the principle of function be neglected,
a multitude of pictures may be introduced in a merely illustrative, as
opposed to explanatory, way. One might, for example, insert the picture
of a pen or inkstand each time the article was mentioned, though an
acquaintance with these things on the part of the reader is fairly to be
assumed. Such illustration of course has its place wherever the objects
in question are unfamiliar and the reader is liable to construct in imagi-
nation a wrong representation of them.

Further, if the principle of unity be ignored the illustrations which
are introduced may be chosen in virtue of any element of desirability
which they possess. Value of this kind has a wholly indefinite range. It
may be merely quantitative : so many pictures to so many pages of text ;
no bunching of illustrations in one part of the work while another is left
bare; and the like. But such rules refer only to the distribution of
pictures, not to their introduction itself. If illustration be not invari-
ably an elucidation of the text, as it clearly is not, it must satisfy some
other human need, or pictures would not then be found in books. One
such motive has already been mentioned: the decorative sense. The
picture satisfies an elementary esthetic demand. It is introduced as the

THE PICTURE AND THE TEXT 273

picture is placed on the wall, because it has a beauty in itself. An illus-
trated book is more attractive to casual inspection than one which lacks
such an adjunct. One likes to look at pictures even when dissociated
from sustained interest and lacking a common thread of connection.
The occupation makes little demand upon mental energy and is accom-
panied by a sense of ease, while the vivid or novel aspects of the world
which are passed in review give rise to a pleasurable state of conscious-
ness through the mild and equitable stimulation which they afford.

The picture thus becomes in a way correlative with the text, each
adding an independent element of value to the whole. Within its own
field each then seeks a characteristic excellence, and a set of canons is
developed in regard to the making of such illustrations. In the first
place, they are enriched in their positive values as pictures. They must
be well composed and correctly drawn ; they must have vigor and refine-
ment in their execution; if colored, the tones must have splendor and
harmony ; and so on. In the second place, as in literary art dignity in
the surroundings, noble birth, beauty and virtue in the characters are
invoked to deepen the impression, so in this use of book-illustration the
backgrounds must be rich, the scenery beautiful, the figures of either
dignified age or noble youth. The men are all handsome, according to
the illustrator's individual conception of good looks, the women in a like
manner beautiful ; the dress worn is irreproachable in fit and of the latest
pattern. All the accessories of success, luxury and style reinforce the
more direct values of health, vigorous action and beauty. Or, if this
special class of effects be not involved, the esthetic appeal is still to some
equally general and elementary sense, such as that of romantic pity in
which a certain stereotyped pathos affords the underlying motive of
treatment.

The illustrations, in such a case, become a gallery of pictures by a
single artist who commonly emphasizes, in a highly conventional way, a
particular style of treatment or specific human type. When such an
illustrator has achieved a vogue his work is likely to be sought by pub-
lishers for the meretricious excellence of these features, however poor his
illustrative capacity may be.

The high degree of mechanical development which process reproduc-
tion has attained tends to foster this use of illustration. One can not
imagine a book overloaded with mere diagrams which in no way help in
the elucidation of the text, for such drawings have no other value which
can be substituted for this primary service. So long also as the illus-
trator's art is crude, or the process of reproduction difficult and expen-
sive, pictures will be introduced only where there is an evident purpose
to be served, and little abuse of illustration will arise. Photographic,
chromo-lithographic and other processes, however, have made possible
such a high degree of success in transferring to a prepared surface of

VOL. LXXXV. — 19.

274 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

paper the features of the original in all their refinement of details and
values that to look on the reproduction in a book is now comparable with
looking on the scene or composition itself. The result has been a still
further widening of the breach between text and illustration; and the
temptation must often be great to introduce a picture because it is good
in subject and admirably reproduced, though in its composition little
regard has been paid to the situation which it is intended to represent.
This defect is no less noticeable in the flotsam of periodical literature and
the daily press than in the more elaborate composition of book-illustra-
tions. When pictures are looked for, pictures will be forthcoming,
whether appropriate or not. The waste corners of the newspaper are
often filled with odds and ends of wit, humor and anecdote, in which the
union of text and illustration too often suggests that the items have been
thrown together and then drawn forth in pairs at haphazard.

The significance of such variations in the place of illustration, as
well as the factors in their production, will perhaps be more clearly ap-
prehended if the changes of value which the picture undergoes in indi-
vidual mental development are recalled. In adult literature the text has
complete meaning in itself, the picture has not; the text is made first,
then the picture is composed ; for the latter aims simply to present in a
concrete visual image what has been set forth through verbal analysis in
the text. The picture is thus completely subordinate to the text; it
serves only to reinforce a feeble visual imagination in its effort to get
before the mind a scene which the writer of necessity presents in frag-
ments by successive statements.

But this is not the primitive way of conceiving the relation between
these two constituents, nor is it the association which at first existed for
the child. The picture, in those earliest days, was primary, the text
secondary. For the adult the picture illustrates the text ; for the young
child the text explains the picture — it is needful only in case the picture
can not be understood by itself. The text marks the imperfection of the
picture, or series of pictures, in telling a story, and is added to supple-
ment its deficiencies.

Pictures have a meaning for the child long before he begins to read
or understand printed words. From babyhood they form part of his
perennial delights, and are among the most treasured of Ms sources of
pleasure. They have splendor of color and never-failing variety of
forms; they represent objects of enduring interest, whether familiar or
novel ; they are full of action or suggestive of manifold and significant
relationships; they tell, singly or in series, stories vivid and direct in
their appeal, which are made scarcely the less alluring by their partial
incomprehensibility.

The appreciation of pictures is a part of the child's introduction to
language and representative thought. They have something of the con-
trollability of images and, except for motion, the vividness and natural-

THE PICTURE AND TEE TEXT 275

ness of real objects. Through them the absent world is brought back,
each picture affording the point of departure for a supplementary imagi-
native process which grows richer and richer as the years pass. Pictures
thus form a natural mode of transition from the intuition of the world
to its representation in thought by means of the conventional symbols of
written language.

In primitive peoples as well as in the life of the child the line of
development is through pictorial representation of reality to its descrip-
tion in analytic terms by means of verbal symbols. The evolution of
language is marked by an increasing importance in the role played by
the explanatory text and a corresponding decline in the use made of
pictures. In the stages of barbaric culture picture and text are habitu-
ally associated. Vast series of figures, on temple wall and tomb and
tablet, represent the scenes and events to be recorded, while beneath or
at the side is put the running commentary of lettering or other text — the
text itself commonly a modified picture-series, as in hieroglyphs and
ideographs. Among civilized peoples the picture drops back to a purely
accessory position. The text is now completely intelligible by itself — at
least it aims to be so ; while the introduction of pictures either marks a
sense of insufficiency in the verbal medium or reflects purely an appeal
to esthetic values.

The child, if not the barbarian, apprehends and employs pictures
in a way different from the adult, as regards their relation both to the
text and to other pictures. This difference marks a characteristic dis-
tinction between the two mental types; for the individual's conception
of illustration and its function reflects from year to year the nature and
development of the mind. At any moment the child will be interested
in those pictures which appeal to the needs and impulses then dominant,
and at each successive stage of his history only such as conform to the
conditions and limitations of his mind will be intelligible. If a picture
exhibit the complex relations of many component figures it will not be
appreciated by a mind incapable of apprehending the synthetic unity of
a complex group or multitude ; and if it represent a single phase in such
a connected system of actions or events as can be presented only in a
series of pictures, it can not be apprehended by a mind that lacks the
capacity to seize their unity in a dramatic concept and thus in imagina-
tion to construe the successive elements as a single action.

For such a mind the complex composition will exist only as a multi-
tude of separate figures, among which indeed the mind may wander
renewing its delight as each attracts attention, but which receive no
added significance through their synthesis as members of a common
system. The various pictures which represent the successive phases of a
dramatic action will likewise be apprehended only in isolation from one
another, each being treated as a story or situation in itself or, if the mind

276 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

be elementary enough, as a mere collection of individual figures and
objects.

The way one expresses himself in pictures or writing, and the way
one interprets illustration or text, thus reflects the level of organization
which the mind itself has reached. The single figure, the composition,
the pictorial series and the textual description mark successive stages in
the evolution of representative functions in the individual human mind.
The child passes through each of these stages in turn as he advances
toward maturity in synthetic thought, and a customary dependence upon
any given type fixes the developmental level which has then been
reached.

The aim of education in this regard is to develop in the individual
a capacity to represent experience and to express thought adequately
through a system of analytic and verbal symbols. It seeks also an ability
to translate these symbols fluently into terms of significant thought when
they are thus employed by others and to create imaginatively the forms
of original experience which they are designed to describe. It marks an
arrest of development in the mind not to be thus a master of words,
whether in their use or their understanding. To need pictures in order
to make the thought plain means either that the writer has not mastered
his craft thoroughly and does not know how to use his tools, or that the
reader's mind is immature or has momentarily lapsed from the habits
which characterize maturity.

The child's love of pictures obviously persists in adult life; it is
eradicated in few, if any, natures and to their distinct loss. We, as well
as they, on taking up a book, often look first to see the pictures, and turn
to the text only when the illustrations have been explored. The pictures
are a mental appetizer which whets our appetite to a keener edge as we
approach the solid courses of the printed page. How often, too, when
we are tired or disinclined for strenuous mental effort, do we explore the
pictures of an illustrated book or magazine, which can be understood
and enjoyed without exertion ! It is not only at such moments of intel-
lectual idling, however, that we thus turn to pictures in connection with
our reading. How often, when a point of difficulty arises do we long for
a pictorial representation which would make all plain to us, as by a flash
of lightning the dark landscape is revealed at night ! How gratefully do
we turn to a satisfactory illustration and find there the realization of our
own conception which the artist has made still more rich and splendid by
his craft! And when the subject matter is such as to put our logical
reflection under severe or continuous strain, how constantly do we have
recourse to the device of tabulating or schematizing the substance of dis-
cussion in some spatial way that shall present it concretely and visibly !

Illustration has thus a distinct and important place in literature.
The use of pictures is twofold — they serve understanding and they in-
crease enjoyment. In the latter case, however, they are not, in the

THE PICTURE AND THE TEXT 277

proper sense, part of the discussion which they accompany, but form an
independent source of value. Their service to the understanding is also
twofold — they make clear to us relations too complex to be successfully
conveyed by words, or conveyable only at inordinate length. Of this
class of pictures the spatial diagram is typical. Their second function is
to bring before us a scene whose splendor and richness can not be suc-
cessfully represented in imagination. The latter bears to material con-
tent the relation which explanatory diagrams sustain to formal synthesis.
Pictures of buildings and natural scenery, of the human figure and
organic forms at large, indeed all concrete objects which are either un-
familiar or present subtle complications and gradations of quality, fall
within this category.

While pictures have their own distinct place in literature, they can
not be substituted for the textual description in any degree without
affecting the place of the whole composition in the evolutionary scale.
Language sets as its ideal the development of an adequate system of sym-
bols for the representation of experience. The spoken sentence has ful-
filled its function only when, through its own elements and syntactical
form alone, it has adequately expressed the content of meaning intended
by him who utters it. Writing is a transliteration of speech, and merely
substitutes another medium in its performance of the same ideal office.
Each in its own field aims at the development of a pure system of sym-
bols, that is, a system which without accessories is capable of indicating
the whole range of distinctions with which thought is concerned.
Among civilized peoples both speech and writing approach adequacy in
this regard, but in so far as pantomime persists in the one case, or illus-
tration is relied on in the other, it marks a deficiency in the medium. In
its ideal form language should no more depend upon gestures and pict-
ures than upon the presence of the original objects and relations them-
selves which it seeks to represent through conceptual forms.

One has mastered the uses of language only when he is able to make
a continuous translation of experience into its symbols and, with a simi-
lar facility, to interpret these signs in terms of their ideal meanings. In
writing, then, such mastery is attained when adequacy in the expression
of thought has been secured without any recourse to pictures, diagrams,
models or objects. It is part of the mental training at which a cultiva-
tion of language aims to render the mind so far as possible independent
of pictorial or other concrete ways of presenting the materials with which
discourse deals. Like the use of the abacus in numbering, these aids may
be indispensable in certain forms and at particular stages of develop-
ment, but they must be superseded if any high degree of attainment is
to be secured

Language will doubtless always fall short of this ideal aim. Speech
will continue to be made more picturesque as well as intelligible by
gesture, and illustration will enrich while it illuminates the printed page.

278 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

Nevertheless to make use of a picture where a verbal description can be
given is to fall back upon a more primitive mode of representing experi-
ence, and the tendency to do so marks a degeneration either in the men-
tal habits of those who employ such methods or on the part of the readers
to whom they are addressed.

The function of the picture, in a certain large class of writings, has
recently been undergoing change, and the direction of this modification
seems to indicate a loss of intellectual fiber in the commonalty of readers.
The present day is marked by an enormous increase in the amount of
illustration which accompanies the text we read. In our books no less
than in the daily press, in what is written for adults equally with what
is prepared for children, in technical journals and scientific monographs
as well as in popular magazines, this progressive encroachment of
picture upon text is apparent. The newspaper strives for illustration in
connection with all classes of news, and its staff of photographers rivals
the corps of reporters in numbers and importance. Every page has its
pictures, and even the gist of editorial comment is sometimes indicated
by thumb-nail sketches used as paragraph-spacing.

It is probably materially true — and if so it is a significant fact — that
the cheaper the journal the greater the amount of space given to pictorial
matter. In such cases the aim seems often to make the story intelligible
by means of pictures alone, with only secondary dependence upon the
text. The appeal to pictorial representation in this way includes an im-
mensely greater range of cases than newspaper and magazine illustra-
tion; and in this larger field its uses are of course legitimate as well as
vicious. When we advertise, everything which can be represented is
pictured within a frame of type or spread upon the poster, the fences
and the farm-buildings. When we go abroad, our correspondence no
longer takes the form of twelve-page letters, but that of a dozen picture
post-cards. Our records of travel do not consist in a description of
places and people or a dramatic recital of events, but in a gallery of rep-
resentations of cities and buildings, of landscapes and portraits. We
never describe a thing if we can procure a photograph of it ; for writing
an account of any occurrence — though it presents phases of the event
which no picture can ever convey — is difficult and time-consuming.

Our popular magazines no longer depend upon the excellence of their
literary contributions as their sole claim upon attention, but are filled
with varied and mechanically admirable pictures. With the increasing
dependence upon illustration the value of the text has correspondingly
declined. In cheaper periodicals the contents are not uncommonly re-
duced to a group of departments — travel and places, the drama, celebri-
ties, oddities, jokes — in each of which the substance is largely composed
of detached pictures with minor explanatory comment. How far this
demoralization has gone is indicated by the character of the text in such
periodicals; for where it is not a mere commentary on the illustrations

THE PICTURE AND TEE TEXT 279

it is still commonly a scrap-work — of information, humor, anecdote, etc.,
with the sketch or short story as the climax of its demands upon syn-
thetic thought.

The mere change in average length of article which, with a few strik-
ing exceptions, has steadily declined during the past generation, is sug-
gestive of this alteration of attitude ; and the rise of the short story to a
dominant place in our popular magazines is probably part of the same
intellectual reaction. We seem no longer to desire sustained attention
and consecutive thought. As a consequence we turn from criticism,
reflection upon human affairs and constructive theory to fiction, which
as a class of literature presents its materials concretely and pictorially ;
while in fiction itself we prefer the short story, which must deal with a
single dramatic action or situation, rather than the novel with its more
complex plot and sustained analysis of character and motive.

Lapsing still further, we demand that our intellectual food shall be
put up in the form of mouthfuls, or boluses, in notes of travel, places,
events ; in anecdote, verse, personalia and the like ; until each page of the
publication exists in practical isolation from the rest. In such connec-
tion "mental pabulum" is a misnomer. No real intellectual stimula-
tion, enlightenment or discipline enters into the case. Mental activity
is practically limited to the pleasurable sensation of the moment. Bead-
ing becomes a stimulant, not in the sense of arousing a heightened intel-
lectual functioning, but only in its provoking a momentary excitement of
the imagination; and the mental content of the reader is reduced to a
series of such crudely exhilarating moments, unprovocative of subse-
quent reflection ■ and without any enduring illumination of mind. One
who falls into such a habit has become an intellectual drug-fiend, for the
securing by artificial means of a heightened or quieted consciousness
is not restricted to the use of the needle and the pipe alone. It is a
matter of common experience that we turn from the editorial page and
critical discussion to more trivial and inconsequential items as the
mental energies flag, and for many of us the approach of exhaustion is
marked by an assiduous and almost involuntary reading of the advertis-
ing columns of our daily paper. Men of intellectual force have similarly
confessed to a habit of devouring shilling shockers when tired from a
long bout of work, the jaded mind still craving an activity which it was
unable to sustain and finding satisfaction in the violent stimulation and
elementary situations which yellow-back literature offered.

The significance of certain changes in the place of illustration to
which attention has already been called in the case of books and periodi-
cals is still more strikingly exhibited in the recent history of platform
speaking. The public lecture has been an important factor in the de-
velopment of American culture. Before the multiplication of periodical
literature and the rise of the illustrated magazine its position was su-
preme. Upon the system of Lyceum lecturing the intelligent public

28o THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

largely depended for the dissemination of general knowledge as well as
for the presentation of social and political problems. It afforded an al-
most ideal method of developing a vigorous and independent public
opinion through the stimulation of reflection and discussion. The limi-
tations of opportunity which made the lecture cour.se a characteristic
form of entertainment in New England during the greater part of the
nineteenth century had the fortunate effect of fostering an appreciation
of good thinking and a demand for it in public speakers. By intel-
lectualizing amusement it stimulated the habit of criticism, and through
the inducements it offered to scholars and thinkers of the first rank it
secured the spread of philosophical ideas and helped to sustain general
interest in public questions.

One has only to contrast with all this the popular lecture of to-day
to realize how far we have traveled from these earlier intellectual pre-
occupations. Leaving out of question the field of political discussion,
which has had an unlike as well as independent development, and limit-
ing consideration to matters of common interest, to general information
and culture, science, art, literature and philosophy — the transformation
will not only be found radical, but will be seen to follow a course parallel
to that which has been traced in magazine and book-making. Depend-
ence is no longer upon the substance of what is presented alone ; in many
cases it has not even chief place. In lyceum days the lecturer relied
upon his own resources. Success and failure turned upon the question
of his ability alone; there was no dispersion of responsibility. Except
for rhetoric and wit he had no means of tricking out his wares. There
was no second line of defences to fall back upon ; for his discussion of art
was not illustrated with music and Greek dances, nor his lecture on
natural history supplemented by lantern slides and moving pictures.
What the speaker had to say was all that counted, and it is only when
audience and lecturer stand in this direct relation that the intellectual
quality of public speaking can be sustained.

That it has not been sustained is beyond question, and its decline is
closely associated with the increased use of pictures. Practically all
popular lectures are now illustrated. One scarcely dares come on the
platform alone or in full light; whatever one's subject, the text must be
supplemented by pictures. If a human life is to be studied, not only are
portraits secured, but pictures of parents, birthplace, and associates,
copies of autographs and human documents of all kinds. If history is
to be discussed, archives and museums are similarly ransacked for illus-
trative materials which are reproduced upon the screen. If countries are
to be described, their physical features, cities, monuments, architecture,
dress, customs and industries are pictured ; and an exhibit of natives in
their national garb as well as of their implements and products is not
infrequently brought upon the stage.

TEE PICTURE AND THE TEXT 281

All this, in the first place, has of course added an extraordinary rich-
ness and definition to our imaginative representation of the distant and
unseen. Places and persons, forms of life and manufacturing processes
are thus brought actually before our vision, if not before our senses, in
their completeness. We are made familiar in advance with things which
are to be seen only later in life, if at all ; and our sympathetic participa-
tion in affairs at large is deepened as well as broadened. The greater
world must be brought to the individual through the imagination if he
is to come into contact with it at all, and pictorial representation vital-
izes and reinforces this sense of understanding and community with
mankind.

In more specific relations the picture-supplement facilitates our
understanding, and this service has made it indispensable in bringing
before the mind objects or processes whose constitution is too complex to
be presented analytically, or to be reconstructed from a purely verbal
description. In the lecture, just as in the book, illustration has a place
not only legitimate, but important. Comprehension begins in intuition,
and our sense of security in any general conception is weakened in pro-
portion to the vagueness which marks our mental picture of its field.
So long as photographs, stereopticon views and moving pictures perform
this service, their use by the platform lecturer must be welcomed.
Nevertheless, their function is a distinctly subordinate one — namely, the
illustration of a theme which is itself still the essential preoccupation of
the mind.

This relation has now significantly altered; the picture is advanced
to the front rank and the theme has correspondingly fallen back. The
very relation of speaker and screen in the illustrated lecture symbolizes
this change. The lecturer stands in an obliterating shadow while all the
energy of illumination is concentrated upon the stereopticon sheet.
Even in its most elementary physical relations the focus of attention is
thus shifted, and the change is significant of a profound modification in
the relations of audience and lecturer. Language is an appeal to the
mind, not to the eye ; and its function is imperiled whenever this fact is
obscured. The focusing of vision plays an important part in maintain-
ing this intimate spiritual contact, and nothing more effectual in de-
stroying it can well be conceived than the substitution of another point
of regard so violent and alluring as the illuminated screen. •

The extraordinary mechanical perfection of photography, its exten-
sion into the fields of panoramic, telescopic and micro-photography, and
above all the development of motion pictures, have accelerated this adop-
tion of a new attitude and the creation of a novel demand on the part of
the audience. For one does not merely introduce a new medium in sub-
stituting pictures for discourse; the appeal is to a different side of
human nature and satisfies an independent craving. Confronting facts

282 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

is different from understanding them. Merely to go into the fields is not
to study botany, and unless we carry that definite aim with us the stroll
is much more likely to add to our dumb enjoyment than to extend our
knowledge. The eye may be filled while the mind is left untouched ; for
it is just when sense is thus completely satisfied that reflection is most
likely to lie unstirred.

The vogue of illustration, as an adjunct of public lecturing, marks
such a change of habitual attitude. We go to the lecture, as to the
theater, to be entertained, not to be instructed; and are so absorbed in
looking that we cease to think. A swift succession of vivid impressions,
resplendent in color or palpitating with motion, passes before the gaze.
There is as little leisure for reflection as directive stimulation to thought.
The senses are stimulated and at last jaded, as picture succeeds picture
and topic replaces topic; until, breathless with the dizzying rush of
scenes, we are at last tossed back, momentarily bewildered, into normal
relations with the world about us.

Under such conditions the verbal commentary of the lecturer becomes
a matter of secondary importance, and we accept a mediocrity of merit,
or even a literal incoherence, which would never have been tolerated
under the more exacting conditions of the lyceum. Indeed, if the
pictures be only chosen skilfully enough the text may be rendered wholly
negligible, as the kinetoscopic theater indicates by its elimination. In a
word, the speaker has been replaced by the picture-machine, and a cor-
responding change in our conceptions of merit has accompanied the sub-
stitution. We require better and ever better pictures and promote a race
for mechanical perfection. We stimulate the ingenuity of inventors to
devise fresh marvels of reproduction; color is added to form, and mo-
tion to color ; but still we demand more. The world is ransacked for its
treasures of picturesqueness or beauty, and men's brains racked to con-
ceive new dramas and burlesques of action. As a result these pictorial
and esthetic demands finally supersede the lecturer's original function of
interpretation.

This trend has perhaps been most striking where it has been least
justifiable, in connection with the presentation of scientific materials.
The change is at least suggested in the subordination of theoretical to
experimental and demonstration methods in teaching. The aim of scien-
tific instruction is to put the mind in possession of a system of explana-
tory concepts. These are necessarily abstract and can not be set forth in
the form of concrete examples. There is therefore a danger that atten-
tion, detained by its purely picturesque aspects, may recall the demon-
stration merely as an impressive spectacle, and thus lose sight of the
principles which it illustrates. The use of demonstration methods in the
class-room, however, presents less subversion of aim than that of plat-
form illustration. The lantern-slide has won a secure place in the tech-

THE PICTURE AND THE TEXT 283

nique of instruction, within the school system as well as beyond it, and
it is only its abuses that are to be deplored. But these have not only
crept into the rapidly growing extra-mural work of higher institutions,
but even pervade the programs of scientific societies themselves.

With the preferences of an audience which confessedly seeks enter-
tainment one can not well quarrel on the ground that it ought to
desire instruction instead; one can only note the appearance of new
predilections in the social habits of a people. But against an institution
devoted to the advancement of knowledge, or the fostering of an interest
in science, protest lodges whenever these aims are lost sight of or subordi-
nated. The past decade has seen a rapidly growing tendency on the part
of such societies to allow the presentation of purely illustrative materials
to trespass upon the formal discussion of their common subject matter.
The change is one which affects the very ideals for which these bodies
stand. The science of geology, for example, has perfectly definite aims
which are not attained by the photographic reproduction, however copi-
ous or admirable, of rock strata and erosion effects, of talus slopes and
detritus, of shifts, faults, dykes and lava-flow — though an acquaintance
with all these things is essential to the prosecution of its general under-
taking. The science of geography, likewise, is no more adequately repre-
sented in the flood of charming pictures to which we have grown accus-
tomed in periodicals and platform lectures alike than is a knowledge of
the development of any people embodied in the impressions one carries
away from those ingenious pageants to which — still as picture lovers —
we are turning with equal enthusiasm in the field of history.

In public lecturing and the methods of instruction, as in magazine
and book-making, these phenomena have a common significance. They
indicate a change in the point of support on which the speaker rests, as
well as in the nature of his appeal to the hearer. The new demand is
not less strenuous than the old, but it is of a different kind. Instead of
requiring a definite constructive activity, stimulated and directed — but
never supplanted — by the mind of the speaker, it titillates the imagina-
tion with a series of agreeable shocks. The mind is not taxed but ap-
peased; the soi-disant teacher exerts himself to anticipate the moment
of flagging attention, and out of an abundant store to supply it at each
turn with a novel and pleasurable stimulus. Education and discipline
are not attainable by any such process. It is only by thinking that
knowledge comes, and thought is a function that can neither be assumed
by a deputy nor taken over by any other faculty. Instruction and enter-
tainment, though equally essential to human life, can not be confused as
specific aims without the sacrifice of their several values. Every normal
individual resents the instruction that is disguised as entertainment;
but the ultimate effects of a systematic pretense that entertainment is
instruction are no less to be feared.

284 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

DETERMINING EDUCATIONAL VALUES

By Professor M. V. O'SHBA

UNIVERSITY OF WISCONSIN

IT will probably not be questioned by any one that the most complex
business society can undertake is to train the rising generation
effectively. The human mind is an extremely complicated thing. It
is so intricate, indeed, that it has been found impossible thus far to
discern many of the laws according to which it evolves and functions.
"What a marvelous piece of work is man," expresses the feeling of the
poet as well as the view of the student of any phase of human nature.
The problem of preparing a child for happy and effective adjustment
to the world in which he must live is immeasurably more difficult than
the hardest engineering problem, say, which men in any age have yet
undertaken. The engineer has only to deal with physical laws, which
are relatively simple and easily determined as compared with the laws
governing mental activity and efficient mental development. The engi-
neer is usually able to ascertain whether or not he has correctly appre-
hended and dealt with any law of nature. At every step he can control
his work, because the effects of his action are immediately measurable.
But it is entirely different with the educator. He can not directly
measure the outcome of his methods. Most of his training produces
noticeable effects only after a long lapse of time, and then only in an
obscure and entangled manner. Any one, then, whose duty it is actually
to mould a human mind according to the most desirable pattern, and
who realizes the complexity of his task, is apt to be more or less awed
and even mystified by his problem.

But the man on the street, looking at the business from the outside,
is apt not to feel much mystery about it. The whole matter is likely to
seem clear and simple to him. He can dash into his office, and in a
few minutes give instructions how to deal with problems which are
probably inscrutable to one who for years has been seriously trying to
solve them with due regard to all the factors involved. The tendency
of the non-expert in any field is to resist the idea that he is incompetent
to form an opinion about matters in that field. Witness how the lay-
man and even the drug doctor have ridiculed the theory that disease is
largely of bacterial origin. It is the same way with legislation. The
layman proposes to solve social ills by some simple, drastic legislation.
He resists taking the point of view that social relations are extremely
complex, and that the new difficulties which arise with the increasing

DETERMINING EDUCATIONAL VALUES 285

complexity of society demand more and more subtle forms of treatment,
in order to cause justice to prevail among men, and at the same time
not to arrest the evolution of society.

The layman usually feels mqre confident to give advice regarding
education than he does regarding medicine or legislation or even re-
ligion; and this is the chief cause of the vast amount of conflict over
teaching in these days. Those who are working on the inside, who may
be said to have the expert point of view, are introducing changes in
courses of study, in the methods of presenting subjects, and in the
modes of organizing and conducting school systems, which they think
are demanded in order to meet the changing conditions in the social
organism. New subjects are being added in the belief that they are
essential in order to give the pupil an appreciation of contemporary
life. It is seen that the conditions for which the school must prepare
its pupils are very different to-day from what they were fifty years ago ;
though the layman sometimes indicates his view of educational policy by
saying that "the little red school house produced the greatest men the
world has yet seen; and why not let good enough alone." He appar-
ently does not consider that these men may have attained their greatness
in spite of, or at least independent of, the school. As a matter of fact,
some of the most distinguished of these men were self-taught.

The man immersed in affairs in his own field is apt not to take
account of the fact that knowledge, practical knowledge, is rapidly in-
creasing in many fields which were hardly opened up fifty years ago.
Everything affecting human welfare is becoming more complex; and
even if a relatively simple school regime a half-century ago was adapted
to the needs of men in those days, such a regime might be entirely
unsuited to the conditions of to-day. The student of education sees
what has happened to society in the countries of the old world in which
the school has kept to the simple, traditional curriculum. The pupils
come out of the schools in such places quite unaware of much that
exists in the world to-day, and they are unable to cope with modern
conditions as created by progressive nations. If the advice of a large
proportion of the lay and non-expert critics of the schools should be
followed, it is as certain as anything can be that we should in a brief
time, as such things go, come to an arrest in our development, much
like that to be observed in Italy or Spain at the present time.

Of all the fault-finding regarding contemporary education, the most
persistent is that which charges the schools with devoting much of their
time and energy to " fads " and " notions." It is probable that some at
least of those who write this criticism have never been inside a modern
school building, and they doubtless have but a very imperfect concep-
tion of the principles underlying the evolution which is taking place in
the curriculum, and in methods of teaching. Such men are apt to pose
as authorities on every subject engaging the attention of people. They

286 TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTELY

know they can strike a more or less popular chord when they denounce
prevailing tendencies in teaching, so they ridicule prevailing methods
and praise those of bygone days. It has become a sort of fashion now
for certain newspapers, when they find themselves short of other mate-
rial, to run something on "fads and frills in the schools."

Eecently an editor printed a series of articles on the schools in a
western city. He said they were being "honeycombed with fads and
notions." When asked to name a conspicuous " fad " in the schools, he
replied with general statements, but without hitting the mark once in
his criticisms. He was asked whether the teaching of history was a
" fad." " Of course not," he said. " Is the reading of English classics
a f frill ' ? " " No." " Or the teaching of children to sing a few minu-
utes every day ? " " This is all right, too." " Is it a ' notion ' to teach
them to express themselves through drawing?" He thought this was
proper for most children, at any rate. " Is it wrong to have some
memorizing of literary gems every day ? " " No, this should be prac-
tised more than it is." " Where then are the ' fads ? ' " Apparently he
realized he was in a tight place; and yet it was impossible to keep him
from declaiming on the more thorough teaching of spelling, arithmetic,
etc. The fact is this man, and there are others like him, had only a
vague knowledge of the thing he was writing about. Unfortunately this
writing tends to corrupt the minds of the people, and so to render it all
the more difficult to secure educational evolution in response to the
demands of the times.

It ought to be said at this point that the majority of laymen and a
good proportion of teachers do not view the subject of educational
values in any critical way whatever. The very fact that grammar, say,
has been long taught in the elementary school is a sufficient guarantee
for such people of its superior worth, and especially since they were
taught the subject themselves. Most people settle the question of
values in education much as they settle any problem of dress or of
household management — they consider that to be right and best which
is in general practcise, and which they have been accustomed to them-
selves. As a rule, though not always, the non-expert in education (and
the principle holds for other interests) is conservative. He dislikes
reform in studies or methods, because he can keep himself better adapted
to a permanent and stable than to a changing order of things. How-
ever, this is not likely to be true in respect to the particular interest
in which he is most vitally concerned, as in manufacturing, say, where
the keenest sort of competition makes him realize that if he does not
alter his methods to meet new conditions he will be crushed by his
competitors. Keen necessity makes him dynamic, aggressive, radical.
But in all those interests which he touches only incidentally, as it were,
in which he does not feel serious competition, he often seems incapable
of appreciating that progress is necessary, or even desirable. So in edu-

DETERMINING EDUCATIONAL VALUES 287

cation, as in hygiene, religion, politics, etc., we must expect that the
majority of people who have not become particularly interested in the
business will vote to have things continued as they have been, or as they
now are. They will resist innovations. They will cry, " Fads ! "
" Frills ! " etc., whenever any new topic gains a foothold in the cur-
riculum, though they may be progressive enough in their own special
field, where they can appreciate the value of new methods suited to con-
temporary needs.

The diversity of opinion regarding values in education, to which
attention has been called above, suggests that la}rmen as well as teach-
ers must look at the matter involved from different points of view.
The writer has asked individuals and groups in many sections of our
own country, and some of the countries across the sea, what they con-
sider the proper standards in determining the value of any study, or
any method of teaching, or any principle of discipline; and the responses
have impressed the fact that there is no universal mode of appraising
values, which is adopted by laymen in deciding any educational problem.
Some persons say that a study is valuable in the measure that it con-
fers "culture" upon the one who pursues it. Other persons say that
the true value of any educative material depends upon the extent to
which it trains the mind. Still others feel that no study is of worth
which does not contribute to the individual's efficiency in practical life.

All sorts of figures of speech are used by people in striving to ex-
press their conception of the nature of mind and the function of educa-
tion. The present writer has heard the remark made time and again
that what we must do in the schools is to "strengthen the faculties";
or we must " polish " the mind, for until it has been so treated it is like
a " rough diamond," or we must " cultivate " it as we would a field, in
order that it may become "fertile"; or the subjects of study should
"nourish" the mind, as food nourishes the body; or we should
"sharpen" the faculties as we would sharpen an edged tool. The list
of figures of speech based on physical objects and phenomena and used
to describe educational work might be extended almost ad libitum.
The mind is so subtle and complex that we endeavor to make our
thinking about it definite and concrete by ascribing to it, at least for
purposes of definition, physical properties and characteristics. And
individuals as well as communities tend to employ the physical concep-
tions most familiar to them in their reactions upon their own environ-
ment. People who live on the sea will employ figures of speech differ-
ent from those who live in the mountains or on the prairies or in the
city. The mechanic will draw his figures of speech from his particular
work, and the same will be true of the miner or the merchant or the
woodsman.

Let one ask the people whom he meets on the street, in the recep-
tion hall, or in academic halls, what effect the mastering of arith-

288 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

metic, say, has upon the mind of the one who assimilates it. The
majority of the responses he receives will be based upon an argument
something like this: Arithmetic is an exact science; everything in it
can be definitely proved; accuracy is absolutely essential in resolving
arithmetical problems; therefore, the pupil who learns arithmetic will
be trained in accuracy of thinking more thoroughly than he could be in
assimilating history or geography or music. And since accurate think-
ing is the first requirement for success in life, it follows that this sub-
ject constitutes the most valuable study in the curriculum. People
who reason about education in this manner will assign to algebra,
geometry, trigonometry and other branches of mathematics the first
place in the high-school curriculum, because they are all concerned with
principles which are apparently exact; and the learner takes on the
quality of the material which he learns. Those who proceed in this
manner in determining values do not think it needful to observe
whether, even if a pupil in assimilating algebra is trained to be accurate
in his thinking, this kind of accuracy is of service to him in the prac-
tical situations of every-day life.

If one will examine the opinions of lay writers on teaching since
Plato's day, he will find that many of them have regarded the materials
and the methods of education in a purely a priori manner. They have
analyzed the matter of any subject of study, as mathematics, and they
have naively inferred that the properties of any special material, viewed
objectively, will be grafted on to the mind and character of the indi-
vidual who masters it. Take, for instance, the view held by some older
writers, that it is debasing to study what is to-day called natural science,
because of the baseness of physical objects; one who studies these
things will take on their qualities. On the other hand, if the indi-
vidual in his education is made to learn things that relate to the spirit,
he will become more highly spiritualized. Persons who gain their
notions in this manner do not think it necessary actually to observe
what effect the study of any subject has upon an individual, whether as
a fact it exalts him spiritually or debases him; whether it makes him
more of a friend to his fellows or cultivates unsocial and selfish atti-
tudes. He infers that a certain result must follow from the study of
any branch, because of the nature of the material learned.

This logical, analytic method is the popular one in use among lay-
men and among some teachers to-day, as it has been in all times. It is
in principle like the method which has been followed heretofore in the
study of values in nutrition. The older nutritionists worked out tables
of food values based entirely on chemical analyses of different articles.
They said, to cite a typical instance, " Cheese contains 70 per cent, of
albumen; albumen is an essential element in nutrition; therefore
cheese constitutes a valuable food." These analysts went through with
all the articles of food in order to determine their chemical constituents ;

DETERMINING EDUCATIONAL VALUES 289

and then they assigned them to a place in the scale of values according
to the results of this analysis. They did not think it imperative to ob-
serve whether or not the organism would easily and economically assimi-
late any particular food, or whether the factor of appetency should be
taken account of. They did not inquire whether there were elements
in cheese, say, which the organism might resent, so that instead of this
being a good article of food it might be nearer a poison.

We seem to-day to be abandoning the practise of relying wholly upon
the analytic method of determining food values. We are now attach-
ing chief importance to observing how the organism reacts upon any
article of food when it is taken into the system. This method is likely
to modify greatly our conception of food values. It is of special sig-
nificance for our purpose that it seems already to have been shown that
an article of food which may be of great service to the organism at one
period of its development may be relatively valueless or positively detri-
mental at another period. It has been shown, for example, that while a
calf may thrive on milk during the first months of its life, still if it be
kept on a milk diet too long it will begin to decline, and it will literally
starve unless other foods are added to the dietary. But the chemical
methods of determining the values of foods make out milk to be a
valuable food without regard to age or individual differences.

The principle under consideration can be illustrated further by
referring to the methods employed in an earlier day in the study of the
parts of speech in children's language. Men like Hale and others wrote
down the words an eighteen-months old child, say, used in his daily
expressions. Then they went to work and classified these words accord-
ing to their grammatical properties, so that they found that 60 per cent,
of the words a child used were nouns, 20 per cent, were adjectives, and
so on. Then they inferred that the child's thought relates mainly to
objects as contrasted with actions, and qualities, and spacial relations,
since nouns predominate in his vocabulary, and they denote things.
But to-day we appreciate that the outward form of a word does not
furnish clear evidence of the way it functions in the child's expression.
He may use the word " cat," say, with verbal, adjectival, and exclam-
atory as well as pure nominal function. That is to say, the fact that
" cat " is grammatically a noun does not show that the child employs it
as such. Indeed, it is certain that at the outset he does not use it with
strict nominal function. The only effective way to determine the parts
of speech in a child's vocabulary, viewing the matter from the stand-
point of the function of words in expressing thought, is to observe the
child as he reacts upon his environments when he uses particular words,
so that we may notice what his attitudes are when he employs them.

This principle is mentioned here simply to impress it as of special
importance in application to the study of educational values. In order

VOL. LXXXV. — 20.

2 9o THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

to determine these values in any effective way, we must take account
not only of particular subjects and methods of instruction, but we must
keep in view especially how the individual reacts upon these materials
when they are presented to him according to different methods and what
effect they have on his activities.

Manifestly, in the present light of our knowledge on the subject,
one can not speak with certainty regarding much of the material of
education. The factors determining efficiency in adjustment are too
complex and involved to permit of detailed analysis, and the function
of each definitely estimated. While the pupil is in school he is also in
the home and on the street. He is having much experience for which the
school is not in any way responsible; though it has been the common
practise in discussing values to ignore all experience except that gained
within the school. One frequently sees persons who naively infer that
whatever ability they possess in using arithmetic, say, in daily life, was
gained in the school; but it is easily possible that most if not all of it
was developed through the necessity of dealing with real situations out-
side of the school. In the same way, they maintain that their skill and
efficiency in the use of the English language was developed through the
study of grammar in the school, whereas it is probable that their lin-
guistic ability is due mainly to the give-and-take of life in the home,
and in the other real situations of life.

But while one can not assume a dogmatic attitude in the discussion
of these problems to-day, nevertheless one may proceed in confidence
upon the proposition that the individual will be benefited in school
education only to the extent that the sort of experience he has in the
school is the same kind as that which he" will have outside in adjusting
himself to the conditions of daily life. This means that in respect to
the material of education, and also to some extent to the method of
teaching, there must be diversity depending upon sex, upon existing
social conditions, and particularly upon the sphere of life in which indi-
viduals will be placed. For a child being trained in Italy, say, any
given subject would be likely to have a somewhat different value from
what it would have for a child being trained in America. It is impos-
sible then to say what the value of any special subject or method is until
one knows what the needs of the pupils are. Of course, in any given
country at any particular time individuals can be grouped into classes,
all the members of which will have substantially the same needs; and
the needs of any one member will be ministered to effectively if he has
the experiences which will work out well for the group to which he be-
longs. His individual needs may not be provided for in every detail ;
but there will not be much waste in his case provided that the general
needs of the group are adequately met. In a dynamic, developing
social organism, there will be constant differentiation among indi-
viduals, so that for some members new needs will be arising which will

DETERMINING EDUCATIONAL VALUES 291

not be fully taken care of if they are confined to what is essential for the
group as a whole. This implies that in any plastic society the number
of groups which must be provided for in the school will be constantly
enlarging as society grows more complex and new forms of social
service are required.

So one who attempts to estimate educational values in America
to-day must appreciate that his work can not endure for all time, ex-
cept in respect to certain fundamental needs, which must be reasonably
permanent for all people under all conditions. But it is manifestly
impossible to say in detail what will be essential in the schools fifty
years from now. As society becomes differentiated, new needs will arise
which will require the establishment of institutions for the training of
new groups. If the school is thoroughly plastic, it will from decade to
decade revise its curriculum and its methods in respect to the details of
its procedure. What is going on in America to-day in the modification
of curricula and methods is inevitable in a civilization like our own ; and
it is bound to continue. Topics of study of importance a hundred
years ago may be of relatively little importance to-day. On the other
hand, on account of changing social conditions, many topics and sub-
jects may be of worth to-day which would have been of little account a
hundred years ago. If the school fulfills its mission, there must be
constant evolution, in respect alike to the materials taught and the
methods of teaching and of discipline. Nations in which this is not
true must sooner or later become decadent.

292 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

THE PAKADOX OF THE EAST WIND

By Pbofessob ALEXANDER McADIE

BLUB HILL METEOROLOGICAL OBSEBVATORY

ABOUT ten miles south of Boston, on the highest land within sight
of the sea from Maine to Florida, is a well-known meteorological
observatory, founded some thirty years ago by a young graduate of the
Massachusetts Institute of Technology. The founder, Lawrence Botch,
became in time the pioneer explorer of the upper air, contributing much
to our knowledge of air motion at different levels. In collaboration with
Teisserenc de Bort, he may be credited with inaugurating the campaign
which resulted in the important discovery of the double character of our
atmosphere, as shown by the two great divisions of the stratosphere and
the troposphere.

A few years before his death, Botch, who was then professor of
meteorology at Harvard, remodeled the Blue Hill Observatory and on the
walls of the new library placed eight symbolized figures of the winds.
These were copies in relief of the winged human figures on the frieze
of the not-too-well-known Tower of the Winds, which has stood for
twenty-odd centuries at the base of the hill crowned by the Acropolis.

The Greek was a past-master in the art of personifying natural phe-
nomena and these figures of the winds are ornamented, clothed and
posed so as to suggest the characteristic feature of the particular direc-
tion represented. Boreas, an old friend, representing the north wind, is
a determined-looking fellow, warmly clad but active in spite of his many
wraps and heavy buskins. He carries a conch shell and has been blowing
it. The sculptor meant, of course, to represent the boisterous roaring of
the north wind, especially noticeable where the air in its passage comes
over some range or group of hills. Of all the winds, Boreas is the noisi-
est. But it is not so much with Boreas, or his companion on the left and
fellow noise-maker, the ruffian Skiron, warder of the northwest winds, that
we are concerned, as with the east wind, the hopeful, open-faced Aphe-
liotes. Apheliotes Nov. Ang. is perhaps an unfamiliar phrase yet it is
only the classical rendering of a very familiar expression, namely, the
east wind of New England. And many speak of the east wind as if it
belonged to New England alone, associating this stream of surface air, a
very shallow current, as we shall show later, with the coast north of Cape
Cod, although it prevails along the entire Atlantic seaboard.

THE PARADOX OF THE EAST WIND 293

It is a wind from the sea, and whether it comes as the gentle, welcome
sea-breeze of summer or as the sea-turn due to the advancing cyclone
from the west, it is still a recognizable ocean wind. Such winds are re-
garded in most lands with favor. Why then, do we, of the eastern states,
hold it in ill repute ? At Athens, the east wind, the wind from the sea —
the Apheliotes of the Tower — is typified by a young man with hair flow-
ing in every direction. The youth has a fine open countenance and holds
with both hands the skirts of his mantle which is filled with fruits and
flowers. Along the shores of the ^Egean, tillers of the soil, prone to take
the weather an-clia-Allah (as Allah wills), bow when the east wind blows,
echoing the words of one Dervish Mustapha in his greeting

This is a divine wind, for it wafts the blessings of Allah to U9 from Mecca.

On the Atlantic coast, as elsewhere in the United States, the prevail-
ing winds are westerly. In fact the general movement of the surface air
in temperate northern latitudes is from west to east. It is interesting
and perhaps worth while to speculate on the climatic changes which
would occur if the prevailing flow of air were reversed and the surface
current moved from east to west. Then the east wind, the Apheliotes
~$ov. Ang. would become the prevalent wind. It would not be as
now, a shallow intermittent current, but would extend to some height.
The Atlantic states would have a balmy, equable climate, with occasional
storms from the sea preceded by west winds, rather dry, and followed by
moderate east winds and showers. The climate would be like that of
Bermuda. East of the Mississippi there would be fewer hot spells, like-
wise fewer freezes. The cold wave which now follows the " low " would
be unknown. The climate of the country west of the Eocky Mountains,
however, would be rigorous. Temperature changes would be pronounced
on the Pacific coast.

Let us examine now the records of the flow of the air from sea to
land and from land to sea, at different levels, as shown by the Blue Hill
records. Owing to the sensitiveness of the instruments and the open
character of the scales employed, also because there has been no change
in exposure or methods, the data are thoroughly comparable and in them-
selves constitute a unique and valuable contribution to American aerology.
It is doubtful if at any other station in our country records of wind di-
rection and velocity are so detailed and complete. Checked by numerous
experiments with kites and balloons, the records show that there is twice
as much wind from the west as from the east. This will surprise many,
for the impression is widespread that the climate of the Atlantic seaboard,
is determined primarily by the east wind. On the contrary, west winds
dominate and control both by duration and velocity. The indictment may
seem somewhat sweeping ; but so far as we can at present determine, the

2 94 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

west and northwest winds are responsible for the severity of our winter;
and the southwest wind for the heat of summer. Counting the actual hours
of flow of air in different directions, it appears that the west prevails one
fifth of the time, the northwest, nearly as long, and the southwest, one
sixth of the whole period. In a year, the west wind blows 1,739 hours,
the northwest 1,609 and the southwest 1,412. The total duration of all
winds from easterly points of the compass is but 1,950; and the ratio of
east to west is as four to ten. The east wind by itself prevails only six
hours in a hundred and so can hardly be a controlling factor of the cli-
mate. But some one may say : " Granting that the east wind does not
blow as long as the winds from other quarters, possibly it blows harder ?"
No, just the opposite is the case. The mean velocities in meters per
second from sea-level up to a mile, are NW. 12, W. 12, SW. 11, N. 11,
S. 10, NE. 9, SE. 9 and E. 6. This proves that the east wind is the
feeblest of all the winds. Moreover easterly winds blow more frequently
in summer than in winter. The east wind is also the current of most
uniform velocity, i. e., the least gusty, while our friends Boreas and
Skiron true to their reputations are genuine gust makers. The
period of greatest gustiness or instability, is the afternoon. All the
winds increase in velocity with elevation up to a certain height; but the
east and northeast winds are not deep and at an elevation of two
kilometers (6,562 feet) these winds rarely occur. There are two kinds
of east wind, the cyclonic wind which is moderately strong ; and the sea-
breeze which is only a few hundred feet in depth. The latter occurs on
clear, warm, quiet days and never when the pressure distribution is
favorable for turbulent conditions. It does not originate on land but
comes in from the sea and seems to push away slowly the quiet, stagnant
air in front. The ripples on the water as the breeze works its way land-
ward look like schools of mackerel. On very quiet warm mornings the
breeze may arrive as early as ten o'clock. It veers slightly as the sun
gets half-way down and dies away as gently as it began. It does not
penetrate far inland and its effect in lowering the temperature is
limited to a few miles back from the shore. It comes too at a season
when the air-gods seemingly are willing to rest, when the storm fre-
quency is a minimum, when the Atlantic and the land have respite
from the strenuous succession of storms. Then ceases for a while the
rapid alternation of "high" and "low," the alternation which causes
the characteristic changeableness for which the east wind is made
scapegoat.

Truly men have much to learn about the medium in which they live,
the very air they breathe. Paradoxically the orchardist blames the frost,
as he sees it, for the damage to his crop, whereas the congealed water
in the process of solidifying retards the fall in temperature, giving

THE PARADOX OF THE EAST WIND 295

out in the unequal fight its own latent heat of fusion, some 80 calories
per gram of ice, plus the latent heat of condensation, some 596 calories
per gram of water. Similarly men blame the breath of old ocean, the
invisible vapor brought in by the east wind, calling it chilly, damp and
disagreeable; forgetting that the cold has been caused primarily by
the wide-sweeping western winds. Certainly Apheliotes is a water-
bearer; he bears and pours, ministering to the desiccate air even aa
the garden lover bears and pours upon the parched and thirsty beds.
For the service rendered, this wind from the water gets small praise,
while noisy Boreas and blustering Skiron driving all warmth and mois-
ture before them pass approved of men as health givers.

296 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

WAR AND PEACE

A League of Peace

THE futility of war as a means of producing peace between nations
has often been dwelt upon. It is really the most futile of all
remedies, because it embitters contestants and sows the seeds of future
struggles. Generations are sometimes required to eradicate the hostility
engendered by one conflict. War sows dragons' teeth, and seldom gives
to either party what it fought for. When it does, the spoil generally
proves Dead Sea fruit. The terrible war just concluded is another
case in point. Neither contestant obtained what he fought for, the
reputed victor being most of all disappointed at last with the terms
of peace. Had Japan, a very poor country, known that the result
would be a debt of two hundred millions sterling loading her down, or
had Russia known the result, differences would have been peacefully
arbitrated. Such considerations find no place, however, in the fiery
furnace of popular clamor; as little do those of cost or loss of life.
Only if the moral wrong, the sin in itself, of man-slaying is brought
home to the conscience of the masses may we hope speedily to banish
war. There will, we fear, always be demagogues in our day to inflame
their brutal passions and urge men to fight, as a point of honor and
patriotism, scouting arbitration as a cowardly refuge. All thoughts of
cost or loss of human life vanish when the brute in man, thus aroused,
gains sway.

It is the crime of destroying human life by war and the duty to
offer or accept peaceful arbitration as a substitute which need to be
established, and which, a3 we think, those of the church, the universities,
and of the professions are called upon to strongly emphasize.

If the principal European nations were not free through con-
scription from the problem which now disturbs the military authorities
of Britain, the lack of sufficient numbers willing to enter the man-
slaying profession, we should soon hear the demand formulated for a
league of peace among the nations. The subject of war can never be
studied without recalling this simplest of all modes for its abolition.
Five nations cooperated in quelling the recent Chinese disorders and
rescuing their representatives in Pekin. It is perfectly clear that these
five nations could banish war. Suppose even three of them formed a
league of peace — inviting all other nations to join — and agreed that
since war in any part of the civilized world affects all nations, and
often seriously, no nation shall go to war, but shall refer international
disputes, to the Hague conference or other arbitral body for peaceful

WAR AND PEACE 297

settlement, the league agreeing to declare non-intercourse with any
nation refusing compliance. Imagine a nation cut off to-day from
the world. The league also might reserve to itself the right, where
non-intercourse is likely to fail or has failed to prevent war, to use the
necessary force to maintain peace, each member of the league agreeing
to provide the needed forces, or money in lieu thereof, in proportion to
her population or wealth. Being experimental and upon trial, it might
be deemed advisable, if necessary, at first to agree that any member
could withdraw after giving five years' notice, and that the league
should dissolve five years after a majority vote of all the members.
Further provisions, and perhaps some adaptations, would be found
requisite, but the main idea is here.

The Emperor of Eussia called the Hague conference, which gave
us an international tribunal. Were King Edward or the Emperor of
Germany or the President of France, acting for their governments, to
invite the nations to send representatives to consider the wisdom of
forming such a league, the invitation would no doubt be responded to
and probably prove successful.

The number that would gladly join such a league would be great,
for the smaller nations would welcome the opportunity.

The relations between Britain, France and the United States to-day
are so close, their aims so similar, their territories and fields of opera-
tion so clearly defined and so different, that these powers might
properly unite in inviting other nations to consider the question of such
a league as has been sketched. It is a subject well worthy the atten-
tion of their rulers, for of all the modes of hastening the end of war
this appears the easiest and the best. We have no reason to doubt that
arbitration in its present optional form will continue its rapid progress,
and that it in itself contains the elements required finally to lead us
to peace, for it conquers wherever it is tried; but it is none the less
gratifying to know that there is in reserve a drastic mode of enforce-
ment, if needed, which would promptly banish war. . . .

Let me close by quoting the words of Lincoln. When a young man,
employed upon a trading boat, he made a voyage of some weeks' dura-
tion upon the Mississippi. He visited a slave market, where men,
women and children were not slaughtered, as formerly in war, but were
separated and sold from the auction block. His companion tells that
after standing for some time Lincoln turned and walked silently away.
Lifting his clenched hand, his first words were, " If ever I get a chance,
I shall hit this accursed thing hard." Many years passed, during
which he never failed to stand forth as the bitter foe of slavery and the
champion of the slave. This was for him the paramount issue. He was
true to his resolve throughout life, and in the course of events his time
came at last. This poor, young, toiling boatman became president of
the United States, and was privileged with a stroke of his pen to

298 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

emancipate the slaves last remaining in the civilized world, four millions
in number. He kept the faith, and gave the lesson for all of us in our
day, who have still with us war in all its enormity, many of us more
or less responsible for it, because we have not hitherto placed it above all
other evils and concentrated our efforts sufficiently upon its extinction.
Let us resolve like Lincoln, and select man-slaying as our foe, as he did
man-selling. Let us, as he did, subordinate all other public questions
to the one over-shadowing question, and, as he did, stand forth upon
all suitable occasions to champion the cause. Let us, like him, keep the
faith, and as his time came, so to us our time will come, and, as it
does, let us hit accursed war hard until we drive it from the civilized
world, as he did slaverv. — Andrew Carnegie in the Popular Science
Monthly for May, 1906.

THE MOEAL EQUIVALENT OF WAE

HAVING said thus much in preparation, I will now confess my own
utopia. I devoutly believe in the reign of peace and in the
gradual advent of some sort of a socialistic equilibrium. The fatalistic
view of the war-function is to me nonsense, for I know that war-making
is due to definite motives and subject to prudential checks and reason-
able criticisms, just like any other form of enterprise. And when whole
nations are the armies, and the science of destruction vies in intellec-
tual refinement with the sciences of production, I see that war becomes
absurd and impossible from its own monstrosity. Extravagant am-
bitions will have to be replaced by reasonable claims, and nations must
make common cause against them. I see no reason why all this should
not apply to yellow as well as to white countries, and I look forward to
a future when acts of war shall be formally outlawed as between civil-
ized peoples.

All these beliefs of mine put me squarely into the anti-militarist
party. But I do not believe that peace either ought to be or will be
permanent on this globe, unless the states pacifically organized preserve
some of the old elements of army-discipline. A permanently successful
peace-economy can not be a simple pleasure-economy. In the more or
less socialistic future towards which mankind seems drifting we must
still subject ourselves collectively to those severities which answer to
our real position upon this only partly hospitable globe. We must make
new energies and hardihoods continue the manliness to which the mili-
tary mind so faithfully clings. Martial virtues must be the enduring
cement; intrepidity, contempt of softness, surrender of private interest,
obedience to command, must still remain the rock upon which states
are built — unless, indeed, we wish for dangerous reactions against com-
monwealths fit only for contempt, and liable to invite attack whenever

TEE MORAL EQUIVALENT OF WAR 299

a center of crystallization for military-minded enterprise gets formed
anywhere in their neighborhood.

The war-party is assuredly right in affirming and reaffirming that
the martial virtues, although originally gained by the race through
war, are absolute and permanent human goods. Patriotic pride and
ambition in their military form are, after all, only specifications of a
more general competitive passion. They are its first form, but that is
no reason for supposing them to be its last form. Men now are proud
of belonging to a conquering nation, and without a murmur they lay
down their persons and their wealth, if by so doing they may fend off
subjection. But who can be sure that other aspects of one's country
may not, with time and education and suggestion enough, come to be
regarded with similarly effective feelings of pride and shame? Why
should men not some day feel that it is worth a blood-tax to belong to a
collectivity superior in any ideal respect? Why should they not blush
with indignant shame if the community that owns them is vile in any
way whatsoever? Individuals, daily more numerous, now feel this
civic passion. It is only a question of blowing on the spark till the
whole population gets incandescent, and on the ruins of the old morals
of military honor, a stable system of morals of civic honor builds itself
up. What the whole community comes to believe in grasps the indi-
vidual as in a vise. The war-function has grasped us so far; but con-
structive interests may some day seem no less imperative, and impose
on the individual a hardly lighter burden.

Let me illustrate my idea more concretely. There is nothing to
make one indignant in the mere fact that life is hard, that men should
toil and suffer pain. The planetary conditions once for all are such,
and we can stand it. But that so many men, by mere accidents of birth
and opportunity, should have a life of nothing else but toil and pain
and hardness and inferiority imposed upon them, should have no vaca-
tion, while others natively no more deserving never get any taste of this
campaigning life at all — this is capable of arousing indignation in re-
flective minds. It may end by seeming shameful to all of us that some
of us have nothing but campaigning, and others nothing but unmanly
ease. If now — and this is my idea — there were, instead of military
conscription a conscription of the whole youthful population to form
for a certain number of years a part of the army enlisted against
nature, the injustice would tend to be evened out, and numerous other
goods to the commonwealth would follow. The military ideals of
hardihood and discipline would be wrought into the growing fiber of the
people; no one would remain blind as the luxurious classes now are
blind, to man's real relations to the globe he lives on, and to the perma-
nently sour and hard foundations of his higher life. To coal and iron
mines, to freight trains, to fishing fleets in December, to dishwashing,
clothes-washing and window-washing, to road-building and tunnel-

3oo THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

making, to foundries and stoke-holes, and to the frames of skyscrapers,
would our gilded youths be drafted off, according to their choice, to get
the childishness knocked out of them, and to come back into society with
healthier sympathies and soberer ideas. They, would have paid their
blood-tax, done their own part in the immemorial human warfare
against nature, they would tread the earth more proudly, the women
would value them more highly, they would be better fathers and teach-
ers of the following generation.

Such a conscription, with the state of public opinion that would
have required it, and the many moral fruits it would bear, would pre-
serve in the midst of a pacific civilization the manly virtues which the
military party is so afraid of seeing disappear in peace. We should get
toughness without callousness, authority with as little criminal cruelty
as possible, and painful work done cheerily because the duty is tem-
porary, and threatens not, as now, to degrade the whole remainder of
one's life. I spoke of the " moral equivalent " of war. So far, war has
been the only force that can discipline a whole community, and until
an equivalent discipline is organized, I believe that war must have its
way. But I have no serious doubt that the ordinary prides and shames
of social man, once developed to a certain intensity, are capable of
organizing such a moral equivalent as I have sketched, or some other
just as effective for preserving manliness of type. It is but a question
of time, of skillful propagandism, and of opinion-making men seizing
historic opportunities.

The martial type of character can be bred without war. Strenuous
honor and disinterestedness abound elsewhere. Priests and medical
men are in a fashion educated to it, and we should all feel some degree
of it imperative if we were conscious of our work as an obligatory
service to the state. We should be owned, as soldiers are by the army,
and our pride would rise accordingly. We could be poor, then, without
humiliation, as army officers now are. The only thing needed hence-
forward is to inflame the civic temper as past history has inflamed the
military temper. H. G. Wells, as usual, sees the center of the situation.
"In many ways," he says, "military organization is the most peaceful
of activities. When the contemporary man steps from the street, of
clamorous insincere advertisement, push, adulteration, underselling and
intermittent employment, into the barrack-yard, he steps on to a higher
social plane, into an atmosphere of service and cooperation and of infi-
nitely more honorable emulations. Here at least men are not flung
out of employment to degenerate because there is no immediate work
for them to do. They are fed and drilled and trained for better services.
Here at least a man is supposed to win promotion by self-forgetfulness.
and not by self-seeking. And beside the feeble and irregular endow-
ment of research by commercialism, its little short-sighted snatches at
profit by innovation and scientific economy, see how remarkable is the

THE MORAL EQUIVALENT OF WAR 301

steady and rapid development of method and appliances in naval and
military affairs ! Nothing is more striking than to compare the prog-
ress of civil conveniences which has been left almost entirely to the
trader, to the progress in military apparatus during the last few decades.
The house-appliances of to-day, for example, are little better than they
were fifty years ago. A house of to-day is still almost as ill- ventilated,
badly heated by wasteful fires, clumsily arranged and furnished as the
house of 1858. Houses a couple of hundred years old are still satis-
factory places of residence, so little have our standards risen. But the
rifle or battleship of fifty years ago was beyond all comparison inferior
to those we possess; in power, in speed, in convenience alike. No one
has a use now for such superannuated things." 1

Wells adds2 that he thinks that the conceptions of order and dis-
cipline, the tradition of service and devotion, of physical fitness, un-
stinted exertion and universal responsibility, which universal military
duty is now teaching European nations, will remain a permanent acqui-
sition, when the last ammunition has been used in the fireworks that
celebrate the final peace. I believe as he does. It would be simply
preposterous if the only force that could work ideals of honor and
standards of efficiency into English or American natures should be the
fear of being killed by the Germans or the Japanese. Great indeed is
fear; but it is not, as our military enthusiasts believe and try to make
us believe, the only stimulus known for awakening the higher ranges
of men's spiritual energy. The amount of alteration in public opinion
which my utopia postulates is vastly less than the difference between the
mentality of those black warriors who pursued Stanley's party on the
Congo with their cannibal war-cry of "meat! meat" and that of the
"general staff" of any civilized nation. History has seen the latter
interval bridged over: the former one can be bridged over much more
easily.' — William James in the Populae Science Monthly for Octo-
ber, 1910.

WAR AND MANHOOD

THOSE who fall in war are the young men of the nations, the men
between the ages of eighteen and thirty-five, without blemish so
far as may be — the men of courage, alertness, dash and recklessness,
the men who value their lives as naught in the service of the nation.
The man who is left is for better and for worse the reverse of all this,
and it is he who determines what the future of the nation shall be.

However noble, encouraging, inspiring, the history of modern
Europe may be, it is not the history we should have the right to expect
from the development of its racial elements. It is not the history that
would have been made by these same elements released from the shadow

1" First and Last Things," 1908, p. 215.
2 Ibid., p. 226.

3o2 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

of the reversed selection of fratricidal war. And the angle of divergence
between what might have been and what has been, will be determined
by the percentage of strong men slain on the field of glory.

And all this applies, not to one nation nor to one group of nations
alone, but in like degree to all nations, which have sent forth their
young men to the field of slaughter. As with Greece and Eome, as
with France and Spain, as with Mauritania and Turkestan, so with
Germany and England, so with all nations who have sent forth "the
best they breed" to the foreign service, while cautious, thrifty medioc-
rity filled up the ranks at home.

In his charming studies of "Feudal and Modern Japan," Mr.
Arthur Knapp, of Yokohama, returns again and again to the great
marvel of Japan's military prowess after more than two hundred years
of peace. This was shown in the Chinese war. It has been more
conclusively shown on the fields of Manchuria since Mr. Knapp's book
was written. It is astonishing to him that, after more than six genera-
tions in which physical courage has not been demanded, these virile
virtues should be found unimpaired. We can readily see that this is
just what we should expect. In times of peace there is no slaughter of
the strong, no sacrifice of the courageous. In the peaceful struggle for
existence there is a premium placed on these virtues. The virile and
the brave survive. The idle, weak and dissipated go to the wall.
"What won the battles on the Yalu, in Korea or Manchuria," says
the Japanese, Nitobe, " was the ghosts of our fathers guiding our hands
and beating in our hearts. They are not dead, these ghosts, those
spirits of our war-like ancestors. Scratch a Japanese, even one of the
most advanced ideas, and you will find a Samurai." If we translate
this from the language of Shintoism to that of science we find it a
testimony to the strength of race-heredity, the survival of the ways of
the strong in the lives of the self-reliant.

If after two hundred years of incessant battle Japan still remained
virile and warlike, that would indeed be the marvel. But that marvel
no nation has ever seen. It is doubtless true that war-like traditions
are most persistent with nations most frequently engaged in war. But
the traditions of war and the physical strength to gain victories are
very different things. Other things being equal, the nation which has
known least of war is the one most likely to develop the "strong bat-
talions" with whom victory must rest.

As Americans we are more deeply interested in the fate of our
mother country than in that of the other nations of Europe.

What shall we say of England and of her relation to the reversed
selection of war?

Statistics we have none, and no evidence of tangible decline that
Englishmen will not indignantly repudiate. When the London press
in the vacation season fills its columns with editorials on English

WAR AND MANHOOD 3°3

degeneration, it is something else to which these journalists refer.
Their problem is that of the London slums, of sweat-shops and child-
labor, of wasting overwork and of lack of nutrition, of premature old
age and of sodden drunkenness — influences which bring about the
degeneration of the individual, the inefficiency of the social group, but
which for the most part leave no trace in heredity and are therefore no
factor in the degeneration of the race. Such degradation is at once
cause, effect and symptom — a sign of racial inadequacy, a cause of
further enfeeblement and an effect of unjust and injurious social, polit-
ical and industrial conditions in the past.

But the problem before us is not the problem of the slums. What
mark has been left on England by her great struggles for freedom and
by the thousand petty struggles to impose on the world the semblance
of order called " Pax Britannica," the British peace ?

To one who travels widely through the counties of England some
part of the cost is plain.

There's a widow in sleepy Chester

Who mourns for her only son;
There's a grave by the Pabeng Eiver —

A grave which the Burmans shun.

This is a condition repeated in every village of England, and its
history is recorded on the walls of every parish church. Everywhere
can be seen tablets in memory of young men — gentlemen's sons from
Eton and Rugby and Winchester and Harrow, scholars from Oxford
and Cambridge, who have given up their lives in some far-off petty war.
Their bodies rest in Zululand, in Cambodia, in the Gold Coast, in the
Transvaal. In England only they are remembered. In the parish
churches these records are numbered by the score. In the cathedrals
they are recorded by the thousand. Go from one cathedral town to
another — Canterbury, Winchester, Chidester, Exeter, Salisbury, Wells,
Ely, York, Lincoln, Durham, Litchfield, Chester (what a wonderful
series of pictures this list of names calls up!), and you will find always
the same story, the same sad array of memorials to young men. What
would be the effect on England if all of these " unreturning brave " and
all that should have been their descendants could be numbered among
her sons to-day? Doubtless not all of these were young men of char-
acter. Doubtless not all are worthy even of the scant glory of a memo-
rial tablet. But most of them were worthy. Most of them were brave
and true, and most of them looked out on life with "frank blue
Briton eyes."

This too we may admit, that war is not the only destructive agency
in modern society, and that in the struggle for existence the England
of to-day has had many advantages which must hide or neutralize the
waste of war.

It suggests the inevitable end of all empire, of all dominion of man

3o4 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

over man by force of arms. More than all who fall in battle or are
wasted in the camps, the nation misses the "fair women and brave
men" who should have been the descendants of the strong and the
manly. If we may personify the spirit of the nation, it grieves most
not over its " unretuming brave," but over those who might have been
but never were, and who, so long as history lasts, can never be.

It is claimed that by the law of probabilities as developed by Quete-
let, there will appear in each generation the same number of potential
poets, artists, investigators, patriots, athletes and superior men of each
degree. But this law has no real validity. Its pertinence involves the
theory of continuity of paternity, that in each generation a percentage
practically equal of men of superior force or superior mentality should
survive to take the responsibilities of parenthood. Otherwise Quete-
let's law becomes subject to the operation of another law, the operation
of reversed selection, or the biological "law of diminishing returns."
In other words, breeding from an inferior stock is the sole agency in
race degeneration, as selection natural or artificial along one line or
another is the sole agency in race progress.

And all laws of probabilities and of averages are subject to a still
higher law, the primal law of biology, which no cross-current of life
can overrule or modify: Like the seed is the harvest.

And because this is true, arises the final and bitter truth: "Wars
are not paid for in war time. The bill comes later ! "• — David Starr
Jordan in the Popular Science Monthly for January, 1911.

SCIENCE AND INTERNATIONAL GOOD WILL

SCIENCE with its applications has been one of the principal fac-
tors leading to peace and international good will. Science,
democracy and the limitation of warfare are the great achievements of
modern civilization. They have advanced together almost continu-
ously from the beginnings of the universities of Bologna, Paris and Ox-
ford in the twelfth century to their great triumphs in the nineteenth
century and the present promise of their complete supremacy. It may
be urged reasonably that science is the true cause of democracy and that
science and democracy together are the influences most conducive to
permanent and universal peace.

The applications of science in industry, agriculture and commerce,
in the prevention of disease and of premature death, have abolished
the need of excessive manual labor. It long ago became unnecessary
for the great majority of the people to be held in bondage in order that
a few free citizens might have education and opportunity, and slavery
has been gradually driven from the world. The vast progress of scien-
tific discovery and invention in the nineteenth century has reduced to
a moderate amount the daily labor required from each in order that all

SCIENCE AXD INTERNATIONAL GOOD TV ILL 3°5

may be adequately fed, clothed and housed. The death-rate has been
decreased to one half; the ensuing lower birth-rate has freed nearly
half the .time of women and reduced proportionately the labor of men.
The period of childhood and youth may be devoted to universal educa-
tion, and equality of opportunity can be given to all. It is no longer
needful to depend on a privileged class to conduct the affairs of govern-
ment and to supply men of performance. Those selected from all the
people as most fit can be given the preparation and opportunity needed
to enable them to become leaders, and everv one can take an intelligent
share in political affairs and in appreciation of the higher things of life.

In giving us democracy science has made its greatest contribution
to the limitation of warfare. It must be admitted that a democratic
people may be inflamed into a mob mad for war ; but this is not likely
to happen in the case of a war of policy or of aggression. In the past
wars have been more often due to the ambitions, difficulties and in-
trigues of kings and princes than to the passions of the people, and the
decrease of wars has been largely a result of the establishment of con-
stitutional governments and of the legalization of the methods of con-
scription and taxation. If a declaration of war or an ultimatum lead-
ing to war were subject to a referendum, the vote being taken not too
promptly, and if the estimated cost of the war were collected in taxes in
advance, there would not be many wars.

We are still far from having a true political and social democracy.
The production of wealth has increased rapidly; but we have not
learned to distribute it justly or to use it wisely. The education sup-
plied by our schools is inadequate and inept. We may be confident that
a complete democracy will be the strongest force for peace that the
world has seen. Even now the great mass of the people, most of them
having some education and some property, are the true guarantees
against wanton war. A king can no longer summon his nobles and the
chiefs gather together their retainers to invade a foreign country. A
war which, with its accompanying pestilence and famine, would reduce
the population of a country to one half, as in the case of the thirty
years' war, is now almost inconceivable. And this we owe to social and
political democracy, which in turn we owe to science.

As a result of scientific progress and invention, the law of Malthus
has been reversed. The means of subsistence increase more rapidly
than the population. The sinister voluntary limitation of childbirth,
which may give rise to racial deterioration and actual depopulation, is
unnecessary. As population increases under a given condition of cul-
ture, the number of men of genius and talent competent to make the
labor of each more efficient increases in proportion ; as their inventions
are of benefit to all, the means of subsistence tend to increase as the
square of the population. As the level of education and culture is

VOL. LXXXIV. — 21.

3o6 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

raised, and as democracy is perfected, so that each is given opportunity
to do the work for which he is fit, the wealth and means of subsistence
increase still more rapidly. The law of Malthus and the law of dimin-
ishing returns, like the law of the degradation of energy, may ulti-
mately prevail, but not in any future with which we are concerned.
The population of a civilized country, in which science is cultivated,
need not be limited by famine, pestilence or war. Over-population and
the need of expansion by conquest are obviated by democracy and sci-
ence; the cause of war which may be regarded as inevitable and legiti-
mate is thus abolished. In providing adequately for the subsistence of
an increasing population, science has made a contribution to peace the
magnitude of which can not be easily overstated.

Another great service for peace to be credited to science is the de-
velopment of commerce, travel and intercommunication. Steam and
electricity are handmaids of peace. Trade disputes and the misad-
ventures of missionaries, travelers and immigrants may serve as causes
or pretexts of wars, but the balance of commerce, travel and immigra-
tion is large on the side of peace. With the existing commerce among
the nations, each dependent on every other, a war of any kind does in-
jury to all. A nation at war destroys its own property throughout the
world, and all the nations suffer. A neutral nation can no more afford
to countenance a needless war than mobs burning its own cities and
killing its own citizens. In New York, London, Berlin and Paris are
business houses and representatives of every country in the world.
How could any nation wish to destroy or to permit the destruction of
these cities? . . .

Science has given us democracy, it has given us ample means of
subsistence, it has given us commerce and intercommunication, and
these three achievements are the principal factors which have lessened
warfare and will eventually lead to its complete abolition. Other con-
tributions of science, though less momentous, are by no means unim-
portant. Warfare is now in large measure applied science, and this
tends towards its decrease. Wars between nations with scientific equip-
ment and savage and barbarous peoples are no longer waged on equal
terms and are of short, duration. The extermination, despoliation and
subjugation of the non-Caucasian races may be the world's great trag-
edy, and in so far as some of these peoples are able to adopt our science
there will be a readjustment which may be written in blood or may be
a triumph of common sense and justice. However this may be, the in-
vincibility that science has conferred on the western nations has made
them safe from attack and invasion, and while it may on occasion have
led to wanton aggression, it has, on the whole, limited warfare. If we
call to mind the centuries of invasion and threats of invasion by North-
men, Ottomans and Saracens, we can appreciate the value of the means
of defense which science has given to the civilized nations.

SCIENCE AND INTERNATIONAL GOOD WILL 3° 7

The making of warfare an applied science by the western nations
and by one eastern nation has tended also to prevent war between na-
tions so equipped. When war is a game of skill rather than of chance,
it is likely to be undertaken only after careful consideration of the con-
ditions and consequences. The cost is enormous and must be carefully
weighed. The interests of the money lenders are usually on the side of
peace and become increasingly so as war continues. If war does occur
between two great nations it is likely to be of short duration. It can
not drag on through tens of years as formerly. Its horrors are also re-
duced; non-combatants are not so much concerned, and soldiers suffer
less from disease — far more dreadful than violence — owing to the
shorter duration of wars and to hygiene, medicine and surgery. It may
be hoped that science has accomplished, on the whole, more for defense
than for aggression; torpedoes, mines, submarines and aeroplanes are
more effective for protection than for attack. The cost of modern
armaments is so immense that this in itself will lead to their limitation
and to the settlement of difficulties otherwise than by appeal to arms.

There is a psychological aspect of modern scientific warfare, which
tends to discredit it. The heroism and the bravery, the excitement of
personal contact and the exhibition of personal prowess, the romance
and the occasional chivalry, are largely gone. Men cooped up in battle-
ships or displayed like pawns on the field are not much greater heroes
to themselves or to others than workers in a mine exposed to nearly
equal danger. Officers under constant instructions from the seat of
government and telegraphing their orders from a point of safety fall to
the level of ordinary men of affairs. Tin soldiers will not forever stir
the imagination of children in the nursery. Providence is on the side
favored by the money lenders and having the best organized commis-
sariat. AYar becomes brutal and disgusting; at its best like the busi-
ness of the hangman, at its worst like infanticide. — J. McKeen Cattell
in the Popular Science Moxthly for April, 1912.

3o8

THE P0PULA1! SCIENCE MONTHLY

THE PEOGBESS OF SCIENCE

TJIE MAD WAS

An obscure French war of the fif-
teenth century is known to historians
as the guerre folic, but no carnage so
well deserves to be called the "mad
war" as the international slaughter
now raging in Europe. There existed
an inevitable conflict of inherited
memories between Germany and France,
an inevitable commercial conflict be-
tween Germany and Great Britain, an
inevitable racial conflict between Teu-
tons and Slavs. But these conflicts
might have been carried forward to
the benefit of civilization instead of for
its subversion. The decrease in the
death rate, the maintenance of the
birth rate, the care and education of
children, the improvement of the con-
dition of the laboring classes, the less-
ening of pauperism, waste, vice and
crime, the decrease of debts and the
accumulation of wealth, the progress of
science and its applications to manu-
factures and commerce — these are the
conditions of national greatness, and
each nation as it advances adds to the
welfare of its rivals even while it may
outstrip them.

Warfare results in the reverse of all
these, scarcely less for the nations
which win than for those which lose.
It is terribly obvious that the death
rate is increased both by violence and
by disease. The birth rate must de-
cline for a time and afterwards vener-
eal disease is spread broadcast. A re-
cent test in England showed that only
one man in a hundred of those appar-
ently in good health gave the reaction
for syphilis, while 19 per cent, .if
those who had been in the army showed
the signs of infection. In time of war
children are neglected and their inter-
ests perverted. In the Franco-German
war a hundred and fifty thousand men

died, leaving a corresponding host of
widows and orphans.

Lass sie betteln geh'n,
Wenn sie hungrig sind.

' ' Let them beg if they are hungry. ' '
Women are in time of war thrust back
from their slow advance to equality
with men. The laboring classes have
the bonds of their industrial slavery
more closely drawn. The rich also
suffer, though there are always vul-
tures who glut themselves. In the
Franco-German war England supplied
to half a million French soldiers shoes
with paper soles. In the present war
the international commerce of Ger-
many, amounting to over three billion
dollars a year, will be annihilated.
Great Britain. Germany and France
have each voted already credits of a
billion dollars for the taxing of future
generations and a paper wealth by
which the well-to-do exploit the poor.
Each day of the war more money will
be wasted than is needed to endow a
university such as Berlin. Everywhere
the energies of men are diverted from
scientific and social progress to de-
struction.

Even a, pan-European war does not
mean the bankruptcy or suicide of civ-
ilization. The hundred and fifty thou-
sand men of France who died in their
war are after all a lesser sacrifice than
the three million children who each year
die needlessly in Bussia. Alcohol costs
more in wealth and health and lives
than any war. Warfare is only a vast
dramatic exhibition of our savage origin
and semi-barbaric condition. In spite
of their bureaucratic military organiza-
tions, the great nations of Europe had
postponed war for more than forty
years. Even now both the governments
and the peoples of Great Britain,
Bussia, Italy and Belgium were dis-

THE PROGRESS OF SCIENCE

3°9

posed to peace. In the United States
no mob spirit of war was stirred by
the president's invasion of .Mexico, and
the sympathies of our people are
against the aggressor in the wanton
war of Europe. There we may look for
a second Napoleon the little rather
than for a second Napoleon the great.
Never again will there be a thirty
years ' war, destroying over half the
population of a great nation. Slowly
but surely the energies of men are
turning toward peace on earth and good
will among its nations.

THE SACES OF THE EUROPEAN
NATIONS AXD THEIR NAT-
URAL INCREASE

The official German justification of
the mad and wanton European war is
that it is a defense of the Teutonic cul-
ture and people against the semi-
Asiatic and barbaric Slav hordes. The
verdict of history will probably be that
it was a war of calculation for caste
and national aggrandizement and a
war of miscalculation. The German
emperor and his bureaucratic military
entourage probably held that the time
was ripe for an extension of German
influence in the Balka.ns and towards
Asia Minor, with an increase of its
African possessions at the expense of
France. But it is by no means clear
why, if the serpent was prepared to use
its fangs, it did not show its alleged
wisdom. If after the rough ultimatum
and attack of Austria on Servia. Ger-
many had waited in preparation, it
would apparently have been in far
better position. If Eussia had at-
tacked Austria on behalf of Servia,
Germany could have gone to the defense
of Austria and had its will in the Bal-
kans. If France had then attacked
Germany, Italy could only have avoided
war on France by breaking its treaty;
Great Britain and Belgium would prob-
ably have remained neutral.

The calculation in Berlin was prob-
ably that the time had come for the
use of its perfected military machine
for its glorification at home and

abroad. They knew that the Balkan
states were at odds with one another,
that there were internal disorders in
Russia, which was improving its mili-
tary system and would have four
dreadnoughts ready in the autumn, that
France had made large appropriations
for defensive works and armaments and
had increased the period of military
service, that England was on the edge

; of civil war; they assumed that they
would have the support of Italy and
Turkey, that Japan was not in question,

i that Belgium would permit the use of
its territory, that Great Britain might
submit, that a quick and crushing at-

I tack on France would give them a war
indemnity and new possessions in
Africa and that they would then be able
to turn the whole force of their arms
on Russia. In so far as this was the

! calculation at Berlin, it has in part,

! miscarried; the rest lies on the knees
of the gods.

A glance at the accompanying map
shows roughly the distribution of the
races in Europe. National sentiment is
somewhat dependent on racial origin,
on language, on religion and on other
institutions; but only in a temporary
and limited way. All the nations of
Europe are composed of peoples of com-
plex racial descent. Switzerland main-
tains admirably its national homogene-
ity with diverse races and languages.
Protestant Prussia has united with
catholic Bavaria. Austria is a complex
of nations, languages and races. New
York is a collection of cities of diverse
nationality, race, language, religions
and institutions. In the present war
there can be no real conflict of Teuton
and Slav, when the Austrian population
is more Slav than Teuton and German
dominion has already encroached on
Slavic population to the east. There
may result a change in national bound-
aries, but scarcely of racial dominance.
Germany has already as an evil inheri-
tance from Bismarck a small French
population on its west. It can only
annex the northern coast of France and
Belgium at an untold cost for a future

3io

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

generation; the same holds for Eussian
Poland and the Baltic provinces.
Russia has better claims to reconstruct
an autonomous Poland and annex parts
of Austria.

We may hope in the interest of fu-
ture peace that the map of Europe will
not be considerably altered. The chief
changes are likely to be in Africa where
apart from the English and Dutch in
the south there are no real colonies,
only exploiting ' ' protectorates. ' ' Great
Britain controls nearly 2,800,000
scpiare miles, France some 2,300,000
square miles, Germany nearly 1,000,000
square miles; Belgium, Portugal and
Italy possess large areas. If Germany
loses in the war, Great Britain is almost
certain to seize German East Africa to
control the path from the Cape to
Cairo. France, Belgium, Italy and
Portugal will probably increase their

holdings at the cost of Germany. If
Germany should dominate Europe, it
will seek to control Africa and to in-
crease instead of losing its possessions
in the far east. It will aim to supplant
Great Britain as a world-wide empire.
But the time has probably gone by
when Germany can establish colonies as
Great Britain did. It may rule subject
races as Great Britain does in India,
but it can not supply men for colonies
such as Canada and the Australian
commonwealth. In 1850 German-born
residents of the United States outnum-
bered a hundredfold those born in
Austria-Hungary, Russia and Italy
together, now the immigration from
each of these nations is ten times that
from Germany. There are some 13,000,-
000 Germans in North and South
America, but the total emigration from
Germany to the United States has de-

From the X. Y. Evening Post.

BOUNDARIES OF CENTRAL EUROPE AND THE DISTRIBUTION OF RACES.

THE PROGRESS OF SCIENCE

31*

(~~3 British
lul French

3 Germany
Portuguese

J Itauan

.□Belgian.

E:&::1 Spanish
AFRICAN

From the N. Y. Sun.

The European Possessions in Africa.

creased to 25,000 and to all other non-
European countries to one or two thou-
sand. The birth rate in the city of
Berlin has fallen from -iO per thousand
to 20 per thousand. Germany has no
larger population than it can provide
for and needs at home. It has none to
spare for emigration, still less for the
field of battle.

The birth rate and the natural in-
crease of population are the funda-
mental factors in racial advance. The
Slavs have overrun northwestern Eu-
rope and will continue to spread to the
south and west. Their natural increase
of population far exceeds that of Ger-
many, and will do so increasingly as the
death rate declines in Russia and the
birth rate continues to decline in Ger-
many. There are now three Eussian

children born for each German child.
How can Germany's army of four mil-
lion soldiers contend against a surplus
of five million children born each year
in Russia? If Germany had waited a
little longer for its war, England would
have been on its side. But nothing ex-
cept a decline in the Russian birth rate
can check its ultimate triumph. We
can only hope that it will be a victory
of peace and civilization.

SCIENTIFIC ITEMS

"We record with regret the death of
Dr. Francis Humphreys Storrer, long
professor of agricultural chemistry at
Harvard University ; of the Rev. Horace
Carter Hovey, known for his publica-
tions on caverns; of Br. Frederic Law-
rence Kortright, professor of chemistry

312

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

at the University of West Virginia; of
Professor Franklin William Hooper, di-
rector of the Brooklyn Institute of Arts
and Sciences; of Professor Albert
Smith Bickmore, emeritus head of the
department of public instruction of the
American Museum of Natural History;
of the Rev. Osmond Fisher, at one time
tutor of Jesus College, Cambridge,
known for his important contributions
to geology, and of Professor Paul
Eeclus, the distinguished Paris surgeon.

Dr. Charles W. Eliot, president
emeritus of Harvard University, has
been elected a corresponding fellow of
the British Academy. — Professor Elie
Metchnikoff, assistant director of the
Institut Pasteur, will next year cele-
brate his seventieth birthday and the
fiftieth anniversary of his doctorate. A
committee has been formed, under the
presidency of Dr. Roux, director of the
Institut Pasteur, for the celebration of
the anniversary which will include the
publication of a " Festschrift."

The following American scientific
men have accepted invitations to at-
tend the Australasian meeting of the
British Association as the guests of the

Xew Zealand government: Dr. C. G.
Abbot, Smithsonian Institution; Dr. L.
H. Bailey, Cornell University; Mr. Ly-
man J. Briggs, Department of Agricul-
ture; Professor A. P. Coleman, Univer-
sity of Toronto; Dr. Edwin G. Conklin,
Princeton University; Dr. Charles B.
Davenport, Carnegie Institution ; Pro-
fessor William M. Davis, Harvard Uni-
versity; Dr. George A. Dorsey, Field
Museum of Natural History; President
G. C. Oreelman, Ontario Agricultural
College, Guelph; Professor B. T. Ely,
University of Wisconsin; Professor
E. C. Franklin, Stanford University;
Professor P. H. Hanus, Harvard Uni-
versity; President E. F. Nichols, Dart-
mouth .College; Dr. Ira Bemsen, The
Johns Hopkins University; Professor
William M. Wheeler, Bussey Institu-
tion, Harvard University.

Mr. ' Asa G. Chaxdler has given
$1,000,000 and citizens of Atlanta
have guaranteed $500,000 for the es-
tablishment of an Atlanta University,
under the auspices of the Methodist
Church. It is said that a theological
school will be the first to be opened.

THE

POPULAR SCIENCE

MONTHLY.

OCTOBER, 1914

PHENOMENA OF INHERITANCE1

By Pbofessob EDWIN G. CONKLIN

PRINCETON UNIVERSITY

A. OBSERVATIONS OF INHERITANCE

THE observations of men in all ages have established the "fact that
in general "like produces like/' and that, in spite of many ex-
ceptions, children are in their main characteristics like their parents.
And yet offspring are never exactly like their parents, and this has led
to the saying that " like does not produce like but only somewhat like."
"What is meant is that there are general resemblances but particular dif-
ferences between parents and offspring.

Individuals and Their Characters

In considering organic individuals one may think of them as wholes
or as composed of parts, as indivisible unities or as constituent char-
acters; either aspect is a true one and yet neither is complete in itself.
Formerly in discussions on heredity the individual was regarded in its
entirety and when all hereditary resemblances and differences were
averaged it was said that one child resembled the father, another child
the mother. This method of lumping together and averaging resemb-
lances and differences led to endless confusion. In heredity, no less
than in anatomy, it is necessary to deal with the constituents of organ-
isms; in short, the organism must be analyzed and each part studied
by itself. Francis Gallon was one of the first to bring order out of
chaos by dealing with traits or characters singly instead of treating all
together. He made careful studies on the inheritance of weight and
size in the seeds of sweet peas, and on the inheritance of stature, eye-
color, intellectual capacity, artistic ability and certain diseases in man.
At the same time that Galton was thus laying the foundations for a
scientific study of heredity by dealing with characters separately,

i Third of the Norman W. Harris Lectures for 1914 at Northwestern Uni-
versity on ' ' Heredity and Environment in the Development of Men, " to be pub-
lished by the Princeton University Press.

VOL. LXXXIV. — 22.

3i4 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

another and even greater student of heredity, Gregor Mendel, was
doing the same thing in his experiments with garden peas, but inas-
much as Mendel's work remained practically unknown for many years,
Galton has been rightly recognized as the founder of the scientific
study of heredity.

Of course, neither Galton nor any one else, who has followed his
method of dealing with the characters of organisms singly, ever sup-
posed that such characters could exist independently of other charac-
ters and apart from the entire organism. This is such a self-evident
fact that it may seem needless to mention it, and yet there have been
critics who have believed, or have assumed to believe that modern stu-
dents of heredity attempt to analyze organisms into independently
existing characters, whereas in most cases they have done only what the
anatomist does in treating separately the various organs of the body.

Hereditary Kesemblances and Differences

The various characters into which an organism may be analyzed
show a greater or smaller degree of resemblance to the corresponding
characters of its parents. Whenever the differential cause of a char-
acter is a germinal one, the character is, by definition, inherited; on
the other hand, whenever this differential cause is environmental the
character is not inherited. While it is true that inheritance is most
clearly recognized in those characters in which offspring resemble their
parents, even characters in which they differ from their parents may
be inherited, as is plainly seen when, in any character, a child re-
sembles a grandparent or a more distant ancestor more than either pa-
rent. Sometimes actually new characters arise in descendants which
were not present in ascendants, but which are thereafter inherited. Ac-
cordingly inherited characters may be classified as resemblances and
differences, though both are determined by germinal organization, or
heredity. There is, therefore, no fundamental difference between in-
herited similarities and dissimilarities. Heredity and variation are not
opposing nor contrasting tendencies which make offspring like their
parents in one case and unlike them in another; really inherited char-
acters may be like or unlike those of the parents.

On the other hand, many resemblances and differences between pa-
rents and offspring are not due to heredity at all, but to environmental
conditions. By means of experiment it is possible to distinguish be-
tween hereditary and environmental resemblances and differences, but
among men where experiments are generally out of the question it is
often difficult or impossible to make this distinction.

I. Hereditary Resemblances

1. Racial Characters. — All peculiarities which are characteristic of
a race, species, genus, order, class and phylum are of course inherited,

PHENOMENA OF INHERITANCE 3J5

otherwise there would be no constant characteristics of these groups
and no possibility of classifying organisms. The chief characters of
every living thing are unalterably fixed by heredity. Men do not
gather grapes of thorns nor figs of thistles. Every living thing pro-
duces offspring after its own kind. Men, horses, cattle ; birds, reptiles,
fishes; insects, mollusks, worms; polyps, sponges, microorganisms —
all of the million known species of animals and plants differ from one
another because of inherited peculiarities — because they have come
from different kinds of germ cells.

2. Individual Characters. — Many characters which are peculiar
to certain individuals are known to be inherited, and in general use the
word inheritance refers to the repetition in successive generations of
such individual peculiarities. Among such individual characters are
the following:

(a) Morphological Features. — Hereditary resemblances are espe-
cially recognizable in the gross and minute anatomy of every organism
in the form, structure, location, size, color, etc., of each and every part.
The number of such individual peculiarities which are inherited is in-
numerable and only a few of the more striking — of the greatest and
smallest of these can be mentioned.

It is a matter of common knowledge that unusually great or small
stature runs in certain families, and Galton developed a formula for
determining the approximate stature of children from the known stat-
ure of the parents and from the mean stature of the race. However
his statistical and mathematical formulas give only general or average
results, from which, there are many individual departures and excep-
tions.

In the same way the color of the skin, the color and form of hair,
and the color of eyes are, in general, like those of one or more of the
parents or grandparents. We all know that certain facial features
such as the shape and size of eyes, nose, mouth and chin are generally
characteristic of certain families.

But the inheritance of anatomical features extends to much more
minute characters than those just mentioned. In certain families a
few hairs in the eyebrows are longer than the others; or there may be
patches of parti-colored hair over the scalp ; or dimples in the cheek,
chin, or other parts of the skin may occur ; and these trifling peculiari-
ties are ' inherited with all the tenacity shown in the transmission of
more important characters. Johannsen has found races of beans in
which the average weight of individual seeds differed only by .02 to
.03 gram, and yet these minute differences in weight were characteris-
tic of each race and were of course inherited. Jennings has found
races of paramecium which show hereditary differences of .005 mm. in
length (Fig. 46). Nettleship says that the lens of the human eye
weighs only about 175 milligrams, or about one three millionth part

316

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

of the body weight, and in hereditary cataract only about one twentieth
part of the lens becomes opaque, and yet this minute fraction of the
body weight shows the influence of heredity. Even the size, shape and

Fig. 46. Diagram of Eight Different Races of Paramecium, Each Hori-
zontal Row (A-H) Representing a Single Race. The individual showing the mean
size in each race is indicated by + ; the mean of all the races is shown by the line
X-X. The numbers are the length in microns (one thousandth of a millimeter), x 43.
(After Jennings.)

number of the cells in certain organs, and in given embryonic stages,
may be repeated generation after generation; and if our analysis were
sufficiently complete we should doubtless find that even the minute
parts of cells, such as nuclei, chromosomes and centrosomes, show in-
dividual peculiarities which are inherited.

(b) Teratological and Pathological Peculiarities are really only un-
usual or abnormal anatomical characters, but of such interest and im-
portance as to deserve special mention. Many such abnormalities are
"undoubtedly inherited, among which are the following: polydactylism,
in which more than the normal number of digits are present ; syndactyl-
ism, or a condition of webbed fingers and toes; brachydactylism, in
which the fingers are short and stumpy and usually contain less than
the normal number of joints; acondroplasy, or short and crooked limbs,
such as occur in certain breeds of dogs and sheep and in certain hu-

PHENOMENA OF INHERITANCE 3*7

man dwarfs; myopia in which the eyeball is elongated; glaucoma or
swelling of the eyeball ; coloboma, or open suture of the iris ; otosclerosis,
or thickened tympanic membrane, causing "hardness of hearing";
some forms of deaf-mutism, due to certain defects of the inner ear;
and many other characters too numerous to mention here. On the other
hand many abnormal or monstrous conditions are due to abnormal en-
vironment and are not inherited.

The question of the inheritance of diseases may be briefly considered
here. If a disease is due to some defect in the hereditary constitution,
it is inherited; otherwise, according to our definition of heredity, it is
not. Of course no disease develops without extrinsic causes but when
one individual takes a disease while another under the same conditions
does not, the differential cause may be an inherited one, or it may be
due to differences in the previous conditions of life. There is no doubt
that certain diseases run in families and have the appearance of being
inherited, but in this case as in many others it is extremely difficult in
the absence of experiments to distinguish between effects due to intrin-
sic causes and those due to extrinsic ones. Where the specific cause of a
disease is some microorganism the individual must have been infected
at some time or other, almost invariably after birth. In few instances,
is the oosperm itself infected, and even when it is this is not, strictly
speaking, a case of inheritance, but rather one of early infection. Pear-
son has found that there is a marked correlation (represented by the
number .55 when complete correlation is 1) between the tuberculous
parents and tuberculous children, but there is very little evidence that
the child is ever infected before birth. What is inherited in this case is
probably slight resistance to the tubercle bacillus. There is evidence
that almost all adult persons have been infected at one time or another
by this bacillus, but it has not developed far in all of them because
some have superior powers of resistance. Such greater or smaller re-
sistance, stronger or weaker build, is inherited, and while diminished
resistance is not the direct cause of tuberculosis it is a predisposing
cause. The same is probably true of many other diseases, the immedi-
ate causes of which are extrinsic, while only the more remote, or pre-
disposing causes, are hereditary.

(c) Physiological peculiarities are inherited as well as morpholog-
ical ones ; indeed function and structure are only two aspects of one and
the same thing, namely, organization. For all morphological characters
there are functional correlatives, for functional characters morpholog-
ical expressions, and if the one is inherited so is the other. But there
are certain characters in which the physiological aspect is more striking
than the morphological one. For example, longevity is a physiological
character which is undoubtedly dependent upon many causes, but in the
case of species which differ greatly in length of life there can be little

3i8 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

doubt that we are dealing with an inherited character. The great dif-
ferences in the length of life of an elephant and a mouse, of a parrot and
a pigeon, of a cicada and a squash bug, are as surely the result of in-
herited causes as are the differences in structure between those animals.
Within the same species different races or lines show characteristic dif-
ferences in length of life ; in the case of man the average length of life
is much greater in some families than in others, and life insurance com-
panies take account of this fact. Even within the same organism cer-
tain organs or cells are short-lived, whereas others are long-lived ; some
cells and organs live only through the early embryonic period, while
others live as long as the general organism.

Obesity is another physiological character which may be inherited;
the members of certain families grow fat in spite of themselves, while
other families remain thin however well fed they may be. Here also
many factors enter into the result, but it seems probable that the dif-
ferentiating factor is a hereditary one. Baldness affects the male
members of certain families when they have reached a given age, while
in others neither care, dissipation nor age can rob a man of his bushy
top. Hemophilia, or excessive bleeding, after an injury, which is due
to a deficiency in the clotting power of the blood, is strongly inherited
in the male line in certain families. Fecundity and a tendency to bear
twins or triplets, left-handedness, a peculiar lack of resistance to certain
diseases, and many other physiological peculiarities 'are probably in-
herited.

(d) Psychological characters appear to be inherited in the same
way that anatomical and physiological traits are; indeed all that has
been said regarding the correlation of morphological and physiological
characters applies also to psychological ones. No one doubts that par-
ticular instincts, aptitudes and capacities are inherited among both ani-
mals and men, nor that different races and species differ hereditarily in
psychological characteristics. Certain breeds of dogs such as the mastiff,
the bull dog, the terrier, the collie, and many others, are character-
ized by peculiarities of temperament, affection, intelligence and dispo-
sition. No one who has much studied the subject can doubt that dif-
ferent human races and families show characteristic differences in these
same respects. It is quite futile to argue that exceptional individuals
may be found in one race with the mental characteristics of another
race; the same could be said of different races of dogs, or of the sizes
of different races of beans or of paramecia. The fact is that racial char-
acteristics are not determined by exceptional and extreme individuals
but by the average or mean qualities of the race ; and measured in this
way there is no doubt that certain types of mind and disposition are
characteristic of certain families.

There is no longer any question that some kinds of feeble-minded-

PHENOMENA OF INHERITANCE 319

ness, epilepsy and insanity are inherited, and that there is often a
hereditary basis for nervous and phlegmatic temperaments, for emo-
tional, judicial and calculating dispositions. Nor can it be denied that
strength or weakness of will, a tendency to moral obliquity or rectitude,
capacity or incapacity for the highest intellectual pursuits, occur fre-
quently in certain families and appear to be inherited. In spite of cer-
tain noteworthy exceptions, which may perhaps be due to remarkable
variations, statistics collected by Galton show that genius is hereditary;
while the work of certain recent investigators, particularly Goddard,
Davenport and Weeks, proves that feeble-mindedness and epilepsy are
also inherited; and the careful work of Mott and of Eosanoff leaves no
room for doubt that certain types of insanity are hereditary. It fre-
quently happens that families in which hereditary insanity occurs also
have other members afflicted with epilepsy, hysteria, alcoholism, etc.,
which would indicate that the thing inherited is an unstable condition
of the nervous system which may take various forms under slightly dif-
ferent conditions. Woods has collected data concerning "Heredity in
Royalty " which seem to show that very high or low grades of intellect
and virtues may be traced through the royal families of Europe for sev-
eral generations.

The general trend of all recent work on heredity is unmistakable,
whether it concerns man or lower animals. The entire organism, con-
sisting of structures and functions, body and mind, develops out of the
germ, and the organization of the germ determines all the possibilities
of development of the mind no less than of the body, though the actual
realization of any possibility is dependent also upon environmental
stimuli.

II. Hereditary Differences

There are many limitations or exceptions to the general rule that
children resemble their parents. Sometimes these differences are due to
new combinations of ancestral characters, sometimes they are actually
new characters not present so far as known in any of the ancestors,
though even such new characters must arise from new combinations of
the elements of old characters, as we shall see later.

1. New Combinations of Characters. — In all cases of sexually pro-
duced organisms new combinations of ancestral characters are evident.
Usually a child inherits some traits from one parent and other traits
from the other parent, so that it is a kind of mosaic of ancestral traits.
Such inheritance, bit by bit, of this character from one progenitor and
that from another was described by Galton as "particulate" (Fig. 47).
On the other hand Galton supposed that in some instances a child
might inherit all or nearly all of his traits from one parent; such in-
heritance he called "alternative" (Fig. 47).

In other cases the traits of the parents appear to blend in the offspring,

BINDING ALTERNATIVE PARTICULATE

320 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

as for example, in the skin color of mulattoes; such cases were called
by Galton " blending" inheritance (Fig. 47). Sometimes characters ap-
pear in offspring which were
" latent " in the parents but
were " patent " in one or more of
the grandparents; such skipping
of a generation, during which a
character remains "latent," has
long been known as " atavism."
-w ^— At other times characters which

Fig. 47. Diagram of Galton's were presen.t in distant ancestors,
Law of Ancestral Inheritance. The L

whole heritage is represented by the en- but which have since dropped Out

tire rectangle ; that derived from each pro- of gi~ht Qr haye remained "la-
genitor by the smaller squares ; the number °

of the latter doubles in each ascending tent," reappear in descendants;
generation while its area is halved. After guch cageg are ]mown as « rever.
Thompson.)

sions.

In still other cases certain characters appear only in the male sex,
others only in the female, this being called " sex-limited " inheritance ;
while in some instances characters are transmitted from fathers through
daughters to grandsons or from mothers to sons, all such cases being
known as " sex-linked " inheritance.

2. New Characters or Mutations. — But in addition to these permuta-
tions in the distribution and combination of ancestral characters new
and unexpected characters sometimes develop in the offspring, which
were not present, so far as shown, in any of the ascendants, but which,
after they have once appeared, are passed on by heredity to descendants.
Such inherited variations are usually of two kinds, continuous or slight,
and discontinuous or sudden variations. The latter are especially no-
ticeable when variations occur in the normal number of parts, as in
four-leaved clover, or six-fingered men, and such numerical variations
have been called by Bateson "meristic." However sudden variations
may include any marked departure from the normal type, in color, shape,
size, chemical compositions, etc. Such sudden variations have long been
known to breeders as " sports," and both Darwin and Galton pointed out
the fact that such sports have sometimes given rise to new races or
breeds, though Darwin was not inclined to assign much importance to
them in the general process of evolution. Galton, on the other hand,
maintained that variations, or what would now be called "continuous
variations," can not be of much significance in the process of evolution,
but that the case is quite different with " sports." 2

More recently the entire biological world has been greatly influenced
by the "mutation theory" of deVries, which has placed a new emphasis
upon the importance of sudden variations in the process of evolution.
At first deVries was inclined to emphasize the degree of difference be-

2 "Hereditary Genius," Prefatory Chapter.

PHENOMENA OF INHERITANCE 321

tween discontinuous and continuous variations, but in later works this
distinction is given a minor place as compared with the distinction be-
tween inherited and non-inherited variations. Inherited variations,
whether large or small, are called by deVries " mutations," whereas non-
inherited variations are known as " fluctuations," the former are caused
by changes in germinal constitution, the latter by alterations in environ-
mental conditions; the former represents changes in heredity, the latter
changes in development.

3. Mutations and Fluctuations. — This clear cut distinction between
mutations and fluctuations marks one of the most important advances
ever made in the study of development and evolution. Thousands of
fluctuations occur which are purely somatic in character and which do
not affect the germ cells, for every single mutation or change in the
hereditary constitution ; and yet only the latter are of significance in
heredity and evolution. This distinction between variations due to en-
vironment (fluctuations) and those due to hereditary causes (mutations)
was recognized by Weismann and many of his followers, but the actual
demonstration on a large scale of the importance of this distinction is
clue largely to deVries.

All hereditary variations, whether due to new combinations of old
characters or to the appearance of actually new characters, whether small
and continuous, or large and discontinuous, have their causes in the or-
ganization of the germ cells, just as do inherited resemblances. Hered-
ity is not to be contrasted with variation, nor are hereditary likeness and
unlikeness due to conflicting principles ; both are the results of germinal
organization and both are phenomena of heredity.

4. Every Individual Unique. — As a result of the permutations of an-
cestral characters, the appearance of mutations, and the fluctuations of
organisms due to environmental changes, it happens that in all cases off-
spring differ more or less from their parents and from one another. No
two children of the same family are ever exactly alike (except in the
case of identical twins which have come from the same oosperm) . Every
living being appears on careful examination to be the first and last of its
identical kind. This is one of the most remarkable peculiarities of liv-
ing things. The elements of chemistry are constant, and even the com-
pounds fall into definite categories which have constant characteristics.
But the individuals of biology are apparently never twice the same. This
may be clue to the immense complexity of living units as contrasted
with chemical ones, indeed lack of constancy is evident in itself of lack
of analysis into real elements or of lack of uniform conditions, but
whatever its cause the extraordinary fact remains that every living being
appears to be unique.

There seems to be no reason to doubt that all the extraordinary dif-

Beproduction is the generation of "unique beings that are, on the average,
more like their kind than like anything else (Brooks).

322

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

ferences which organisms show, as well as all of their resemblances, are
due to differences or resemblances in the hereditary and environmental
factors which have been operative in their development. But in view
of this universal variability of organisms it is not surprising that in-
heritance has seemed capricious and uncertain — " a sort of maze in which
science loses itself."

B. STATISTICAL STUDY OF INHERITANCE

Francis Galton was one of the first who attempted to reduce the
mass of conflicting observations on heredity and variation to some
system and to establish certain principles as a result of statistical study.
He was the real founder of the scientific study of inheritance, he cre-
ated characters singly and he introduced quantitative measures. Gal-
ton's researches, which were published in several volumes, consisted
chiefly in a study of certain families with regard to several selected
traits, viz., genius or marked intellectual capacity, artistic faculty, stat-
ure, eye color and disease. As a result of his very extensive studies two
main principles appeared to be established :

1. The Law of Ancestral Inheritance which he stated as follows:

The two parents contribute between them on the average one half of each
inherited faculty, each of them contributing one quarter of it. The four grand-
parents contribute between them one quarter, or each of them one sixteenth; and
so on, the sum of the series 1/2 + 1/4 +'1/8 -f- 1/16 . . . beting equal to 1, as
it should be. It is a property of this infinite series that each term is equal to the
sum of all those that follow: thus 1/2 = 1/8 + 1/16 +'...,1/4 = 1/8 + 1/16 +
. . ., and so on. The prepotencies of particular ancestors in any given pedigree
are eliminated by a law which deals only with average contributions, and the vari-
ous prepotencies of sex with respect to different qualities are also presumably
eliminated.

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Parents

Grand Pts

Gt G'd Pts
Gt G\ Gd Pts

Fig. 48. Scheme to Illustrate Galton's " Law of Filial Regression " as
Shown in the Stature of Parents and Children. The mean height of all parents
is shown by the dotted line between 68 and 69 inches. The circles through which
the diagonal line runs represent the heights of graded groups of parents and the
arrow heads indicate the average heights of their children. The offspring of under-
sized parents are taller and of oversized parents are shorter than their respective
parents. (From Walter.)

PHENOMENA OF INHERITANCE 323

The average contribution of each ancestor was thus stated definitely,
the contribution diminishing with the remoteness of the ancestor. This
Law of Ancestral Inheritance is represented graphically in the accom-
panying diagram (Fig. 48). Pearson has somewhat modified the fig-
ures given by Galton, holding that in horses and dogs the parents con-
tribute Y%, the grandparents %, the great grandparents %, etc.

Theoretically the number of ancestors doubles in each ascending
generation ; there are two parents, four grandparents, eight great-grand-
parents, etc. If this continued to be true indefinitely the number of
ancestors in any ascending generation would be (2)n, in which n rep-
resents the number of generations. There have been about 57 gen-
erations since the beginning of the Christian Era, and if this rule held
true indefinitely each of us would have had at the time of the birth of
Christ a number of ancestors represented by (2)57 or about 120 quad-
rillions— a number far greater than the entire human population of the
globe at that time. As a matter of fact, owing to the intermarriage of
cousins of various degrees the actual number of ancestors is much
smaller than the theoretical number. For example, Plate says that the
present Emperor of Germany had only 162 ancestors in the 10th as-
cending generation, instead of 512, the theoretical number. Neverthe-
less this calculation will serve to show how widespread our ancestral
lines are, and how nearly related are all people of the same race.

Davenport concludes that no people of English descent are more
distantly related than 30th cousins, while most people are much more
closely related than that. If we allow three generations to a century,
and calculate that the degree of cousinship is determined by the num-
ber of generations less two, since first cousins appear only in the third
generation, the first being that of the parents and the second that of
the sons and daughters, we find that 30th cousins at the present time
would have had a common ancestor about one thousand years ago or
approximately at the time of William the Conqueror. As a matter of
fact most persons of the same race are much more closely related than
this, and certainly we need not go back to Adam nor even to Shem,
Ham and Japhet, to find our common ancestor.

2. The second principle which Galton deduced from his statistical
studies is known as the Law of Filial Regression, or what might be
called the tendency to mediocrity. He found that on the average ex-
treme peculiarities of parents were less extreme in children. " The
stature of adult offspring must, on the whole, be more mediocre than
the stature of their parents, that is to say more near to the mean or mid
of the general population " ; and again, " the more bountifully a parent
is gifted by nature, the more rare will be his good fortune if he begets
a son who is as richly endowed as himself." This so-called law of filial
regression is represented graphically in Fig. 49 in which the actual

324

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

stature of individual parents is shown by the oblique line, the stature
of children by the dotted curve, and the mean stature of the race in the
horizontal dotted line.

One of the chief aims and results of statistical study is to eliminate
individual peculiarities and to obtain general and average results.

Fig. 49. Diagram to Illustrate Three Kinds of Inheritance Described by

Galton. (After Walter.)

Such work may be of great importance in the study of heredity, espe-
cially where questions of the occurrence or distribution of particular
phenomena are concerned ; but the causes of heredity are individual and
physiological, and averages are of less value in finding the causes of
such phenomena than is the intensive study of individual cases.

By observation alone it is usually impossible to distinguish between
inherited and environmental resemblances and differences, and yet this
distinction is essential to any study of inheritance. If all sorts of like-
nesses and unlikenesses are lumped together, whether inherited or not,
our study of inheritance can only end in confusion. The value of sta-
tistics depends upon a proper classification of the things measured and
enumerated, and if things which are not commensurable are grouped
together the results may be quite misleading and worthless. Unfortu-
nately Galton and Pearson, as well as some of their followers, have not
carefully distinguished between hereditary and environmental characters.

PHENOMENA OF INHERITANCE 325

Furthermore much of their material was drawn from a general popula-
tion in which were many different families and lines not closely related
genetically. Consequently their statistical studies are of little value in
discovering the physiological principles or laws of heredity. Jennings
(1910) well says,

Galton 's laws of regression and of ancestral inheritance are the product
mainly of a lack of distinction between two absolutely diverse things, between
non-inheritable fluctuations, on the one hand, and permanent genotypic dif-
ferentiations, on the other.

In the case of man we have few certain tests to determine whether
the differential cause of any character is hereditary or environmental,
but in the case of animals and plants, where experiments may be per-
formed on a large scale it is possible to make such tests by (1) experi-
ments in which environment is kept as uniform as possible while the
hereditary factors differ, and (2) experiments in which, in a series of
cases, the hereditary factors are fairly constant while the environment
differs. In this way the differential cause or causes of any character
may be located in heredity, in environment, or in both.

The observational and statistical study of inheritance helped to out-
line the problem but did little to solve it. Certain phenomena of hered-
itary resemblances between ascendants and descendants were made in-
telligible, but there were many peculiar and apparently irregular or law-
less phenomena which could not be predicted before they occurred nor
explained afterwards. For example when Darwin crossed different
breeds of domestic pigeons, no one of which had a trace of blue in its
plumage, he sometimes obtained offspring with more or less of the blue
color and markings of the wild rock pigeon from which domestic pi-
geons are presumably descended. He described many cases of dogs,
cattle and swine, as well as many cultivated plants, in which offspring
resembled distant ancestors and differed from nearer ones; such cases
had long been known and were spoken of as " reversion." He observed
many cases in which certain characters of one parent prevailed over cor-
responding characters of the other parent in the offspring, this being
known as " prepotency " ; but there was no satisfactory explanation of
these curious phenomena. They did not come under either of Galton's
laws, and their occurrence was apparently so irregular that every such
case seemed to be a law unto itself.

C. EXPERIMENTAL STUDY OF INHERITANCE

I. Mendelism

The year 1900 marks the beginning of a new era in the study of in-
heritance. In the spring of that year three botanists, deVries, Correns
and Tschermak, discovered independently an important principle of

326 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

heredity and at the same time brought to light a long neglected and
forgotten work on " Experiments in Plant Hybridization " by Gregor
Mendel, in which this same principle was set forth in detail. This
principle is now generally known as " Mendel's Law." Mendel, who was
a monk and later abbot of the KonigsMoster, an Augustinian monastery
in Briinn, Austria, published the results of his experiments on hybridi-
zation in the Proceedings of the Natural History Society of Briinn in
1866. The paper attracted but little attention at the time although it
contained some of the most important discoveries regarding inheritance
which had ever been made, and it remained buried and practically un-
known for thirty-five years. Plant hybridization had been studied ex-
tensively before Mendel began his work, but he carried on his observa-
tions of the hybrids and of their progeny for a longer time and with
greater analytical ability than any previous investigator had done. The
methods and results of his work are so well known through the writings
of Bateson, Punnett and many others, that it is unnecessary to dwell at
length upon them here. In brief Mendel's method consisted in crossing
two forms having distinct characters, and then in counting the number
of offspring in successive generations showing one or the other of these
characters.

During the eight years preceding the publication of his paper in
1866 Mendel hybridized some twenty-two varieties of garden peas.
This group of plants was chosen because the different varieties could be
cross-fertilized or self-fertilized and were easily protected from the in-
fluence of foreign pollen; because the hybrids and their offspring re-
mained fertile through successive generations ; and because the different
varieties are distinguished by constant differentiating characters. Men-
del devoted his attention to seven of these characters, which he fol-
lowed through several generations of hybrids, viz.,

(1) Differences in the form of the ripe seeds, whether round or
wrinkled.

(2) Differences in the color of the food material within the seeds,
whether pale yellow, orange or green.

(3) Differences in the color of the seed coats (and in some cases of
the flowers also), whether white, gray, gray brown, leather brown, with
or without violet spots.

(4) Differences in the form of the ripe pods, whether simply in-
flated or constricted between the seeds.

(5) Differences in the color of the unripe pods whether light to
dark green, or vividly yellow.

(6) Differences in the positions of the flowers, whether axial, that is
distributed along the stem, or terminal, that is bunched at the top of
the stem.

(7) Differences in the length of the stem, whether tall or short.

PHENOMENA OF INHERITANCE

327

1. Results of Crossing Individuals with one Contrasting Character.
— Having determined that these characters were constant for certain
varieties or species Mendel then proceeded to cross one variety with
another, by carefully removing the unripe stamens, with their pollen,
from the flowers of one variety and dusting upon the stigma of such
flowers the pollen of a different variety. In this way he crossed vari-

PARENTS

- ' ■ vSSHESSHBB

v-~*?vrm!r~-~~!r.

*TO§Sa»M-

Fig. 50. Diagram Showing the Results of Crossing Yellow-seeded (Lighter
Colored) and Green-seeded (Darker Colored) Peas. From Morgan after
Thompson.)

eties of peas which differed from each other in some one of the charac-
ters mentioned above, and then studied the offspring of several succes-
sive generations with respect to this character.

In every case he discovered that the plants that developed from such
a cross showed only one of the two contrasting characters of the parent
plants, i. e., all were round-seeded, yellow seeded, tall, etc., although one
of the parents had wrinkled seeds, green seeds, or short stem, etc.

Those characters which are transmitted entire or almost unchanged in the
hybridization are termed dominant and those which become latent in the process,
recessive.

328

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

These hybrids3 when self -fertilized gave rise to a second filial genera-
tion of individuals some of which showed the dominant character and
others the recessive, the relative numbers of the two being approximately
three to one. Thus the hybrids produced by crossing yellow-seeded and
green-seeded peas yielded when self-fertilized 6,022 yellow seeds and 2,001
green seeds, or almost exactly three yellow to one green (Fig. 50). The
hybrids produced by crossing round and wrinkled seeded varieties
yielded in the second filial generation 5,474 round and 1,850 wrinkled
seeds, or approximately three round to one wrinkled (Fig. 53). The
hybrids from a tall and short stemmed cross produced in the second
filial generation 787 long stemmed and 277 short stemmed, or again ap-
proximately three tall to one short. And in every other case Mendel
found that the ratio of dominants to recessives in the second filial gen-
eration was approximately three to one. These recessives derived from
hybrid parents are pure and are known as " extracted " recessives ; when
self-fertilized they produce recessives indefinitely. One third of the
dominants are also pure homozygotes, or " extracted " dominants, and
when self-fertilized produce pure dominants indefinitely. On the other
hand, two thirds of the dominants are heterozygotes and when self-fer-
tilized give rise in the next generation to pure dominants, mixed domi-
nant-recessives and pure recessives in the proportion of 1:2:1. These
general results are summarized in the accompanying diagram (Fig. 51)

Parent Generation
Fi a

D E

Homozygotes
Heterozygotes

R

Fig. 51. Diagram Showing Results of Mendelian Splitting Where the
Parents are Pure Dominants and Pure Recessives (Homozygotes). All pure
dominants are represented by black circles, all pure recessives by white ones, while
mixed dominant-recessives (heterozygotes) are represented by circles half white and
half black. Successive generations are marked Fi F2, F3, etc.

in which dominant characters are indicated by the letter D, recessive
characters by R, and mixed dominant-recessives, with the recessive char-
acter unexpressed, by D (R) ; while DD or RR indicate extracted domi-
nants or recessives, that is, pure dominants or recessives which have

3 Bateson introduced the term homozygote for pure bred individuals re-
sulting from the union of gametes which are hereditarily similar, and heterozy-
gote for hybrids resulting from the union of hereditarily dissimilar gametes.
The gametes formed from a homozygote are all of the same hereditary type,
those formed from a heterozygote are of two or more different types.

PHENOMENA OF INHERITANCE 329

separated out from mixed dominant-recessives, D (R). The parental
generation is indicated by the letter P, and the successive filial genera-
tions by Fx, F2, F3, etc.

In the case of the peas studied by Mendel the hybrids of the Ft
generation show only the dominant character, the contrasted recessive
character being present but not expressed. However in certain cases
it has been found that the hybrids differ from either parent and in
successive generations split up into both parental types and into the
hybrid type; thus Correns found that when a white flowered variety of
Mirabilis, the four o'clock, was crossed with a red flowered variety all
of the hybrids in the Fx generation had pink flowers and from those in
the F2 generation there came white-flowered, pink-flowered and red-
flowered forms in the proportion of 1 white : 2 pink : 1 red, as shown in
Fig. 56. This is a better illustration of Mendel's principle of splitting
than is offered by the peas, since in this case the mixed dominant-reces-
sives D(R) are always distinguishable from the pure dominants DD.
In the F2 generation and in all subsequent ones the pure dominants,
and the pure recessives always breed true when self-fertilized, whereas
the mixed dominant-recessives continue to split up in each successive
generation into pure dominants, mixed dominant-recessives and pure
recessives in the proportion 1:2:1. The result of this is that the rela-
tive number of dominants and recessives increases in successive genera-
tions, whereas the relative number of mixed dominant-recessives de-
creases, and in a few generations a hybrid race will revert in large part
to its parental types if continued hybridization is prevented. On the
other hand there is no tendency for the relative number of dominants to
increase and of recessives to decrease in successive generations; an
equal number of pure dominants and pure recessives is produced in
each generation.

With remarkable insight Mendel recognized that the real explanation
of the splitting of pure recessives and pure dominants from hybrid
parents must be found in the composition of the male and female sex
cells. Since such extracted dominants and recessives breed true, just
as pure species do, it must be that their germ cells are pure. In the
cross between pure races of white and red-flowered Mirabilis the germ
cells which unite in fertilization must be pure with respect to white and
red, though the individual which develops from this cross is a pink
hybrid. But the fact that one quarter of the progeny of this hybrid are
pure white, and another quarter pure red, and that these thereafter
breed true, proves that the hybrid produces germ cells which are pure
with respect to red and white. Furthermore the fact that one half the
progeny of this hybrid are themselves hybrid may be explained by
assuming that they were produced by the union of germ cells carrying
pure white and pure red, as in the first cross in the parental generation.

vol. lxxxiv. — 23.

33°

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

Mendel therefore concluded that individual germ cells are always
pure with respect to any pair of contrasting characters, even though
those germ cells have come from hybrids in which the contrasting
characters are mixed. A single germ cell can carry the factors, or
causes, for red or white flowers, for green seeds or yellow seeds, for tall
stem or short stem, etc., but not for both pairs of these contrasting
characters. The hybrids formed by crossing white and red four o'clocks
carry the factors for both white and red, but the individual germ cells
formed by such a hybrid carry the factors for white or red, but not for
both; these factors segregate or separate in the formation of the germ
cells so that one half of all the germ cells formed carry the factor for
white and the other half that for red.

This is the most important part of Mendel's Law — the central doc-
trine from which all other of his conclusions radiate. It explains not
only the segregation of dominant and recessive characters from a hybrid
in which both are present, but also the relative numbers of pure domi-
nants, pure recessives, and mixed dominant-recessives in each generation.
For if all germ cells are pure with respect to any particular character
the hybrid offspring of any two parents with contrasting characters will
produce in equal numbers two classes of germ cells, one bearing the

p a

Fig.

Diagram of Mendelian Inheritance, in Which the Individual is

Represented by the Large Circle, the Germ Cells by the Small Ones, Domi-
nants Being Shaded and Recessives White, a, Pure dominant x pure recessive =
all dominant-recessives, b, Dominant-recessive x dominant-recessive = 1 pure dominant :
2 dominant-recessives : 1 pure recessive, c. Dominant-recessive x pure dominant = 2
pure dominant : 2 dominant-recessive, (L, Dominant-recessive x pure recessive = 2 domi-
nant-recessive : 2 pure recessive.

dominant and the other the recessive factor, and the chance combina-
tion of these two classes of male and female gametes will yield on the
average one union of dominant with dominant, two unions of dominant
with recessive and one union of recessive with recessive, thus producing
the typical Mendelian ratio, 1DD :2D(R) :1RR, as shown in the ac-
companying diagram (Fig. 52, A, B).

PHENOMENA OF INHERITANCE 33l

Other Mendelian Ratios

When a pure dominant is crossed with a mixed dominant-recessive
all the offspring show the dominant character, though one half are pure
dominant and the other half dominant-recessives. Thus if a pure
round-seeded variety of pea is crossed with a hybrid between a round
and a wrinkled seeded one, all the progeny are round-seeded, though one
half of them carry the factor for wrinkled seed ; this may be graphically
represented as follows :

5 germ cells Rk /R

V I = Possible

J1 germ cells R W combinations

2RR:2R(W).

In subsequent generations the progeny of the pure round (RR) breed
true and produce only round-seeded peas, whereas the progeny of the
hybrid round and wrinkled (RW) split up into pure round, hybrid
round and wrinkled, and pure wrinkled in the regular Mendelian ratio
of 1RR:2R(W) : 11717 (Fig. 52, C).

When a pure recessive is crossed with a mixed dominant-recessive
another typical ratio results. Thus if a wrinkled-seeded variety of pea
is crossed with a hybrid between a round and wrinkled seeded one,
round-seeded and wrinkled-seeded peas are produced in the proportion,
of 1:1. This is due to the fact that the hybrid produces two kinds of
germ cells, the pure-bred but one, and the possible combinations of
these are as follows :

5 germ cells W\ yW

V I = Possible

<§ germ cells R 17 combinations

2RW : 21717

This ratio of 1 : 1 is approximately the ratio of the two sexes in many
animals and plants, and there is good reason to believe that sex is a
Mendelian character of this sort, in which one plant is heterozygous for
sex and the other homozygous.

2. Results of Crossings where there is more than one Contrasting
Character. — It rarely happens that two individuals differ in a single
character only ; more frequently they differ in many characters and this
leads to a great increase in the number of types of offspring in the F2
generation. But however many pairs of contrasting characters the
parents may show each pair may be considered by itself as if it were the
only contrasting pair, and when this is done all the offspring may be
classified according to the regular Mendelian formula given above.

332

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

But when two or more contrasting characters of the parents are
followed to the F2 generation many permutations of these characters
occur thus giving rise to a larger number of types of individuals than
when a single pair of characters is concerned. When there is only
one pair of contrasting characters there are usually but two types of
offspring apparent in the F2 generation, viz., dominants and recessives
in the ratio of 3 : 1 (Fig. 53) ; where there are two pairs of contrasting

RlW) RIW) R(W) RIW)
\c? R W

V

AS

r^\

H

w

w

/V\

/w\

w

}

w

vv

H

Fig. 53. Monohybrid Diagram Showing Results of Crossing Round (R)-
Seeded with Wrinkled (W) Seeded Peas. Large circles represent zygotes, small
ones, or single letters, gametes. In Fx all individuals are round but contain round and
wrinkled gametes. In F2 the g gametes are placed above the square, the J ones to the
left, and the possible combinations of g and J gametes are shown in the small squares,
the relative numbers of different types being 1 RR :2 R(W) :1 WW.

Fig. 54. Diiiybrid Diagram Showing Results of Crossing Peas Having Yel-
low-round (YR) Seeds with Others Having Green-wrinkled (GR) Ones. Four
types of germ cells are formed by such a hybrid, viz., YR, YW, GR, GW, and the 16
possible combinations (genotypes) of these g and <j> gametes are shown in the small
squares. Since recessive characters do not appear when mated with dominant ones
these 16 genotypes produce 4 phenotypes in the following relative numbers :
9YR : 3YW : 3GR : 1GW. There is 1 pure dominant (upper left corner), 1 pure reces-
sive (lower right corner), 4 homozygotes in diagonal line between these corners and
12 heterozygotes.

characters in the parents there are four types of offspring in the F2
generation in the ratio of (3 : 1)2 = 9 : 3 : 3 : 1 ; when there are three
pairs of contrasting characters in the parents there are eight types of
offspring apparent in the F2 generation in the proportions of (3: 1)3 =
27:9:9:9:3:3:3:1, etc. Thus when Mendel crossed a variety of peas
bearing round and yellow seeds with another variety having wrinkled
and green seeds all the offspring of the ¥1 generation bore round and
yellow seeds, round being dominant to wrinkled, and yellow to green.

PHENOMENA OF INHERITANCE 333

But the plants raised from these seeds, when self -fertilized, yielded seeds
of four types, round and yellow (RY), wrinkled and yellow (WY),
round and green (RG), and wrinkled and green (WG) in the propor-
tion of 9:3:3:1 as shown in figure 54.

In this case also this ratio may be explained by assuming that the
germ cells (ovules and pollen) are pure with respect to each of the
contrasting characters, round-wrinkled, yellow-green, and therefore any
combination of these may occur in a germ cell except the combinations
RW and YG. Accordingly there are four possible kinds of germ cells

as follows: X *■ e-> YR> YW> GR> Gw- Each one of tnese four

rx xir

kinds of pollen may fertilize each one of the same four kinds of ovules
giving rise to sixteen combinations, no two of which are alike, as shown
in Fig. 54. The dominant characters are in this case round and yellow,
and only when. one of these is absent can its contrasting character,
wrinkled or green, develop. Accordingly the sixteen possible combina-
tions yield seeds of four different appearances and in the following
proportions: 9RY: 3RG: 3WY: 1WG. Only one individual in each of
these four classes is pure (homozygous) and continues to breed true in
successive generations; in Fig. 54 these are found in the diagonal from
the upper left to the lower right corner. All other individuals are
heterozygous and show Mendelian splitting in the next generation.

When parents differ in three contrasting characters a much larger
number of combinations are possible in the F2 generation. Thus if a
pea with round (R) and yellow (Y) seeds, and with tall (T) stem is
crossed with one having wrinkled (IV ) and green (G) seeds, and dwarf
(D) stem all the progeny of the Fx generation have round and yellow
seeds and tall stem, R, Y and T being dominant to W, G and D. But
in the F2 generation there are sixty-four possible combinations (geno-
types) of these six characters; but since a recessive character does not
develop if its contrasting dominant character is present there are only
eight types which come to expression (phenotypes) and in the follow-
ing numbers : 27RYT : 9RYD : 9RGT : 3RGD : 9WYT : 3WYD : 3WGT :
1WGD. Of these sixty-four genotypes only eight are homozygous and
breed true (those lying in the diagonal between upper left and lower
right corners in Fig. 55), while only one is pure dominant and one pure
recessive (in the upper left and lower right corners of Fig. 55).

When the parents differ in one character only, the offspring formed
by their crossing are called monohybrids, when there are two contrast-
ing characters in the parents the offspring are dihybrids, when three>
trihybrids, and when the parents differ in more than three characters the
offspring are called poly hybrids. There are certainly few cases in which
parents actually differ in only a single character, but since each con-
trasting character may be dealt with separately, as if it were the only

334

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

one, and since the number of types of offspring increases greatly when
more than one or two characters are considered at the same time, it is
customary to deal simultaneously with only one or two characters of
hybrids, even though the parents may have differed in many characters.

RYT

WGD

F2

Fig. 55. Triiiybrid Diagram Showing Results of Crossing Teas Having
rodnd-yellow seeds and tall stem (ryt) with peas having wrinkled green-
seeds and Dwarf Stem (WGD). Eight types of germ cells result from such a hy-
brid, as shown in the J1 gametes above the square and the J ones to the left of it, and
the possible combinations (genotypes) of these A and V gametes are shown in the 64
small squares of which only 1 is pure dominant (upper left corner), 1 pure recessive
(lower right corner) and 8 homozygotes (in diagonal line between these corners).
The relative numbers of the different phenotypes are 27 RYT : 9 RYD :9 RGT :9
WYT :3 RGD :3 WYD :3 WGT :1 WGD.

3. Inheritance Formula?. — Mendel represented the hereditary con-
stitution of the plants used in his experiments by letters employed as
symbols, dominant characters being represented by capitals and reces-
sives by small letters. The seven contrasting characters of his peas could
be represented as follows:

Seeds, round (^4), or wrinkled (a); yellow (B) ; or green (o) ;
with gray seed coats (C), or white seed coats (c).

Pods, green (D), or yellow (d) ; inflated (E), or constricted (e).

Habit, tall (F), or dwarf (/).

Flowers, axial (G), or terminal (g).

PHENOMENA OF INHERITANCE 335

It is possible for one plant to have all of these dominant characters
or all of the recessive ones, or part of one kind and part of the other.
The inheritance formula of a plant having all seven of the dominant
characters is ABCDEFG; of one having all of the recessive characters
abcdefg. When two such plants are crossed the inheritance formula of
the hybrid is AaBbCcDdEeFfGg, and since the dominant and recessive
characters (or rather determiners of characters) represented by these
seven pairs of letters separate in the formation of the gametes, and
since each separate determiner may be associated with either member
of the other six pairs, the number of possible combinations of these deter-
miners in the gametes is (2)7 or 128. That is, in this case 128 kinds
of germ cells may be produced, each having a different inheritance
formula ; and since each of these 128 kinds of male germ cells may
unite with any one of the 128 kinds of female germ cells, the number of
possible combinations is (128) 2 or 16,384, which represents the number
of combinations of these characters which are possible in the F2 genera-
tion. Every one of these more than sixteen thousand genotypes may be
represented by various combinations of the letters ABCDEFG and
abcdefg.

When many characters are concerned it is difficult to remember
what each letter stands for, and consequently it is customary in such
cases to designate characters by the initial letter in the name of that
character. By this form of short hand one can show in a graphic way
the possible segregations and combinations of hereditary units in
gametes and zygotes through successive generations, and as a result
many modern works on Mendelian inheritance look like pages of
algebraic formulae.

Some progress has been made, as was pointed out in the last lecture,
in identifying certain structures of the germ cells with certain hered-
itary units, but quite irrespective of what these units may be and where
they may be located it is possible, by means of the Mendelian theory of
segregation of units in the germ cells and of chance combinations of
these in fertilization to predict the number of genotypes and phenotypes
which may be expected as the result of a given cross.

.4. Presence and Absence Hypothesis. — Mendel spoke of the pres-
ence of contrasting or differentiating characters in the plants which he
crossed, such as round or wrinkled seeds, tall or short stems, etc. Many
other writers regard these contrasting characters as positive and nega-
tive expression of a single character, and consequently they speak of the
presence or absence of single characters; thus round seeds are due to the
presence of a factor for roundness (A) while wrinkled seeds are char-
acterized by the absence of that factor (a). Round seeds are wrinkled
seeds plus the factor for roundness. Most of the phenomena of Men-
delian inheritance are more simply stated in terms of presence or
absence of single characters than in terms of contrasting characters.

33^

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

"When both gametes carry similar positive factors the zygote has a
"double dose" of such factors and is said to be duplex; when only one
of the gametes carries such a factor the zygote has a " single dose " and
is simplex, when neither gamete carries a positive factor or factors, the
zygote receives only negative factors and is said to be nulliplex. Thus
the union of gametes AB ($) and AB (J1) yields zygote AABB, which
is duplex in constitution; gametes Ab ($) and aB (.J1) yield zygote
AaBb, which is simplex; gametes ab ($) and ab (■$) yield zygote aabb,
which is nulliplex.

In some instances a character comes to full expression only when it
is derived from both parents, that is, when it is duplex ; if derived from
one parent only, that is, if simplex, it is diluted in appearance and is
intermediate between the two parents. For example, when white-

Fig. 5G. Results of Crossing White-flowered and Red-flowered Races of
Mirdbilia Jalapa (Four O'clocks), giving a pink hybrid in Fi, which when inbred
gives in F2 1 white, 2 pink, 1 red. (From Morgan, after Correns.)

flowered four o'clocks which are nulliplex are crossed with red-flowered
ones which are duplex the progeny, which are simplex, bear pink
flowers; in this case red flowers are produced only when the factor for
red is derived from both parents, pink flowers when it is derived from
one parent, white flowers when it is derived from neither parent
(Fig. 56).

5. Summary of Mendelian Principles. — Since the rediscovery in
1900 of Mendel's work many investigators have carried out similar
experiments on many species of animals and plants and have greatly
extended our knowledge of the principles of inheritance discovered by
Mendel, but in the main Mendel's conclusions have been confirmed

PHENOMENA OF INHERITANCE 337

again and again, so that there is no doubt that they constitute an im-
portant rule of inheritance among all organisms.

In brief the "Mendelian Law of Alternative Inheritance" or of
hereditary " splitting " consists of the following principles :

(a) The principle of unit characters. — The total heritage of an
organism may be analyzed into a number of characters which are in-
herited as a whole and are not further divisible; these are the so-called
"unit characters" (deVries).

(b) The principle of dominance. — When contrasting unit char-
acters are present in the parents they do not as a rule blend in the off-
spring, but one is dominant and usually appears fully developed, while
the other is recessive and temporarily drops out of sight.

(c) The principle of segregation. — Every individual germ cell is
"pure" with respect to any given unit character, even though it come
from an " impure " or hybrid parent. In the germ cells of hybrids there
is a separation of the determiners of contrasting characters so that
different kinds of germ cells are produced, each of which is pure with
regard to any given unit character. This is the principle of segregation
of unit characters, or of the " purity " of the germ cells. Every sexually
produced individual is a double being — double in every cell — one half
having been derived from the male and the other half from the female
sex cell. This double being, or zygote, again becomes single in the
formation of the germ cells only once more to become double when the
srerm cells unite in fertilization.

■~

(To be concluded)

338 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

THE CONIFEROUS FORESTS OF EASTERN NORTH

AMERICA .

By Dr. ROLAND M. HARPER

COLLEGE POINT, N. I.

TN eastern North America about thirty species of coniferous trees
make up at least two thirds of the existing forest, while the re-
mainder comprises something like 250 hardwood or broad-leaved species.
About 70 per cent, of the lumber sawed in the eastern United States at
the present time is of conifers or softwoods, and if the statistics for
eastern Canada and for fuel, pulp-wood, cross-ties, poles, etc., were
included the preponderance of softwood in the area under consideration
would be still more evident. Most of the houses in the United States
and Canada are built of coniferous wood, most of our paper comes from
the same source, and, in all but the most densely populated regions,
most of the domestic fuel.1

From the relative abundance and number of species it is evident that
the average conifer species is represented by a much larger number of
trees than the average hardwood. It happens that most of our conifers
form pure stands of greater or less extent in some parts of their ranges
at least, so that there are about as many types of coniferous forest as
there are species of conifers. All but a few of the rarer or less impor-
tant types will be described below, beginning with the northernmost,
which are mainly confined to the glaciated region, and ending with
those confined to the coastal plain, and one whose range extends south-
ward into the tropics. The treatment of each type will include geo-
graphical distribution, correlations with soil, water, climate, fire,2 etc.,
and notes on the economic aspects of the trees themselves and the
regions in which they grow.

i A map between pages 488 and 489 of the 9th volume of the Tenth Census
shows the distribution of eoal and wood fuel in the United States three de-
cades ago.

2 Forest fires have generally been looked upon as regrettable accidents, aud
much more thought has been given to devising means to prevent them than
to studying their geographical distribution and historical frequency. But those
that start from natural causes seem to be just as much a part of Nature 's pro-
gram as rain, snow and wind (which like fire may do both good and harm at the
same time), and to be subject to more or less definite laws. Their frequency,
extent and effects vary greatly in different parts of the country and in different
types of forests, as will be shown below, and nearly every species of conifer
seems to have become accustomed or adjusted to a certain amount of fire, as to
other environmental factors.

CONIFEROUS FORESTS

339

The Forest Types in Detail

The Boreal or Spruce Type.- — The northernmost type of forest,
which covers almost the whole of eastern North America from .the
arctic tundra down to latitude 45°, with many more or less isolated
areas farther south, especially in the mountains, is mainly composed of
jack pine (Pinus BanJcsiana), tamarack (Larix laricina), two or three
species of spruce (Picea), halsam fir (Abies balsam ea), and arbor-vitas

Dense Growth of Spruce {Picea Mariana) and Arbor-vit.e (Thuja) in a Cold
Swamp, Cheboygan Co., Michigan. August, 1912.

or northern white cedar (Thuja occidental-is) . In places some one of
these may cover considerable areas exclusively (this is especially true
of the pine), but usually two or three of them are mixed together.
They have much in common in general appearance, mature trees being
as a rule spindle-shaped or narrowly conical in outline, with more or less
defiexed branches, and leaves an inch or less in length. The tamarack
is deciduous, and the rest evergreen.

Forests of similar aspect, and made up mostly of trees of the same
genera, cover large areas in all the cooler parts of the northern hemi-
sphere. Doubtless on account of the abundance of such trees in north-
ern Europe, where most of our Anglo-Saxon traditions originated, the
spindle-shaped tree has become firmly established as the conventional
type of conifer. Illustrations of these trees in their native haunts
abound in publications dealing with outdoor life in the extreme north-

34°

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

ern states and Canada printed since the invention of the half-tone proc-
ess, about thirty years ago.

In the United States the jack pine prefers coarse sand and the other
trees above mentioned are found mainly in peat bogs ; but farther north
they may grow in almost any kind of soil, wet or dry. (In Alaska even
some of the glaciers are said to be partly covered with spruce forests.)
The regions where they grow are characterized by cool and moderately
humid climates, with an average temperature of 45° F. or less, and an
average growing season (i. e., period free from killing frosts) of not

BUKNED SPEDCB SWAJIF, WITH LIVING TliEES IX BACKGROUND, CHEBOYGAN CO.,

Michigan. August, 1912.

more than 150 days. The ground freezes several feet deep in winter,
and temperatures of — 30° F. or lower are likely to be experienced by
each tree many times during its life.

The average annual precipitation is 20 inches or more, and in most
places in the boreal conifer region there is more of it in summer than
in winter, which tends to keep the soil moist throughout the year.

A climatic factor which involves both temperature and precipitation
is the amount of snowfall; and it appears from statistics of the snowfall
of the United States recently published that the type of forest under
consideration can be correlated pretty closely with an average annual
snowfall of 50 inches and upward. Although it would not be exactly
correct from a biological standpoint to say that the narrow conical
form of these trees is an adaptation to heavy snows, like the steep
roofs of Norway, for example, it would be difficult to imagine any other

CONIFEROUS FORESTS 34 1

form of evergreen tree with the same amount of wood and foliage which
would be less liable to injury from snow and ice than the spruces and
balsams. The tamarack has an additional safeguard in that it loses its
leaves in winter; and at the northern limit of the forests it is said to
grow comparatively tall and straight while the spruces around it are
much stunted.

Burned areas, in which all the trees have been killed by fires sweep-
ing through their crowns, are and always have been, from all accounts,
common throughout the spruce region (not only in the East, but also
in the Eocky Mountains, where forests of different species but similar
aspect predominate) ; and many great fires, involving loss of life and
much property, have become historic.3 In northern Michigan and
doubtless in many other places where spindle-shaped conifers abound
posters warning against the dangers of allowing fire to spread greet the
traveler at every turn;4 and some of the western railroads print similar
advice in their time-tables.

Although at the present time the origin of most of the northern
forest fires can be ascribed to human agencies, lightning is known to
cause a considerable proportion of them (estimated by Plummer at 15
per cent.), and in prehistoric times it must have been the principal
cause.5 From all the evidence available it would seem that the normal
frequency of fire at any one spot in the boreal conifer forests is about
once in the average lifetime of a spruce tree, which may be between
50 and 75 years. The average extent of a single fire must be several
square miles.

In the untold ages that fire has been a factor in the life-history of
these forests there has developed a class of plants known as fireweeds,
consisting of a score or more of herbs, shrubs, and short-lived deciduous
trees, such as birch and aspen, which quickly take possession of burned
areas and flourish until the dominant, but more slowly growing conifers
have time to reestablish themselves. When the foliage of the conifers is
consumed by fire the potash and other mineral nutrients stored up in
several years' growth of evergreen leaves is returned to the soil in readily
available form, and this must be a significant factor in the rapid growth
of the fireweeds. Quite a lengthy chapter could be written about this

3 See Pinchot's "Primer of Forestry" (TJ. S. Forestry Bulletin 24), Part 1,
pp. 79-83, 1897; also U. S. Forestry Bulletin 117, by F. G. Plummer, 1912, espe-
cially map on page 22.

4 Several such posters are reproduced in colors in American Forestry for
November, 1913.

5 See papers by Dr. Robert Bell in Forest Leaves for October, 1889, and the
Scottish Geographical Magazine for June, 1897, and Bulletins 111 and 117 of the
U. S. Forest Service, by F. G. Plummer, 1912. The second of Dr. Bell's papers,
which is on the forests of Canada, contains much valuable information on other
subjects than fire.

342 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

phenomenon, which has almost no counterpart in the coniferous forests
farther south, where fires are nearly always ground-fires, and do not kill
the trees outright.

The economic aspects of these northern forests are numerous and
varied. The soil and climate are not very favorable for agriculture, so
that the farmer, the greatest enemy of forests in this country, has done
little damage, and the timber is in no immediate danger of exhaustion.
The trees are used to a considerable extent for lumber, and almost as
much for pulp-wood ; nearly all the large paper mills in North America
being located not far from such forests. Logging is nearly all carried
on in winter, when the snow facilitates hauling the logs to the nearest
river or railroad. The Christmas trees used in northern cities are
nearly all brought from the same region. The same forests furnish
our spruce gum and Canada balsam, and among them are found the
most important peat deposits in North America.6

The boreal conifer region is a favorite resort for hunters, trappers,
fishermen, berry-pickers, campers, canoeists, hay-fever sufferers, etc.,
most of whom migrate northward in summer from the densely popu-
lated regions a little farther south. At certain times and places mos-
quitoes and black-flies make life in the north woods somewhat burden-
some, but the mosquitoes are at least not of the malarial variety, and
poisonous snakes and some other pests are conspicuous by their absence.

The White Pine (Pinus Strobus) ranges from Newfoundland and
Manitoba to the mountains of Georgia, and associates with many other
trees, mostly hardwoods, in various parts of its range; pure stands of
it being the exception rather than the rule. It grows in almost any kind
of soil except the richest and poorest, wettest and driest, but seems to
prefer that containing a moderate amount of humus. From its distri-
bution we may infer that it is confined to climates where the average
temperature is less than 55° F., and the growing season not more than
half the length of the year: climates pretty well suited for apples but
not for cotton.7

This species is rather sensitive to fire, at least when young, and per-
haps up to middle age. In northern lower Michigan and doubtless else-
where there are large areas said to have been covered with white pine
forests up to about thirty years ago, when the lumberman came along
and felled them. Since then fires, mainly of human origin, have been
too frequent to allow the pine to reproduce itself except in protected
places like islands and shores of lakes and streams, and the uplands are

6 Bulletin 16 of the U. S. Bureau of Mines, by Dr. Charles A. Davis, 1911,
contains a large colored map showing the distribution of peat in the United
States. The Canadian deposits are still more extensive.

7 The range of the white pine perhaps does not overlap that of the cotton
crop at all, though they can be seen within a mile of each other at the western
base of the Blue Bidge in northern Georgia.

CONIFEROUS FORESTS 343

covered with a worthless scrub of birch, aspen, bird cherry, and other
fireweed trees, averaging about ten feet tall.

The white pine is one of the world's most important timber trees.
It was originally so abundant, and its wood is so easily worked, that it
has been used for almost every purpose that does not require great
strength, hardness or durability. Millions of houses have been built
of it, and probably hundreds of millions of dry-goods boxes. On
account of its growing within easy reach of some of the oldest and most
thickly settled parts of this country the value of its lumber which has
been placed on the market in the last 300 years doubtless exceeds that
of any other North American tree.8 At the present time the leading
states in the production of white pine lumber are Minnesota, Wisconsin,
Maine, Michigan, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, New York and
North Carolina, in the order named. But if the figures for the last
census had been computed on a basis of equal areas, Massachusetts
would rank first, New Hampshire second, and Minnesota third.

The Red or "Norway " Pine (Pinus resinosa) has a range approxi-
mately concentric with that of the white pine, but smaller. It is con-
fined to the glaciated region, except that it has been reported from two
or three counties in central Pennsylvania and one in West Virginia.
In some places in the neighborhood of the upper Great Lakes it forms
pure stands with little undergrowth,9 something like the long-leaf pine
forests of the south; but it is more commonly mixed with jack pine,
white pine, or other trees. It grows in dry, usually sandy soil, nearly
devoid of humus. Its climatic relations are perhaps sufficiently indi-
cated by its distribution.

This species withstands fire almost as well as some of the southern
pines to be discussed later, and it resembles them in general appearance,
too. In mature trees the branches and foliage are too high up to be
injured by ground fires, and the bark is thick enough to be reasonably
fireproof. But even when the bark is burned through by a severe fire,
making a large scar, the tree is not necessarily killed. At what age it
becomes immune to brush fires has not been determined, but in the
devastated pine lands of Michigan above mentioned there are many
vigorous red pine saplings among the birches and aspens, as well as
occasional tall trees of the same species which must have survived many
fires.

The wood is so similar to that of the white pine that it is not usually

s For valuable notes on the economic history of this and other pines see
Bulletin 99 of the U. S. Forest Service, by Hall and Maxwell, 1911.

9 There are two illustrations of such forests in Minnesota in The Popular
Science Monthly for November, 1912 (p. 535), and another on page 10 of a
report on the Wood-using industries of Minnesota published by the State Forestry
Board in 1913.

344

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

distinguished in the lumber market or in the census returns. But re-
ports on the wood-using industries of Michigan, "Wisconsin and Minne-
sota, prepared in recent years by members of the U. S. Forest Service
and published by the respective states, give the amount of each kind
of wood used by manufacturers (i. e., that which passes beyond the
stage of rough lumber, even if it is merely planed) in each state in a
year, and distinguishes between lumber cut within the state and that

Young Teees of Red Pine (I'iinis resinosa) in Brush Land Subject to Frequent
Fires, Cheboygan Co. Michigan. August, 1912.

brought in from other states. From these we learn that the manu-
facturers of Michigan use in a year about 10 million feet of home-grown
red pine, those of Wisconsin something over 6 million, and in Minnesota
167 million. (The corresponding figures for white pine are 70, 72 and
455 ; and both added together are less than half the total lumber produc-
tion of the two species for these states as reported by the Tenth Census.)

The Hemlock (Tsuga Canadensis)1® has a distribution very similar
to that of the white pine, except that it is a little more southerly. It
grows in several counties of Alabama, in which state the white pine is
unknown. It commonly grows mixed with various hardwood trees and
sometimes with white pine besides. It prefers moderately dry soils with
considerable humus, perhaps more than any other eastern conifer. (The

io Also called "spruce pine" in Georgia and Alabama, if not farther north.
The settlement of Spruce Pine, Ala., takes its name from this tree (see Ball.
Torrexj Bot. Club, 33: 524. 1906), and the same may be true of the place sim-
ilarly named in North Carolina and even of Spruce, Ga.

CONIFEROUS FORESTS

345

states which according to the last census cut more hemlock lumber than
white pine — making due allowance for the inclusion of more than one
species under the same name — have richer soils, on the whole, than those
in which the reverse is true.)

This tree is confined to situations rarely or never visited by fire,
being protected either by the scarcity of undergrowth, or by the topo-
graphy, or both. It is probably very sensitive to fire, especially when
young.

Formerly the hemlock was valued chiefly as a source of tanbark,
and it was once, and still is in many places, as far apart as Michigan
and Georgia, a common practise to cut the trees for their bark alone,
and leave the logs to rot in the woods. At present it is used largely
also for lumber and pulp-wood. The leading states in the production
of hemlock lumber in 1909, in proportion to area, were Pennsylvania,
Wisconsin, West Virginia, Michigan, New Hampshire, Vermont, Maine,
New York, Massachusetts, Connecticut, Maryland and Virginia, in the
order named. (The first four of these, as well as Vermont, New York
and Maryland, cut more hemlock than white pine. )

The Pitch Pine (Pinus rigida) ranges from New Brunswick and
Ohio to the mountains of Georgia, but seems to form extensive pure

Pitch Pine (Pinus rigida) Near Lakehurst, N. J. Typical New Jersey pine-barrens.
Trees in background killed by fire. August, 1909.

stands only in southeastern Massachusetts, eastern Long Island, and
southern New Jersey. Such forests usually have a dense undergrowth
of two shrubby oaks (Quercus ilicifolia and Q. prinoides) , with poor

VOL. LXXXIV.— 24.

346

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

sandy soils, and the ground-water level fairly constant throughout
the year.

In its relations to fire the pitch pine seems to be intermediate
between the spruces already mentioned and some of the southern pines.
The pine-barrens of Long Island and New Jersey everywhere bear the
marks of fire, which seems usually not to kill the older trees. Further
studies of this point are needed.

This tree is usually too small, crooked or knotty to be of much
value for lumber, but where it is abundant it has been used for many
purposes, especially in the early days before transportation facilities
enabled better woods to compete with it so -strongly. The soil in which
it grows is of little value for ordinary agriculture, but in wet places
among the pines, especially in Massachusetts and New Jersey, large
crops of cranberries are gathered. The pine region of New Jersey for-
merly produced considerable quantities of bog iron ore11 and glass sand.12

The Bed Cedar (Juniperus Virginiana) grows nearly throughout

I** ;, if. ** " — ' r ".. -"J ~ '-' \ ■m-" - A ■ ■jjRS. "' -

I .X^i

Red Cedae (Juniperus Virginiana) and Various Hardwood Trees, among Limestone
Rocks on Mountain Slope Near Scottsboro, Alabama. March, 1913.

eastern North America between — but hardly overlapping — the boreal
forests of high latitudes and altitudes and the tropical forests of south-
ern Florida. It is most abundant on the northwestern flanks of the

n There is an interesting sketch of the old iron industry in southern New
Jersey by Gifford in The Popular Science Monthly for April, 1893.
12 See The Popular Science Monthly, 42 : 442, 830. 1893.

CONIFEROUS FORESTS 347

Alleghanies, in what might be called the interior hardwood region, and
forms nearly pure stands, commonly called cedar glades, in Middle
Tennessee and northern Alabama. (Of the numerous places named
Lebanon in the United States it is altogether probable that those in
Ohio, Kentucky, Tennessee, Alabama and Florida, if not most of the
others, were named from the presence of cedar trees, although our cedar
bears little resemblance to Cedrus Libani, the classical cedar of
Lebanon.)

The soil in which this tree grows is usually dry, and nearly always
thin or rocky, but it varies greatly in chemical composition. In Ala-
bama, Tennessee and some other parts of the country the cedar is
believed to prefer calcareous soils, but this does not seem to be true
throughout its range, for it grows in many places where no lime can be
detected without a careful chemical analysis.

This species is very sensitive to fire, and the places frequented by it,
such as pastures, fence-rows, edges of marshes, dunes, rocks, bluffs,
hammocks, etc., are all pretty well protected from fire in one way or
another. In fact exemption from fire seems to be the only significant
character that its diverse habitats have in common, from which we may
conclude that that governs its local distribution more than anything
else.13

The wood of the cedar is very durable, but now used mostly for
pencils, in which this quality is not taken advantage of. Eepresentatives
of the pencil-makers have scoured the country pretty thoroughly for it,
and few large straight-grained trees have escaped them, even in small
groves in the most out-of-the-way places in the South. Although it is
not separated from some other species in the census returns, the cedar
cut in 1909 in Tennessee (8,927,000 feet), Missouri (2,984,000 feet)
and Alabama (2,869,000 feet) must be all or nearly all of this species.

The Southern White Cedar or "Juniper" {Chamcecyparis thyoides)
is the only conifer that grows both in the glaciated region and in the
coastal plain and nowhere else. It ranges from New Hampshire to
Mississippi, but is not known more than 200 miles inland, or southeast
of a straight line drawn from Charleston to Apalachicola (which ex-
cludes most of Florida) ; and there are several large gaps in its range.
It usually grows in dense colonies of several hundred trees or more,
much like the spruces farther north.

It is strictly a swamp tree, growing naturally only in permanently
saturated soil, or peat. The water of these swamps is exceptionally free
from mud, lime (perhaps also sulphur) and other mineral substances,
but is usually colored dark brown by vegetable matter. Cities as far

13 This was discussed at some length in Torreya, 12: 145-154, July, 1912.
The most complete treatise on red cedar is Bulletin 31 of the Division of For-
estry of the U. S. Department of Agriculture, by Dr. Charles Mohr, 1901.

348 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

apart as Brooklyn, N. Y., and Mobile, Ala., get part of their water
supply from streams in which Chamcecyparis grows; and the water of
Dismal Swamp — one of the best-known localities for this species — used
to be preferred for drinking purposes on ships sailing from Norfolk
on long voyages. Tire manufacture of paper is an industry which
seems to require good water in large quantities, and the only paper mills
in the coastal plain known to the writer (viz., at Hartsville, S. C, and
Moss Point, Miss.) have juniper growing in their immediate vicinity.

The relations of this species to fire have been little studied, but
what evidence there is seems to indicate that they are much the same as
in the case of the boreal forests already described.

The wood is very durable, and therefore used largely for poles, shin-
gles, woodenware, etc., but it is not separated from that of arbor-vitas
and red cedar in the latest census returns.

The Scrub Pine (Pinus Virginiana) , also known as Jersey pine,
spruce pine, nigger pine, cliff pine, etc., bears considerable resemblance

Pinus Virginiana on Rocky Bluffs along Warrior River, Tuscaloosa Co., Ala-
bama. March, 1911.

to the jack pine previously mentioned, but does not grow within 200
miles of it. It ranges from just south of the terminal moraine in New
York and Indiana to central Alabama, nearly always forming dense
groves or thickets with little admixture of other trees. It is common in
the coastal plain of Virginia north of the James River, but farther south
seems to be confined to the highlands. In Alabama its distribution is
approximately coextensive with the coal region, where it is a familiar
feature of the landscape. It grows in rather dry, poor, often rocky soil,
but not quite the poorest. In Maryland and Virginia it is very common

CONIFEROUS FORESTS

349

in abandoned fields, but toward its southern limits it prefers steep
rocky bluffs.

This pine, like others with very short leaves, has a thin bark and is
quite sensitive to fire, though a light ground fire does not necessarily
injure mature trees. In young thickets fire sometimes sweeps through
the tops of the trees and kills them outright, as in the boreal conifer
forests first mentioned. Its local distribution seems to be governed
largely by fire, as in the case of the red cedar, for the places where it
grows are usually pretty well protected by their isolation, as in aban-
doned fields, by topography, as on bluffs, or by the sparseness of the
undergrowth.

This tree does not often grow large enough to be useful for anything
but fuel, charcoal and wood-pulp.14

The Southern Short-leaf Pines. — Two species (Pinus echinata and
P. Tceda), which although they are easily distinguished have much in
common, are called short-leaf pine in the South. The latter is distin-
guished in the literature of botany and forestry as "loblolly pine," .a
name which does not seem to be used much by lumbermen and other
" natives."

Pinus echinata ranges from Staten Island and southern Missouri to
northern Florida and eastern Texas, ascending the mountains of

Forest of Short-leaf Pine (Pinus echinata) a Few Miles Northeast of Talla-
hassee, Florida. April, 1914.

14 The most complete account of it available is Bulletin 94 of the U. S.
Forest Service, by W. D. Sterrett, 1911.

35o THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

Georgia to an altitude of about 3,000 feet, while Pinus Tceda grows from
Cape May to Arkansas, Texas and Central Florida, rarely more than
1,000 feet above sea-level. The former grows in dry soils somewhat
below the average in fertility, while the latter prefers or tolerates a little
more moisture and humus. Both are usually more or less mixed with
oaks and hickories, or with each other, so that opportunities for getting
satisfactory photographs of them are not very numerous.

The distribution of P. echinata corresponds approximately with
mean temperatures of 55°-70°, and P. Tceda with about 60°-72°. The
latter does not seem to be capable of enduring temperatures much below
zero (Fahrenheit). It may be regarded more appropriately than any
other as the typical tree of the South. Where it abounds cotton is the
principal money crop, about half the population is colored, and a large
majority of the white voters are Democrats. In South Florida, where it
is unknown, there are no cotton fields, few negroes, few southern tra-
ditions, and many northern people; and substantially the same might
be said of the southern Appalachian region, western Texas, and several
otber places just outside of the range of this tree.

Both species when mature have bark thick enough to withstand any
ordinary forest fire, and the dead leaves in the woods in which they
grow are likely to be burned nearly every year, with little apparent
injury to the trees. Trees of either species less than ten years old
probably suffer somewhat from fire, though.

Both are very abundant and important timber trees, not far inferior
to the long-leaf pine mentioned below, and together they are now being
cut at the rate of several billion feet annually. Probably even more
trees have been cut by farmers than by lumbermen, for the soil in which
they grow is adapted to many staple crops. They reproduce themselves
very readily in abandoned fields, though, so that they are in no immedi-
ate danger of exhaustion.

The Black Pins15 (Pinus serotina), which looks very much like
P. Tcvda, but is more closely related to P. rigida (whose range it over-
laps very little if at all), is strictly confined to the sandier parts of the
coastal plain, where the summers are wetter than the winters. It is
frequent from southeastern Virginia to central Florida and southeastern
Alabama, but not very abundant except in eastern North Carolina,
where it is the dominant and characteristic tree of the "pocosins." Its
favorite habitat is sour sandy or peaty swamps, where the water-level
varies little throughout the year.

Its relations to fire have not been specially investigated. Its wood
is similar to that of P. Tceda, from which it is not usually distinguished
in the lumber markets.

is This is the name by which it goes in Georgia. In the books it is desig-
nated as ' ' pond pine, ' ' a rather inappropriate and perhaps wholly arbitrary
name.

CONIFEROUS FORESTS

35i

The Cypress (Taxodlum distichum) is one of our most interesting
trees, from several points of view, and a great deal has been written
about it. It ranges from Delaware and southwestern Indiana to Florida
(within two degrees of the Tropic of Cancer) and Texas, and is almost

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Cxpeess (Taxodiitm distichum) With Knees, in a Creek Swamp, Pickens Co.,
Alabama. Taken in early spring when trees were leafless. February, 1913.

confined to the coastal plain. It is usually abundant where it grows,
but more or less associated with other deciduous trees.

This is a swamp tree, growing naturally only where the ground is
alternately dry and overflowed. It can stand flooding to a depth of
eight or ten feet for a few weeks at a time, and 25 feet for a few days,
but does not seem to grow on the immediate banks of the Mississippi
and other large rivers whose high-water periods last too long; except
near their mouths where the seasonal fluctuations are necessarily less
than they are farther up. Its occurrence on the banks of ox-bow lakes
which were once part of the Mississippi Eiver may therefore be used as

352 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

evidence of the minimum age of such lakes.10 It prefers soil that is
rather rich, either from the amount of mineral plant food in the strata
penetrated by its roots, or from alluvium deposited by streams.

The regions where this species grows have a mean temperature of
about 53°-75°, a growing season of 180 to 360 days, and an average
annual rainfall of 38 to 65 inches. It is successfully cultivated, how-
ever, not only in New York or even farther north of its natural range,
but at the same time in ordinary dry soil of parks and streets.17

The cypress swamps are pretty well protected from fire most of the
time by the wetness of the soil or the absence of inflammable material
on the ground, but occasionally in a very dry season fire gets into the
edge of such a swamp from the neighboring uplands and kills some of
the trees, whose thin bark renders them rather sensitive.

The wood of our cypress, like that of the Old World tree of quite
different appearance which bore the same English name long before ours
was discovered by civilized man, is very durable and easily worked, and
therefore cut in large quantities for shingles and other articles which
are to be exposed to the weather or placed in contact with the soil. The
last census reports 955,635,000 feet of cypress as having been sawed in
1909, nearly two thirds of this amount coming from Louisiana. Next
in order were Florida, Arkansas, Mississippi, South Carolina, North
Carolina, Missouri and Georgia. (Some of this amount, however,
possibly 10 per cent., should be credited to the other species of cypress
discussed a little farther on.) The soil in which cypress is found is
usually too wet for cultivation and not easily drained, so that in spite
of the tree's slow growth and the rapid rate at which it is being cut the
supply will probably not be exhausted for many years.

The Long-leaf Pine (Pinus palustris), also known as yellow or
Georgia pine, extends through the coastal plain from extreme southern
Virginia to the vicinity of the Caloosahatchee Eiver in Florida and the
Trinity Eiver in Texas, and also inland to the mountains of Georgia
and Alabama, nearly 2,000 feet above sea-level. (It almost meets the
white pine in Georgia.) In the greater part of its range it is the most
abundant tree, and there are or have been many places where it is the
only tree in sight. It probably was originally, and may be even yet,
the most abundant tree in eastern North America. The long-leaf pine
forests, or southern pine-barrens, differ from most others in their open
park-like character. Even in a virgin forest of this kind one can usually
see about a quarter of a mile in every direction; and the ground is
carpeted with wire-grass or other coarse grasses, or with low shrubs.

is See Science, II., 36: 760-761, November 29, 1912.

17 In such situations its characteristic "knees," the tops of which in a state
of nature seem to indicate the greatest height of water to which the tree is ac-
customed, are developed on a very small scale if at all.

I

CONIFEROUS FORESTS

353

This species grows best in poor soils, rather dry and sandy and
devoid of humus, but never in the very poorest, such as sand dunes.
The region covered by it has a warm-temperate climate, with very little

Park-like Virgin Forest of Long-leaf Pine (Pinus palustris), Colqoitt Co.,

Georgia. August, 1903.

snow, and more rain in summer than in winter, except in northern
Georgia and Alabama.

After reaching the age of four or five years the long-leaf pine
seems to withstand fire better than any other tree known, with the possi-
ble exception of one or two of its near relatives to be discussed below;
and what is more, it probably could not perpetuate itself very long with-

$$

Long-leaf Pine Forest with almost No Underbrush, in Southern Part of Lib-
erty Co., Florida. June, 1909.

354

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

out the aid of fire. All forests of it bear the marks of frequent ground
fires, which in some places come nearly every year. At the present
time, of course, most of the fires are of human origin, but those set by
lightning in prehistoric times could spread over much larger areas than
they do now, on account of the absence of clearings, roads, and other

Puke Stand of Black Pine (Finns serotina) in the Dover Pocosin, Jones Co.,

North Carolina. August, 10^3.

artificial barriers, so that the frequency of fire at any one spot may not
be much greater now than it was originally. A fire every year during
the lifetime of the tree would be likely to prevent its reproduction, but
in any area that escapes burning for a few years once in fifty years or so
there is opportunity for a new crop of trees.

If fire were withheld too long the oaks and other hardwoods which
grow in the long-leaf pine regions would take possession of the ground
and gradually crowd the pine out, for its seedlings do not thrive in
shade. Proofs of this can be seen in many places in the coastal plain,
where fire is barred by the topography, as on bluffs bordering swamps,
or by water, as on islands and narrow-necked peninsulas. Such places,
in which the soil must have been originally much the same as in the
neighboring pine forests, are nearly always occupied by what is known
as "hammock" vegetation, consisting mostly of hardwood trees, which
make a rather dense shade and cover the ground with humus.18

is The idea that fire is essential to the long-leaf pine has been expressed
long ago by a few other observers in the south, but has never been generally ac-

CONIFEROUS FORESTS 355

Few trees in the world are used by more people or in more different
ways than the long-leaf pine. For strength and durability combined its
wood has no superior among the pines, and it ranks equally high as a
fuel. The same tree is our chief source of "naval stores" {%. e., tur-
pentine and rosin).19 In the regions where it abounds the log cabin of
the small farmer and the mansion of the wealthy lumberman or naval-
stores operator are mostly built (from sills to shingles), painted, fenced
and heated with the products of this tree. It supplies cross-ties, bridges,
depots, cars and freight to many railroads, and motive power to some.20
The masts, decks, and cargo of many a schooner on the Atlantic Ocean
are of this species, and some of the busiest streets of our large cities have
been paved with blocks of its wood in the last few years. Turpentine
and lampblack from it are found in every drug-store.

As this pine grows mostly in comparatively level ground and almost
unmixed with other trees, it has been cut as ruthlessly and wastefully as
the northern white pine, and most of the once magnificent forests of it
are now scenes of desolation. Although some other pines are mixed
with it in the census returns, it is probably safe to say that at the present
time the annual cut of it exceeds that of any other North American tree.
Of the 2,736,756,000 feet of " yellow pine " cut in Louisiana and 1,100,-
840.000 feet cut in Florida in 1909 probably at least 75 per cent, was
of this species.

The future prospects for it seem brighter than those of the white
pine, for, as already pointed out, it is not affected much by fire, the
greatest scourge of some of the northern forests. The long-leaf pine's
worst enemy at present is the farmer, who in the last two or three
decades has been taking possession of the once despised sandy pine
lands very rapidly.21 Notwithstanding the comparative poverty of the
soil, the ease with which it can be cultivated and the mild climate are

eepted by writers on forestry, most of whom live in regions where the normal
frequency of forest fires is much less. For more extended discussions of the
problem see Bull. Torrey Bot. Club, 38: 515-525, 3911; Geol. Surv. Ala. Monog.,
8: 25-27, 83, June, 1913; Literary Digest, 47: 208, August 9, 1913; American
Forestry, 19: 667-669, October, 1913.

i» The old method of extracting turpentine has been described in The Pop-
ular Science Monthly for April, 1887, and February, 1896; and the modern
cup-and-gutter method by Dr. C. H. Herty, the inventor thereof, in Bulletin 40
of the IJ. S. Bureau of Forestry, 1903.

20 A generation ago pine wood seems to have been the prevailing fuel for
locomotives in the coastal plain, but most of the railroads have had to abandon
it on account of its growing scarcity.

21 The "wire-grass country" of Georgia, an area of about 10,000 square
miles near the center of the range of this tree, increased in population about 60
per cent, between 1890 and 1900, and 35 per cent, between 1900 and 1910, which
necessitated the creation of ten new counties in that part of the state since 1904.
Somewhat similar developments have been taking place in the corresponding
parts of Florida, Alabama and Mississippi at the same time.

356

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

powerful attractions; and where the soil is given over to agriculture the
production of timber of course stops.22

The Pond Cypress (Taxodium imbricarium, or ascendens) is con-

Pond Cypress (Taxodium ascendens) in Very Shallow Flatwoods Pond (Dry
at this Time), Pasco Co., Florida. April, 1909. This species is readily distin-
guished from T. distichum by its crooked trunk and coarser bark, among other things.

fined to the coastal plain, from eastern North Carolina (perhaps as far
north as the Dismal Swamp) to southern Florida (south end of the
Everglades) and eastern Louisiana. It extends over 150 miles inland
in the Carolinas and Georgia, but apparently not over 100 miles in
Alabama or 60 miles in Mississippi. It seems to be most abundant in
Georgia, where it does not form large forests, but is often the dominant

22 For valuable information about the economic aspects of the long-leaf and
several other southeastern pines see Bulletin 13 of the Division of Forestry, U. S.
Department of Agriculture, by Dr. Charles Mohr (1896 and 1897).

CONIFEROUS FORESTS 357

tree over several acres, especially in Okefinokee Swamp, where it seems
to attain its maximum dimensions.23

It grows in poor soils, usually sand, inundated part of the year, but
rarely if ever to a greater depth than five or six feet. (High- water
mark is indicated by the height of the enlarged base of the trunk rather
than by the knees, which are less characteristically developed in this
species than in T. distichum.) Its favorite habitats are shallow ponds
which dry up in spring, and the swamps of coffee-colored (i. e., not
muddy) creeks and small rivers. The regions where it grows have an
average temperature of 60°-75°, a growing season of 240 to 360 days,
and an annual rainfall of 40 to 65 inches, over 40 per cent, of which
falls in the four warmest months, June to September.

The pond cypress has a thicker bark than its better-known relative,
and mature trees are practically immune to fire. The ponds in which
it grows are likely to be swept in the dry season by fire, which chars the
bark at the bases of the trees a little, but does no perceptible harm.

The wood is very similar to that of T. distichum (a little stronger
and heavier, if anything), and not satisfactorily distinguished in the
lumber trade, but the tree is usually too small, crooked or hollow to be
worked up into lumber profitably. It is used principally for shingles,
posts, poles, piles, cross-ties, etc. No statistics of its production are
available, but it is evidently cut most extensively in Georgia and Florida.

The Southern Spruce Pine (Pinus glabra) is sometimes called white
pine, or "bottom white pine," on account of its resemblance to the
well-known northern tree, to which it is not very closely related, how-
ever. It ranges from southern South Carolina to central Florida and
eastern Louisiana, in the coastal plain, and never forms pure stands, but
associates with hardwood trees, especially the magnolia. It prefers soils
well supplied with humus and protected from fire, like the white pine
and hemlock, and is usually found in hammocks.

Its wood is softer than that of most other southern pines, and might
be used as a substitute for white pine if it were more abundant and
better known.

The Slash Pine (Pinus Elliottii) is also strictly confined to the
coastal plain, ranging from southern South Carolina to southeastern
Mississippi, inland about 165 miles in Georgia, and southward to about
latitude 27° in Florida. It is sometimes the only tree on several acres,
but is commonly associated with the pond cypress just mentioned, in
shallow ponds or in swamps of small streams that are never muddy.2*

23 See Science, II., 17: 508, March 27, 1903; Bull. Torrey Bot. Club, 32:
113, 1905; The Popular Science Monthly, 74: 603, 604, 607, 612, June, 1909;
The Auk, 30: 485-487, October, 1913.

24 There is an illustration of a forest of this species in the The Popular
Science Monthly for June, 1909, p. 607.

353

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

Although it grows naturally only in saturated soil, it sometimes
takes possession of comparatively dry ground from which long-leaf pine
has been cut off; a circumstance which has led some uneducated people
to believe that the long-leaf does not reproduce itself after lumbering,
but mutates into another species. Some writers on forestry also have
been misled into thinking that P. Elliottii is destined to take the place
of P. palustris in the not distant future. But the range of the slash
pine is much the smaller of the two, and it has shown no evidence of
extending its boundaries since it was first recognized as a distinct
species, about 35 years ago.

It is not injured perceptibly by fire, except when very young. Its
economic properties are practically the same as those of the long-leaf
pine, from which it is seldom distinguished in the lumber and naval
stores markets. Its distribution corresponds approximately with that of
the sea-island cotton crop, except that this cotton is not now raised west
of the Chattahoochee River, while the pine extends nearly to the Pearl
River.

The Florida Spruce Pine (Pimis clausa), a near relative of P. Vir-
giniana, is the least widely distributed of all the eastern conifers, being

Interior of a Florida Spruce Pine (Pimts clausa) Forest on a Peninsula op
Lake Tsala Apopka, Citrus Co., Florida ; taken from a point about twenty feet
from the ground. March, 1914. The abundance of "Spanish moss" (Tillandsia
usneoides) indicates the infrequency of fire.

almost confined to one state. It ranges from Baldwin County on the
coast of Alabama to Dade County, Florida, about latitude 26°. Like the

CONIFEROUS FORESTS

359

somewhat similar jack pine of the north, it is confined to the most sterile
soils imaginable, where other pines are scarce or absent. Its favorite
soil, about 99 per cent, white sand, is most extensively developed in the
lake region of peninsular Florida, where it supports a peculiar type of
vegetation known as " scrub/' consisting mostly of this pine, two small
evergreen oaks (Quercus geminata and Q. myrtifolia), saw-palmetto
and several other evergreen shrubs, with very little herbaceous growth:
grasses and leguminous plants especially being conspicuous by their

riuitx clausa in '• Scrub," Lake Co., Florida. May, 1909.

absence. Outside of the lake region this type of soil and vegetation is
principally confined to old stationary dunes near the coasts.

Fire sweeps through the scrub on the average about once in the life-
time of the trees, as in the boreal conifer forests, and kills the pines
completely; but their cones, which normally remain closed for years,
then open and discharge seeds for a new crop.

The wood of this pine is of little value, and the soil in which it
grows is worthless for ordinary crops. But on the east coast of Florida
south of latitude 28°, where frost is sufficiently rare to make such

36°

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

Pure Stand of Pinus Caribaea With Dense Undergrowth op Saw-palmetto, Near
Punta Gorda, Florida. February, 1909.

Pinus Caribaea on Top of a Limestone Cliff Near Cocoanut Grove, Dade Co.,

Florida. March, 1909.

CONIFEROUS FORESTS 361

ventures profitable, large areas of old dunes have been cleared of their
spruce pines and planted in pineapples. The pineapple is peculiar in
belonging to a family of air-plants (Bromeliacece) , and taking very
little nourishment from the soil.

Our southernmost conifer, Pinus Caribcea, seems to have no dis-
tinctive common name in general use. (It has been called "Cuban
pine " by several writers on forestry in recent years, but that name would
be more appropriate for Pinus Cubensis, a species confined to eastern
Cuba.) It is abundant in South Florida, and may extend along the
coast to Georgia and Mississippi, though this point has not yet been
determined beyond question. It is said to occur also in the Bahamas,
western Cuba, the Isle of Pines, and British Honduras. It grows in
pure stands, like the long-leaf, and south of the Caloosahatchee Eiver
it is almost the only pine, and more abundant than all other trees com-
bined. It is confined to low regions within 100 feet of sea-level, and the
saw-palmetto is usually the most conspicuous feature of the undergrowth
(in Florida, but not in the tropics, for this palmetto does not grow
farther south).

It grows mostly in sandy soil north of Miami, and on limestone rock
south of there, where sand is scarce. Although it occupies the driest
soils within its range (quite unlike its near relative P. Elliottii), the
country where it grows is so low that there is usually water within two
or three feet of the surface. The climate is subtropical, with no snow
and little frost, and the summers are much wetter than the winters.

This species withstands fire about as well as P. pahistris and
P. Elliottii do, or perhaps even better, and is exposed to it as often.

Its wood is similar to that of the long-leaf pine, except that it is
more resinous and brittle, and therefore is not used much for lumber
except locally where there is no other pine within easy reach. The gum
does not flow readily, and consequently very little turpentine is ob-
tained from this species; but it is not unlikely that the increasing
scarcity of long-leaf pine may before long bring about the invention
of some method for utilizing P. Caribcea as a profitable source of naval
stores. The range of this species lies almost entirely south of the cotton
crop, but the soil or rock in which it grows is being planted extensively
to grape-fruit, mangoes, avocadoes, and other tropical fruits.

voi,. lxxxiv. — 25.

362 TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

THE VALUE OF KESEARCH IN THE DEVELOPMENT OP

NATIONAL HEALTH1

By Professor BENJAMIN MOORE, M.A., D.Sc, F.R.S.

UNIVERSITY COLLEGE, LIVERPOOL

THE history of medical science presents to the curious student a re-
markable development commencing in the latter half of the nine-
teenth century, and one worthy of special study, both on account of the
light that it sheds on the present position and the illumination it affords
for future progress.

If any text-book of medicine or treatise on any branch of medical
science written before 1850 be taken up at random its pages will reveal
that it differs but little from one written a full century earlier. If such
a volume be compared with one written thirty-five years later, it will be
found that the whole outlook and aspect of medicine have changed within
a generation.

Erroneous introspective dreams as to the nature of diseases as " idio-
pathic " as the many strange maladies which their authors are so fond of
describing have been replaced by fast-proven facts and medicine has
passed from an occult craft into an exact science based upon experi-
mental inquiry and logical deduction from observation.

What caused this rapid spring of growth after the long latent period
of centuries, and are we now reaching the end of the new era in medicine,
or do fresh discoveries still await the patient experimentalist with a
trained imagination who knows both how to dream and how to test his
dreams ?

It is but a crude comparison that represents the earlier age as one of
empiricism and imagination, and the later period as one of induction
and experiment. Empiricism has always been of high value in science,
it will ever remain so, and some of the richest discoveries in science
have arisen empirically.

Imagination also is as essential to the highest scientific work to-day
as it was a century ago, and throughout all time the work of the genius
is characterized in all spheres of human endeavor by the breadth and
flight of the imagination which it shows. The great scientist, whether
he be a mathematician, a physicist, a chemist, or a physiologist, requires
imagination to pierce forward into the unknown, just as truly as does
the great poet or artist. Also, the inspired work of poet or painter must
be concordant with a system of facts or conventions, and not outrage

1 Address of the president to the Physiological Section of the British As-
sociation for the Advancement of Science, Australia, 1914.

RESEARCH IN DEVELOPMENT OF HEALTH 363

certain canons of his art, as certainly as the true and lasting work of the
scientist must accurately accord with natural laws.

The scientist is as little able to prove the fundamental truth or existence
of the groundwork upon which modern physical, chemical and physiolog-
ical theories are built, as the artist is to prove the ethics, or perfect truth, or
perfect beauty, of those conventions upon which poetry, painting or that
great group of studies termed the "humanities" find their basis. But
the artist or philosopher knows that, using these conventions as the best
at present discovered, he can produce works of which the beauty and con-
sistency appeal to all educated human minds capable of appreciation.
Similarly, the conventions of natural science, properly understood, ap-
peal to the imagination of the scientist, call forth new ideas to his mind,
and suggest fresh experiments to test those ideas ; or, a chance empirical
observation of an experimental nature, which without theory and scien-
tific imagination would remain isolated and sterile, placed in relation-
ship to the rest of the scheme of science, awakens thought, and may lead
to a fresh departure and a long train of important discoveries.

It was this correlation of the imagination with experimentation and
the tracing out of relationship from point to point so as to develop the
evolution of phenomena that characterized the science of medicine when
new-born about seventy years ago and differentiated it from the older
nosological medicine in which imagination and experimentation, while
both existing, seemed to possess independent existences and pay little re-
gard the one to the other.

It seems well-nigh forgotten nowadays by the majority of people
that science and religion originally began together from a common thirst
for knowledge, and usually in the same type of mind endowed with a
divine curiosity to know more of the origin and nature of things.

Every great religion worthy of the name contains some account of
the natural history and creation of the world, in addition to its meta-
physical aspects, and reflects the degree of knowledge of natural science
possessed by the nation in which it arose at the time of its birth.

The fundamental error throughout the ages of human conceptions,
both in science and religion, was that of a non-progressive world to
which a stereotyped religion, or science, could be adapted for all time.
Perfection was imagined where perfection, we are now happy to realize,
was impossible, and, believing in this imaginary perfection and that all
things new deviating from it were damnable men were prepared to burn
one another at the stake rather than allow error to creep into the world
in either science or religion. Thus there have been martyrs for the scien-
tific conscience just as for religious belief, and at this distance in time
we can perhaps better understand both inquisitor and martyr and real-
ize that both were fighting for great ideals.

Evolution has taught us that as knowledge broadens we must be pre-

364 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

pared to have wider vision and abandon old theories and beliefs in the
new-born light that makes the world better to-day than it was yester-
day, and that also will show tilings up to our mental vision more clearly
to-morrow than they stand out to-day. To the members of any great
craft, or profession, or religious order, this scientific outlook which ac-
cepts as fundamental a progressive world and insists that its votaries
should adapt their lives to such a doctrine, is peculiarly difficult of as-
similation. Routine fixes all men, and so when any new discovery ap-
pears to demand change from that order to which the mind has become
accustomed, it is immediately looked upon with suspicion, and there
being little plasticity of mind remaining, it is rejected as heretical or
revolutionary after but scanty critical examination. The cry of the craft
in danger has been used efficaciously on many occasions since the days of
the Ephesian silversmiths, nor is such a cry at once to be set down to
pure selfishness. A craft is often worth preserving long after the forces
which have called it into being have commenced to slumber, and con-
servatism of this type is at times an important factor in social progress.
However, there are certain limits which must not be surpassed, room
must be made by adaptation for the new knowledge, or it will establish
a craft of its own iconoclastic to much worth preserving in the older
system.

It is important to insist upon these limitations, because a too reac-
tionary spirit abroad in medicine between 1860 and 1880 prevented the
world from benefiting from those remarkable discoveries by Pasteur and
their proposed applications by Lister, which laid the foundations of
modern medicine and modern surgery. These pioneers of the new age
in medical science had to wage for many years a stern and bitter fight
against the strong forces of ignorance and prejudice. But for this il-
logical resistance by men who would not even test the new discoveries,
and instead spent their time in sneering at the new geniuses who had
leadership to give the world, France and Germany would have been
saved many thousands of brave lives in the great war of 1870-71. Even
thereafter, the slow struggle continued of the few who knew against
the many who refused to be taught, and a perusal of any orthodox
text-book of medicine published between 1875-80 — that is, more than
a decade after Pasteups great discovery — will show that the etiology
of scarcely a single infectious disease had become known, and that med-
ical science was, for example, as ignorant of the nature of tuberculosis
as we are to-day of the nature of carcinoma. Take, as an example, the
following quotation from a well-known text-book of the theory and
practise of medicine published in 1876: "It is now, however, generally
admitted that tubercle is no mere deposit, but, on the contrary, a living
growth as much as sarcoma and carcinoma are living growths." The
tubercles were the only initial lesion observed, the infecting organism
was entirely unknown, and the pathologists of this comparatively re-

RESEARCH IN DEVELOPMENT OF HEALTH 365

cent date argued at length as to whether tubercles were to be classed as
"adenomata" or were something sui generis.

There is a gleam of sunlight for the future in this retrospect at the
ignorance of the past, for, if men were as ignorant regarding tubercu-
losis thirty-eight years ago as to-day they are about cancer, then it may
be argued that a generation hence as much may be known about cancer
as is known now about tuberculosis.

It is particularly important at the present moment, when so much
interest is being taken in national health, to point out the urgent neces-
sity of allowing as little lagging behind as possible to ensue between
the making of discoveries and the practical application of the results
by organized national effort for the well-being of the whole community.

It must sadly be admitted that it is craftsmanship in imaginary
danger fighting hard for the old methods unchanged which were in
vogue fifty years ago, that stands most prominently in the way of ad-
vance. As great a harvest as that which followed the application of
the principle of antisepsis in surgery awaits the application of the
self-same principle in national sanitation to-day, but the very profes-
sion which ought to be urging forward the new era apparently stands
in dread of it, and seems to prefer to reap its harvest from disease
rather than to seize the noble heritage won for it by the research of
pioneers and so stand forth to the world as the ministry of health. For-
tunately it can not be, the bourne has been passed, and there is no going
backward. The advances that have already been made have awakened
statesmen and people alike to the needs of the situation, and all have
resolved to be disease-ridden no longer. The laws of health must be
made known to the people at large, and schemes laid before them for a
national organization for the elimination of disease. Disease is no
longer an affair of the medical profession, it is a national concern of
vital importance. The problem is not a class question, all humanity
stands face to face with it now in the light of modern research as it
never has faced it before. It has been realized that disease never can be
conquered by private bargains for fees between individual patient and
individual doctor. Eesearch into diseases of unknown causation can not
be subsidized upon such individualistic lines, and in the case of diseases
of known etiology and modes of propagation the passage of disease from
individual to individual can not be controlled by such private methods as
that of the afflicted individual subsidizing the doctor for his own protec-
tion. Cost what it may, a healthy environment must be produced for the
whole mass of the population, and the laws of physiology and hygiene
must be taught not only to medical students, but to every child in every
school in the country. People can not live healthy lives in ignorance of
the fundamental laws of health merely by paying casual visits to physi-
cians, and no one class in the community can be healthy until all classes
are healthy.

366 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

The problem of national health is one of peculiar interest to physi-
ologists, and to the exponents of those experimental branches of med-
ical science which have sprung from the loins of physiology, for it was
with them that the new science of medicine of the last fifty years arose,
and they ought to be the leaders of the world in this most important of
all mundane problems.

It is well worth while to consider our opportunities and responsibil-
ities and raise the question whether our present system and organiza-
tion are the most suitable for attaining one of the most sublime am-
bitions that ever appealed to any profession. By definition, our science
studies the laws of health and the functions of the healthy body, there-
fore, it is ours to lead in the quest for health. Is this object best
achieved if we confine ourselves to research in our laboratories, and to
the teaching of the principles of physiology to medical students, while
we leave the community as a whole uninstructed as to the objects of our
research and its value to every man, and trust the medical students
whom we turn out to communicate, or not communicate as they choose,
the results of their training and our research to the world at large ?

There is little question that much of the ignorance abroad in the
world, and much of the fatuous opposition to our experimental work
and research, arise from this aloofness of ours. Here also lies the
cause of much of the latent period in the application of acquired knowl-
edge to great sociological problems, and the presence of untold sickness
and death which could be easily prevented if only a scientific system of
dealing with disease could be evolved.

The position occupied by scientists in medicine at the present day
is largely that of schoolmasters to a medical guild, and even at that,
one constructed upon lines which have grown antiquated by the prog-
ress of medical science. It ought now to become the function of the
scientist to remodel the whole system so as to fight disease at its source.
The whole situation at the moment calls out for such a movement. On
the one hand, there exists a widespread interest on the part of an awak-
ened community in health questions, evidenced by recent legislation
dealing with the health of school-children, with the health of the
worker, with the sanitary condition of workshops, with the questions of
maternity and infant mortality and with the communication of infec-
tious diseases. On the other hand, there is chaos in the medical organi-
zation to meet all these new demands, and the ample means recently
placed at the command of the nation and of municipal authorities are
being largely wasted by overlapping and misdirection for lack of skilled
leadership. Surely it is a time when those who have laid the scientific
foundations for the new advances should take counsel together, assume
some generalship, and show how the combat is to be waged, not as a
guerilla warfare, but as an organized and coordinated campaign.

RESEARCH IN DEVELOPMENT OF HEALTH 367

There are two essentials in the inception of this organized campaign
against disease on a scientific basis. The first is to demonstrate clearly
to the public mind that modern scientific medicine arose from the ex-
perimental or research method, that it was only when experimental ob-
servation of the laws of health and disease, in animals and man, com-
menced on an organized and broadcast basis that medicine and surgery
leaped forward and the remarkable achievements of the past fifty years
began. Also that it is only by the organization and endowment of med-
ical research that future discovery and advancement are possible. The
second essential is to convince the public that a national system must
be evolved placing medical science and medical practise in coordination,
so that the discoveries of science may be adequately applied in an or-
ganized scheme for the prevention and treatment of disease. The
method in which discoveries have been made in the past suggests an
amplification and organization along similar lines for the future, and the
banishment of many diseases by public health work in the past suggests
that it is more efficiently organized and widespread public health work
in the future, extended from the physical environment to the infecting
individual, that will be most fruitful in banishing other diseases.

If it be queried by any one here, what has physiology to do with dis-
ease, it may be replied that the question comes at least fifty years too
late. The methods evolved first by physiologists in experimentation
upon animals have become the methods of all the exact sciences in medi-
cine. Bacteriology is the physiology of the bacterium, and the study of
protozoan diseases the physiology of certain groups of protozoa, Or-
gano-therapy had its origin in physiology, and many of its most bril-
liant discoveries were made by physiologists, and all by scientists who
used physiological methods. Serum therapy, experimental pharmacol-
ogy, and the great problems of immunity all arose from the labors of
men with expert training in physiology who branched out into prac-
tical applications achieved by the extension of the experimental, or
research, method. The modern methods of medical diagnosis and the
brilliant technique of contemporary surgery, what has opened the door
to these but the experimental method ? From the days of the first suc-
cessful abdominal operation to the present day research in laboratory or
in the operating theater has pioneered the way, and the sooner this
simple truth is known to all men the better for medical science. Every
time any surgeon first tries a new operation there is in it an element of
experiment and research of which the ethical limits are well-known and
definable, and any person who logically thinks the matter out must see
that it is the research method which has placed the science and art of
surgery where it stands to-day. Exactly the same thesis holds for
medicine. How could any physician predict for the first time, before
he had tried it experimentally on animal or man, the action of any new
drug, the effect of any variation in dosage, the result of any dietary, of

368 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

the employment of any course of physical or chemical treatment, or of
anything in the whole of his armamentarium? Yet the public are
rarely told any of these wholesale truths but are rather left to speculate
that each medical and surgical fact sprang forth as a kind of revelation
in the inner consciousness of some past genius in medicine or surgery,
who, in some occult way, knew of his own certain foreknowledge what
would be the definite effect of some remedy or course of treatment before
he tried it for the first time on a patient, or perhaps had the ethical con-
science and genuine humanity to test it on a lower animal before he ad-
ministered it to man.

It may, in short, be taken as an axiom of medical science that every-
thing of value in medicine and surgery has arisen from the applica-
tions of experimental research. Nor can future advance be made by any
other method than the research method. It is true that accident may
teach occasionally, as it did, for example, in the dreadful burns un-
wittingly inflicted on themselves and patients by the early experiment-
ers in X-ray therapy and diagnosis. But accident is only the most
blundering type of experimentation, and results obtained by its chance
agency do not really invalidate the universal law that man only learns
by experience or, in other words, by research. Research is, after all,
only the acquisition of fresh experience by the trained expert, usually
led on to his experiment by inductance from other known facts.

It has been said above that all that is valuable in medical science has
been acquired by research; the converse may now be pointed out, that
much that was valueless, dangerous, and even disgusting in medicine in
earlier days was incorporated into the medical lore of the time and
often remained there for generations stealing lives by thousands be-
cause physicians had not yet adopted the research method, and so based
their practise upon ignorant and unfounded convention. It is notice-
able in literature that up to somewhere in the beginning of the nine-
teenth century physicians and surgeons were often as a class looked
upon by scholars and educated people with a certain amount of con-
tempt. There were notable and fine exceptions in all ages, but, taken
as a whole, the profession of medicine was not held in that high esteem
and admiration that it is amongst all classes to-day. Take, for ex-
ample, Burns's picture of Dr. Hornbook or Sterne's account of Dr. Slop
in " Tristram Shandy," and similar examples in plenty are to be found
in the Continental literature. The reason for the change is to be found
in the comparative growth of medical science as a result of the research
method. The physicians of those days were very often ignorant quacks
employing the most disgusting and dangerous remedies, or methods of
treatment, based upon no experimental knowledge and handed own in
false tradition from ignorant master to ignorant and often almost il-
literate apprentice. It is only necessary to peruse the volumes written

RESEARCH IN DEVELOPMENT OF HEALTH 369

on materia medica of this period to shudder at the nature of the reme-
dies apparently in common use; the details are unfit for modern pub-
lication.

Even in the first half of the nineteenth century patients were exten-
sively bled almost to exhaustion in a vast variety of diseases in which
we now know with certainty that life would be endangered by such
treatment and chance of recovery diminished. Thus,, in a text -book
published in 184-1 by the professor of medicine in the most famous uni-
versity in medicine of our country, and a physician in ordinary to her
Majesty Queen Victoria, it is said that in the treatment of pneumonia

the utmost confidence may be placed in general Blood-letting "which should al-
ways be large and must almost always be repeated sometimes four or six times
or even oftener. Blistering and purging, under the same cautions as in the
Bronchitis, are to be employed; and two other remedies have been much recom-
mended— Opium, especially combined with Calomel, and the Solution of Tartar
Emetic.

It seems scarcely creditable to us nowadays that about this same period
a low diet, blood-letting, emetics and purgatives were employed as a
treatment in phthisis, yet such is the case. It is in keeping with the
above, and in strange contrast to modern treatment, to find it recom-
mended that if the patient can not winter abroad he is ordered " strict
confinement within doors in an artificial climate, as near as possible to
60° Fahr., during at least six months of the year in Britain." Prom
the text-books of medicine of this period, only seventy years back, in-
stances of wrongful and even dangerous treatment in most of the im-
portant diseases might be produced. There is no basis of accurate
scientific knowledge of physiology, biochemistry or bacteriology under-
lying the visionary notions about disease. The real causes of the dis-
eases being obscure, they are commonly set down to so-called diatheses
or habits such as the " hemorrhagic diathesis " or the " scrophulous
habit." Also, the action of infective organisms and the intimate rela-
tionships in regard to infection of members of the same family being
unknown or forgotten, such " habits " are erroneously set down as hered-
itary. When there is no other channel of escape the word " idiopathic "
is coined to cover the ignorance of the learned.

If now we pass onwards about thirty years in time, halving the dis-
tance between the above period and our own time, and consult an im-
portant text-book of medicine published in 1876 by a Fellow of the
Royal College of Physicians, a physician and lecturer at a famous Lon-
don Medical School, and a lecturer on pathology and physiology, we
find that the progress attained by research in physiology, and physio-
logical chemistry, and a growing belief in the possibility of infection in
many diseases by the microorganisms, now demonstrated so clearly in
certain cases by Pasteur and his followers, have commenced to do their
beneficent work in medical practise. The heroic bleedings and leech-

370 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

ings and the scarcely less violent druggings with strong drugs have dis-
appeared. The patient is less harassed by his doctor, who is more con-
tent to assist the natural processes of recuperation as his knowledge of
applied physiology and hygiene teach him, rather than to thwart theni
and to lessen resistance as his predecessor often did a generation ago
when he knew no physiology and less hygiene. Still, the comparison
between the text-book of even forty years ago and one of the present
day shows a wonderful advance, all flowing from the use of the re-
search method in the intervening years, both in knowledge of the orig-
ins and in the treatments of the diseases.

Time and space forbid going into details, but the whole of serum,
vaccine and organo-therapy were unknown, with the single exception of
vaccination for variola. Enteric fever has been separated from typhus,
but its etiology is still obscure, and, to a large extent as a consequence,
the mortality from it is fifteen to sixteen per cent., or quadruple present-
day figures, and it is one of the commonest of diseases. The cause of
diphtheria is unknown, although it is now recognized as a " contagious "
disease, and as yet research in bacteriology has supplied no cure for it.
The unity of the various forms of tuberculosis is unsuspected, the in-
fecting organism is unknown, and, as a result, it is not even recognized
as an infectious disease and heredity figures most strongly in a dubious
etiology leading up to a vacillating treatment. Pneumonia is not rec-
ognized as due to a microorganism, and is described as one of the
"idiopathic" diseases. The cause of syphilis, and its relationship to
tabes dorsalis, and general paralysis are unknown, and generally it may
be said that the causes of disease are either entirely unknown or errone-
ously given in at least three quarters of the very incomplete list of dis-
eases that are classified and described.

This, after all the centuries, was the doleful position of medical sci-
ence in the year 1876, when suddenly light began to shine upon it,
brought not by the agency of any member of the medical profession,
but by a physiological chemist, and he was led to his great discovery,
not in an attempt to solve some problem of practical medicine, but by
scientific observations devoted to an apparently purely philosophical
critical research into the supposed origin of life in a particular way.

It was the experimental or research method in biochemistry sup-
ported by physiological experiments on animals which in the hands of
Louis Pasteur laid the foundations of true knowledge, and transformed
medicine from what has been described above into the glorious, living,
evolving science that we possess to-day.

The men who fought side by side with Pasteur in his famous
struggle against orthodoxy in medicine as represented by the leading
physicians and surgeons of the period between 1860 and 1880 were
mainly chemists, biologists and physiologists, such as Claude Bernard,
Paul Bert, J. B. Dumas, Biot, Belard and Sainte-Claire Deville, in his

RESEARCH IN DEVELOPMENT OF HEALTH 371

own country, and Tyndall and Huxley in ours. A few physicians and
surgeons of scientific training in France and England recognized the
importance of his discoveries, such as Alphonse Guerin, Villemin and
Vulpin, in his own country, while Lister in ours was already at work,
had experimented widely and wrote his memorable letter of congratula-
tion to Pasteur in 1874, informing him of the work he had been doing
in introducing antiseptic surgery in England during the preceding nine
years. Against this intrepid little band of experimental scientists were
massed all the batteries of orthodox medical nescience served by the dis-
tinguished physicians and surgeons of the time; but truth is mighty
and must prevail. Davaine applying Pasteur's principles in a medical
direction had found out the bacterial origin of anthrax, and although
he was violently attacked by oratorical arguments in opposition to ex-
perimental proofs, and accused, as many physiologists are to-day of hav-
ing " destroyed very many animals and saved very few human beings,"
Iris facts held fast, and combined with the later experiments of Koch
and of Pasteur, not merely established the etiology of anthrax as we
know it to-day, but gave a support and forward growth to that new-
born babe, Bacteriology, which without such animal experiments could
never have grown into the beneficent giant that it is to-day in all its
glorious strength for the weal of humanity.

Pasteur himself meanwhile was hard at work in the small ill-
equipped laboratory of physiological chemistry of the Ecole Normale at
Paris from which the fame of his discoveries began rapidly to spread
and shed a new light forth on the medical world. Pasteur at this stage
had already largely rehabilitated the national prosperity of his own coun-
try by his successful researches on silk-worm disease and on fermenta-
tion maladies and the diseases of wines. All this effect upon national
industries, it is to be noted, followed on from an inquiry of apparently
no practical importance on spontaneous generation. He now turned
his genius towards disease, there also utilizing the same discovery aris-
ing from a research that contained at first sight no possible applica-
tions to disease and the remainder of his life was devoted to the exten-
sion of these studies. The subsequent history of this discovery is the
science of bacteriology with all its ramifications and manifold applica-
tions in industry, in agriculture, in medicine and in public health, in-
vestigated by the experimental method by thousands of willing workers
all over the civilized world. Who but the ignorant Philistine, who
knows not what he prates about, can deny the profound influence of
animal experimentation, and the philosophic application of the prin-
ciple of research upon the history of the world?

Let us now, from the vantage-point of the present, look back at the
past and glean from the study of the manner in which this science
took origin some knowledge to guide us, first, as to how research may be

372 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

fostered and encouraged in the future, and secondly, as to how the re-
sults of research may be applied for social advantage.

The first and perhaps the finest thought of all is that research must
be pursued with the highest ideals of the imaginative mind apart from
all desired applications or all wished for material advantages. If we
might personify nature, it would seem that she does not love that re-
searcher who only seeks her cupboard, and never shows her finest treas-
ures to him. She must be loved for her own beauty and not for her
fortune, or she will ne'er be woed and won. Not even the altruistic
appeal of love for suffering mankind would seem to reach her ears; she
seem to say : " Love me, be intimate with me, search me out in my
secret ways, and in addition to the rapture that will fill your soul at
some new beauty of mine that you have discovered and known first of
all men, all these other material things will be added, and then I may
take compassion on your purblind brothers and allow you to show them
these secret charms of mine also, so that their eyes may perchance grow
strong, and they, too, led hither by you, may worship at the shrine of
my matchless beauty." By all the master's discoveries in all the paths
of science, Nature is ever teaching us this great doctrine to which we
have closed our ears so long. She tells us the creation of the world is
not finished, the creation of the world is going on, and I am calling
upon you to take a part in this creation. Never mind that you can
not see the whole, love that you see, work at it, and be thankful that I
have given you a part to play with so much pleasure in it, and so doing
you will rise to the highest ideal.

This is religion with thirst for knowledge as its central spring; does
it differ much from those aspirations which have made men of all na-
tions worship throughout all the ages? Anthropology teaches us that
the religious system of a race of men gives a key to their advancement
in civilization. If this be so, growth in natural knowledge must ele-
vate our highest conceptions, furnish purer ideals and give us more of
that real religion that is to be found running so strongly in the minds
of great individuals such as Isaac Newton, Michael Faraday, Louis Pas-
teur, Auguste Comte. A great man may be strongly opposed to the
orthodox creeds of his day, he may even sneer at them, he may be burnt
at the stake by their votaries, and yet be a man of strong religious feel-
ings and emotions which have furnished the unseen motive power, per-
haps unsuspected even by himself, that leads to a whole life of scientific
heroism and enthusiasm.

The practical lesson for us to learn from all this is that we must con-
sider research as sacred and leave it untrammelled by fetters of utilitar-
ianism. The researcher in functional biology, for example, must be left
free to pursue investigations as inspiration leads him on any living
structure from a unicellular plant to a man, and must not be expected

RESEARCH IN DEVELOPMENT OF HEALTH 373

to devise a cure for tuberculosis or cancer. In his research he must
think of something higher even than saving life or promoting health,
or he is likely to prove a failure at the lower level also.

As an example of the wrong attitude of mind towards science, there
may be taken the point of view of those utilitarians who complain of
the amount of time and discussion at present being given to the prob-
lem of the origin of life. These wiseacres with limitations to their
brains say "that it is an insoluble problem, we shall never get to the
bottom of it, let us simply assume, since it is here, that life did origi-
nate somehow, and, taking this as an axiom, proceed to some practical
experimental problem; the origination of life does not lend itself to ex-
perimental inquiry."

Now it is, strange to say, just those problems that appear most in-
soluble upon which the inquiring type of mind loves to linger and spend
its energies, and, although the problems never may be solved, the misty
solitudes to which they lead are glorious and the fitful gleams of half-
sunshine that come through are more kindling to the senses of such
men than the brightest sunshine on the barest of hills. It is here, and
in such quests, that the biggest of human discoveries are made and not
all of them are in natural science alone.

The search after the mystery and origin of life had profound influ-
ence in raising man from a savage to a civilized human being, and is
found as an integral part in all religions above a certain level of sav-
agery. Much of the system of morals and ethics of civilized nations is
unconsciously grouped round this problem, and we owe the existence
of that social conscience which makes each of us our race's keeper to
our interest in the nature of life, and our ties with other lives. Leave
such a problem alone and attend to routine researches ! Why, the hu-
man intellect can not do it, such problems compel attention ! What, it
may be asked, was it that started all this routine research in biology,
in favor of which we are asked to abandon the search after the origin of
life? The routine research would not exist, but for a discovery made
in investigating whether life originated in a certain alleged way.

If the whole science of bacteriology emerged from a proof that a
certain alley did not lead to the origin of life, how much more glorious
may that knowledge become that finally leads us to this goal, or even
one step onward in our true path towards it. The search after the
origin of life is an experimental inquiry, it leads straight to research,
that is all the physicist or chemist demands of a theory, it should be
enough for the biologist. We who search for this are not occultists
whatever may be said of those who oppose.

Let us then learn to have a catholic spirit about research, and try
to convince the world that it commands devotion not merely because of
material advantages which it may bring, but because it is the most

374 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

lovely and most holy thing that has been given to man. So may we
clear the fair name of science of the false charge of materialism that is
so often brought against it by those who do not know and judge science
purely by mechanical inventions.

Next let us consider the applications of scientific discovery and see
if we cherish aright the gifts of the fairy godmother, for her gifts are
dangerous if wrongly used. Consider, if this be doubted, the enormous
advantages given by mechanical and chemical contrivances in producing
the material comforts necessary to civilized human existence, and then
turn your eyes to the reeking slums of our great cities. It is clear that
natural science can not go on successfully alone, it must take sociology
with it if our world is to be a better world to live in because of the gifts
brought by scientific discovery.

Nor is the ideal and the outlook different in the least from that
given above for pure research, when we come to consider its applica-
tions, the same high spirit must prevail in all our endeavors, or we
shall defeat our own ends and miserably fail. Selfishness here, as every-
where, must recoil on the culprit, who only deadens his own soul.
Health is needed not to grow wealthy or to prolong to greater length a
"lingering death" as Plato puts it, but to fill life with happiness, and
beckon the bold and adventurous forward to higher things. Here we
must copy Nature's own plan and take care of the race as a whole in-
stead of spending our energies upon single individuals or favored
classes. Nor need any one fear that any individual or any particular
class in the community is going to suffer from the adoption of the true
scientific attitude towards disease. The penalty taken by nature on the
more comfortable classes who have hitherto enjoyed the greater share
in government for allowing the existence of poverty, disease and slum-
dom, is to utilize this negelected area as a culture-ground for diseases,
which invade the classes above. Nature is still at work creating, still
conducting evolution at the highest level, and disease is at present the
tool with which she is working. So long as those poverty-stricken slums
are allowed to remain, just so long is she grimly prepared to take her
toll of death and suffering from those who ought to know how to lead
on and do it not. The disease and the crime below are to the social com-
munity what pain is to the individual, and just as the special senses be-
come more highly organized and sensitive as the nervous system be-
comes more highly developed, so as the civilization of the community
intensifies does the public conscience awaken to forms of mischief and
crime in one generation that were unsuspected in a previous one. So
social evils become intolerable and finally are removed. How then are
we employing our knowledge as to the causation of disease to the public
problem of its removal or abatement ?

In regard to the physical environment much has been done during

RESEARCH IN DEVELOPMENT OF HEALTH 375

the past generation towards applying the laws of hygiene, as is shown
in the sanitation of our great cities, and especially in regard to the
question of water-supply. It is good, for example, that Glasgow goes to
Loch Katrine for her water-supply, Manchester to the English lakes,
and Liverpool to the Welsh hills. Each of these great cities carries for
many miles the pure distillate of the hills to its million of inhabitants.
It has cost much in pounds sterling, though not more than if each fam-
ily had a pump in its backyard. On the other hand, think of the disease
and suffering and death prevented, enteric fever almost gone where
thousands would have died of it, and tens of thousands been debilitated,
and these of the best of the citizens, for disease is no eliminator of the
unfit. Think of all this, and then say, Did it not pay these great cities
to bring the pure water from the lakes in the hills ?

But why do these good cities content themselves to allow their little
children at a most susceptible age to be supplied still with milk which
contains the bacillus of tuberculosis in so large a percentage as five to
ten per cent. ? And why does the law of the land prevent these corpora-
tions from searching out tubercular cows in all the areas supplying them
with milk ? If it is part of the business of a municipality to see that
its citizens have a pure water-supply, why should it not also be allowed
to see that they have a clean milk supply?

Long ago the power to make the lame to walk was regarded as a
divine gift. When is mankind going to awake to the fact that science
has placed this gift in its hands ? Much more than half of the lame and
spinally-deformed children in our midst are in that condition because
of infection of joints or spine with the bacillus of tuberculosis. By
open-air hospitals and open-air schools we seek and succeed in curing
a percentage of them, but how much better it would be if we took the
fundamental problem of tubercular infection in hand and prevented
them from becoming lame and deformed?

There is at present on foot in England a great scheme to enable the
blind to read, and it deserves our support because it is our fault that
these people are blind. The sad fate of the man born blind appeals to
all kind hearts ; but men are not born blind, they become blind within
a week or two of birth because of an infectious disease contracted from
the mother at birth. Science knows and has taught the world how this
blindness can be quite prevented, and it is because of our faulty organi-
zation for attending to maternities amongst the poor that these people
are blind. By proper organization practically all blindness arising at
the time of birth can be prevented. Why is it not done? Thus our
modern science can make the blind to see and the lame to walk, but it is
so manacled by ancient ways and customs that it is left powerless, and
so there are these maimed and darkened lives of innocent people, and
they are left partially burdening the community which has only its
own folly to blame for the whole stupid position.

376 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

Let us consider lastly a disease which collects the last toll from
one seventh of humanity, and debilitates and enfeebles the lives of many
whom it does not entirely destroy. At all ages, in infancy, in the prime
of life, and in life's decline, it snatches away the best of our fellowmen.
How are we organizing our campaign against tuberculosis ? Bacteriol-
ogy has taught us that it is an infectious disease and has isolated the or-
ganism. It is an undoubted fact, proven to the hilt by many inquiries
and observations, that infection passes from individual to individual.
How is this knowledge being applied, and how are we attempting to
stem the tide of infection? In the United Kingdom alone about 70,-
000 persons die annually of the disease, and all over the civilized world
the total death roll of human kind annually from tuberculosis probably
does not fall short of a million souls. This tide of infection is kept up,
year in, year out, and every 70,000 dying annually in Britain must have
infected 70,000 fresh victims before they themselves are carried away.
Can it not be stopped, this foul tide of infection ? What is being done
to stop it? Sanatoria are being provided for the early cases, the bad
and most infectious cases are largely being left alone to sow infection
broadcast and then die. This is the chief means being used at present
to stop the tide. The early non-infectious case is deemed the more im-
portant to look after, and the well-advanced, open, thoroughly infec-
tious case is left to itself to infect others and then to die. This is the
condition of our public health attitude in regard to tuberculosis. It is
a travesty on the application of all biological laws, and in direct oppo-
sition to all laws of racial preservation. Industrial conditions have
produced an artificial environment and enhanced the chances of infec-
tion by the organism of this disease ; it should be our plan to copy na-
ture's method and safeguard the interests of the community, and to do
this we must proceed on the plan of separating the source of infection
— that is to say, the infectious individual from the sound individual.
This is done with success in the case of smallpox and cholera, and this
plan has eradicated hydrophobia; why should it not be carried out in
the case of tuberculosis? Under present conditions men, women and
children are going on unwittingly infecting one another by the thousand
with tuberculosis in school, workshop and home, and we who know it
take no public action and raise no clamant outcry against it. It is of
more value to the community to isolate one pauper far advanced in
tuberculosis than to send ten early cases to sanatoria. This disease
must be stopped at its source as well as dealt with on its course. No
disease has ever been eradicated from a community by discovering cures
for it, and none ever will; many diseases have disappeared because
their sources have been cut off.

Let us be scientific, let us search out the truth ; having found it, let
us act upon it, and let us conceal nothing that is true.

CULTIVATION OF WASTE LAND 377

THE CULTIVATION OF WASTE LAND1

Br A. D. HALL, M.A., F.R.S.

THE president of a Section of the British Association has two very
distinct precedents before him for his address; he can either set
about a general review of the whole subject to which his section is de-
voted or he can give an account of one of his own investigations which
he judges to be of wider interest and application than usual. The spe-
cial circumstances of this meeting in Australia have suggested to me
another course. I have tried to find a topic which under one or other of
its aspects may be equally interesting both to my colleagues from Eng-
land and to my audience who are farming here in this great continent.
My subject will be the winning of new land for agriculture, the bringing
into cultivation of land that has hitherto been left to run to waste be-
cause it was regarded as unprofitable to farm. To some extent, of course,
this may be regarded as the normal process by which new countries are
settled ; the bush is cleared and the plough follows, or under other con-
ditions the rough native herbage gives way to pasture under the organ-
ized grazing of sheep or cattle. I wish, however, to deal exclusively with
what are commonly termed the bad lands, inasmuch as in many parts of
the world though recently settled, agriculture is being forced to attack
these bad lands because the supply of natural farming land is running
short. In a new country farming begins on the naturally fertile soils
that only require a minimum of cultivation to yield profitable crops,
and the newcomers wander further afield in order to find land which
will in the light of their former experience be good. Before long the
supply is exhausted, the second-class land is then taken up until the
stage is reached of experimentation upon soils that require some special
treatment or novel form of agriculture before they can be utilized at all.
Perhaps North America affords the clearest illustration : its great agri-
cultural development came with the opening up of the prairies of the
Middle West, where the soil rich in the accumulated fertility of past
cycles of vegetation was both easy to work and grateful for exploitation.
But with the growth of population and the continued demand for land
no soils of that class have been available for the last generation or so,
and latterly we find the problem has been how to make use of the arid
lands, either by irrigation or by dry-farming where the rainfall
can still be made adequate for partial cropping, or, further, how to con-
vert the soils that are absolutely poisoned by alkali salts into something

i Address of the president to the Agricultural Section of the British Associa-
tion for the Advancement of Science, Australia, 1914.

vol. lxxxiv. — 26.

378 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

capable of growing a crop. You yourselves will supply better than I can
the Australian parallels, at any rate we in England read that the wheat-
belt is now being extended into districts where the low rainfall had
hitherto been thought to preclude any systematic cropping.

Now, the fact that the supply of naturally fertile land is not un-
limited reacts in its turn upon the old countries. During the 'eighties
and 'nineties of the last century the opening up of such vast wheat areas
in America, Argentina, Australia, and the development of the overseas
trade reduced prices in Europe to such an extent that in Great Britain,
where the full extent of the competition was experienced, the extension
of agriculture came to an end despite the continued increase of popula-
tion. The area of land under cultivation has declined but little despite
the growth of the towns, but the process of taking in the waste lands
stopped and much of the land already farmed fell back from arable to
cheaper pasture. But as soon as production in the newer countries
failed to keep pace with the growth of population prices began to rise
again, and we are now in the old world endeavoring to make productive
the land that has hitherto been of little service except for sport and the
roughest of grazing. Even the most densely populated European coun-
tries contain great areas of uncultivated land; within fifty miles of
London blocks of a thousand acres of waste may be found, and Holland
and Belgium, perhaps the most intensively cultivated of all western
countries, possess immense districts that are little more than desert.
Of the European countries, Germany has taken the lead in endeavoring
to bring into use this undeveloped capital; her population is rising
rapidly and her fiscal policy has caused her to feel severely the recent
increase in the prices of foodstuffs, which she has determined to relieve
as far as possible by extending the productivity of her own land. It has
been estimated that Germany possesses something approaching to ten
million acres of uncultivated land, and a government department has
been created to reclaim and colonize this area.

Before dealing with the processes by which the rough places of the
earth are to be made straight there is one general question that deserves
consideration — Is it more feasible to increase the production of a given
country by enlarging the area under cultivation or by improving the
methods of the existing cultivators? There is without doubt plenty of
room for the latter process even in the most highly farmed countries :
in England the average yield of wheat is about 32 bushels per acre — a
good farmer expects 40; the average yield of mangolds, a crop more
dependent upon cultivation, is as low as 20 tons per acre when twice as
much will not be out of the way with good farming. A large propor-
tion of the moderate land in England is kept in the state of poor grass — ■
even as grass its production might be doubled by suitable manuring and
careful management, while under the plough its production of cattle-

CULTIVATION OF TYASTE LAND 379

food might easily be trebled or quadrupled. Why, then, trouble about
adding to the area of indifferent land when so much of what has already
been reclaimed, upon which the first capital outlay of clearing, fenc-
ing, roadmaking, etc., has been accomplished, is not doing its duty?
We are at once confronted by the human factor in the problem. The
existing educational agencies which will have to bring about better
farming will only slowly become effective, and however imperfect they
still may be in England, they are mainly so because of the lack of
response upon the part of the farmers. The present occupiers of the
land do obtain in many cases a very inadequate return from it, but they
make some sort of a living and they hold it up against others who,
though they want land, can not be guaranteed to use it any better. Im-
proved farming means more enterprise, more knowledge, often more
capital, and the man who can bring these to the business is far rarer than
the man who, given a piece of land even of the poorest quality, will
knock a living out of it by sheer hard work and doggedness. While, then,
there should be no slackening in our efforts to improve the quality of the
management of existing land, there is a case for also using every effort
to increase the cultivable area ; indeed, it is probable that for some time
to come the second process will add most to both the agricultural pro-
duction and the agricultural population.

Let us now consider what are the factors which determine the
fertility of the land that is first brought into cultivation and remains
the backbone of farming in the old settled countries. Foremost comes
rainfall, and the distribution is almost as important as the amount.
Winter rain is more valuable than summer, and though cereal-growing
is none the worse and may even obtain better results with a rainless
summer, stock-raising and the production of fodder crops are the better
for a rainfall that is distributed fairly evenly throughout the year.
Eainfall, again, must bear some relation to temperature; some of the
best farming in the eastern counties of England is done on an average
rainfall of 20 inches ; there are great areas in South Africa with the same
average rainfall that are little better than desert. In temperate regions
we may say that the naturally fertile land requires a rainfall of from
20 to 50 inches per annum, not too much segregated into seasons and
some at least falling in the winter.

If the rainfall is excessive or the drainage inadequate to carry it
off, the formation of peat is induced, resulting in such uncultivated areas
as the bogs of Ireland and the moors of eastern England, Holland and
Germany.

Given suitable rainfall and temperature the texture of the soil be-
comes a factor of importance; if too coarse and sandy, so little of the
rainfall is retained that we get all the effects of drought secondarily
produced. In itself the open texture of a coarse sandy soil is favorable

380 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

to plant development; under irrigation, or where the situation is such
as to result in permanent water a short distance below the surface, fine
crops will be produced on sandy soils that would remain almost barren
if they only depended upon the rainfall for their water. In western
Europe large areas of heaths and waste land owe their character to the
coarse and open texture of the soil. At the opposite extreme we find
clays so heavy that their cultivation is unprofitable ; such soils, however,
will carry grass and are rarely left unoccupied. For example, in the
southeast of England there are a few commons, i. e., land which has
never been regarded as worth enclosing and bringing into particular
ownership, situated on heavy clay land; most of such land is pasture,
often of the poorest, or, if at any elevation, has been covered with forest
from time immemorial.

One last factor in the soil is of the utmost importance to fertility
and that is the presence of lime — of calcium carbonate, to be more accu-
rate— in quantities sufficient to maintain the soil in a neutral condition.
Old as is the knowledge that lime is of value to the soil, we are only
now beginning to realize, as investigation into the minute organisms of
the soil proceeds, how fundamental is the presence of lime to fertility.
A survey of the farming of England or western Europe will show that
all the naturally rich soils are either definitely calcareous or contain
sufficient calcium carbonate to maintain them in a neutral condition even
after many centuries of cultivation. Examples are not lacking where the
supply of calcium carbonate by human agency has been the factor in
bringing and keeping land in cultivation. I have discussed one such
case on the Rothamsted estate and several others have come under my
notice. The amelioration of non-calcareous soils by treatment with
chalk or marl from some adjacent source has been a traditional usage
in England and the north of France: Pliny reports it as prevailing in
Gaul and Britain in his day, and the farmer of to-day often owes the
value of his land to his unknown predecessors who continuously chalked
or marled the land. Upon the presence of carbonate of lime depends the
type of biological reaction that will go on in the soil, the beneficial
bacterial processes that prepare the food for plants only take place in a
medium with a neutral reaction. The Rothamsted soils have provided
two leading cases. I have shown that the accumulation of fertility in
grass-land left to itself and neither grazed nor mown, so that virgin con-
ditions were being re-established, was due to the action of the organism
called Azotobacter, which fixes free nitrogen from the atmosphere, and
was indirectly determined by the presence of calcium carbonate in the
soil, without which the Azotobacter can not function. Examination of
typical examples of black soils from all parts of the world, the prairies
of North America, the steppes of Russia and the Argentine, New Zea-
land and Indian soils, showed in all of them the Azotobacter organism

CULTIVATION OF WASTE LAND 381

and a working proportion of carbonate of lime. Now, as we know, all
virgin soils are not rich, and only in a few parts of the world are to be
found those wonderful black soils that are often several feet in depth and
contain 10 to 20 per cent, of organic matter and 3 to 5 parts per thou-
sand of nitrogen. These soils are all calcareous, they occur in regions of
a moderate rainfall inducing grass-steppe or bush conditions, and the
annual fall of vegetation provides the organic matter which the Azoto-
bacter requires as a source of energy in order to fix nitrogen. Non-
calcareous soils under similar climatic conditions do not accumulate
nitrogen and become rich; in the absence of carbonate of lime the
nitrogen-fixing organisms are not active, and the soil only receives from
the annual fall of vegetation the nitrogen that was originally taken
from it. There is but a cyclic movement of nitrogen from the soil to
the plant and back again, whereas in the calcareous soils there is also
continuous addition of fresh nitrogen derived from the atmosphere, in
which process the carbonaceous part of the annual crop supplies the
motive power.

The other leading case to be found at Rothamsted is that of certain
grassplots which have artificially been brought into an acid condition by
the continued application of sulphate of ammonia. In these soils nitri-
fication is suspended, the nitrification organisms have even disappeared,
though the herbage still obtains nitrogen because most plants are able
to utilize ammoniacal nitrogen as well as nitrates. The interesting
feature, however, is that the decaying grass on these acid soils passes into
the form of peat, a layer of which is forming upon the surface of the
soil, though nothing of the kind is found on adjacent plots where the
use of lime or of alkaline manures has prevented the development of
acidity. From this we may learn that the development of a surface
layer of peat, independent of waterlogging (when another kind of peat
forms even under alkaline conditions), is determined by the acidity of
the soil, when certain of the bacterial processes of decay are replaced
by changes due by micro-fungi which do not carry the breaking-down
of organic matter to the destructive stage. This affords us a clue to
the origin of many areas of upland peat in the British Isles, where the
remains of ancient forest roots and stumps of trees are found on the
true soil surface below the layer of peat, but where there is no water-
logging to bring about the death of the trees and the formation of peat.
We may suppose that when the land-surface became fit for vegetation
at the close of the glacial epoch it covered itself with a normal vege-
tation, chiefly dwarf forest, because of the rainfall and temperature.
The soil, however, being without carbonate of lime, would in time
become acid with the products of decay of the vegetable matter falling
to the ground, and as soon as this acid condition was set up peat would
begin to form from the grassy surface vegetation. The process would

382 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

continue until the acid conditions and the depth of the accumulating
layer of peat would kill the trees, the stumps of which would remain
sealed up below the peat. I am far from thinking that this explanation
is complete, but at least we have facts in sight which could lead one to
suppose that a non-calcareous soil originally neutral and carrying a
normal vegetation can naturally become acid, alter the character of its
vegetation and clothe itself with a layer of peat. The point of economic
importance is that these peaty acid soils are of very little value as long
as they are acid, though they take on a quite different aspect if they are
limed and made neutral.

Of all the soil factors making for fertility I should put lime the
first; upon its presence depend both the processes which produce avail-
able plant food in quantities adequate for crop-production at a high level
and those which naturally regenerate and maintain the resources of the
soil; it is, moreover, the factor which is most easily under the control
of the agriculturist.

I need say little about those cases in which infertility is due to the
presence in the soil of some substance which is actually injurious to
plant-growth, because such substances are nearly always due to the
physical environment of the soil, to too much or too little water. In
water-logged situations we may find in the soil peaty acids, iron salts,
sulphides, etc., inhibiting the growth of plants ; in arid regions the soil
may still be charged with an excess of soluble compounds of the alkalis
and alkaline earths, resulting from the decomposition of the rocks that
have been broken down to form the soil, but which through the inade-
quate rainfall have never been washed out. The establishment of normal
conditions of growth, irrigation in the one case, drainage in the other,
will speedily result in the removal of the deleterious substances. Prac-
tically, only bodies that are soluble can get into a plant to injure it,
hence such bodies can be removed from the soil by water, provided that
the water can find its way through the soil and escape.

Let us now consider the various methods by which land suffering
from one or other of the disabilities we have just discussed is nowadays
being brought into cultivation. The most important, if we consider the
area affected, is the extension of cropping into regions of deficient rain-
fall by means of what has been termed dry-farming. As far as its im-
mediate methods go, dry-farming consists in nothing more than the
application of the principles of husbandry worked out by English
farmers in the east and southeast of England, principles first expounded
by Jethro Tull, though a complete explanation was not then possible,
even if it is now. In the first place, the tilth must be made both deep
and fine, thus whatever rain falls will be absorbed and the conditions
favoring a deep and full root range will have been established. Next,
the soil below the surface, though finely worked, must be compact, be-

CULTIVATION OF WASTE LAND 383

cause only thus can the water present travel to the roots of the plant.
Lastly, a loose layer must be maintained on the surface, which, though
dry itself, acts as a screen and a barrier to prevent loss of water from the
effective soil below by any other channel than that of the plant. Granted
these methods of cultivation, the new feature about " dry-farming,"
which has been introduced by settlers in the arid districts of Australia
and North America, is the use of a year of bare fallow in which to
accumulate a supply of water for the next year's or two years' crop.
This raises the fundamental question of how much water is necessary
for the growth of an ordinary crop. The first investigation that Lawes
and Gilbert carried out at Rothamsted dealt with this very point ; they
grew the usual field crops in pots, protected the surface of the soil from
evaporation so that all the loss of water proceeded through the plant,
weighed the water that was supplied from time to time, and finally
weighed the produce, expressing their results as a ratio between the
dry matter produced and the water transpired by the plant. These
experiments have been repeated under different climatic conditions by
Hellriegel in Heidelberg, by Wollny in Vienna, by King and others in
America, Now the two processes in the plant, carbon assimilation and
transpiration, are not causally connected, though as both are carried out
in the leaf and have some factors in common they are found to show
some constancy in their relative magnitudes. Lawes and Gilbert ob-
tained a ratio of about 300 lbs. of water transpired for each pound of
dry matter harvested, but the other investigators iinder more arid con-
ditions found much higher figures, up to 500 and even 700 to 1. Now,
a crop yielding 20 bushels of wheat per acre will contain about a ton of
dry matter per acre, so that, taking the high ratio of 500 to 1, no more
than 500 tons of water per acre or 5 inches of rain will have been con-
sumed in the production of this crop. It is, of course, impossible to en-
sure that all the rain falling within a year shall be saved for the crop,
much must evaporate before it reaches the subsoil where it can be
stored, and only when the crop is in full possession of the land can we
expect that all the water leaving the soil shall go through the crop.
What proportion the waste bears to that which is utilized will depend
not only on the degree of cultivation but upon the season at which the
fall occurs; summer showers, for example, that do not penetrate more
than a few inches below the surface will be dissipated without any useful
effect. When the climatic conditions result in precipitation during the
winter, the water will be in the main available for crop-production ; and
it has been found by experience that cereals can be profitably grown with
as small a rainfall as 12 inches. The necessary cultural operations con-
sist in producing such a rough surface as will ensure the water getting
into the subsoil, hence autumn ploughing is desirable. Where the preci-
pitation is largely in the form of snow, a broken surface also helps both

384 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

to absorb the thawing snow and to prevent it being swept into the gullies
and hollow places by the wind. On some of the Eussian steppes it has
become customary to leave a long stubble in order to entangle as much
snow as possible, but probably a rough ploughing before the snowfall
would be even more effective. When the rainfall drops to the region of
12 to 16 inches and occurs during the summer months, then dry- farming
methods and the summer fallow become of the first importance. The
deep cultivation ensures that the water gets quickly down to the subsoil
away from danger of evaporation, and the immediate renewal of a loose
surface tilth is essential in order to conserve what has thus been gained.

In connection with this dry-farming there are several matters that
still require investigation before we can decide what is the minimum
rainfall on which cultivation can be profitable. In the first place, we are
only imperfectly informed as to the relation between rainfall and evap-
oration. At Eothamsted there are three drain-gauges side by side, the
soil layers being 20, 40 and 60 inches deep, respectively. The surface is
kept rough and free from growth, though hardly in the condition of
looseness that could be described as a soil mulch. Yet the evaporation,
even under a moist English atmosphere, amounts to one half of the
annual rainfall, and the significant thing is that the evaporation is
approximately the same from all of the gauges and is independent of
the depth of subsoil within which water is stored. Evaporation then
would seem to be determined by surface alone, but we are without syste-
matic experiments to show how variations in the surface induced by
cultivation will alter the rate of evaporation. A knowledge of the
evaporation factor would then inform us of what proportion of the
rainfall reaches the subsoil ; we then want to know to what extent it can
be recovered and how far it may sink beyond the reach of the crop.
It is commonly supposed that the subsoil below the actual range of the
roots of the crop may still return water by capillarity to the higher levels
that are being depleted, the deeper subsoil thus acting as a kind of regu-
lating reservoir absorbing rain in times of excess and returning it when
the need arises. But some work of Leather's in India and Alway's on
the great plains of North America throw doubt on this view, and would
suggest that only the layer traversed by roots, say, down to a depth of
6 feet, can supply water to the crop; the water movements from the
deeper layers due to capillarity being too slow to be of much effect in the
maintenance of the plant. The evidence on either side is far from being
conclusive and more experiment is very desirable.

It would also be valuable to know how far evaporation from the bare
soil can be checked by suitable screens or hedges that will break the
sweep of the wind across the land. In England hedges have always
been looked at from the point of view of shelter from stock; we find
them most developed in the grazing districts of the west, while bare

CULTIVATION OF WASTE LAND 385

open fields prevail in the east and south. Yet the enormous value of a
wind-screen to vegetation can be readily observed, and the market-
gardeners both in England and the still dryer districts of the south of
France make great use of them. Lastly, we must have more knowledge
about the relation between transpiration-water and growth: we do not
know if the high ratios we have spoken of hold for all plants. Xero-
phytic plants are supposed to be possessed of protective devices to reduce
loss of water: Are they merely effective in preserving the plant from
destruction during the fierce insolation and drying it receives? and do
they enable a plant to make more growth on a given amount of water?
Wheat, for example, puts on its glaucous waxy bloom under dry condi-
tions : Is this really accompanied by a lower rate of transpiration per
unit surface of leaf? and is it more than defensive, connoting a better
utilization of the water the plant evaporates ?

The cultivation of these soils with a minimum rainfall necessitates
varieties of plants making a large ratio of dry matter to water transpired
and also with a high ratio between the useful and non-useful parts of
the plant. Mr. Beaven has shown that the difference in the yields of
various barleys under similar conditions in England is due to differ-
ences in their migration factors : the same amount of dry matter is pro-
duced by all, but some will convert 50 per cent, and others only 45 per
cent, into grain. This migration ratio, as may be seen by the relation
between corn and straw on the plots at Eothamsted, is greatly affected
by season ; nevertheless Mr. Beaven's work indicates that under parallel
conditions it is a congenital characteristic of the variety and therefore
one that can be raised by the efforts of the plant-breeder. The needs of
dry-land-farming call for special attention on the part of the breeder to
these two ratios of transpiration and migration.

Closely linked up with the problems of dry-land-farming are those
which arise in arid climates from the use of irrigation-water on land
which is either impregnated with alkaline salts to begin with or develops
such a condition after irrigation has been practised for some time. The
history of irrigation-farming is full of disappointments due to the rise
of salts from the subsoil and the subsequent sterility of the land, but
the conditions are fully understood and there is no longer any excuse
for the disasters which have overtaken the pioneers of irrigation in
almost every country. Sterility may arise from two causes — overmuch
water which brings the water-table so close to the surfac£ that the
plants' roots may be asphyxiated, or the accumulation by evaporation
of the soluble salts in the surface layer until plants refuse to grow. The
annual ratting off of the cotton crop in Egypt as the water-table rises
with the advance of the Nile flood affords a good example of asphyxia-
tion, but in the neighborhood of irrigation canals we also find many
examples of sterility due both to the high water-table and an accom-

386 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

panying rise of salts. The governing principle is that drainage must
accompany irrigation. Even if free from salts at the outset the land
must accumulate them by the mere evaporation of natural waters, and
they will rise to the surface where they exert their worst effect upon
vegetation, unless from time to time there is actual washing through the
soil and removal of the water charged with salt. Without drainage the
greater the quantity of water used the greater the eventual damage to the
soil, for thereby the subsoil water-table carrying the salts is lifted nearer
to the surface. With a properly designed irrigation system the danger
of salting ought not to occur; there are, however, many tracts of land
where the supply of water is too limited to justify an expensive scheme
of irrigation channels with corresponding drainage ditches at a lower
level. Take the case of a single farmer with some water from an artesian
well at his disposal, with perhaps little rainfall, with land subject to
alkali, and no considerable natural fall for drainage. If he merely
grades the land and waters it, sterility rapidly sets in; the only pos-
sibility appears to be to take a comparatively limited area and to cut
out drainage ditches or tile drains 4 or 5 feet below the surface, even
if they have to be led into a merely local hollow that can be abandoned
to salt. The bed thus established must then be watered at any cost
until there is a flow in the drains, after which the surface is immediately
cultivated and the crop sown. There should be no further application
of water until the crop covers the land, the use of water must be kept to
a minimum, and by the ordinary methods of dry cultivation evaporation
must be allowed only through the crop, not merely to save water but to
prevent any rise of salt. With a loose surface and wind-breaks to
minimize evaporation it has thus proved possible to grow valuable crops
even on dangerously alkaline land. Superphosphate and sulphate of
ammonia have proved to be useful fertilizers under these conditions;
both tend to prevent the reaction of the soil becoming alkaline, and the
calcium salts of the superphosphate minimize the injurious effects of
the sodium salts that naturally accumulate in the land. On the other
hand, nitrate of soda is a dangerous fertilizer. Attempts have been
made to reduce the salts in the land by the growth of certain crops which
take up a large proportion of mineral matter, but I have not been able
to ascertain that much good can be thus effected. Sugar-beet and man-
golds do appreciably reduce the salt content, but are hardly valuable
enough to' pay for such special cultivation and the limited irrigation-
water; the best thing appears to be to grow salt-bush on the non-
irrigated margin of such areas, if only to prevent the efflorescent salts
from blowing on to the cultivated portion.

Let us now turn to the problem of land reclamation as it occurs in
northwestern Europe. There are two main types of land that have
hitherto been left waste, the peaty and the sandy areas. Of the peaty

CULTIVATION OF WASTE LAND 387

areas we can distinguish again between the low-lying moors bordering
the lower courses of the great rivers; for example, in England near the
mouth of the Trent, and the upland peat-bogs of which Ireland furnishes
so many examples. They have these features in common — an excess of
water, a deficiency of mineral salts, and, particularly in the upland
bogs, a strongly acid reaction; but they possess great potential wealth
in their richness in nitrogenous organic matter. It is in Germany and
Holland that the methods of bringing into cultivation these moors have
been most completely worked out; in Germany, for example, it is esti-
mated that there are about five million acres of moorland of which about
10 per cent, are now under cultivation. The reclamation process must
begin by drainage, which may be carried out by open ditches, but is
most satisfactorily effected by pipes, despite the greater cost. The
water-table must be kept some 3 feet below the surface. In districts
which afford a market for peat, as, for example, on the Teufelsmoor near
Bremen, the reclamation often begins by cutting out the peat, the lower
layer of firm peat being won, dried, and sold for fuel. The upper spongy
peat can be used for litter, but some part at least must be thrown back.
Where the burning peat is thus extracted the excavation is in places
pushed further until the underlying sand is reached, and enough of this
is dug to spread over the reclaimed area to a depth of 4 or 5 inches and
mixed by cultivation with the spongy peat. Even when the peat is not
removed, pits are often made in order to sand the land, so great an
improvement does it effect in the character of the crops. However,
sanding is not possible everywhere, and there are great areas under culti-
vation where the reclamation begins with drainage, followed by the
cultivation of the immediate surface without either sanding or the
removal of the burning peat, which indeed are impossible over large
areas, but are carried out by the owners of small farms little by little.
Special tools are required: certain forms of disc-ploughs and harrows
give the best results ; heavy tools for large scale cultivation by steam or
electricity are furnished with broad roller-like wheels; even the horses
must wear broad wooden shoes.

The next stage is the manuring, and it has only been the develop-
ment of the artificial fertilizer industry during the last half-century
that has rendered the cultivation of this type of land possible. On the
alluvial moors where the ground water has always been alkaline, the
peat is rich in calcium and no treatment with lime and marl is necessary
(the English fens afford an example of this type of soil), but on the
true peat-bogs (Hochmoor of Germany) the manuring must begin with
a good dressing of burnt lime, or, better, of marl or ground chalk.
For meadows and pastures two tons per acre of lime, or twice as much
of carbonate of lime, should be applied ; the amounts may be halved
for arable land. This must be followed by about 5 to 8 cwt. per acre

388 TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

of basic slag and an equal amount of kainit, which applications should
be renewed in the second year, but then diminished in accord with the
cropping. However, some phosphoric acid and potash salts must be
continuously supplied, with occasional dressings of lime or chalk on the
acid peaty areas. These latter also require in their earlier years nitrog-
enous manures, for the peat is slow to yield up the nitrogen it contains.
The fertilizers should be nitrate of soda or lime, never sulphate of
ammonia. The whole success of the reclamation depends on the use of
these manures, as the peat in a state of nature is almost devoid of both
phosphoric acid and potash; on the acid peats, again, normal growth is
only possible after a neutral reaction has been attained by the use of
lime or marl. With this manuring it is found to be easy to establish
a good meadow herbage in a very short space of time; it is not even
necessary to get rid of the surface vegetation of Erica and other heath
and bog plants. The manure is put on and the surface is worked con-
tinuously with disc-harrows and rollers, but never deeply; a seed-mix-
ture containing chiefly red, white and Alsike clovers, Lotus uligiiiosus,
rye-grass, timothy and cocksfoot, is sown :n the spring and soon suc-
ceeds in choking the native vegetation.

It is impossible to say what is the cost of the reclamation of moorland
in this fashion ; the big expense is the drainage and the construction of
roads, both of which are entirely determined by local conditions. But
of the value of the process when accomplished there can be no doubt.
I have seen a case quoted from the Ostfriesische Zeitung, where a piece
of moor bought for £75 was reclaimed and sold for £900 ; and, best test
of all, one may see in places like the Teufelsmoor near Bremen, families
living in comfort on thirty to forty acres of what was once merely wild
moor with no productive value.

Of even greater interest in England is the reclamation of heath-
land, which has of late years been proceeding apace in Germany. In this
category we may include all land which owes its infertility to the coarse
grade and low water-retaining power of the particles of which the soil
is composed, the soil being at the same time as a rule devoid of carbonate
of lime, and covered in consequence with heather and similar caleifuge
plants. In England there exist extensive tracts of uncultivated land
of this character in close proximity to the considerable populations, but
the process of reclaiming such land for agriculture seems to have come
to an abrupt conclusion somewhere about 1850, when the developing
industries of the country began to offer so much greater returns for
capital than agriculture. That land of the kind can be cultivated with
success is evident from the mere fact that everywhere prosperous farms
may be seen bordering the wastes, possessing soils that are essentially
identical with those of the wastes. These were brought under cultiva-
tion when labor was cheaper, often without calculation of the cost because

CULTIVATION OF WASTE LAND 389

the work was done piecemeal at times when the men would otherwise
have been idle. Were any strict account to be framed, the reclamation
probably did not pay its way for many years, and it has only become
possible again because of modern advances in science and machinery.
'As examples of the type of land, I may instance the Bagshot Sands on
which, in north Surrey, in Berkshire and Hampshire, and again in its
southern development in the New Forest, lie so many thousands of
acres of uncultivated heath. No systematic reclamation has taken place,
but everywhere farms have been carved out on this formation often by
the industry of squatters, and within reach of London the vast supplies
of town manure which used to be available have converted some of it
into fertile land. The crystallization of common rights into charters
for public playgrounds, its growing appreciation for residential pur-
poses, will now always stand in the way of the utilization of most of the
Bagshot Sands for agriculture, but further afield there are many areas
of similar character. The Lower Greensand is perhaps equally dis-
counted by its residential value, but on the Tertiaries of Dorset, the
Crag and Glacial Sands of Suffolk and Norfolk — the brak, the Bunter
Beds of the Midlands, lie many expanses of waste that are convertible
into farming land, just as Lincoln Heath and much of the beautifully
farmed land of Cheshire have been gained for agriculture within the
past century. Equally possible is an attack upon the sandy areas, war-
rens or links, behind the sand-dunes on many parts of the English and
especially the Welsh coasts; not all of them are wanted for golf, and
many can be fitted for market-gardening. Of old the only way of
dealing with such land was merely to clear i\ burn the rubbish, and
start upon the ordinary routine of cultivation, but for a long time on
such a system the crops will hardly pay their way from year to year,
and the permanent deficiencies of the soil in lime and mineral salts re-
main unrepaired. In Cheshire the enormous value of marl and bones in
such a connection was early recognized; it has been the later discovery
of the potash salts that renders reclamation a commercial proposition
to-day. The method that is now followed is to begin by clearing the
land of shrubs, burning off the roughest of the vegetation, and turning
over a shallow layer in the summer, leaving the heathery sod to the kill-
ing and disintegrating action of sun and frost until the following spring.
The manure is then put on — lime or ground chalk or marl as before,
basic slag and kainit, and the sod is worked down to a rough seed-bed
on which lupins are sown, to be ploughed in when they reach their
flowering stage. The growth of the lupins makes the land, they supply
humus to bind the sand together and retain moisture, they draw nitro-
gen from the atmosphere and with the phosphoric acid and potash form
a complete manure for succeeding crops. Sometimes a second crop of
lupins is ploughed in, but usually the land is put immediately to an

39Q TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

ordinary rotation of rye, oats, potatoes and clover. When the heath-
land is divided among small tenants in an unreclaimed state, cropping
often begins without the lupins, the necessary nitrogen being imported
by nitrate of soda, but for years the land shows inferior results. Only
the tenant can rarely afford to lose the year the lupin crop involves, and
so great is the demand for land in Germany that the State finds it
preferable to let the tenant reclaim than to reclaim for him, and charge
him as rent the cost of the more thorough process. And now as to the
finance of the operation : the reclaiming down to the ploughing in of the
lupin crop costs from £5 to £6 an acre, the bare heath costs from
£5 to £7 an acre, the reclaimed land after a few years' cultivation would
sell at £20 to £30 an acre. Meantime the State has probably made a
free grant for drainage, looking to get some interest back in increased
taxation ; the local authority has also made roads for which the increased
rating due to a new agricultural community must be the only return.
It is a long-sighted policy which will only find its full justification after
many years when the loans have all been paid off and the State lias
gained a well-established addition to its agricultural land and its pro-
ductive population. In comparing English with German conditions there
are certain differences to be taken into account — in the first place the
work of reclamation will be dearer in England because of the higher
price of labor, then the land will not be so valuable when won because
the higher scale of prices for agricultural products enhances the price
of land in German}'. Next, I doubt, in view of the great industrial
demand for men in England, if we have the men available who will
bring to the land the skill and power of drudgery that I saw being put
into these German holdings of thirty to forty acres in their earlier years
of low productivity. Moreover, in Germany these heaths are generally
bordered by forests, in which the small holder gets occupation for part
of the year while his wife and children keep the farm going. For this,
if for no other reason, afforestation and land reclamation and settle-
ment should go on together. But, despite these drawbacks, I am still
of opinion that the reclamation of such heath-lands is a sound com-
mercial venture in England, either for a landowner who is thinking of
a future rather than of a present return on his capital, or for the state
or other public body, wherever the waste land can be acquired for less
than £5 an acre. The capitalized value of its present rental rarely ap-
proaches that figure, but the barrenest heath is apt to develop the poten-
tialities of a gold-mine when purchase by the state comes in question.
The map of England is so written over in detail with boundaries and
rights and prescriptions that the path of the would-be reclaimer, who
must work on a large scale if he is to work cheaply, can only be slow and
devious. There are other possibilities of winning agricultural land
even in England, from the slob land and estuaries, from the clays now-

CULTIVATION OF WASTE LAND 39T

adays too heavy for cultivation ; but the problems they present are rather
those of engineering than of agricultural science. What I should like
in conclusion once more to emphasize is, that the reclamation of heath
and peat-land of which I have been speaking — reclamation that in the
past could only be imperfectly effected at a great and possibly unremu-
nerative expense of human labor — has now become feasible through the
applications of science — the knowledge of the functions of fertilizers,
the industrial developments which have given us basic slag and potash
salts, the knowledge of the fertility that can be gained by the growth of
leguminous plants. From beginning to end the process of reclamation
of moor and heath, as we see in progress in northwestern Europe, is
stamped as the product of science and investigation.

392 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

HOME RULE THE HOPE OF MUNICIPAL DEMOCEACY

By OSWALD RYAN

ANDERSON, IND.

IF the final test of democracy in America is to come in the cities,
as Jefferson phophesied in his " Notes on Virginia," it would
seem that the test should at least be a fair one. Yet the municipal
machinery of the average American state permits anything but a fair
trial of the democratic principle. For, every student of contemporane-
ous municipal conditions knows that, barring those progressive com-
munities that have adopted some form of commission government, city
government is still cursed with the curse of divided responsibility, is
still in the hands of men who can not apply the rules of municipal effi-
ciency because they are bound by the rules of the partisan game. In
these cities men are still elected to office by national party organizations
without regard to questions of local policy, and men are still appointed
to municipal positions because of what they have done for their party
rather than because of anything they can do for their city.

Deplorable as it is, the worst thing about this system of city govern-
ment is that it is not the free choice of the cities that are the victims of
it, but an imposition by an outside authority — the state legislature.
For, under the ordinary state constitution, the city is not, in theory of
law, a self-governing community, but a subject province exercising its
limited powers by sufferance of the state legislature, and having this or
that form of government as may be superimposed by the outside
sovereign. The municipality does not even possess the right to its own
existence; it exists only by grace of the state legislature, which, if it
pleased to do so, could withdraw its lease of life at will.

Thus the city takes its right to existence, its form of government
and its governmental powers from the state, and what the state can
give the state can take away. The legal validity of any act by the city,
such as the issuing of bonds, the contracting for a municipal waterworks
or the granting of a municipal franchise, is not determined by the ex-
pressed desire of its citizens, but by the voice of the legislature as set
out in some statute. The real seat of municipal authority, therefore, is
not in the citizens, but in the state legislature; the city lives and moves
and has its being in the will of the state. .

Under this system of constitutional law the cities exercise those
powers that are enumerated in the state legislature grants, and only
those powers. If the city wants to exercise a specific power of local

HOME RULE 393

government for the satisfaction of a local need, it must search the
statutes for permission, and if the statutes are silent on the point, it
must appeal to the state legislature for the requisite power. Thus, if
a city in my own state of Indiana, for example, wishes to furnish ice
to its citizens in the heat of summer, establish a pension fund for its
teachers or institute a civil service test for its employees, it must make
its humiliating appeal to the legislative Caesar at Indianapolis; for
these powers are not nominated in the bond. No wonder an exasperated
Indiana city official was once led to remark that "the only creatures
without rights under our law are outlaws, wild beasts and munici-
palities." Yet, that local communities shall have the fullest right of
local self-government is a maxim of American institutions.

Not only must the city in the exercise of its enumerated powers keep
strictly within the limits set by the state legislature, it must follow
only such administrative methods as the legislature has prescribed.
Even in the determination of the fundamental framework of their
government the citizens have no legal voice. A certain city may
desire the commission plan or the city manager plan; but, of its own
action, it can not get what it wants. It must take what it gets from
the state house, and in the large number of states of which I am writing
it gets an antiquated form of city organization that renders increasingly
difficult the municipal problem. And not only the general framework,
but the minutest detail of the administrative machinery, is often pre-
scribed by legislative act.

Generally the legislature groups the cities in classes according to
their population, and then imposes a detailed plan of administrative
organization and powers upon each class. This frequently means that
a particular city is saddled with an administrative machinery ill-fitted
to its local conditions, or with administrative methods ill-adapted to its
local needs. Any one who is familiar with municipal conditions knows
that even cities of the same general size often reveal the greatest
diversity of conditions and needs, and that what is good for one city is
often bad for another. Moreover, to imprison the city in the strait-
jacket of uniform legislation checks its inventiveness, for it deprives it
of the opportunity of wholesome experiment with municipal methods.
It impairs its individuality, for it takes from it the chance to shape its
own life and development. It lessens its sense of responsibility, for it
relieves it of the responsibility of working out its own civic salvation.
Common sense joins with the principle of local self-government in the
demand that local institutions be permitted to conform to local conditions.

To meet the needs of modern social and economic development
the American city without right of self-government is compelled by
the state constitution to appeal at every turn to the legislature for
relief; but that constitution never guarantees that the city's prayer

VOL. LXXXIV.— 27.

394 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

shall be answered, or that it shall even be considered on its merits.
Who can deny that politics-ridden legislatures have often refused to
hear the appeal of the city for no other than a purely partisan reason ?
Who will deny that, just as burdensome laws have often been imposed
upon the city for partisan purpose, so needed legislation has often been
denied the city for partisan advantage ? The legislative history of every
state abounds with testimony to show that legislative dominion over
municipal affairs has been as discreditable to the state as it has been
unhealthy for the city.

Not only does the partisan character of the state legislature dis-
qualify it for the function of guiding the administrative development
of the cities, but the individual legislators have neither the time nor
the knowledge of local conditions nor the proper sense of responsibility
to the urban constituency necessary to a constructive treatment of the
municipal problem. Members of the legislature are largely from the
rural districts and can not in reason be expected to understand the per-
plexing problems of municipal government. Yet, to these men, un-
trained in the intricacies of municipal administration, unfamiliar with
actual city conditions and busy with many problems of state policy, has
been intrusted the tremendous task of controlling the city's adminis-
trative development. It is no reflection upon the ability or intelligence
of our legislators to say that they are ill-fitted for this task of absentee
law-making.

Aside from making impossible an effective solution of the municipal
problem, this legislative dominion over the city impairs the efficiency
of the legislative members in the other work which they have to do.
In Indiana, for example, the legislative desks for years have groaned
under the burden of bills having for their object to grant to cities relief
from the restrictive provisions of our state constitution and laws. Dur-
ing the past few sessions a perfect flood of measures dealing with
matters of a purely local nature engrossed legislative time and energy
that should have been put upon important matters of general state
policy. We have rid ourselves by a federal constitutional change of
one great obstacle to legislative efficiency — the indirect election of
United States Senators; it now remains to rid ourselves by state con-
stitutional change of another great obstacle — the legislative regulation
of municipal affairs. This can be done by writing into the state con-
stitution provisions for municipal home rule. Already several states
have adopted this needed reform.

What does "municipal home rule" mean? It means, in the first
place, a reversal of the existing legal presumption against the powers
of the city. Instead of possessing only such powers as are granted to
it by the state legislature, the city, under the "home rule" system, is
invested by the constitution with all powers of local government con-

HOME RULE 395

sistent with the general laws of the state. In this way is created an
unmolested sphere of local self-government in which the city may
exercise all powers necessary to its own complete development, without
the necessity of recourse to any outside authority and without the
danger of interference from any outside authority. Municipal home
rule means further that the city may determine its own form of govern-
ment, or as Herbert Bigelow put it, "may cut out its own municipal
suit of clothes." Thus the city decides for itself, by means of a charter
convention and ratification election, whether it will have the commis-
sion plan, the city manager plan, the mayor-and-council system or any
other form of municipal organization.

And why not? Who know better than the citizens of Indianapolis
the needs of Indianapolis and the administrative agencies that are
adapted to those needs ? Who can determine better than the citizens of
Lexington, Kentucky, the activities of public welfare in which the
government of Lexington should engage? If Terre Haute, Indiana,
wants a non-partisan form of city government why should not Terre
Haute have that form? There appears to be no reason for excepting
cities from the operation of the principle of self-government that does
not apply with equal force against the principle of democracy itself.

Ours are the only English-speaking cities in the world that are denied
the right of self-government. One can not imagine, for example, legis-
lative intermeddling in the affairs of an English city, which is per-
mitted by Parliament to develop in its own way and according to its
own ideas of administrative organization. English cities since 1832
have been among the best governed in the world and American cities
have been among the worst governed. What accounts for this difference
between the municipal experience of two English-speaking peoples ? The
main reason is that English cities are self-governed and American cities
are state-governed. The citizens of Birmingham govern Birmingham;
the legislature of Indiana governs Indianapolis.

Home rule for cities means municipal self-government, but it does
not mean municipal independence in the sense that there are created
independent sovereignties within the state. It does not mean that the
state government loses its control over matters that concern the general
state welfare. Thus home rule does not require that the state surrender
entirely its control over elections in which state officers are chosen, for
the people of the commonwealth as a whole are vitally interested in
maintaining the purity of the ballot and in the prevention of corrupt
and fradulent practices. It does not mean that the state resigns its
power to pass laws relative to the health, safety and general welfare of
its citizens. The state at large is vitally interested in the prevention
of crime and disease and in the education of the people, and, although
it may leave the city free to provide its own administrative machinery

396 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

and allow a wide diversity in methods, it must maintain a general
supervisory control over these subjects. In other words, the city govern-
ment is not only an organ for the satisfaction of loeal needs, but an
agent of the state for the performance of state functions. The doctrine
of home rule recognizes this. It renders to the city the things that are
the city's, and to the state the things that are the state's.

So defined — and it has been so defined by the states which have
written it into their fundamental law — the principle of municipal home
rule may be regarded as the first step in the direction of a responsible
and efficient city government. Wherever it has been put into the consti-
tution of a state a larger municipal vision has been created and a new
brand of municipal administration has appeared. Thus it is a signif-
icant fact that many of the most advanced forms of city government
hare grown up in the cities which have enjoyed constitutional home
rule. Given the right to determine its own destiny, the city becomes
the hope, instead of the despair, of democracy. And the test which
democracy receives will be a fair one.

FOREIGN BORN AMERICANS 397

THE POLITICAL MIND OF FOREIGN-BO UN AM KIM CANS

I'.v ABBAU LIPSKY, I'n.D.

.N'KW YOIlK CITT

AN election i jrchological experiment on a larr."' scale. The

trouble with most elections, however, as psychological tests, is
that the questions submitted are vague, complex and variously under-
stood. If one could put a simple and unequivocal question such as
"Are you in favor of capital punishment?" or, "Do you prefer co-
operative to family housekeeping ?" the answers might be of great
informative value as to the mind of the population. If such questions
could be submitted, it would then he interesting in analyzing the returns
to look for the influence of economic, social and racial factors.

The City of New York, as it happens, is an excellent laboratory for
studying the responses of several foreign nationalities. There are,
according to the Thirteenth Federal Census, 340,765 Kalians in New
York who were horn in Italy, 484,189 foreign-born Russians, 278,114
foreign-born Germans, 252,662 Irish, horn in Ireland. These national-
ities are not evenly disfrihuted over the area of the city. Here and
there exist communities as large as good-sized cities composed almost
entirely of people of one nationality, and these communities constitute
distinct political units, to the extent that a ward or an assembly district
is a distinct political unit. Thus there were in the eighth assembly dis-
trict in 1910, 51,438 foreign-bom Russians; 83.8 per cent, of the males
of voting age were foreign-born and naturalized ; only 2. ."3 per cent, were
native horn, of native parents. In the third assembly district there
were 33,531 foreign-born Italians; in the sixteenth there were 9,144
Irish from Ireland; in the third district of Queens County there were
15,548 Germans horn in Germany. We are thus enabled to pick out
districts in which one or other nationality largely predominates and
from the election returns can determine how the district voted upon
every candidate or proposition submitted.

Candidates are- hut Tarely propositions. Only when they are
does an election take on the character of an experiment in social
psychology. Now, the election of November, 1913, was one of the
rare sort. The issues were clear, simple, unequivocal, understood
very generally in the same sense. The propositions for which
the candidates stood might have been formulated as follows:
CI) Are you in favor of government hy an organization such as
Tammany? (2) Are you in favor of Socialism ? (3) Do you read the

398

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

Hearst newspapers regularly? These questions have not in recent
years been put so clearly — not in 1910 when the campaign for the
governorship was complicated by the intervention of Eoosevelt in favor
of Stimson, not in 1911 when only minor officials were elected, not in
1912 when the personal element again was paramount.

In view of the prevalent solicitude concerning the effect of racial
conglomeration upon American national life, it is of great practical
importance to ascertain as definitely as possible what the behavior of
different races constituting the American population is in response to
specific appeals. Does nationality play any part in determining the
point of view of our foreign communities in political matters? Will
American problems be dealt with in the same way by one of the foreign
districts as by a community of native Americans born of native parents ?

From the Thirteenth Census, which gives the number of specified
nationalities in each assembly district, and also the number of natural-
ized voters, one can deduce approximately the percentage of voters
belonging to each nationality in every district.

We shall first consider the answers of the chief constituent national-
ities of New York to the question: "Are you in favor of government
by political organizations of the Tammany kind ? "

We present to begin with a table giving the ten districts in which
the voters of native parentage were found in the greatest numbers. The
first column gives the borough and district, the second, the per cent, of
all the voters constituted by the Americans of native parentage, the
third, the per cent, of the whole vote in each district given to the
Tammany candidate for mayor. In the fourth, the vote for Dix, Tam-
many candidate in 1910, is added:

Assembly
District

Native of
Native parents

1913,
McCall

1910,
Dix

M 15. .

45.3
40.0
44.1
51.5
41.3
45.6
38.0
39.0
38.1
38.6

33.7
33.2
35.3
37.6
31.1
24.7
34.9
28.3
25.3
36.6

58.1

M 19

52.3

M 25

48.4

M 27

55.8

Q 4

46.2

B 17

43.6

B 11.

50.5

B 18

46.3

B 5

B 10

44.1
53.3

These districts of mainly American voters answered "nay"

to

Tammany, throwing in every case over sixty per cent, of their votes
against it. In 1910 Dix received a little over 50 per cent, in half of
these districts, but as has been said, Tammany was not then the sole
issue.

There is no difficulty in finding a dozen districts in which the Eus-
sians alone far exceed every other nationality in number. As is well

FOREIGN-BORN AMERICANS

399

known, the Eussians are nearly all Jews, and so are the Austrians who
in large numbers inhabit some of these districts. The next table is
similar to the first except that Eussians and Austrians are substituted
for native Americans.

Assembly
District

Russians

Austrians

Both

1913,
McCall

1910,
Dix

M 8

54.4
30.4
35.6
34.6
35.6
22.3
20.6
12.9
31.2
33.3
16.1
13.0

14.2

30.8

25.2

6.7

1.4

12.5

3.9

4.9

5.9

3.9

5.9

3.0

68.6
61.2
60.2
41.3
37.0
36.8
23.9
17.8
37.1
37.2
22.0
16.0

40.2
22.8
51.1
30.0
57.6
29.3
49.7
24.1
27.1
25.7
46.6
24.3

52.3

M 6

40.

M 4

61.7

M 26

41.0

M 2

67.5

M 10. . .

52.2

M 24

56.8

M 31

44.7

B 21

48.6

B 23

40.9

B 14

61.5

B 22

38.5

In only two of these districts did McCall receive more than 50 per
cent. In two thirds of the districts he received much less than the
average for the entire city which was 38 per cent. The Eussians, too,
emphatically said "nay" to Tammany in 1913.

Let us now put the same question to the Italians. There are four
assembly districts in which the Italians far outnumber every other
nationality ; there are two others in which they exist in great numbers,
although by the side of one or other nationality that rivals or exceeds
them numerically. The following table gives the figures as in the
preceding tables :

Assembly District

Italians

1913, McCall

1910, Dix

M 3

30.3
25.2
26.8
23.2
13.4
18.5

67.6
59.6
42.6
63.7
60.0
57.6

77.7

Ml

67.8

M 28

55.8

B 3

73.1

B 2

67.7

M 2. .

67.4

In three of these districts the Tammany candidate received over 60
per cent, of the votes; in two over 50 per cent, and in one over 40
per cent. It is evident that the Italian districts said "yea" to Tam-
many as emphatically as the districts of the Eussians and native
Americans said "nay."

Statistics are hardly necessary to teach the student of politics how
Irishmen are inclined to answer the question we have been considering.
Our figures support the view that they are for the Tammany organi-
zation. We take for study the five districts in which the foreign-born
Irish are most numerous. It should be remembered, however, that our
figures underestimate the voting strength of the Irish in these districts;

400

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

first, because the percentage of naturalization of the Irish is much
greater than that of Italians or Eussians on account of their being
older immigrants and also more at home in the peculiar political milieu
of New York; second, the native Irish of foreign parents usually out-
number the foreign born, whereas the opposite is true of the relation
between native-born and foreign-born Eussians and Italians. Besides,
the Irish are widely scattered and massed in only a few districts. How-
ever, these are the districts we have, at present, in view, as giving a
strong clue to what occurs less perceptibly where the concentration
is less dense. The table follows:

Assembly District

Irish

1913, McCall

1910, Dix

M 13

16.4
14.0
12.2
12.4
11.2

61.0
51.7
55.6
54.7
64.4

58.1

M 16

61.4

Mil.

60.5

M 14

61.2

M 5

67.6

We have only five districts in which the naturalized Irishmen con-
stitute clearly over 10 per cent, of the voting population. In every one
the Tammany candidate received over 50 per cent, of the district's vote.
Although not an exact measure of the strength of the Irish predilection
for the organization, it is a clear indication of the tendency sufficiently
demonstrated in other ways.

The Germans, like the Irish, are more diffused than the Eussians
and Italians. We find them constituting more than 10 per cent, of
the voters in six districts. In two of these they far outnumber every
other nationality — the third of Queens and second of Manhattan. In
these they formed considerably more than twenty-one per cent, of the
voters.

Assembly District

Germans

1913, McCall

1910, Dix

Q 3

21.4
20.2
13.6
11.2
11.1
21.2

31.1

26.8
31.9
34.6
41.4
38.4

49.S

B 20

41.8

B 19

48.3

B 33

49.4

Q 1

55.2

M 22

50.5

Every one of these districts decisively rejected Tammany.

Summarizing the answers given to the first question put to the
voters, which was "Are you for or against Tammany" we are able to
say that a decided "no" was given by native Americans of native
parents and by the Eussians and Germans ; a decided " yes " was given
by the Italians and Irish.

Two other questions came sharply to the fore in 1913. One was
radicalism in the form of socialism ; the other was Hearstian radicalism.

FOREIGN-BORN AMERICANS

401

How do the foreigners stand towards these movements? There is a
widespread though vague impression that socialism is a phenomenon
of foreign growth. We can be more specific.

The city at large gave the socialist candidate for mayor in 1913 five
per cent, of the total vote. Let us take those districts in which he
received over ten per cent. There are just ten such districts. Let us
also put down the approximate percentage of the voters in these dis-
tricts belonging to the principal nationalities. The following table
gives these figures with the percentage of the vote given to the socialist
candidate for mayor in 1913 and for governor in 1910:

Assembly
District

Socialist Vote
1910 1913

Native of
Natives

Austr.

Ger.

Irish

Italian

Russian

B 21. . . :

B 23

B 19

M 4

M 26

M 8

M 22

M 6....

M 24

M 10

12.4
12.5
11.0
12.6
10.2
14.6
13.1
10.0
10.4
11.1

16.1

15.8
12.8
11.9
11.8
11.7
11.7
11.2
11.2
10.8

12.6

19.8

12.6

7.0

7.1

2.5

10.6

2.4

11.1

5.9

5.9
3.9

.8
25.2

6.7
14.2

4.6
30.8

3.9
12.5

4.1
2.2

13.6

.4

4.6

.7

21.2
1.1
4.3
4.7

0
1.6

0

1.1
3.8
0

5.3
.7
6.2
0

9.1

4.6

9.9

2.5

1.4

4.1

1.6

.7

11.1

13.9

31.2
33.3
11.9
35.6
34.6
54.4
3.6
30.4
20.6
22.3

It will be seen from the table, first, that the percentage of native
born of native parents is less in every district than that of some foreign
nationality; second, that in every district but two the percentage of
Eussians far exceeds that of any other nationality; third, that in those
two exceptional districts it is the Germans that predominate. The
Austrians should be added to the Eussians, because, as said before, both
Eussians and Austrians in these districts are practically all Jews. Our
conclusion therefore, is that the bulk of the socialist vote is derived
from the foreign Jewish element, and to a much less degree from the
Germans. This position is supported from the other end. The dis-
tricts in which the socialists received the fewest votes, from 1 to 2
per cent., are those in which the natives, the Irish and the Italians are
strongest — the first, third, fifth, seventh, ninth, thirteenth, fifteenth,
twenty-fifth and twenty-seventh of Manhattan; and such districts as
the second and third of Brooklyn.

The other branch of the question on radicalism resolves itself into
this, "What voters are susceptible to influence from the Hearst news-
papers?" One of the principal candidates in 1913 was bitterly opposed
by these papers and a candidate of their own was nominated by the
Independence League. Do the replies run to any extent along lines of
national cleavage?

A study of the figures seems to justify the following observations:
The districts in which the voters of native parentage are comparatively

4o2 TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

few — less than one third of all the voters — are those in which the
Hearstians are strongest. On the other hand, they are not strongest
where the foreign-born voters are most numerous. Their hold is upon
the native-born of foreign parentage. If we take the districts giving
the Hearst candidates the largest percentage — say over eight per cent. —
we find the foreign-born Germans and Irish far outnumbered by the
natives of German and Irish parentage. If we take those giving the
lowest percentages — say, less than four per cent. — we find the foreign-
born of all nationalities greatly outnumbering the native. Along with
these facts we find that several of those districts among the half dozen
giving the highest socialist vote are also among the half dozen giving
the lowest Hearstian vote, showing that socialism and Hearstism are
but weakly correlated.

The half dozen districts highest for Hearstism, and half dozen
lowest, with the percentage vote given both in 1913 and 1910 (when the
league ran a candidate for governor) are given below.

Highest for Hearst Candidate

Assembly District 1913 1910

B 9 10.1 9.0

B22 9.8 9.6

Bx33 9.5 11.1

Bx 34 9.3 9.1

B20 9.3 9.5

B16 9.2 6.4

Lowest for Hearst Candidates

Assembly District 1913 1910

M 6 5 3,6

M 4 1.2 3.0

M 8 1.6 3.2

M 3 2.9 3.4

M 2 3.0 3.4

M27 3.2 2.9

Hearstism we conclude is a mode of thought that is attractive chiefly
to members of the transition species between the immigrant and the
American of native parents.

Finally, how do our naturalized citizens stand towards that latest
phase of reform represented by the Progressive party? The answer
to this question is made difficult by complicating circumstances.
In 1912 the personal issue played an over-shadowing part; in 1913
interest was centered at other points, the aims of the Progressive
party for the time being coinciding with those of other political
elements. One or two facts in the election of 1912, however, are
extremely suggestive even though they do not cover the whole ground.
In that election Eoosevelt ran ahead of Wilson in only four districts in
the city. One was the twenty-third of Manhattan, in which Taft also

FOREIGN-BORN AMERICANS 403

ran ahead of Wilson — a strong Eepublican district. The other three
were the sixth, the eighth and the twenty-sixth, the three districts in
which the Eussians and Austrians constitute the great majority of the
electorate.

It appears, therefore, from the experiment in social psychology
conducted by the state in November, 1913, that, firstly, feudal politics
as exemplified by Tammany is disapproved by native Americans (native
born of native parents), by Eussians and by Germans; it is favored by
Irish and Italians; secondly, socialism is not a general foreign phe-
nomenon, being preferred chiefly by Eussians and, to a less extent, by
Germans, getting no support from the Irish and but little from the
Italians; thirdly, Hearstism is a transition phenomenon manifested by
a considerable number of foreigners in process of becoming Americanized.

4o4 TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

THE EVOLUTION OF SERVICE BY UNION AND COOPERA-
TION, CONSERVATION AND EXCHANGE

By Professor WILLIAM PATTEN

DARTMOUTH COLLEGE

THE specialist, who has wandered far into the wilderness of created
things, seeking the solution of his problem at its source, must
pause now and again to note the location of the sun and the direction
in which the streams are flowing. Having done so, he well may greet
his distant colleagues and send a field-note of progress to his friends
at home. Herewith is such a greeting and such a field-note of progress.

Part I
I. Evolution and the Conduct of Life

The theory of evolution is now accepted by all classes of intellectual
leaders. Its transforming influence has penetrated society far beyond
the point where the theory is formally recognized, or the meaning of
the term even vaguely understood. It has destroyed old standards for
the interpretation of life; erased old formulas for the conduct of life;
and has compelled us to make new standards and formulas more in har-
mony with our new conceptions of nature and her methods.

With the disappearance of the old landmarks, the acknowledged
leaders of humanity, of all kinds of belief and training, are groping
about seeking a new standard for the interpretation and the conduct of
life ; a standard that is based on the best of the old religious, and on the
best of the new knowledge; one that is not in downright conflict with
the common-sense teachings of every-day life, nor with the conduct of
affairs in which these leaders are the acknowledged experts ; nor with
the vision of the modern prophets who foresee the coming of a new man.

It is therefore again time to enquire what is the nature of the
underlying processes common to the evolution of the living and of the
non-living world? What, after all, constitutes progress in nature, and
how it is accomplished? In what directions are the great evolutionary
streams of plant life, and animal life, moving? What are the ethics
and morals of nature, if indeed she has any? What has science to
offer the trustees of tradition in place of that which it seems to have de-
stroyed ? What have the students of nature, and of life at large, learned,
however elemental, that will be to all mankind a fundamental truth and
a guiding principle to right living? Is mankind to live, and make

THE EVOLUTION OF SERVICE 405

progress in his manner of living, by following the same laws other
living things have followed in their progress; or must he create out of
his own compelling needs new methods of living, new principles, new
laws of conduct, that are solely applicable to himself?

To these questions science has given various answers, for life, as
well as nature, has many sides, and science sees them through diverse
eyes.

II. The Mosaic Vision of Science

Nature is, indeed, so vast, so intricate, that one science can see but
a very small part of her; and since no science can long preserve its
images undimmed, nor adequately utilize the vision of other sciences,
our mental picture of nature is a mosaic patchwork of flickering images ;
a changing, composite caricature, that exaggerates her most conspicuous
features, her most discussed and most recently discovered phases.

But yesterday, nature seemed to be the essentially unchanging prod-
uct of a precipitative creative fiat; to-day, the still changing product
of a slow process of growth; and to-morrow, what will the image be?
^'hich science will throw the high lights of nature on the mind of man?
Which one will cast the shadows ?

The great naturalists of the preceding generation — those brilliant
students of interwoven lives playing their varied parts on shifting
scenes of forest, field, and shore — gave us our first vivid picture of an
ever-changing nature. It was largely their testimony, and the over-
whelming evidence gathered from their point of view, that won the
verdict for evolution. After the great naturalists came the modern
schools of biologists, exploring the streams of life to their source, and
by greater refinements of methods seeking in the seclusion of the labora-
tory to obtain a nearer and a larger view of nature in accouchement:
now scrutinizing with microscope and blazing lights the minutely woven
fabric of egg, and sperm, and embryo; now seeking the first throbs of
nascent life in cell and organ; now, by artful and instantaneous killing,
striving to fix in their order the mincing steps of life, and to preserve
them for more deliberate inspection; now striving to view the steps of
life in action; and again, by mimicking the processes of life, hoping to
catch their meaning, or perhaps the meaning of life itself.

The field naturalists and the modern schools of biologists survey a
particular phase of life through a particular medium, or facet, and each
school has evolved a set formula, or diagram, for the one thing it most
clearly sees; notably the Lamarckians, who see the inheritance of ac-
quired characters, and the moulding influence of habit and of the
external environment ; the Darwinians, who see little else than " natural
selection" and the "survival of the fittest"; the Weismannians, who
specialize in an omnipotent, but obedient, "germ plasma," and who
insistently deny the inheritance of acquired characters; the morphol-

4o6 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

ogists, who see their own cubist diagrams, instead of living, growing
things ; the cytologists, breeders and experimentalists, with their thumb-
nail sketches of the minute machinery of life, and of heredity; with
their now widely familiar Mendelism, chromosomes, tropisms, artificial
parthenogenesis and eugenics.

The precise methods of the modern biologist may give us com-
mendably accurate pictures of some particular point, or phase, of life,
as life is at the present moment. They have, no doubt, greatly stimu-
lated and enriched the science of biology ; but they have not clarified it,
nor unified it to a corresponding degree, because they have not given us
large pictures of the processes and products of evolution; and because
their formulas, when widely applied, are contradictory and often mean-
ingless. They lack perspective, and for that reason they have not taken,
nor can they take, the place of the descriptive and historic sciences, such
as geology, paleontology and comparative anatomy. They alone can
show us approximately what life was like in the remote past, the
wonderful progress it has made, its method of making progress, and
the order of its accomplishment.

Thus the multiplicity, and the changing intensity, of the images
formed by the compound eye of modern science have created much con-
fusion in the mind of the scientist and the layman; one that is aug-
mented by a prevalent opinion that certain points of view, and certain
methods of studying nature, are more "scientific," more truthful and
more trustworthy than others.

It is clear that the microscopic, telescopic and panoramic methods of
studying nature have their respective virtues and the defects of their
qualities, for each method, and each point of view, shows important
things the other fails to reveal. In their attempts to portray nature,
biologists often forget the weakness of the one and fail to utilize the
strength of the other. By thus limiting their field of vision; by exag-
gerating the minute, the local, the dramatic, and the tragic incidents of
life, they overlook the most significant teachings of nature, although
they are familiarly and universally proclaimed by her. The layman is
always a loser thereby, for while the sicklied germs of truth fly far and
wide on the white wings of explanatory lies, the mature plant is too
deep rooted and ponderous to be successfully transplanted.

III. Tragic, Cooperative, and Benevolent Nature

The picture of nature painted by the field naturalists was a warring,
hostile nature, "red in tooth and claw with ravine." Its merciless
struggle for existence, its wanton destruction and tragic incident, as
portrayed by their disciples, deeply moved both scientist and layman,
and greatly influenced the conduct and the interpretation of human life.

But the attention of the naturalists was mainly focused on the fifth

THE EVOLUTION OF SERVICE 4° 7

act of life's drama, not on the body of the play ; on the tumult and the
decisive battles of a complex, mature life whose work was nearly done,
not on its earlier, more primitive phases, nor on the silent, constructive
processes, the building up of cell on cell, and organ on organ, that were
taking place during the long and peaceful periods of preparation.

They gave us the now familiar picture of life's tragic side, and like
all one-sided representations, it was but a caricature, true indeed to
the life they portrayed, but misleading in the omission of the truth.
They showed us the shameless selfishness; the needless toil and suffer-
ing; the wanton wastefulness of life; the endless competitions of
strength and skill, in shifting alliance with cunning, hypocrisy and de-
ceit; with blind chance in the background awarding death to the van-
quished and to the victor life's bitter spoils.

With master strokes, and with the convincing accuracy of the trained
observer, they painted the "disastrous chances" of a tumultuous life;
the " moving accidents by flood and field " ; the spectacular catastrophes
of failure. But they did not portray the slow and benevolent processes
of construction ; the peaceful cooperations, the careful conservations, and
the successful sacrifices of self to higher service. Some writers have
indeed recognized the element of benevolence in the cooperation that
forms such an important feature of social organization; but usually it
has been regarded as something peculiar to the association of a few
highly organized animals, and to man, not as something inherent to all
stages of organic and inorganic nature.

But a new phase of the primeval method of nature, a new instinct,
one that proclaims the universal brotherhood of man with man, and
the brotherhood of man with all life and with nature, is seeking
expression in the heart of man. It demands the so-called "humani-
tarian" methods of benevolent union, of cooperative exchange, of sym-
pathy and service. The hand hesitates to obey the heart's commands,
because the false prophets of science still dictate the use of nature's
crudest, least effective methods, saying that progress can be made only
through appropriation, elimination and destruction; through compe-
tition and then more competition; through mastery by brute force, or
strategy; through selfishness; and the license of freedom uncontrolled.
I challenge this interpretation of the order. It is not the real teaching
of life, nor of nature. It places the emphasis in the wrong place and
on the wrong thing. It measures the cost, but does not see the gain.
It counts the failures, but does not recognize the manner of achieving
success.

There is nothing new, essentially new, or unlike nature's methods,
in the "humanity" of man, for the "humanitarian methods" of ma-
king progress through sympathetic, or harmonious, action; through
benovelent union; through cooperative exchange and service, are as old

4o8 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

as the universe ; and it is on these methods alone and with them alone,
the universe is built. All evolution is a process of more and more suc-
cessful union, and more and more effective cooperation. All manner of
living is a fabric of cooperating services. In every sphere of nature, be
it chemical, or physical, or organic, or social, or "spiritual," and at
every stage in its progress, evolution is achieved through union, not dis-
union ; through construction, not destruction ; through sympathetic and
harmonious action, not discord; through organization, not disorganiza-
tion; through cooperation, not competition; through the bondage of
service, not the license of freedom; through service that leads the way
to more service, not through dominion and freedom from service.

The processes that produce evolution, as distinct from those that
do not, are essentially benevolent and moral processes, for evolution is
a progressive triumph of right, or successful methods of self giv-
ing. Every forward step is a constructing and a conserving process,
whether it be the union of cosmic matter to form solar systems; or
atoms to form chemical compounds; cells and organs to form a body;
or man to form society. In all cases the forward step is the result of
a successful giving, or surrender of self, to form. a part of something
that is larger, and better equipped for a wider service. Every living
thing has its two great periods; one when it is receiving all it is, the
other when it is giving all it has. The broader, more elaborate, each life
is, the longer and more elaborate is the process of giving by the pa-
rents, and of receiving by the offspring; and the better all organs of
both parent and offspring cooperate for a wider service of the whole.

Nor does "blind chance" rule in nature, for the dice are loaded in
favor of things in the right time and place, as against those in the
wrong time and place; in favor of things that cooperate and serve, as
against those that do not cooperate and serve. In its broadest sense,
union, even if it is primarily by " chance," tends to become progressive,
or cumulative, because of the increased stability of each new product of
union. Both union and cooperation are cumulative and directive;
cumulative, because order tends to exclude from itself whatever is in
conflict with it; directive, because the larger unit tends to control the
smaller unit, and to incorporate it into its own system.

Progressive union and progressive cooperation, or progressive benev-
olence, harmony and service are, therefore, inherent properties of life
and matter.

IV. Creation, Evolution and Service

Thus union and cooperation are the great creative, the great con-
structive, and the great conservative forces in nature. They tend to
give community of action, and harmony of action to her constituents;
to give stability and rest. They express themselves in an evolution that
leads toward completion; toward the fulfilment of the inherent possi-
bilities of nature; toward perfection.

THE EVOLUTION OF SERVICE 409

Creation then is the birth of new things through the union and
cooperation of preexisting things. Its product may be a new star; a
chemical compound; an inanimate machine; a living mechanism with
the properties of growth and renewal ; or any one of the many kinds of
cooperating groups, or associations, of men. We may not correctly use
the term " Creative Evolution," for there can be no creation without
evolution and no evolution without creation. The ceaseless flow of
creative processes is evolution, and evolution is serial creation.

While nature's methods of creating are always the same, the quality
of her products is as unknowable, and the extent of her resources as
unpredictable, to-day as they were yesterday and as they will be to-
morrow. The first cooperative union of hydrogen and oxygen to pro-
duce water created a new substance, with new properties and qualities,
with new potentialities for world service, in no wise comparable with
those of its constituents. This familiar process, whereby a substance,
such as water, is produced by the cooperative union of things that
appear to us so utterly unlike it, is no more or less mysterious in its
power to create new things, new properties, new possibilities for further
creation, than the cooperative union of a much larger number of ele-
ments to form protoplasm, with its newly created properties called
"vitality."

As the formal chemistry of cooperating elements creates new chem-
ical substances, with new properties and new powers for world service,
so the super-chemistry of cooperating lives creates new organisms whose
sum total of reactions may be expressed in unified bodily, or social
activities, or in terms of bodily or of social consciousness, with their
new powers for world service. These new properties, born of the co-
operative union of a group of cells to form a "living body," or of a.
group of men to form a " team," a college, a city, or a state, constitutes
the distinctive properties, or what is often called the " soul " or " spirit,"'
of that group; and just as the properties of water and the "vitality" of
protoplasm are new things, unlike anything else in the whole world,
so are the essential, distinctive properties of each class of cooperating
things unlike anything else in the whole world ; hence they can only be
measured, or compared, in terms of themselves.

The only attribute common to each class, and to all classes of
nature's manifestations, is the inherent power, through the union and
cooperation of their respective constituents, to create new things with
new properties and with new powers for world service. The only com-
mon measure of their powers for service is the extent of the unions and
cooperations that created them, and the extent of the new unions and
cooperations they, in turn, create.

Progress therefore in organic evolution, as in cosmic evolution, con-
sists in a measurable approach towards uniting the maximum number

VOL. LXXXIV. — 28.

410 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

Of constituents into the most economic system of foreign and domestic
cooperation.

Whatsoever conditions of time, space, materials and mode of action
tend to give greater nnity and better cooperation in nature, is world-
service. Service, then, constitutes the real basis of ethics and of moral-
ity for the attainment of service is, to that extent, the actual fulfilment
of the possibilities of nature ; and all service is the fruit of a measurably
perfected process of cooperative union.

Science, therefore, finds no time, nor place, nor thing set apart and
alone sanctified by one instantaneous, all-embracing creative act.
Cosmic evolution and organic evolution, the growth of suns and stars,
of earth, and plant, and man, are continuous parts of one process. The
formal chemistry of earth, and sea, and air; the flowing chemistry of
protoplasmic cell and organ ; the moulding discipline of associated nerve
and muscle ; of eye and hand ; the alchemy of associated lives in nature's
household, are but different phases of one living, all pervading, process
of creation.

Nebulas stiffen into stars, and suns give birth to drooling planets,
larva smeared. Throbbing tides of sea and air, the heart-beats of a
planet, drive the humid breath of oceans over the mountain skeleton,
and through the capillaries of earth, clothing her ribs in clay, and
spreading her first gardens of ooze. Earth labors in her kitchen, and
with equal skill in synthesis, brings forth atoms tied in squads, or regi-
ments; minerals, straight-edged and steadfast; soft proteids and albu-
mens, with rounded forms and yielding sides; dancing specks and
wriggling threads, prophets of the life to come; sprawling, self-con-
structing, self-consuming, protoplasm, free to rove, or wrapped in walls,
or bound in glowing brotherhood of cells together; naked, hand-free,
high-headed man, armored and armed with conscience and with vision.
Scrutinize as best she may, science finds no seam in this universal
fabric; no patchwork of dead and alive, honored or dishonored in
creation ; no boundaries between what was, and is, and shall be.

Thus all nature is a moving conflict for more intimate union, better
cooperation, wider service. An unending strife to gain stability, or
peace, where peace is won only through union and cooperation that lead
to further conflict and wider service. All evolution is the product of
service, and its progress is measured in terms of service. The essential
character of all natural processes is a striving for perfection through
organized service.

There should be no conflict between the teachings of science and the
dictates of an enlightened humanity as expressed in the broad term
religion, for science and religion are dual reflections of a universal
natural law; their methods and aims are the same; they differ only in
the manner in which they seek for, discover and express the same things.

THE EVOLUTION OF SERVICE 4"

Science seeks truth and discovers righteousness. Eeligion seeks
righteousness and discovers truth. Both acquire knowledge of nature's
right and wrong methods of making progress, and both point the same
way to right living.

Science is the deliberate, conscious interpretation of nature. Eeli-
gion is the instinctive, unconscious expression of natural law in terms
of feeling.

Eeligion is the instinctive feeling for truth, justice and righteous-
ness. Nature is truth, and her way is the way of justice and righteous-
ness. Science takes cognizance of it in measured terms.

Eeligion is the feeling of wonder, adoration, gratitude and humil-
ity. It is largely justified and satisfied by the contemplation of nature
through science.

Eeligion is the recognition of our own imperfections, and a desire
for perfection. Nature is a conflict of imperfections. Science shows
that the conflict is aimed at, and moves toward, perfection.

Eeligion demands service. Nature is a growing fabric of co-
operating services. Science surveys the process and points the way
toward higher service.

In science and religion, there is strife through organized service to
discover and attain perfection. Each reflects in its own way the essen-
tial character of a universal natural law.

We are at present in a better position to use the panoramic vision of
science than ever before, because we have now reached a point where
the outlook on the evolution of life extends to the horizon, and we
may see mapped out in broad perspective the grand preliminaries to life,
and the general trend of life's highways.

These great highways of organic evolution, that run back for many
millions of years, through the whole gamut of vertebrate and inverte-
brate life, from man to the simplest and minutest kinds of living things,
show us in large terms what organic evolution really is and how it has
been accomplished. They reveal to us the ethics and the morals of
nature, the fundamentally right and the fundamentally wrong methods
of living, for throughout all the highways of progress nature declares,
and declares with insistent repetition, that the actual creation of new
things and of new powers for service, or the evolution of the varied
products' and activities of nature, is never compassed by competition
and selfishness; never by destruction, nor by discord, nor by dominion;
but by union and by cooperation ; by sympathy, submission and mutual
service. Until some other being appears, greater than man, the age
long processes that have produced him are justified by their product,
and are thereby standardized as righteous and moral processes.

(To be continued)

412

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

THE PROGRESS OF SCIENCE

THE ADD BESS OF THE P BE SI-
DENT OF THE BBITISH
ASSOCIATION FOB THE
ADVANCEMENT OF
SCIENCE

The meeting of the British Associa-
tion for the Advancement of Science in
Canada, in South Africa and now in
Australia exhibits those national traits
which led to the founding and develop-
ment of these dominions, and year
after year the president of the associa-
tion represents the leadership in sci-
ence which the British races have so
continuously maintained since the time
of Roger Bacon. Recent advances in
biological science are scarcely parallel
in importance to the newer develop-
ments in physics, recounted before the
association by Dr. Lodge last year, but
the experimental and quantitative meth-
ods now being applied in genetics, as
clearly explained by Professor Conklin
in the present issue of this journal, are
a beginning from which much may be
expected. Professor William Bateson
has been a leader, perhaps the chief
leader, in this work, and his presiden-
tial address deserves attention both for
the advances which he recounts and for
the speculations in which he indulges.

The address — which in this country
has been printed in full in Science — was
divided into two parts, or it may rather
be said that two addresses were made,
one at Melbourne and one at Sydney.
The first describes Mendelian genetics
with special reference to its evolution-
ary aspects and its destructive side, the
second is largely concerned with appli-
cations to man and to society. Pro-
fessor Bateson tells us that in biolog-
ical science we are just about where
Boyle was in the nineteenth century;
we can dispose of alchemy, but we can
not make more than a quasi-chemistry.
Still, he is pretty positive, not only in

his destructive criticism, but also about
the wide implications of his quasi-
chemistry.

If, as Professor Bateson tells us,
genetic research can only obtain new
varieties by crossing, and if new traits
can only be exhibited bv the loss of in-
hibiting factors, we are certainly put to
ignorance in regard to the entire proc-
ess of evolution. This is doubtless
where we have always been, for no biol-
ogist now supposes that natural selec-
tion can account for the origin of vari-
ations. Darwin did not, but assumed
variability to be a natural function of
organisms. Mendelism is supplying a
vast amount of new and exact knowl-
edge in regard to the results of crossing
and hybridization, but in so far as it
can not explain the origin of those vari-
ations which have led to new species
and organic evolution, it only exhibits
our failure in this direction. Pro-
fessor Bateson says: "We have to re-
verse our habitual modes of thought.
At first it m?" seem rank absurdity
that the primordial forms of proto-
plasm could have contained comnlexity
enough to produce the diverse types )f
life." But this is what the mechanical
theory of life presupposes, and how we
are helped by assuming, as Professor
Bateson does, that the differentiation
that gives rise to new species is due en-
tirely to the loss of factors rather than
to the addition of factors, it is difficult
to see. The proposition that we all
have the genius of Shakespeare and
Newton, but that they were able to ex-
hibit it owing to the loss of inhibiting
elements appears to be purely mytho-
logical.

Professor Bateson and other Mendel-
ians are doubtless correct in regarding
the doctrine of natural selection and the
survival of the fittest as a kind of phil-
osophical truism, but it is not clear

THE PROGRESS OF SCIENCE

413

why this is more true of separate traits
than of the organism as a whole, or how
the theory is affected by modern work
in experimental genetics. Indeed, the
occurrence of mutations makes it easier
to understand the results of natural se-
lection, for the larger variations may
have a definite value to the species when
the smaller variations which might have
lead up to them would not.

In his second address Professor
Bateson says that at every turn the stu-
dent of political science is confronted
with problems that demand biological
knowledge for their solution, but it does
not appear that most of Professor
Bateson 's own generalizations — whether
correct or not — are based on genetic
research. For example, he urges that it
can not be granted without qualification
that the decline in the birth-rate of the
intelligent and successful part of the
population is to be regretted. He says
that if the upoer strata of the commun-
ity produce more children than will re-
cruit their numbers, some must fall into
the lower strata and increase the pres-
sure there. But it is by no means cer-
tain that there is too great pressure of
population in France, Germany, Eng-
land and the United States, and it
would seem that an increase of intelli-
gence and energy in the so-called lower
classes would be a gain.

In so far as the small birth-rate of
the upper classes is not so disastrous as
some authors urge, it is because these
classes owe their position to privilege
rather than to ability, and if the privi-
leged classes do not produce enough
children to fill the positions of influence, I
men of greater ability may be found.

Professor Bateson says : ' ' Modern
statesmanship aims rightly at helping
those who have got sown as wildlings to
come into their proper class; but let
not any one suppose such a policy dem-
ocratic in its ultimate effects, for no
course of action can be more effective
in strengthening the noper classes
whilst weakening the lower. ' ' Here
and elsewhere Professor Bateson seems
to misunderstand the proper meaning of

democracy, which is not that all indi-
viduals are equal, but that each should
have opportunity according to his abil-
ity.

A COMPREHENSIVE STUDY OF A
BESEBT BASIN

The making of the modern Salton
lake in the sink of the Cahuilla basin in
3 905 and 1906 was due directly to the
opening of canals for irrigation from
the Colorado River leading into the
bowl and a coincidence of flood water
from the main tributaries of the river.
The director of the Desert Laboratory
of the Carnegie Institution, Dr. D. T.
MacDougal, formulated a plan for sys-
tematic measurement of th 3 various
physical and biological changes accom-
panying the recession of this lake and
the results of the activities of the mem-
bers of the staff of the Desert Labora-
tory and other collaborators are given
in Publication 193 of the Institution.

Scarcely had the level of the lake be-
gun to fall and the salts to become
more concentrated, when it was noted
(in 1911 that calcium was being lost
from a solution not near the saturation
point for carbonate, and in 1911 a dis-
tinct coating of lime was recognized on
the branches of submerged trees. Such
deposition seemed to be associated with
the activities of certain bacteria and
algae, and to constitute the first stage in
the formation of the travertine left by
previous lakes. Investigation of this
matter is still in progress, as well as
that of the disappearance of potassium
from the lake water which is now
plainly apparent. The principal

changes in plant tissues submerged in
the Salton were studied by President M.
A. Brannon, of the University of Idaho,
who found bacteria of the Amylobacter
group were present, which produced a
hydrolyzing action on the unlignified
uarts of vegetable tissues. Coincident] y,
Professor G. J. Peiree, of Stanford
University, followed the behavior of
some of the organisms which endure the
entire range of variation from fresh to
brackish water and finally to brine in

414

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

Saltorn at Bottom of Salton Sink in the Cahuilla Basin, February, 1903.

the pools around San Francisco Bay,
with a view to anticipating events in
the slower concentration of the Salton,
which has now reached a stage of
slightly more than one per cent, brine.
It is eloquent of the arid conditions
of the Cahuilla that the sink, or the re-
gion formerly occupied by Blake Sea,
with an area of over two thousand
square miles, bears only 8 species of
trees, 33 shrubs and woody plants, and
81 herbs, or a total of 122 species, about
the number that might be expected in a
square mile in the Mississippi Valley,
or on the eastern sea-board. Small as
this number may be, the stage seems +o

le set for the appearance of new ones,
as evidenced by the number of endemic
forms. Striplex Saltonensis, Sphceral-
cea orcuttii, Crypt anthe costata, As-
tragalus limatus, A. aridus and Clue-
mctisyce Saltonensis occur so far as
known in this sink, which must have
been occupied by Blake Sea within four
or five centuries. That they have ever
lived elsewhere or before this can not
be demonstrated, and their occurrence
suggests most strongly a recent local-
ized origination. The modifications in
Aster exilis, Prosopis glandulosa, Stri-
plex canescens, and Scirpua paludosus
shown by individuals on emerged

.»•'**

•

Rank of Vegetation at Upper Margin of Terrace Formed by Recession of Salton

Lake During 1911.

THE PROGRESS OF SCIENCE

4i5

Desert Formation ox Strand Three oh Four Hundred Years Old near Travertine
Point. Ancient high level shore-line of Blake Sea on cliffs.

strands and abandoned shores of the
present lake are additional facts of in-
terest in this connection.

Not since the sterilization of the is-
land of Krakatoa by a volcanic explo-
sion has an opportunity been offered
for the studv of the biological inoccupa-
tion of such an area, and in this case
the entire course of change has been
kept under careful observation. Sixty
species of plants apneared in dense
strand formations on the beaches dur-
ing the first seven years. Successions
were rapid toward the desert, and
within three years after the emergence
some strands bore two species which
were characteristic of the beach ranks
four centuries old.

Even greater interest attaches to the
revegetation of hills emerging as is-
lands and which had been seed-steril-
ized. To these were borne seeds by
winds and waves, but not with certainty
by birds. Conjoined observation and
experiment showed that the seeds for
many plants which float or sink germ-
inate, and the buoyant seedlings float
for weeks, when stranded by chance

their active roots strike into the mud
within a few hours, making this an ef-
fective type of dissemination which ap-
pears to have escaped attention hitherto.

SCIENTIFIC ITEMS

We record with regret the death of
James Ellis Gow, professor of botany
in Coe College; of Mr. Alfred John
Jukes-Brown, F.R.S., lately of the Eng-
lish Geological Survey; of Dr. Edouard
Reyer, professor of geology at Vienna,
and of Lieutenant Sedoff, while leading
an Arctic expedition to Franz Josef
Land.

The American Chemical Society is
unable to hold the meeting which had
teen planned for Montreal in Septem-
ber. Nearly all international scientific
congresses and conferences, including
the International Congress of Ameri-
canists, which was to have met in Wash-
ington in October, have been postponed.
The New Zealand meeting of the Brit-
ish Association has been abandoned. A
number of distinguished American men
of science went to attend the meeting
as guests of the New Zealand govern-

416

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

This photograph, taken on the summit of Mount Washington twenty years ago,
shows Professor Hugo Kronecker, the distinguished physiologist of the University of
Berne, whose recent death is deplored by many students throughout the world, feeling
the pulse, at that time intermittent, of Professor Henry Pickering Bowditch, of Har-
vard University, long the leader of physiology in the United States.

ment. — It is announced that the British
universities will open as usual in the
autumn, though about half the students
have enlisted in the army. The Ehodes
scholars from the United States and
from the British colonies are expected
to be in attendance at Oxford. — It is

said that all German universities will
be closed.

In future the distribution of the
Nobel prizes will take place on June 1
instead of in December, as hitherto.
The next distribution has been fixed for
June 1, 1915.-

THE "
POPULAR SCIENCE
MONTHLY.

NOVEMBER, 1914

TREE DISTRIBUTION IN CENTRAL CALIFORNIA

By Dr. W. A. CANNON

DESERT BOTANICAL LABORATORY

IT has frequently been observed that the shrubs in dry regions occur
isolated from one another, with the effect that the landscape as a
whole has a spotted appearance. This in certain regions is very striking.
For example, on drainage slopes or bajadas of the mountains of southern
Arizona or southern California, one sees a discontinuous vegetal cover-
ing, conveying the idea that there are more plants than is actually the
case. The remote cause of the sjDarseness of such plant covering, as is
well known, is to be traced to a precipitation amount which is inadequate
to support a dense shrub population. The immediate cause, however, is
to be sought in competition between plants for ground water. The
roots of neighboring plants intermingle and lie in the same soil hori-
zon, seeking the same soil moisture. Such shrubs as have the most
efficient root system, either as seedlings or mature forms, survive.
Thus, here, as elsewhere in nature, the victory is to those which are
best adapted to the particular environment.

As one leaves such marked arid regions behind, and journeys to
regions which are less arid, as in the valleys of Central California, the
interrupted distribution of the shrubs gives way to a dense shrub popu-
lation, the chaparral, or pygmy forest. But in this portion of California
one finds trees growing in open forests with park-like effect, in a
manner exactly comparable to the open stand of the desert shrubs.
This observation applies to the valley floors or the lower slopes of the
mountains or low hills. In the more moist regions, as in the mountains,
forest covering may be relatively, or actually, dense. Also the species
to which the observation applies are, in the main, oaks. It will be shown
in this note that the three species of oaks especially spoken of will have
each a different and characteristic distribution and will have a different
and characteristic relation one to another. It will also be shown tha4:
these are in part dependent on the character of the root-systems of the

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TREE DISTRIBUTION 419

species, as well as on the depth to perennial soil-moisture, or in other
words, the water relation.

The three species of oaks referred to are Quercus agrifolia, the
encina oak, Q. lobata, the roble oak, and Q. Douglasii, the blue or
Douglas oak. The roble oak and Douglas oak are deciduous. The
encina oak is the familiar live-oak of the coastwise valleys.

The roble oak is the valley oak par excellence, and is probably the
largest California species of the genus. The largest specimen reported
is 150 feet in height and 25 feet in circumference four feet above the
ground.1 The writer also saw a specimen near Clear Lake, which had
a spread of top estimated to be 144 feet. In addition to being of large
size, the roble oak is unusually beautiful and graceful, with long and
slender pendant secondary branches, which occasionally nearly sweep
the ground. If not strictly confined to moist soils, it at least attains
its best development where the soil is moist and the depth to the level
of perennial water is not so great as to be beyond the reach of the roots.

The encina oak is the species characteristic of the valleys of the
coast ranges, where it finds its greatest development. It is disposed
in open groves and it is to this species, mainly, that the park-like
appearance of the coast valleys is due. In form, the encina oak is more
compact than the roble oak, and has low, rounded tops, as is indicated
by the accompanying figure.

As distinguished from the two other species of oaks just mentioned,
the blue oak occurs characteristically on dry, rocky soils, "which are
excessively arid in the rainy season."

Not in itself an attractive tree, the blue oak, by reason of its form, color and
habit, plays a strong and a natural part in the scenery of the yellow-brown foot-

hills.2

Like the encina oak. the blue oak occurs singly or in open groves.
The characteristic appearance of the tree and its distribution are shown
in Figure 1.

However the species of oaks may differ from one another in habit,
or however different the habitats they frequent may be, they agree in the
one particular which has already been mentioned, namely, in the open
character of the stand. This phase of the study of the oaks received
particular attention at the hands of the writer in 1913, and the leading
conclusions will be presented in the subsequent paragraphs.

Quercus lobata

An examination of the roots of the three species shows a striking
difference in the position occupied by them in the ground, as well as in
the general character of development. That of the roble oak is more of

1 Jepson, ' ' The Sylva of California. ' '

2 Jepson, I. c.

420

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

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Fig. 2. Roots of Quercus lobata Growing by a Stkeam in Lake County. Owing
to the washing away of the bank the tree has lost a portion of its former support and
has leaned toward the streamway. The generalized character of the root system is
fairly well shown.

the usual type, in that there is large development of the tap-root, from
which extend at various depths large laterals in comparatively large
numbers. The secondary roots may also penetrate fairly deep, although
occasionally they lie near the surface also. In large specimens, super-
ficial roots as long as 70 feet have been observed. Secondary roots
usually branch relatively little. In a word, the root-system of the
roble oak is especially well adjusted to take advantage of the more
deeply-lying soil moisture, while at the same time the more superficially
placed roots can absorb water from the more superficial soil layers. As
will be shown below, the root habit of the plant is one well calculated
to close adjustment with the peculiar habitat frequented by the species.

Quercus agri folia

■ The root-system of the encina oak is characterized by an especially
well-developed superficial portion, which consists of numerous relatively
short and relatively slender roots, which are placed, for the most part,
within three feet of the surface of the soil. There are also more deeply
penetrating roots, but these are relatively few in number. In young

TREE DISTRIBUTION

421

trees, however, the tap-root, or a few laterals, are rather deeply placed,
and appear to predominate in numbers. The formation of the more
superficial portion of the root-system, therefore, is a response which
comes with the aging 0f the tree. In the case of the blue oak also,
there can be traced a very intimate relation between root character of
the open stand of forest and the water relation.

Quercus Douglasii
As in the case of the root-system of the roble oak, that of the blue oak
is composed of relatively few roots, which are usually coarse. The tap-
root is sometimes well developed and there are relatively few laterals.
The root-system of the blue oak, however, differs from that of the roble
oak in that the roots of the species, in the proper habitat, are confined
to the upper soil strata. The tap-root is also shallowly placed. The
relation of the roots of the blue oak, as well as the root-system of the
two other species, to soil moisture, will be taken up .immediately.

Koot Vakiatiox

The brief characterization of the root-systems of the oaks, as just
given, does not take into account the possible variation of the roots.
Owing to the impracticability of excavating the roots, it was impos-
sible to study the variation exactly. For some reasons, however, it
does not seem probable that there is marked vaiiation in root type.

Fig. 3. Superficial Absorbing Roots of Quercus agrifolia Growing on the Lower
Slope of the Santa Cruz Mountains near Stanford University.

422

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

For example, when the roble oak and the enema oak are growing
together, and the ground is cultivated beneath them, there is a differ-
ence in response of the cultivated plants, which appears not to be
directly traceable to the fact that one of the oaks is deciduous and the
other is evergreen. Thus, it is known that such cultivated plants, when
given water artificially, may thrive beneath the roble oak, while they
may dry readily beneath the enema oak, thus indicating that the
roble oak does not form a marked superficial root system, even under
such conditions. Under such conditions, also, the encina oak absorbs
water freely and grows vigorously. Whether, on the other hand, the

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Pig. 4. Quercus Douglasii on an Arid Hill near San Miguel, where the Water
Table lies at a Depth of about 75 Feet. The sh.illow placing of the roots, as well
as their general character, are shown in the figure.

converse condition would obtain if agrifolia were grown in the habitat
especially characteristic of Jobaia has not been observed. From the
nature of the development of the root system of the species, and its
plasticity, this might be expected. The characteristic root develop-
ment of the blue oak would lead one to suspect, also, that, given
abundant soil moisture and adequate depth of soil, the roots might be
induced to penetrate deeply. This condition, however, has not been
actually observed.

Ground Water

The depth to the water table in the valleys is variable, and, in the
habitats characteristic of the three species of oaks, unlike. In the

TREE DISTRIBUTION 423

valleys inhabited by Quercus agrlfolia, the water table usually lies 35
feet or more beneath the surface. Sometimes it is much greater than
this, although it is rarely less. The availability of the soil moisture
which is derived from the water table to the roots does not depend
wholly upon the depth of the water table., but largely on the character
of the soil which intervenes between the plant roots and the water table.
For example, there may be strata of sand or gravel above the level of
perennial water which effectually separate the water table from the
root system. For this reason, the depth to perennial ground water is
not always of itself a criterion as to whether the moisture is available
to the plant or not. In such cases, as has been intimated above, the
plants are wholly dependent upon the water coming directly from the
rains or on what water is derived from run-off or by seepage from
higher ground. This, for the most part, does not penetrate beyond
approximately 3 to 4 feet. The plant, therefore, is obliged to develop
an extensive superficial system, in order to make use of such surface
water. For this reason, the roots of adjacent trees compete for the
ground water in a manner exactly comparable to the competition, as
already pointed out, which occurs among the desert shrubs. Thus it
follows that, because of a relative paucity of water, the trees come to
have an open stand.

In the habitats where Q. Douglasii occurs, the water table is want-
ing, or so deeply placed as to be quite beyond the possible reach of the
plant's roots, so that here again, the species is wholly dependent on
surface water for its water supply. It follows, therefore, that the blue
oak forms a very open stand, as has been seen to be the case in the
encina oak, and for the same reason.

The conditions of the water supply of the roble oak, on the other
hand, are diametrically opposed to those of the two other species. The
best development of the roble oak occurs where the perennial ground
water lies within 10 to 20 feet of the surface of the soil, or where
the soil is practically homogeneous, so that the ascent of capillary water
is great and where it is possible for the roots of the species to penetrate
to a great depth. A characteristic example of this species, although of
medium size, was seen by the edge of Putah Creek, where the July-level
of the stream was less than twelve feet beneath the surface of the
flood-plain, and where the flood-level of the stream must occasionally
have washed the base of the tree itself.

From this brief outline of the root-characters of the three most
prominent species of oaks of Central California and from the sketch
of the ground water relations of the species, it appears that there is
an intimate relationship between root character and the characteristic
local distribution of the species.

424 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

The Relation of Ground Water to Forest Distribution

It has been pointed out in another place3 that the depth to peren-
nially moist soil, which is usually regulated by the depth of the water
table, undoubtedly plays an important role in the distribution of forests
as a whole. Thus, where the moist soil lies too deep to be tapped by
the roots of the trees, other factors being equal, forests are usually
wanting, but where the water table lies near enough to the surface, so
that the perennially moist soil above it can be reached by the roots Of
the trees, forests are present. In southern Arizona it has been found
that, given a practically homogeneous soil, the mesquite assumes a
tree habit with the water 35 feet, more or less, beneath the surface, but
that where the soil is not homogeneous, and is stratified, so that a
portion of the strata are dry, or where the water table is more than
35 to 40 feet beneath the surface, the species has a shrub-like habit.
An analogous condition obtains in the coastal plain of Texas and in the
treeless middle-west. In the latter region the deciduous forests are
almost wholly confined to the flood-plains of streams, while the adjacent
upland is treeless. Thus, over a Avide area where the climate is arid or
semi-arid, the depth to perennial water is an important factor in deter-
mining the presence of forests. Where the trees are unable to attain to
such moist soil, they usually develop xerophytic characters or special ad-
justments by which they are enabled to survive. How true this generali-
zation may be found to be can not at present be told, but that it
applies to such regions as central California, there can be no doubt.
Among the adjustments, as has been pointed out in this note, are to be
included those of the root-system by which they are especially adapted
to make use of the superficial waters.

Coastal Laboratory,
Carmel, California

s Science, N. S., Vol. XXXVII., p. 420, 1913.

PHENOMENA OF INHERITANCE 425

PHENOMENA OF INHEEITANCE

By Professor EDWIN GRANT CONKLIN

PRINCETON UNIVERSITY

II. Modifications and Extensions of Mendelian Principles

IT is a common experience that natural phenomena are found to be
more complex the more thoroughly they are investigated. Nature
is always greater than our theories, and with few exceptions hypotheses
which were satisfactory at one stage of knowledge have to be extended,
modified or abandoned as knowledge increases. This observation is
well illustrated in the case of the Mendelian theory. The principles
proposed by Mendel were relatively simple, but in attempting to apply
them to the many phenomena of inheritance now known it has become
necessary to modify or extend them in many ways. And yet the gen-
eral and fundamental truth of these principles has been established in
a surprisingly large number of cases, and they have been extended to
forms of inheritance where at first it was supposed that they could not
apply.

1. The Principle of Unit Characters and Inheritance Factors. —
There has been much criticism on the part of some biologists of the
principle of unit characters. It is said that unit characters can not be
independent and discrete things ; the organism itself is a unity and
every one of its parts, every one of its characters, must influence more
or less every other part and every other character. Certainly unit
characters can not be absolutely independent of one another; the vari-
ous parts and organs of the body and even the organism, as a whole, is
not absolutely independent, and yet there are varying degrees of in-
dependence in organisms, organs, cells, parts of cells, hereditary units
and characters which make it possible for purposes of analysis to deal
with tbese things as if they were really independent, though we know
they are not.

Of course characters of adult individuals do not exist as such in
germ cells, but there is no escape from the conclusion that in the case
of inherent differences between mature organisms there must have been
differences in the constitution of the germ cells from which they de-
veloped. For every inherited character there must have been a germi-
nal cause in the fertilized egg. This germinal cause, whatever it may
be, is often spoken of as a determiner of a character. But the character
in question is not to be thought of as the result of a single cause nor

426 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

as the product of the development of a single determiner ; -undoubtedly
many causes are involved in the development of every character, but
the differential cause or combination of causes is that which is peculiar
to the development of each particular character.

Again it is not necessary to suppose that every developed character
is represented in the germ by a distinct determiner, or inheritance unit,
just as it is not necessary to suppose that every chemical compound
contains a peculiar chemical element; but it is necessary to suppose
that each hereditary character is caused by some particular combina-
tion of inheritance units and that each compound is produced by some
particular combination of chemical elements. An enormous number of
chemical compounds exists as the result of various combinations of
some eighty different elements, and an almost endless number of words
and combinations of words — indeed, whole literatures — may be made
with the twenty-six letters of the alphabet. It is quite probable that
the kinds of inheritance units are few in number as compared with the
multitudes of adult characters, and that different combinations of
the units give rise to different adult characters; but it is certain that
every inherited difference in adult organization must have had some
differential cause or factor in germinal organization.

Mendel did not speculate about the nature of hereditary units,
though he evidently conceived that there was something in the germ
which corresponded to each character of the plant. Wreismann postu-
lated a determinant in the germ for every character which is inde-
pendently heritable, and many recent students of heredity hold a
similar view.

But it is evident that there is not an exact one-to-one correspondence
of inheritance units and adult characters. Many characters may be
decided by a single unit or factor; for example, all the numerous
secondary sexual characters which distinguish males from females are
decided by the original factor which determines whether the germ
cells shall be ova or spermatozoa.

On the other hand, two or more factors may be concerned in the
production of a' single character. In many cases among both plants
and animals the development of color appears to depend upon the
presence in the germ cells and the cooperation in development of at
least two factors, viz. (1) a pigment factor P (for black B, for brown
Br, for yellow Y, for red R, etc.), and (2) a color developer C. When
both of these factors are present color develops; when either one is ab-
sent no color appears.

Such cases have been described for mice, guinea-pigs and rabbits as
well as for several species of plants. Bateson and Punnett found two
varieties of white sweet peas which were apparently alike in every re-
spect except the shapes of their pollen grains, one of them having long

PHENOMENA OF INHERITANCE

and the other round pollen. But when these were crossed a remarkable
thing occurred, for the progeny, "instead of being white, were purple,
like the wild Sicilian plant from which our cultivated sweet peas are
descended." This is apparently a typical case of reversion and its
cause was found in the fact that at least two factors are necessary in
this case for the production of color, a pigment factor R and a color
developer C. One of these was lacking in each of the white parents,
their gametic formula? being Cr and cR, but when these two factors
came together in the offspring a purple-flowered type was produced
with the gametic formula Cc Rr. These F3 plants produced colored
and white F3 plants in the proportion of 9 colored : 7 white and the
colored forms were of six different kinds (Fig. 57). For the produc-
tion of these six colored forms
five different factors must be
present in the gametes, according
to Punnett, viz.: (1) a color base "
(22), (2) a color developer C, (3)
a purple factor B, (4) a light p1
wing factor L, (5) a factor for
intense color I. When all of
these factors are present the re- Fz
suit is the purple wild form with
blue wings, while the omission of
one or more of these factors leads
to the production of six forms of
colored and various types of
white flowered plants of the F2
generation.

Castle found that eight dif-
ferent factors may be involved in
producing the coat colors of rab-
bits ; these are :

C a common color factor neces-
sary to produce any color.
B a factor acting on C to pro-
duce black.
Br a factor acting on C to pro-
duce brown.
Y a factor acting on C to pro-
duce yellow.
I a factor which determines intensity of color.
U a factor which determines uniformity of color.

A a factor for agouti, or wild gray pattern, in which the tip of every
hair is black, below which is a band of yellow, while the basal part
of the hair is grav.

□

WHITE

□

VERY PALE. PURPLE

□

PINK

B

PALE PURPLE

HI

RED

EH

PURPLE

991

BLUE

EB

deep Purple

^7

Fig. 57. Results of Crossing two
Different Races (A) and (B) of White
Sweet Peas/ all the Fx hybrids (C) are
purple with blue wings like the wild ances-
tral stock ; in F2 six colored varieties are
formed ranging from purple with blue wings
(D) to tinged white (7) and several kinds
(genotypes) of white varieties (A').
(After Punnett.)

428 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

E a factor for the extension of black or brown but not of yellow.

Plate found that all of these factors except the last, E, are also
involved in the production of the coat colors of mice. Baur has recog-
nized more than twenty different factors for the color and form of
flowers in the snap-dragon, Antirrhinum.

These factors are probably complex chemical substances which pre-
serve their individuality in various combinations, just as groups of atoms
or radicals do in chemical reactions; they may be dropped out or added,
substituted or transposed, just as chemical radicals may be in chemical
compounds. To this extent they maintain continuity and indepen-
dence, but they are not absolutely independent, for they react upon one
another as well as to environmental changes, so that the characters of
the developed organism are the results of all these reactions and inter-
actions.

Inheritance Factors and Germinal Units

It is obvious that there must be things in germ cells which corre-
spond to the inheritance factors ; furthermore, these things must be ma-
terial particles even though they be only atoms or molecules and their
combinations or dissociations. And yet there are many students of the
phenomena of heredity who know little about germ cells and to whom
all parts of a cell are hypothetical structures, to whom "chromosomes
are articles of faith," and who protest rather violently against any at-
tempt to find the factors of inheritance in any of the structures of the
germ cells. And yet it is perfectly evident that if there are inheritance
units they must exist in the germ cells as discrete particles, even if they
are only molecules, by whose associations or dissociations in response
to intrinsic or extrinsic conditions the various characters of the devel-
oped organism arise. It is certainly legitimate to ask what the germi-
nal elements are which correspond to inheritance factors.

There was a time when the cell was the ultima thule of biological
analysis and when the contents of cells were supposed to be " perfectly
homogeneous, diaphanous, structureless slime." Then the nucleus was
discovered within the cell, then the chromosomes within the nucleus,
then the chromomeres within the chromosomes, and there is no reason
to suppose that organization ceases with the powers of our present
microscope. With every improvement of the microscope and of micro-
scopical technique, structures have been found in cells which were un-
dreamed of before, and it is not probable that the end has been reached
in this regard. We know that cells contain nuclei and chromosomes
and chromomeres, centrosomes and plastosomes and microsomes, and
we know that some of these parts differ in function as well as in struc-
ture. And there is no reason to doubt that if we had sufficiently power-
ful microscopes we should find still smaller and smaller units until we
came at last to molecules and atoms.

PHENOMENA OF INHERITANCE

429

The manner in which inheritance units from the two parents unite
in fertilization and later segregate in the formation of gametes, so that
the latter are pure with respect to any character, is a familiar part of
Mendelian inheritance (Fig. 58). What are these units in terms of

Fig. 58. Diagram Showing Union of Factors in Fertilization and their Seg-
regation in the Formation of Germ Cells. With 4 pairs of factors (Aa, Bb, Cc,
Dd), 16 types of gametes are possible, as shown in the two series of small circles at
the right. (From Wilson.)

cell structures and where are they located in the cell? We have in the
chromosomes, as Wilson especially has emphasized, an apparatus which
fulfils all the requirements of carriers of Mendelian factors (Fig. 59).
Both factors and chromosomes come in equal numbers from both par-
ents; both material and paternal factors and chromosomes pair in the
zygote and separate in the gamete, as shown in diagrams 58 and 59 ;
and so far as known the chromosomes are the only portion of the germ
cells which fulfil these conditions. Furthermore, there is much addi-
tional evidence that the chromosomes are especially concerned in he-
redity, as was pointed out in the last lecture, and it is not reasonable
to suppose that this remarkable coincidence between the distribution
of Mendelian factors and of chromosomes is without significance.

Of course Mendelian factors are not all the factors of development,
but merely the differential factors which cause, for example, one guinea-
pig to be white and its brother to be black. Very many factors are in-
volved in the production of white or black color, but there is at least one
differential factor for every unit character, and this alone is the Men-
delian factor. Of course there is no such thing as a " sex-producing
chromosome," sex being the result of the interaction of the X -chromo-
some upon other chromosomes, and of all of these upon the cytoplasm.
The X-chromosome is onlv one factor in the determination of sex, but

430

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

if it is a factor which differs in the ease of the two sexes it is a " sex-
determining factor." There are many parts of a germ cell, all of which
may be concerned in heredity and development, but the chromosomes
appear to be the seat of the differential factors for Mendelian char-
acters.

pert ilization
Union of
Simplex Groups

OCT

ABCD

Cleavage
Duplex Groups
ABCD abed

aBCd

Aa.Bb.Cc.Dd.
Synapsis.

AbcD
Reduction Germ Cells

Division Simplex Groups

Somatic Divisions
Duplex Groups

Fig. 59. Cellular Diagram Corresponding to Fig. 58, Showing the Union
op Maternal Chromosomes (ABCD) and Paternal Ones (abed) in Fertilization,
their distribution in cleavage, their union into 4 pairs (Aa, Bb, Cc, Dd), in synapsis
and the separation of the pairs in the reduction division. Only 2 of the 16 possible
types of germ cells are shown. (From Wilson.)

2. Modifications of the Principle of Dominance. — A great number
of animal and plant hybrids show one contrasting character completely
dominant over the other one, as Mendel observed in the case of his peas.
But in a considerable number of cases this dominance is incomplete or
imperfect. When white-flowered strains of four-o'clocks are crossed
with red-flowered ones the Fx plants bear neither white nor red flowers,
but pink ones, and the F2 plants bear white, red and pink flowers. The
whites and reds are always homozygous, the pinks heterozygous ; pure
white and pure red are produced only when their factors are duplex
(WW), (RE) ; when they are simplex (WE) pink is produced. In this
case red is not completely dominant over white, but the hybrid is more
or less intermediate between the two parents (Fig. 56).

It has long been known that the breed of fowls called Blue Anda-
lusian does not breed true, but in each generation produces a certain
number of blacks and whites as well as blues. Bateson found that the
blues are really hybrids between blacks and whites in which neither of

PHENOMENA OF INHERITANCE 431

the latter is completely dominant. Black and white appear only when
they are pure (homozygous), blue only when both black and white are
present (heterozygous).

Again, a cross of red and white cattle produces roan offspring, but the
latter when interbred give rise to reds, roans and whites in the propor-
tion of 1 : 2 : 1, showing that the roans are heterozygotes in which red is
not completely dominant over white, while the reds and whites are
homozygotes and consequently breed true.

Lang found that when snails with uniformly colored shells were
crossed with snails having bands of color on the shells the hybrids were
faintly banded, thus being more or less intermediate between the two
parents; but when these hybrids were interbred they produced banded,
faintly banded and uniformly colored snails in the ratio of 1:2:1, thus
proving that Mendelian segregation takes place in the F2 generation, and
that dominance is incomplete in the heterozygotes. Many other similar
cases of incomplete dominance are known.

Sometimes dominance is incomplete in early stages of development,
but becomes complete in adult stages. Davenport found that when
pure white and pure black Leghorn fowls are crossed the chicks are
speckled white and black, but in the adult fowl dominance is complete
and the plumage is black. Similar conditions of delayed dominance are
well known in the color of the hair and eyes of children, though domi-
nance may become complete when they have reached adult life.

In a few instances a character may be dominant at one time and
recessive at another. Thus Davenport found that an extra toe in fowls
is dominant under certain circumstances and recessive under others.
Tennent found that characters which are usually dominant in hybrid
echinoderms may be made recessive if the chemical or physical nature of
the pea water is changed. Such cases seem to show that dominance may
sometimes depend upon environmental conditions, sometimes upon a
particular combination of hereditary units.

Sex and Sex-limited Inheritance

Sex and sex-limited inheritance may be considered here, since they
involve questions of dominance. There is good evidence, as was shown
in the last lecture, that sex is a Mendelian character, in which the female
has a double dose of the determiner for sex, whereas the male has only a
single dose. Consequently in the formation of the gametes every egg
receives one sex-determiner, while only one half of the spermatozoa
receive such a determiner, the other half of them being without it. If.
then, an egg is fertilized by a sperm without one of these determiners,
a male results ; but if an egg is fertilized by a sperm with one of these
determiners, a female is produced. This is graphically represented in
diagram 60, in which X represents the sex determiner, which is duplex

432

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

Gametes

Fi

in the female and simplex in the male, and the chance anions of male
and female gametes yield females (XX) and males (XO) in equal
numbers.

In either sex many secondary
sexual characters of the other sex
are present during development,
and traces of these may persist in
the adult; but one set of these
characters develops in the male
and another in the female, so
that they may be called sex-lim-
ited. The development of the sec-
ondary sex characters is usually

determined by the ovaries or
Fig. 60. Diagram Showing Sex as a j

Mendelian character, the Female being testes, which are the primary sex
homozygous, the Male heterozygous for characters, though in some in-

Sex. The female forms gametes all of ' °

which contain the x-chromosome ; the male stances they may develop in ani-

fprms two sorts of gametes one half of malg which haye logt their ovarjes
which contain the X-chromosome and the

other half lack it. All possible combina- or testes, but in the last analysis

tions of these gametes give a 2 : 2 or 1 : 1 both primary am} seCOndarv sex
ratio of females to males.

characters are dependent upon
the sex determiner. Sex and sex-limited inheritance are only special
cases of Mendelian inheritance in which conditions of dominance differ
in the two sexes, depending upon whether the factor for sex is duplex
or simplex.

Sex-linked Inheritance

In this connection we may consider another class of characters,
which are linked with sex but are in no wise connected with sexual repro-
duction. Such characters are not necessarily limited to one sex or the
other, as are many primary and secondary sexual characters, but they
may appear in either sex, though they are usually transmitted from
fathers to daughters, or from mothers to sons ("criss-cross" inheri-
tance) in exactly the way in which the sex chromosomes (X) are trans-
mitted. Morgan has therefore concluded that the factors for these
characters are carried by the sex chromosomes and has named them sex-
Unked characters. In the fruit fly, Drosophila, he has discovered more
than twenty-five such characters, applying to the color of the eyes and of
the body, to the length of the wings, etc. A typical case is shown in Figs.
61 and 62. The eye color of this fly is normally red, but mutations have
arisen in which the eye is white. Such a mutation always appears in
males, though it may later be transferred to females, as we shall see.
If now a white-eyed male and a red-eyed female are crossed all the F,s
are red eyed, but if these Fxs are interbred all the females of F2 have

PHENOMENA OF INHERITANCE

433

red eyes while half of the males have red eyes and the other half have
white eyes (Fig. 61). On the other hand, if one of the Ft females of
this cross is bred with a white-eyed male half of the females of F2 are

Flies

Chromosomes

Gametes

XX XI X(

9 9 <J

Fig. 61. Sex-linked Inheritance of White and Red Eyes in Drosophila. Pa-
rents, white-eyed male and red-eyed female ; Fi, red-eyed males and females ; F2, red-
eyed females and eaual numbers of red-eyed and white-eyed males. The distribution
of sex chromosomes is shown to right of flies ; X carries the factor for red eyes, X the
factor for white eyes, O stands for absence of X. (After Morgan.)

red eyed and half are white eyed, and half of the males are red eyed
and half are white eyed.

If now one of these white-eyed females is bred with a red-eyed male
all the females of the Fx generation are red eyed and all the males white
eyed ("criss-cross" inheritance) and if these are interbred there are
produced in the F2 generation equal numbers of red-eyed and white-eyed
males and females (Fig. 62).

The distribution of the maternal and paternal sex chromosomes (X)
exactly parallels this distribution of this sex-linked character, as is shown
in the right half of each of the figures, 61 and 62, and this is certainly
very strong evidence that the differential factors for these characters are
carried in these chromosomes.

Another case of sex-linked inheritance is found in an abnormal con-
dition in man known as licvmopliilia, which is characterized by a defi-
ciency in the clotting power of the blood, and consequently by excessive
bleeding after injury. "Bleeders" are almost always males, though the
defect is always transmitted to a son from his mother, who does not
usually show the defect because it appears in females only when both
parents were affected. The manner of inheritance of this character is
exactly similar to the inheritance of white eyes in Drosophila and is in

VOL. lxxxv. — 30

434

THE I'OPTLAi; SCIENCE MONTH LV

all probability associated with tbe distribution of the maternal and
paternal sex chromosomes.

One of the most striking cases of sex-linked inheritance is that form
of color-blindness known as Daltonism, in which the affected person is
unable to distinguish between red and green. It is known that males
are more frequently affected tban females, and that color-blindness is
in some way associated with sex. It requires two determiners for color-
blindness, one from tbe father, the other from the mother, to produce a
color-blind female, whereas only a single determiner is necessary to

Flies

Chromosomes

Gametes

9 9 6

Fig. 62. Reciprocal, Cross of Fig. 61. Parents, white-eyed <J> and red-eyed J1,
Flt red^eyed J and white-eyed g ("Criss-cross inheritance"), F2, equal numbers of
red-eyed J an<i $ and white-eyed J and J". The distribution of sex chromosomes is
shown on the right, as in Fig. 61.

produce a color-blind male, just as is true of sex. The accompanying
diagrams illustrate the method of inheritance of color-blindness. As in
the previous diagrams X represents the sex determiner, 0 its absence, and
X the sex determiner which carries tbe factor for color-blindness. (Dia-
grams from Morgan.) It will be seen that a color-blind father and a
normal mother have only normal children, but the father transmits to
I lis daughters and not to his sons the sex determiner which carries the
factor for color-blindness. But since color-blindness does not develop
in females unless it is duplex (/. c, comes from both father and mother),
whereas it develops in males if it is simplex (i. e., comes from either
parent) all the daughters will appear normal although carrying one
determiner for color-blindness, while all the sons will be normal because
they carry no determiner for color-blindness. But these daughters trans-
mit to one half of their children tbe single determiner for color-blind-
ness,-and if any of those receiving this determiner are males they will

PHENOMENA OF INHERITANCE 435

be color-blind. Consequently we have the curious phenomenon of
simplex color-blindness appearing only in males and being transmitted
to them only through apparently normal females.

E ties ( 'h rovwsomcs

<5> X . Parents

d\ /? cJ ?

x 6) '

Gametes
? i

2T : 2YS Fi

x 9)

U © <3

Gametes

€> & <3> «> H XI 10 X0 f*

? ? c? tf 9 ? c$ c5

Fig. 63. Diagram of Inhekitajicb of Color-blindness through tut. Male
A color-blind male (here black i transmits his defect to his grandsons only. The cor-
responding distribution of the sex chromosomes is shown on the right, the one carry-
ing the factor for color-blindness being black. (After Morgan.)

On the other hand, if a female is color-blind she has inherited it from
both father and mother, i. c, the character in her is duplex, and in all
of her children by a normal male the character will be simplex: accord-
ingly, all of her sons will be color-blind and all of her daughters will be
normal, though carrying the simplex determiner for color-blindness.

In all cases dominance means merely the development in offspring
of certain characters of one parent, while contrasting characters of the
other parent remain undeveloped. The appearance of any developed
character in an organism depends upon many complicated reactions of
germinal units to one another and to the environment. Under certain
conditions of the germ or of the environment some characters may
develop in hybrid-; to the exclusion of their opposites, whereas under
other condition- these results may be reversed or the characters may be
intermediate. The principle of dominance is not a fundamental part
of Mendelian inheritance. Even when the characters of hybrids are
intermediate between those of their parents, if the parental types re-
appear in the F2 generation we may be certain that we are dealing with
cases of Mendelian inheritance.

3. The Principle of Segregation. — The individuality of inheritance
units, and their segregation or separation in the sex cells and recombina-
tion in the zygote are fundamental principles of the Mendelian doctrine.

436 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

Indeed, the evidence for the individuality and continuity of inheritance
units is based entirely upon such segregation and recombination, so that
the entire Mendelian theory may be said to rest upon the principle of
segregation. If there are cases in which such segregation does not take
place they belong to other forms of inheritance than the Mendelian : if
segregation occurs in every instance there is no other type of inheri-
tance than that discovered by Mendel. Are there cases which do not
segregate according to Mendelian expectation ?

Chromosomes

XX parents

d 9

x © en „ t

l X I n Gametes
X X ?J

9 d

2£ X ?

y | + ( Gametes

X 0 6

& S> &<S> M XX » X

9 ? d d 9 9 d d

Fig. ti4. Diagram op Inheritance of Color-blindness through Female. A
color-blind female transmits her defect to all her sons, to half of her granddaughters
and to half of her grandsons. Corresponding distribution of sex chromosomes on right.
(After Morgan. )

When the Mendelian theory was new it was generally supposed that
there were forms of inheritance which differed materially from the
Mendelian type; indeed, it was supposed that the latter was one of the
less common forms of heredity and that blending of parental traits and
not segregation was the rule. All cases in which the characters of the
parents appeared to blend in the offspring, or in which there was not a
clear segregation of the parental types in the F2 generation or in which
the ratio for a monohybrid differed from the well known 3:1 ratio,
were supposed to be non-Mendelian.

However, further work has shown that some of these are really Men-
delian. Sometimes offspring are intermediate between their parents
owing to incompleteness of dominance, rather than to incompleteness of
segregation ; in such cases the parental types reappear in the F2 genera-
tion as in the cross between red and white four-oYlocks. Sometimes
departures from the 3: 1 ratio are caused by the fact that two or more
factors of the same sort arc involved in the production of a single char-
acter. Nilsson-Ehle found that when oats with black glumes were

PHENOMENA OF INHERITANCE 437

crossed with varieties having white glumes the ratio of 3 white to 1
black was usually found in the second generation; but one variety of
black oats when crossed with white gave in the second generation ap-
proximately 15 blacks to 1 white, which is the dihybrid ratio. From this
and other evidence he concludes that in this variety of oats two heredi-
tarily separable factors are involved in the production of black. In
crosses between red-grained and white-grained wheat he usually got in
the second generation the monohybrid ratio of 3 red : 1 white, but tliree
strains gave the dihybrid ratio of 15: 1 and two gave the trihybrid ratio
of 63 : 1. Consequently he concludes that while the red color of wheat
grains is usually due to one factor for red, it may in some cases be due
to two or even three factors; notable departures from expected ratios
may thus be explained.

Blending Inheritance

But the most serious objections which can be presented against the
universality of the Mendelian doctrine are found in phenomena of
"blending" inheritance. In some instances contrasting characters of
parents appear to blend in offspring and even in the F2 in subsequent
generations the descendants remain more or less intermediate between
the parents. One of the best known illustrations of this is found in the
skin color of the mulatto, which is intermediate between the white parent
and the black one, and even in the F2 and in subsequent generations
mulattoes do not usually, if ever, produce pure white or pure black
children, though the children of mulattoes show considerable variation
in color. Here there is an apparent failure of the Mendelian principle
of segregation.

But white skin is not really white nor is black skin ever perfectly
black. Davenport has shown that there is a mixture of black, yellow and
red pigment in both white and black skins, though the amount of each
of these pigments varies greatly in negroes and whites. A white person
may have a skin color composed of black (b) 8 per cent., yellow (y) 9
per cent., red (r) 50 per cent., and absence of pigment or white (w)
33 per cent. On the other hand a very black negro may have b 68 per
cent., y 2 per cent., r 26 per cent., w 4 per cent. The nine children of
two mulattoes, the father having 13 per cent, of black and the mother
45 per cent., ranged all the way from 46 per cent, to 6 per cent, of
black— the latter so far as skin color is concerned being virtually white.
On the other hand, where both parents have about the same degree of
pigmentation the children are more nearly uniform in color ; thus seven
children of two mulattoes, the father having 36 per cent, and the mother
30 per cent, of black, ranged only from 27 per cent, of 39 per cent, of
black.

Such variations in color in the F2 and in subsequent generations is

43»

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

exactly what one would expect in a Mendelian character in which more
than one factor is involved, as, for example, in the case of the color of
the sweet peas shown in Fig. 59. Davenport, who has made an ex-
tended study of this case concludes that "there are two double factors
(.1.1 BB) for hlack pigmentation in the full-blooded negro of the west
coast of Africa and these are separably inheritable." These factors are
lacking in white persons (this being indicated by oa lib). Since the
germ cells carry only single factors and not double ones, the cross be-
tween negro and white would have only one set of these factors for
black color, as shown by the formula AB X db = ABdb; hence the
color of the F, generation is intermediate between that of the two par-
ents. In the F2 generation there should be a variety of colors ranging
all the way from white to black, though pure white or pure black would
be expected in only a small proportion of the offspring. As a matter of
fact it is known that the children of mulattoes vary considerably in

Fig. 65. Blending Iniieuitance of Size in Rabbits; the skulls of two parents are
shown in 1 and 3, of their intermediate offspring in 2. (Prom Castle.)

color, and in some cases a child may be darker or lighter than either
parent, which would indicate that segregation does actually occur. It
is very probable that this classical case of "blending" inheritance is
really Mendelian inheritance in which several factors for skin color are
involved.

Similar blending inheritance is found in certain other cases where
the parents differ in form or size. Thus Castle found that when long-
eared rabbits were crossed with short-eared ones the offspring have ears
of intermediate length, and in all subsequent generations the ear

PHENOMENA OF INHERITANCE 439

length remained intermediate between that of the parents. He found
the same thing true of length and breadth of the skull (Fig. 65) and
of the size of other portions of the skeleton, and he concluded that such
quantitative characters are not inherited in Mendelian fashion.

Quite recently MacDowelL working on the inheritance of size in
rabbits, concludes that this, as well as other quantitative differences be-
tween parents which appear to blend in the offspring, such as Castle's
case of ear length in rabbits, is due not to a single factor, as in the
case of Mendel's tall and dwarf peas, but to several factors. Conse-
quently, in the formation of the germ cells there is not a clear segrega-
tion of all the factors for tallness, or large size or long ears, in half the
germ cells, and their total absence in the other half of those cells, but
some of these factors go into certain cells and others into others, as
in the case of dihybrids, trihybrids or polyhybrids. As a result off-
spring appear more or less intermediate in size between their parents.

Thus it is possible to explain even " blending " inheritance as due
not to the real fusion or blending of inheritance factors, but to varying
combinations of numerous or multiple factors, according to the Men-
delian rules. The Mendelian principle of segregation has been found
to be of such general occurrence that there is a strong inclination among
Mendelians of the stricter sort to make it universal, and to explain all
cases of blending inheritance as due to incomplete dominance and to
multiple factors. Whether or not such attempts may prove completely
successful it is still too soon to say.

III. Mexdeliax Inheritance in Max'

The study of human inheritance must always be less satisfactory
and conclusions less secure than in the study of lower animals for the
following reasons: In the first place there are no "pure lines," but the
most complicated intermixture of different lines. In the second place
experiments are out of the question and one must rely upon observa-
tion and statistics. There have been less than 60 generations of men
since the beginning of the Christian era, whereas Jennings gets as
many generations of Paramecium within two months and Morgan al-
most as many generations of Drosophila within two years. Finally
the number of offspring are so few in man that it is difficult to deter-
mine what all the hereditary possibilities of a family may he. Bearing
in mind these serious handicaps to an exact study of inheritance, it is
not surprising that the method of inheritance of many human charac-
ters is still uncertain.

Davenport and Plate have catalogued more than sixty human traits
which seem to be inherited in Mendelian fashion. About fifty of these
represent pathological or teratological conditions, while only a relatively
small number are normal characters. This does not signify that the

440

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

method of inheritance differs in the case of normal and abnormal char-
acters, but rather that abnormal characters are more striking, more
easily followed from generation to generation, and consequently statis-
tistics are more complete with regard to them than in the case of nor-
mal characters. In many cases statistics are not sufficiently complete
to determine with certainty whether the character in question is domi-
nant or recessive, and it must be understood that in some instances the
classification in this respect is tentative. A partial list of these char-
acters is given herewith :

Mendelian Inheritance in Man
normal characters

Dominant

Becessive

Hair :

Curly.

Straight.

Dark.

Light to red.

Eye Color:

Brown.

Blue.

Skin Color:

Dark.

Light.

Normal pigmentation.

Albinism.

Countenance:

Hapsburg type (thick lower

lip Normal.

and prominent chin).

German type.

Jewish type.

Temperament :

Nervous.

Phlegmatic.

Intellectual Capacity:

Average.

Very great.

Average.

Very small.

TERATOLOGICAL AND PATHOLOGICAL CHARACTERS

General Size:

Achondroplasy (dwarfs with short Normal.

stout limbs but with bodies and

heads of normal size).
Normal size.

Hands and Feet:

Brachydactyly (short fingers and

toes).
Syndactyly (webbed fingers and

toes).

Polydactyly (supernumerary digits).
Skin :

Keratosis (thickening of epider-
mis).

Epidermolysis (excessive formation
of blisters).

True Dwarfs (with all parts of the
body reduced in proportion).

Normal.

Normal.

Normal.

Normal.

Normal.

PHENOMENA OF INHERITANCE

44i

Hypotrichosis (hairlessness associ-
ated with lack of teeth).
Kidn eys :

Diabetes insipidus.
Diabetes mellitus.
Normal.

Nervous System :
Normal condition.

Normal.

Normal.

Normal.

Normal.

Huntington's chorea.
Muscular atrophy.
Normal.

Eyes:

Hereditary cataract.

Pigmentary degeneration of retina.

Glancoma (internal pressure and
swelling of eyeball).

Coloboma (open suture in iris).

Displaced lens.
Ears :

Normal.

Normal.

Normal.

Normal.
Normal.

Alkaptonuria (urine dark after oxi-
dation).

General neuropathy, e. g.,

Hereditary epilepsy.

Hereditary feeblemindedness.

Hereditary insanity.

Hereditary alcoholism.

Hereditary criminality.

Hereditary hysteria.

Multiple sclerosis (diffuse degen-
eration of nerve tissue).

Friedrieh's disease (degeneration
of upper part of spinal cord).

Meniere's disease (dizziness and
roaring in ears).

Chorea (St. Vitus dance).

Normal

Normal

Thomsen 's disease (lack of muscu-
lar tone).

Normal.
Normal.
Normal.

Normal.
Normal.

Deaf-mutism.

Otosclerosis (thickened tympanum
with hardness of hearing).

SEX-LTXKED CHARACTERS

Eecessive characters, appearing in male when simplex, in female only when
duplex.

Normal. Gower 's muscular atrophy.

Normal. Haemophilia (slow clotting of

blood).

Normal. Color-blindness (Daltonism; inabil-

ity to distinguish red from
green ) .

Normal. Night blindness (inability to see by

faint light).

Normal. Neuritis optica (progressive atrophy

of optic nerve).

442 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

Summary

The principles of heredity established by Mendel are almost as im-
portant for biology as the atomic theory of Dalton is for chemistry.
By means of these principles particular dissociations and recombina-
tions of characters can be made with almost the same certainty as par-
ticular dissociations and recombinations of atoms can be made in chem-
ical reactions. By means of these principles the hereditary constitution
of organisms can be analyzed and the real resemblances and differences
of various organisms determined. By means of these principles the
once mysterious and apparently capricious phenomena of prepotency,
atavism and reversion, find a satisfactory explanation.

Before the establishment of Mendel's principles, heredity was, as
Balzac said, "a maze in which science loses itself." Much still re-
mains to be discovered about inheritance, but the principles of Mendel
have served as an Ariadne thread to guide science through this maze
of apparent contradictions and exceptions in which it was formerly lost.

RUB BEE 443

RUBBEK: WILD, PLANTATION AND SYNTHETIC

By Dr. JOHN WADDELL

SCHOOL OF MINING, QUEEN'S UNIVERSITY

AN industry can not be wholly uninteresting which involves the con-
sumption yearly of about $250,000,000 worth of raw material in
the production of goods worth $750,000,000 which has grown to nearly
double its size in seven years, which involves the cultivation of three
quarters of a million acres or more of land, worth about $130 an acre,
but half of which has during a boom been capitalized at double its value,
an industry whose center will be speedily shifted from the banks of the
Amazon, half way round the world, to Ceylon and the Malay State?,
unless very heroic measures are taken to prevent it, among which heroic
measures the importation of 50,000 Chinese coolies into the Amazon
valley has been suggested.

Such is the rubber industry. When it is added that the price, which
for a number of years had been a little above a dollar a pound, went up
during 1910 to over three dollars and last September fell as low as fifty
cents ; and that in connection with the rubber trade there have been some
of the most sensational stories of inhumanity and barbarity in the Congo
district and on the upper Amazon, it will be seen that the economist and
the social reformer must be specially interested.

There are, too, features of interest for the botanist, since rubber is
got from plants and its function in the plant is obscure. Moreover, there
are notable peculiarities in its extraction which offer opportunities for
further research. The chemist is interested not only from Jhe point of
view of the conversion of the raw product into a material suitable for the
many purposes to which it is applied, but also from the fact that he sees
here one more opportunity to replace the work of nature and to do in a
small laboratory covering only a few acres what now requires thousands
of square miles.

A book appeared in Spain early in the seventeenth century (1601-15)
describing the voyages of the Castillians, from 1492-1554, in which a
game played by the natives of Hayti with balls made from the gum of
a tree was mentioned. About the same time* Juan de Torquemada
described a rubber tree of Mexico, the Castilloa elastica, and stated that
the Indians used the rubber for medicinal purposes and that the Span-
iard used it for waterproofing coats. Rubber trees of various kinds were
soon discovered in Brazil, French Guiana, Madagascar and other places.

Chemists attempted to find industrial uses for the product of the
rubber tree, and it may be added that the search in the future is likely

444 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

to be more vigorous than it has ever been in the past. The difficulty of
discovering a good solvent baffled chemists for a time, but in 1761
Herissant and Macquer used oil of turpentine and said that ether might
also be employed. The name rubber seems to date from Priestley's dis-
covery in 177.0 of its power to erase pencil marks, the name caoutchouc ,
being apparently a modification of the Indian name cahucha. In
Priestley's time rubber could not be considered a plentiful article of
commerce, its price being twenty shillings an ounce.

Though patents for the use of rubber as waterproofing had been
taken out as early as 1791, Macintosh in 1823 seems to have been the
first to make the industry a commercial success and the firm then started
in Glasgow and afterwards removed to Manchester remains to this day
as one of the most important in the rubber industry.

The next important step was taken by Hancock in England and
Goodyear in America about 1840, the date being a little inexact because
the process seems to have been in use before being patented. This was
the addition of sulphur to rubber by which it is made capable of stand-
ing the hottest summer temperature without becoming sticky or losing
its elasticity.

It was not'till about 1886 that a process was discovered for depriving
rubber of the smell which restricted its use for waterproofing. The rub-
ber industry received an impetus when pneumatic tires came into use for
bicycles, and the employment of rubber as an insulator in electric instal-
lations also increased the demand, but the dominating factor in the con-
sumption of rubber has of late years been the automobile business. The
very sudden demand in 1910 caused a tremendous rise in prices, and
whereas during a portion of 1909 the price in London was 2s. 9d. in
1910 it reached 12s. 6d.

The growth of the rubber industry is indicated by the following fig-
ures. Import of crude rubber into Great Britain was in

1830 23 tons

1850 381 "

1870 7,656 "

1910 43,848 "

The rubber plant grown in houses for ornamental purposes is usually
Ficus clastica, which is native mainly to southern Asia. This is not the
plant chiefly used for the production of rubber. Four different orders of
plants provide commercial rubber and there are eleven genera belonging
to these given in Thorpe's "Dictionary of Applied Chemistry." By far
the most important is Hevea brasiliensis which provides the " fine Para "
rubber of South America the standard of rubber in the trade. To the
same order, Euphorbiaeeae, belongs Manihot Glaziovii also found in a
small section of Brazil. It produces the Ceara rubber of commerce.

RUBBER 445

Another interesting source of rubber is the genus Landolpliia, of which
there are several species noteworthy as being creepers. This genus pro-
vides most of the Congo rubber and belongs to the order Apocynaceae.
Ficus elastica spoken of above is one of the genera of the order Urti-
caceae of which another genus is Castilloa also already mentioned as
found in Mexico and one of the very first plants to attract attention as
a rubber producer.

Rubber, though found to a slight extent as a solid deposit in the
woody fiber of certain species, is almost entirely obtained from the latex
of the rubber-bearing plants. The latex is a fluid usually more or less
viscous which is carried in vessels, the laticiferous vessels, lying in the
inner bark just a little outside of the cells which carry the sap. The
caoutchouc itself is in globules of microscopic or sub-microscopic size,
being from 1/50,000 inch to 1/6,000 inch in diameter, and forms an
emulsion with the suspending liquid. A familiar example of latex is the
exudation of the milkweed. The function of latex in the plant itself is
unknown. ' It may be an excretion, it may be intended for the preserva-
tion of the tree from attack by fungus or insects or other enemy. The
process of raw rubber manufacture consists in the collection of the
latex and the coagulation from the serum of the emulsified particles. In
tapping the trees the essential thing is to cut deep enough into the bark
to sever the laticiferous vessels, but not to cut into the cambium, the
living layer of cells from which both the wood and the bark of the tree
are produced. In the Amazon Valley this is usually done by a small axe,
the incisions being of a V shape, the first being made at a height of about
six or seven feet. Later incisions are made at intervals of about two
inches below the previous ones, till the base of the tree is reached. Then
tappings are begun on the other side of the tree in the same order as
before. The latex is collected in a small cup fixed to the tree by moist
clay and is removed from time to time. Five pounds of latex is con-
sidered a large amount from one tree during the season. The latex is
gathered from the cups into a pail and is cured by the smoke of a fire
rich in tarry and acid matter. A long wooden rod has rubber latex
poured over it and the thin layer which sticks to the rod is dried in the
smoke. Over the sheet thus formed is poured more latex, which is also
dried in the smoke. Thus layer after layer is produced till a ball weigh-
ing from twenty to one hundred pounds is obtained. Thus is made raw-
fine Para rubber. Some of the latex coagulates on the tree, forming a
scrap rubber which is collected and compressed into irregular masses
called " negroheads."

It is not my purpose to describe all the processes through which raw
rubber passes before it appears in the shape of golf balls or automobile
tires or in any of the many forms in which it comes into commerce, but
a very brief outline may be given. First, the raw rubber is cut into

446 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

small pieces, steeped in warm water and run through washing rolls, after
which it is dried. Rubber thus obtained is mainly a hydrocarbon of the
empirical formula C5HS, that is, it contains sixty parts by weight of car-
bon to eight of hydrogen. There is a small amount of resin, a very little
protein and somewhat less than one per cent, of inorganic matter which
forms an ash when the rubber is burned.

Freshly coagulated rubber has a spongy or reticular structure, due
to the way in which the particles come together. This shows even in
dried rubber and the particles can still be seen in globular form after
solution, but films made by the evaporation of the solvent from the solu-
tion have apparently lost the reticular character. Rubber on being
heated becomes sticky and if cooled to near the freezing point of water
(about 40° Fahr.) it becomes hard and loses its elasticity. Stretched
rubber has the very peculiar property of contracting on being heated.
This curious property was predicted from theoretical considerations and
was later confirmed by experiment. A suitable way to carry out the ex-
periment is to stretch a rubber tube to nearly double its length by means
of a heavy weight and then to pass steam through the tube. A tube a
couple of feet in length will under these circumstances contract several
inches.

Pine rubber softens too readily with rise of temperature and hardens
before the temperature has fallen much below normal ; the range of tem-
perature through which it retains its properties of toughness and elas-
ticity is too limited, but by the addition of sulphur the range of tem-
perature can be very much extended. Rubber can be made to take up
sulphur in various ways, the process being called " vulcanization." One
method is by heating with sulphur, another is by treatment in the cold
with a mixture of chloride of sulphur and carbon bisulphide. The prop-
erties of vulcanized rubber vary witli the amount of sulphur, soft rubbers
contain 3-4 per cent., while hard rubber, or ebonite, contains 20-30 per
cent. The sulphur seems to be combined in some form, at least partially
with the rubber. No matter how much sulphur may be mixed with the
rubber or what the temperature or length of time, the maximum of com-
bined sulphur is about thirty-two per cent.

The main source of rubber supply, almost up to the present, has been
the wild-growing trees and vines. In 1006 about 400 tons (approxi-
mately one per cent, of the whole) were obtained from plantations, by
1909-10 the amount had risen to about five per cent. : now plantation
rubber has almost overtaken that derived from uncultivated plants.
Java produced 73 tons in 1910 and 491 tons in 1911, while, during the
fust three months of 1912, the Malay States produced 3.S10 tons, and
during the corresponding three months of 1913 the amount was 5,625
tons, or over a half more. The rapid increase is due to the fact that each
year more and more of the trees are reaching the productive age.

RUBBER 447

In 1876, some seeds of Hevea brasiliensis were sent from Brazil to
Kew Gardens, and some young plants from these seeds were shipped the
same year to Ceylon, where they were planted in low land and the
grove then started is now historic, for it was the beginning of the later
industry. Up till 1899 there were only about 750 acres of rubber planta-
tion in Ceylon and these were apparently not intended for commercial
purposes. In 1899 the first company in the Malay States was formed
and it declared a dividend of 75 per cent, in 1908, and owing to the high
prices or rubber in 1909 the dividend was 250 per cent.

The large amount of rubber required for automobile tires naturally
stimulated the planting of rubber areas. According to figures given in
a IT. S. Consular Eeport in January, 1913, the acreage in Ceylon in 1912
was 220,000 and in the Malay States 430,000, while in other countries
over 100,000 acres were under cultivation. Figures given later in the
year by The Economist were higher. The larger part of this area is not
yet productive, and some of it will not yield for five or six years.

The source of cultivated rubber is almost entirely Hevea brasiliensis,
which seems to be adapted to wide differences of conditions. In Ceylon,
though first planted in low land, it grows on hills with large boulders,
in the Malay district it thrives on flat land with hardly a stone. On the
Malay hills, where heavy rains would carry away the young trees, contour
drains are constructed. The genus Castilloa does not grow so readily in
the East; it takes longer to reach the producing stage and it does not
produce so much rubber when it has attained its proper growth. It has,
however, been largely planted in its original home, Mexico. Manihot-
Glaziovii is planted in dry regions, where Hevea does not flourish.

Hevea is not fit for tapping till it is seven years old. As the seven or
eight feet nearest the bottom of the trunk are richest in latex, the object
in cultivation is to produce short trunks of large circumference. With
this end in view, the trees are planted far apart, at a distance of about
twenty feet from each other, giving approximately a hundred trees to the
acre. They are induced to fork at a height of about ten feet, and it is
said that the best arrangement is a tripartite forking of the main trunk,
each branch in turn forming three subordinate branches. In places
where there are high winds, however, this style of forking may provide
so large a surface that the trees may be iDlown over.

There are various methods of tapping, the most satisfactory appar-
ently being full or half " herring bone." A vertical groove is made in
the bark of the tree from the base to a height of five or six feet. Then
parallel incisions are made from this vertical groove in an upward slant-
ing direction, in the case of the half-herring bone, on one side, and in the
case of the full herring bone, on both sides. So important is it to cut
through the laticiferous vessels without injuring the cambium layer and
so difficult is it to accomplish this kind of incision, that dozens of

448 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

different knives have been invented for the purpose. The half-herring
bone method is considered the better as being less severe on the tree.

A very curious phenomenon was observed in the early experiments
on tapping. It was found that if a second incision was made in the bark
of Hevea, near one cut a couple of days previously, there was a greater
flow of latex than if the second incision were made at a distance, say, on
the other side of the tree. More than that, the latex flowed more freely
than on the first incision. In a particular experiment on four trees,
tappings were made at intervals of five days, and the volume of latex
increased from 61 c.c. at the first tapping to 449 c.c. at the fourteenth,
when the series was ended. In view of the fact that the latex from later
tappings is thinner than that from the first, another series of experiments
was made on ten trees which were tapped every day for a fortnight and
the rubber content of each tapping determined. This rose from 64/ oz.
on the first day to 33f oz. on the fourteenth. Within limits a thin latex
is the most satisfactory, the latex from the first incision often being of
little use because it coagulates before reaching the proper receptacle and
so gets mixed with the bark of the tree and other foreign .matter. Some-
times drip pans are fastened to the tree above the incisions, and water
dropping upon tire incisions prevents the latex drying on the tree.

The peculiar action of Hevea owing to which subsequent tappings
near the previous incisions produce a greater flow of latex is called
" wound response/' and no other rubber-bearing plants show wound re-
sponse in anything like the degree shown by Hevea; in fact, it may be
doubted whether the phenomenon occurs in the other genera at all. As
compared with Hevea, Castilloa gives a greater flow of latex on the first
incision, some five or six times as much. But if, after a couple of days,
a further incision is made near the former one, little or no latex flows
from it, while, as we have seen, there is in the case of Hevea a greater
supply than before, roughly about twice as much, which persists through
subsequent tappings. Accordingly, in tapping trees a very thin paring
(about one twentieth of an inch) is removed each day or each alternate
day. As the first incisions are made about a foot apart, it takes some
two hundred and forty parings before the bark is all removed from this
part of the tree, and as by the half-herring-bone system only about a
quarter of the tree is tapped it takes about four years to remove all the
bark and by that time operations can be begun again on the new bark
that has formed in the meantime.

The arrangement of laticiferous vessels in Castilloa is different from
that in Hevea; in the former the vessels all connect in a somewhat simi-
lar manner to that of veins and arteries in the body. Hence, when the
vessels are cut, there is likely to be a drain from a large area. In Hevea
the tubes arise from a breaking down of cell walls which occur from
time to time and so the latex does not flow out so freelv at first. Possi-

RUBBER 449

bly, the increased flow when the second incision is made near the first is
because latex has flowed to the wound in order to repair it.

Though Hevea seems to be in general the best rubber-producing tree,
there is a little doubt whether it should be everywhere introduced; for
instance, in Africa, where another species is native. African labor is
less intelligent than that in the Malay States and the African natives
can not tap the trees so successfully. The native trees and vines are
usually cut down.

Moreover, experiments should be made with plantations of from
three to five thousand trees before a decisive judgment is given, for it is
possible that in large plantations diseases might rise and spread which
have not appeared in small plantations. In very large estates, protective
belts of other trees either of the original forest or of another genus of
planted rubber should be made use of to prevent spread of diseases.

While, as stated above, in the Amazon valley five pounds of latex con-
taining approximately two pounds of caoutchouc is considered a large
yield, on the plantations trees ten years old are expected to yield three or
four pounds of rubber. During 1908 nine thousand trees in the Cicely
estate, one of the older Malay companies, gave an average of six pounds
per tree, though the trees were between five and ten years old. In the
Perah State there were eight trees seventeen years old, of an average
girth of 55 inches, which yielded 28£ pounds of rubber each. From the
economic point of view the yield per acre is of more importance than
the yield per tree. Six-year-old trees will yield about a hundred pounds
per acre, while ten-year-old trees will yield three or four times as much.

In the East, rubber is coagulated from the latex by acetic acid.
Smaller quantities of other acids would serve the same purpose, but an
excess prevents coagulation, while with acetic acid the quantity may vary
within fairly wide limits. When coagulation is brought about by acetic
acid either pains must be taken to dry the rubber very thoroughly or
some antiseptic must be put in. The method of smoking carried out in
the Amazon district provides both acetic acid and the antiseptic
fumes of creosote. Coagulation could be brought about by simple drying,
but in this case the rubber is apt to become moldy and putrid. The
precise cause of coagulation by acid is not certain. It has been ascribed
to the small amount of protein in the latex, but, on the other hand, it is
claimed that if the protein is removed the rubber can still be coagulated.
The rubber produced has a composition something like the following:
94 per cent, caoutchouc, 3 per cent, resin, 2.5 per cent, protein, and 0.5
per cent, each of moisture and ash. One should perhaps add that what
is usually called protein may not really be that substance, but some other
which contains nitrogen.

The competition between Amazon hard Para rubber, which is so far
the standard, and plantation rubber is keen. The latter is the purer, but
vol. lxxxv.— 31.

450 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

the conditions for vulcanizing and otherwise treating Para rubber are
better known and rubber manufacturers will probably agree with the
opinion expressed to me by one of them that plantation rubber is not so
easily worked. Para rubber is said to be harder and "nervier" in the
mixing rolls and is more consistent in quality. What causes the differ-
ence is unknown ; whether the immaturity of the plantation trees, or the
method of curing or some other factors. The difference is exhibited
not only in the ways indicated, but also by the action of some chemical
reagents. In a series of experiments, the part of Para rubber soluble in
petroleum ether was in one sample 51 per cent., in another 57 per cent.,
while of Ceylon biscuit 58 per cent, and 68 per cent, were soluble, and of
Malayan crepe 72 per cent, and 86 per cent. The part dissolved from
the Para rubber was much more viscous than that from the other kinds.

The price of plantation rubber in the London market is lower than
that of Para rubber, but this is probably due, at least partly, to the
method of sale by auction. According to The Economist, during the
first eight months of 1913, Para averaged 3s. lO^d. while plantation
rubber averaged 3s. 5^d. and, curiously enough, when plantation rubber
dropped in September to 2s. a pound, Para was 3s. 7d.

Though up to the present plantation rubber is not equal in quality
to the best Para rubber, it will be remembered that a considerable quan-
tity of the rubber from the Amazon district itself is not of the highest
grade. One quarter or more is of inferior quality. The price in general
has dropped till it leaves little margin above the cost of production.
While the export from the Amazon district has increased little, if any,
since 1909, being in the neighborhood of 42,000 tons, plantation rubber,
which in 1909 was 4,000, amounted in 1912 to 30,000 tons. The total
rubber consumption in 1912 was about 108,000 tons, part of it being
wild rubber from Mexico and various places in Africa, part being old
rubber reclaimed. In the season 1912-13, according to the IT. S.
Consular Reports, the Amazon district exported 2,200 tons more than in
the previous season, but the same reports predicted a decrease in the sea-
son 1913-14 and, according to the Journal of Commerce, during July,
August and September, the first three months of the 1913-14 season, the
export was 7,161 tons as compared with 8,553 tons of the year before.
The statement is made in the Consular Reports that this year for the
first time other countries will produce a greater amount of plantation
rubber than the Amazon Valley of wild rubber.

Mr. Akers, a British rubber expert, estimates that in 1916 planta-
tions could yield 173,000 tons and in 1919, about 300,000 tons. He also
estimates that if rubber falls to two shillings a pound 150,000 tons or
perhaps 200,000 tons might be consumed for the present uses, but unless
new uses not now apparent are discovered the supply will much exceed
the demand.

RUBBER 45i

At present the cost of production of Para rubber is 72 cents, includ-
ing the export tax, which amounts to 24 cents. This high cost is partly
due to the cost of living, partly to difficult transportation, partly to
scarce labor and inefficient methods of gathering the rubber. Mr. Akers
recommends the importation of 50,000 Chinese coolies, the employment
of a number of Malayan planters to instruct the collectors in the best
methods of tapping, and the abolition or, at all events, reduction of the
export tax. The Brazilian government has given a large sum of money
to improve navigation on the Amazon and to provide premiums for the
construction of rubber factories and refineries, engaging to buy from
these refineries all the rubber required for the army and navy. They
doubtless feel chary about reducing the export tax, as it is a great, if
not even the greatest, source of revenue.

The future of the rubber industry causes anxiety not only to the
Amazon district and those interested in it, but to the thousands of stock-
holders in eastern plantations. The great demand for rubber for auto-
mobile tires caused a boom and, according to The Economist, £40,000,-
000 was invested in boom prices "whose only justification is the few
years of grace before the supply surpasses the demand." On September
20, last, the same paper remarks :

The collapse of the rubber boom is one cause for the lack of business in
the Stock Exchange. Hundreds of thousands of pounds poured into the planta-
tion rubber industry by the British public are represented by huge stocks of
certificates, the depreciation on which, reckoned from the price at which the public
got them, will serve as a painful lesson till the next boom, from whatever quar-
ter it may spring up, comes along.

A large meeting of the leading people in the rubber world was held
in London on October 23, and stocks went up just before the meeting,
only to fall when it was learned that no solution of the difficulty could be
found. The cost of bringing an estate into bearing condition is between
twenty and thirty pounds an acre, and The Economist estimates over
seven hundred thousand acres in the East capitalized at from £54 to
£76 an acre.

It will not pay to produce rubber to sell in the world's markets at
two shillings a pound, unless the cost of production can be reduced. In
some very favored estates, in Ceylon, the cost is only sixpence a pound
and, when all the trees are yielding, the average cost may be 8d, though
in 1911 it was Is. 4d. Mr. Akers considers that in Java the cost will not
go below Is. 2d. for several years. In Ceylon labor is more easily ob-
tainable than in the Malay States and Java. In the Malay States a good
deal of the labor is done by coolies from southern India along with some
Chinese. An economic question arising here is the relative value of
indentured and unindentured labor.

The artificial production of rubber is not yet a matter of commercial

452 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

interest. Dr. Gerlach, of Hanover, a practical manufacturer, thinks it
may be twenty years before artificial, or, as it is sometimes called, syn-
thetic rubber can compete with the natural. He points to the fact that
it took at least as long a time for synthetic indigo to reach the commer-
cial stage after it had been first produced in the laboratory. Millions of
dollars were expended in the investigations by one firm alone. But as
we have had the romance of the alizarine industry, by which a product
of coal tar replaced the extract of the madder root and ended its culti-
vation in France, and the romance of the indigo industry which has so
largely affected the growth of the indigo plant in India, so we may have
the romance of the synthetic rubber industry, but many a long and weary
investigation must be carried on, many patents will be abandoned and
much money will be spent, apparently in vain, for no process can be con-
sidered commercial unless it can produce rubber not only more cheaply
than it can now be obtained from the plantations, but more cheaply than
there is any likelihood of its ever being produced from natural sources.
Probably twenty cents a pound should be considered the maximum cost
of a commercial process for synthetic rubber.

Eubber was found to yield on heating the substance isoprene among
others. This substance has the same percentage composition as rubber,
but its molecular structure is considered to be simpler and to be repre-
sented by the formula

OH2 = C — CH = CH2

I
CH8

Isoprene was accidentally found to change into rubber apparently
upon long standing, and efforts were made to produce rubber from iso-
prene at will. It was found that by heating at a high temperature with
acetic acid in closed tubes the change takes place and later a small
amount of sodium was found to produce a similar effect at a lower tem-
perature.

The problem of synthetic rubber is then two-fold : first, to get cheap
isoprene; second, to convert isoprene cheaply into rubber. The most
natural source of isoprene seems to be oil of turpentine, which has the
same percentage composition, but it has not proved satisfactory and its
formation from isoamyl alcohol gives greater promise. Isoamyl alcohol
is one constituent in fusel oil, whose presence in raw spirits renders them
so injurious. It is obtained to a small extent in the ordinary fermenta-
tion of potatoes and other starchy substances. Professor Fernbach, of
the Pasteur Institute, has discovered a method of fermenting starch
which, instead of yielding a large amount of ordinary alcohol and a small
amount of fusel oil, produces fusel oil with practically no ordinary alco-
hol. This fusel oil, however, instead of having a large quantity of iso-
amyl alcohol consists chiefly of butyl alcohol, from which butadiene,

RUBBER 453

CH2 = CH — CH — CH2, can be made in just the same way as isoprene
from isoamyl alcohol. Butadiene is the next lower homologue of iso-
prene, and when it is treated with sodium it produces a substance very
like rubber which is called nor-caoutchouc. It is said that its quality is
even superior to that of ordinary rubber. As there are a number of
alcohols homologous to butyl and isoamyl alcohol, a number of substances
similar to isoprene and butadiene can be made from them, and from these
by the action of sodium a series of rubbers. It is said that the rubber
produced by the action of acetic acid on isoprene is identical with
natural rubber, and that the rubber made by the action of sodium is
slightly different in its chemical reactions. It may be that all natural
rubbers are not identical and that the difference between Para rubber
and plantation rubber may depend upon some slight differences in the
caoutchouc itself and that what the chemist does with extreme difficulty
when he changes starch into rubber, nature does with ease, and, as the
chemist may get slightly different products by pursuing different meth-
ods, so nature may get different products under different circumstances.
It was said at the beginning of this paper that rubber has the empir-
ical formula C5H8. It seems that the formula is more correctly written
C10Hlt3 and that the name 1.5 dimethyl cyclooctadiene 1.5 represents the
structure of Para rubber, while the rubber produced by the action of
sodium on isoprene is

1.5 dimethyl cyclooctadiene 1.3
or 1.5 dimethyl cyclooctadiene 1.7

Dr. Duisberg, of Elberfeld, stated in his address to the Congress of
Applied Chemistry at New York in 1912 that he had for some time used
tires of artificial rubber on an automobile. The German Emperor has
also received a present of similar tires. The rubber can be made, but it
is still far too expensive to compete with natural rubber.

Closely connected with the history of the rubber industry are the
Congo atrocities. Congo rubber is not so good for most purposes and
commands a lower price, though, being softer, it is said to be better as
a filling for driving belts and for other uses. It is obtained from Land-
olphia vines, which are not usually tapped, but cut off, the latex being
extracted all at once. This fact may be partly responsible for the atro-
cities, since, the more accessible sources of supply having been depleted,
the natives have been obliged to go farther and farther in order to obtain
the rubber demanded of them.

In the sixties and seventies of the last century, central Africa became
known to Europe, and the commercial interests of the various nations
led to what is termed the " Scramble for Africa." Stanley's discovery
of the Upper Congo induced King Leopold to form the " International
African Association" and he sent several investigating expeditions at

454 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

his own expense, commanded for the most part by Englishmen and Ger-
mans and represented to the world as being entirely for scientific pur-
poses. Later Leopold proposed forming the association into a state and
obtained the sympathy and support of the British Chambers of Com-
merce by promising perfect freedom of trade, and of the protestant mis-
sionary societies of England and America, of the aborigines' protection
association, and of the philanthropic world in general by his protesta-
tions of the highest type of philanthropy.

Several years before that time, Sir Eobert Morier suggested to Lord
Beaconsfield to recognize the claims of Portugal to the southern bank of
the Congo, while the northern bank was to become British. Lord
Beaconsfield, however, did not favor this plan, and when, in 1875, the
consul Lieutenant Cameron proclaimed, on his own initiative, the taking
possession of the basin of the Congo, his act was repudiated by Lord
Carnarvon. Portugal and England had historic claims on the country,
and the two governments made an agreement in 1883 by which Portugal
was to gain the basin of the Congo on both sides for a certain limited
distance from the mouth, engaging to give freedom of trade to the world
and religious freedom to all inhabitants of the country. The treaty was
denounced by the British Chambers of Commerce and the British philan-
thropic world. The British government was accused of betraying na-
tional interests, and in Portugal the Portuguese government was accused
of the same thing. France was ready to step in and take the district, in
which case foreign trade would be handicapped. King Leopold seized
the opportunity, and Stanley, acting on his behalf, renewed the advances
made before to England. The English government was now more ready
to listen to the proposal, but, being anxious to secure freedom of trade
and protection of the natives, fell in with the invitation of Bismarck to
an international conference at Berlin. This conference was held from
November 25, 1884, to February 26, 1885, and guaranteed the formation
of the Congo association into a state. The representatives of the differ-
ent powers may be almost said to have wept for joy at having found so
disinterested and philanthropic a ruler for the state as King Leopold
promised to be. On August 1, Leopold notified the powers that the
International African Association would henceforth be known as the
Congo Free State.

King Leopold began to form an army, and by 1889 two thousand
regulars had been recruited and were armed with modern rifles, and
the proposal for the next year was to raise eight thousand more. The
King's officials were given a bonus for each recruit obtained, and these
recruits were gathered by armed raids on the villages.

In 1891 a regulation was issued forbidding the natives to sell ivory
and rubber (the main products of the country) to European merchants,
and the officials were given a bonus for the amount of rubber supplied

RUBBER 455

by them, the rubber becoming the property of the state and the bonus
being the greater the less the cost of the rubber. A similar bonus was
given on ivory and gum copal. This was a direct stimulus towards ex-
tortion on the part of the officials. Villages were taxed for a certain
amount of rubber, and if it was not forthcoming punishments of all
kinds were inflicted, a common one being the cutting off of hands,
another, the carrying off of the women as hostages.

Such a feeling was aroused in Europe by reports from missionaries
and others of the atrocities, that King Leopold was compelled to appoint
a commission of enquiry, which reported in 1905 or early 1906. This
report tells that the native peoples are " exhausted " through the de-
mand made upon them for headcarriage in the transport of government
material and that they are threatened with partial destruction. Captain
Baccari, envoy of the King of Italy, traveled through that region and
says, " we have all the ghastly scenes of the slave trade, the collar, the
lash, and the pressgang." A lieutenant in the Italian army who spent
three years in the Congo Free State and served in Leopold's African
army writes :

The caravan road between Kasongo and Tanganyika is strewn with corpses
of carriers, exactly as in the time of the Arab slave trade. The carriers, weak-
ened, ill, insufficiently fed, fall literally by hundreds; and, in the evening, when
there happens to be a little wind, the odor of bodies in decomposition is every-
where noticeable, to such an extent, indeed, that the Italian officiers have given
it a name ' ' Manyema perfume. ' '

The commission reports that the direct causes of the miseries of the
natives are the requisitions in rubber and the requisitions in staple food
supplies "everywhere on the Congo, and, notwithstanding certain ap-
pearances to the contrary, the native gathers india rubber only under the
influence of direct or indirect force." It indicates what is meant by
force, namely, indiscriminate massacre, settlement of soldiers in rubber-
producing villages, uncontrolled and unhampered in the execution of
their instructions, taking of hostages, imprisonment of women and chil-
dren, flogging, illegal fines and punishments and so on. The condition
of the rubber gatherer is described :

In the majority of cases he must, every fortnight, go one or two days' jour-
ney and. sometimes more, to reach the place in the forest where he can find in
fair abundance the rubber vine. There the gatherer passes some days in a miser-
able existence. He must construct an improvised shelter which can not obviously
replace his hut; he has not the food to which he is accustomed; he is deprived of
his wife, exposed to the inclemencies of the weather and to the attacks of wild
beasts. He must take his harvest to the station of the government or the com-
pany, and it is only after that that he returns to his village, where he can barely
reside two or three days before a new demand is made upon him.

This is taken from the report of King Leopold's own commission,
which naturally does not overstate the case. I could easily have quoted

456 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

a much more lurid description of the facts. I shall merely add one
sentence from Professor Cattier's famous volume upon the Congo which
was discussed in the Belgian House of Representatives, along with the
Report of the Commission. He says :

The impositions in rubber and foodstuffs which weigh upon more than half
the territory, that is to say, over an area three or four times as large as France,
subject the natives to a well-nigh-continuous slavery, a slavery more severe than
that imposed by the Arabs.

In 1908 the Congo was made over by King Leopold to Belgium, and
the transfer was recognized by practically all the Great Powers, except
Britain, who withheld her sanction till 1913. On May 29, 1913, Sir
Edward Grey announced to the House of Commons the intention of the
British Government to recognize the annexation of the Congo by Bel-
gium and said that they were now fully satisfied that the condition of
affairs had completely changed. While it shocks us that the atrocities
should have gone on so long, it is probably true that at no previous stage
in the world's history would the condition of uncivilized savages have
been so much a matter of concern to the millions who had no personal
interest in them.

Atrocities have been reported in the Putumayo district of Peru on
the upper Amazon, some of the newspapers describing them as worse
than those on the Congo. This is probably an exaggeration, but there
have doubtless been very great cruelties inflicted upon the Indians there.
But as the matter has been the subject of investigation not only by
religious missions, but by a commission of the Peruvian government, as
well as by a British government commissioner and by a select committee
appointed by the House of Commons, it is to be hoped that the inhuman-
ity is now at an end.

RECENT MATHEMATICAL ACTIVITIES 457

KECENT MATHEMATICAL ACTIVITIES

By Professoe G. A. MILLER

UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS

MATHEMATICAL research generally thrives best in seclusion.
The results are often embodied in a language which but few
understand, and are then stored with a quietude secured and maintained
by their own attributes. Now and then there are instances when un-
solved mathematical questions get involved with enough external matter
to attract general attention. This external matter often consists of an
array of names of noted mathematicians who have been unsuccessful in
their efforts to solve these questions.

When the solutions of such questions become possible, through spe-
cial ingenuity or through the gradual development of the necessary ele-
ments, there is usually a. stir in which mathematicians join the more
heartily on account of its novelty. This fact may be illustrated by the
famous memoir on the problem of three bodies by a Finnish mathe-
matical astronomer named Karl F. Sundman, which the president of the
Paris Academy of Sciences mentioned during the annual public session
held on December 13, 1913.

This academy had previously appointed a committee to examine the
work of Sundman, and the committee reported, through the noted
French mathematician Emile Picard, that the memoir was epoch mak-
ing for analysis and for mathematical astronomy. In accord with the
recommendation of this committee, the Paris Academy awarded to Sund-
man the Pontecoulant prize, doubling its usual value. The report of the
committee directed attention to the fact that Sundman achieved his re-
sults by means of classic mathematical methods.

In the April, 1914, number of Popular Astronomy Professor F. E.
Moulton, of the University of Chicago, gave a very interesting popular
account of the problem of three bodies and of the actual contribution
made by Sundman towards its complete solution. From this account
it is easy to see that a long list of eminent names are connected with
this problem, including those of Newton, Euler, Lagrange and Poincare,
as well as that of one of the most illustrious American mathematical
astronomers — the late G. W. Hill.

About two years ago a certain geometric question relating to the
problem of three bodies came suddenly into prominence through an
article by H. Poincare, written shortly before his death, in which he
called attention to the fact that he had not succeeded in finding a gen-

458 TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

eral solution of this question. It is interesting to note that a young
American mathematician, Professor G. D. Birkhoff, of Harvard Univer-
sity, had been thinking along similar lines and soon succeeded in finding
a general solution. An article containing this solution was published in
the Transactions of the American Mathematical Society, 1913, and a
French translation of this article appeared recently in the Bulletin of
the French Mathematical Society.

A number of important unsolved mathematical questions are con-
stantly kept before the mathematical public by means of prizes offered
by various foreign academies for definite contributions. The prominence
of the Paris Academy of Sciences along this line is well known, and it
would be difficult to determine the extent of the good influence exerted
by these prizes. Moreover, special prizes are not infrequently instituted.
The king of Sweden has recently authorized such a prize to be awarded,
for important developments in the theory of analytic functions, during
the meeting of the sixth international mathematical congress, which is
to be held at Stockholm in 1916.

The monetary value of these prizes varies very much, but it generally
does not exceed a thousand dollars. For instance, the prize offered by
King Gustav V, of Sweden, to which we have just referred, consists of a
gold medal and three thousand crowns (about eight hundred dollars)
in money. The main value attached to these prizes is the recognition of
the importance of the work of the authors honored in this manner, and
this is especially valued by the younger investigators.

While prizes have greatly stimulated research activity in mathematics
they have not furnished the main stimulus. The opportunities offered
by the various journals to make useful development and interesting dis-
coveries promptly known have doubtless furnished a stronger and more
permanent stimulus, especially in those cases where the standing of the
editors of the journals inspired great confidence. In America we have
two journals which have rendered, and are now rendering, preeminent
service along this line; viz., the American Journal of Mathematics,
founded in 1878 with J. J. Sylvester as editor-in-chief, and the Trans-
actions of the American Mathematical Society, founded in 1900 with
E. H. Moore as editor-in-chief.

A current mathematical undertaking whose bigness would seem to
entitle it to general interest is the publication of a large encyclopedia
devoted to pure and applied mathematics. This work is being published,
in parts, in the German and French languages. The first part of the
German edition appeared in July, 1898. Since this time a large number
of other parts have appeared at irregular intervals, aggregating at pres-
ent about ten thousand large pages. Several additional parts are now
in press, and it seems too early to predict when the entire work will be
completed or how large it will become. The published parts would now

RECENT MATHEMATICAL ACTIVITIES 459

make twenty large volumes, each containing about five hundred pages.

While this work may appear extensive for an encyclopedia which
aims to give in a concise form the fully established mathematical results,
yet the French edition promises to become still more extensive. The
first part of this edition appeared in August, 1904, and the aggregate of
the published parts is at present only about one half as large as that of
the German edition. On the other hand, most of the subjects which
have been treated in both editions are treated with much more complete-
ness in the French than in the German edition, as might be expected
from the fact that the former edition is, in the main, based on the latter.
According to the latest announcements some parts of the German edition
are to be based on parts which have already appeared in the French
edition.

The magnitude of these undertakings is certainly not the main ele-
ment of interest to the educated man. In fact, the question has been
raised whether these encyclopedias are not becoming too large to fulfil
one of the main objects in view; viz., to provide a work by means of
which the student can determine quickly what has been done along
various lines in the mathematical sciences. A keen observer recently
made the following significant remark, "the whole encyclopedia,
whether German or French edition, seems of late to have run riotously
and fruitlessly to leaves." 1 In this connection it may be observed that a
big and vigorous tree has normally more leaves than a little one.

One of the main elements of interest in such big educational under-
takings is the cooperation which it implies. This is especially true as
regards a subject like mathematics, where the certainty and the perma-
nence of conclusions tend to inspire unusual self-reliance and indepen-
dence. The fact that the directors of these encyclopedias have secured
the cooperation of nearly three hundred mathematicians of various na-
tionalities implies that in this field also there is substantial evidence of
organized effort on a large scale. It is of interest to observe that Amer-
ican mathematicians are fairly well represented among these collab-
orators.

A big current mathematical undertaking which affects directly a
much larger number of people than the encyclopedias mentioned above
is the- work which is being done under the direction of the "Inter-
national Commission on the Teaching of Mathematics." This com-
mission was created during the sessions of the fourth International
Congress of Mathematicians, which was. held at Borne in April, 1908,
and has for its main object a study of the methods and plans of mathe-
matical instruction in different nations. At first it was intended that
the commission should confine its work to secondary mathematics, but

i E. B. Wilson, Bulletin of the American Mathematical Society, Vol. 18
(1911-12), p. 465.

460 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

it soon appeared desirable to include all mathematical instruction in
the scope of its investigation.

Sub-commissions were appointed in various countries. The Ameri-
can sub-commission is composed of D. E. Smith, Columbia University;
W. F. Osgood, Harvard University, and J. W. A. Young, Chicago Uni-
versity. Under the general direction of these sub-commissions a vast
amount of material relating to the mathematical instruction has been
collected and published. In our own country this material was pub-
lished by the U. S. Bureau of Education in the form of thirteen reports.
Some of the other countries have not yet completed their work, but
about one hundred and sixty such reports have already been published
in the twenty-six countries which have joined in this vast undertaking.

In addition to securing these valuable reports the central commis-
sion has arranged international meetings for the discussion of some of
the fundamental questions relating to mathematical instruction. Such
a meeting was held in Paris, France, in April of the present year, and
the two subjects under consideration were: (1) The results obtained
by the introduction of differential calculus in the advanced classes of
the secondary schools, and (2) the place and the role of mathematics in
higher technical education.

Some of the leading French mathematicians (including Appell,
Darboux, Borel and d'Ocogne) took an active part in the deliberations.
Professor Borel emphasized the fact that mathematics is not composed
of a linear sequence of theorems such that each depends upon the pre-
ceding one. If this were the case, the only possible changes in methods
of instruction would relate to what theorems could be omitted in this
sequence or what theorems could be substituted for others. On the
contrary, the number of different routes leading from first principles to
an advanced mathematical proposition is often exceedingly large, and
hence arises the possibility of employing widely different methods to
achieve the same general results.

In other words, mathematics is a network formed by intersecting
thought roads and the chief aim of the International Commission on the
Teaching of Mathematics is to secure extensive information as regards
the choice of roads in various nations. The Italian member of the
central committee, G. Castelnouovo of Eome, stated explicitly in his
address during the recent conference at Paris, that the commission did
not aim to bring about any great reforms, but aimed to gather facts as
regards existing conditions in order that the various nations might
be enabled to profit by the experiences of other nations in instituting
their own reforms.

In describing mathematics as a network of a certain type of thought-
roads, it is not implied that thought is conveyed along these roads as the
products of a country are conveyed on a railroad train. On the con-

RECENT MATHEMATICAL ACTIVITIES 461

trary, thought is developed along these mathematical roads, and the
traveler finds continually new difficulties whose solution depends largely
upon those encountered earlier. In constructing these roads mathe-
matics is not seeking an intellectual monopoly in order to collect toll
from the rest of the intellectual world in succeeding ages. In fact,
in most of the newer regions the travelers are too few to encourage
such thoughts even if they were not intrinsically repugnant.

There is, however, a considerable number of mathematicians who
are interested in constructing unusually attractive toll roads, especially
in those regions where travelers are most abundant. Whether the pros-
pects of tolls derived from small royalties constitute the best means
to secure improvements in our elementary text-books and whether this
system is apt to continue to be efficient are questions which present
many difficulties. There appears to be an enormous waste along this
line at present resulting from unfruitful duplication.

The financial questions involved in mathematical publications have
doubtless much in common with those relating to the publication in
other subjects. The journals depend largely upon the universities and
the mathematical societies for financial assistance. Lately the American
Mathematical Monthly, a journal of collegiate grade, has received
financial assistance from more than a dozen colleges and universities,
and it has thus been enabled to make many improvements. The Annals
of Mathematics, which is a journal of a somewhat more advanced grade,
is being published since 1911 under the auspices of Princeton University.

The large mathematical encyclopedias, mentioned above, are being
published under the auspices of the Academies of Gottingen, Leipzig,
Munich and Vienna, while various governments have been asked to
assume the expense of the publication of at least some of the reports
prepared under the general direction of the International Commission
on the Teaching of Mathematics. The Japanese reports are published
both in the Japanese and in the English languages; and all these
reports, aggregating already more than ten thousand pages, are for
sale by Georg & Co., Geneva, Switzerland.

While mathematical societies generally support publication of ad-
vanced grade, they usually have other functions. In many instances
membership implies attainments of comparatively high order and hence
is attractive in view of the honor and exclusive privileges which it
involves. Eecently an international mathematical society has been
organized with the sole purpose of supporting the publication of the
complete works of the most prolific mathematical writer, Leonhard
Euler, who died in 1783. Each member of this society is expected to
pay at least ten francs annually until this publication is completed,
which is expected to require about fifteen years.

Several years ago it was estimated that the complete works of Euler

462 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

would fill from forty to forty-five volumes, and that the expense would
be about half a million francs. As funds had been provided to cover
this expense, the publication was begun, but it soon appeared that the
estimates were entirely too low and that the expense would be almost
twice as large as the original estimate, in view of the additional mate-
rial found at various places.

The great permanent value of the works of Euler has encouraged the
" Schweizerische Naturforschende Gesellschaf t zu Lausanne " to make
an appeal to all mathematicians, and others interested, to join hands
by means of the society mentioned above in securing the completion of
this monumental publication. This society seems to be unique in the
history of mathematics, but it bespeaks forcibly the spirit of coopera-
tion which has led in recent years to much bigger mathematical under-
takings than were possible in former years. The reflex action of these
big undertakings on the mathematicians themselves is an element of
considerable interest.

The mathematical activities to which we have directed attention in
the present article were selected, in the main, on account of their special
interest at the present time. The most important activities, however,
are those whose permanency has secured for them a place among the
fundamental elements which enter unnoticed into our intellectual life,
and whose effectiveness is increased by the fact that they are not im-
peded by effusion. As mathematics is such an old science, the educator
naturally looks to its activities with a view to predicting in some meas-
ure the future activities of the younger sciences. Hence it is especially
interesting to note those activities which imply vigor, and promise for
still greater achievements in the mathematical sciences.

TEE ULTRA-SCIENTIFIC SCHOOL 463

THE ULTRA-SCIENTIFIC SCHOOL

By B. HOROWITZ

THE COLLEGE OF THE CITY OF NEW YORK

(The Ultra- scientific School)
"Problems of Life are Problems of Matter." — Schafer.

(The Conservative School)
"To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. ' ' — Wordsworth.

THE addresses before the British Association for the Advancement
of Science by Schafer and Lodge have surely had the effect of
stimulating still further our interest in the problem of problems — the
origin of life. That the most profound differences of opinion exist not
merely between scientists and non-scientists, but among scientific men
themselves, adds but another factor to the general interest in the sub-
ject, though many factors to the general confusion.

The ultra-scientific school, at the head of which are Loeb and
Schafer, trace the origin of their ideas chiefly to Huxley. As far back
as 1870 this philosopher wrote:

With organic chemistry, molecular physics and physiology, yet in their in-
fancy, and every day making prodigious strides, I think it would be the height
of presumption for any man to say that the conditions under which matter as-
sumes the properties we call ' ' vital ' ' may not, some day, be artificially brought
together.*

That was before Emil Fischer began his work on the structure of the
protein molecule ; before Kossel commenced his celebrated investigations
into the composition of nuclear material ; long before Loeb startled the
world with his experiments on parthenogenesis. With that intuitive,
spirit with which he was singularly gifted, Huxley foresaw — so claim
our ultra-scientists — the results of modern research. Our chemistry,
our physics, our physiology, have already reached that stage where we
can say with confidence: the data necessary is within sight. AVithin
these three sciences a complete explanation is to be found. Hence, out-
side factors need not be considered.

True, the mere fact that we can give no satisfactory definition of life
can be of little avail in the present controversy. It may well be argued
that we can do no better in the case of electricity, and yet our control of
that is well-nigh complete.

It should be made clear, in justice to our ultra-scientists, that their
aspirations at present run no higher than to bring the phenomena of
life within the category of established laws. Their aim is to regulate

1 Huxley, "Discourses" (Chapter on Biogenesis and Abiogenesis).

464 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

forces. To understand them is, they admit freely, beyond their ken.
Thereby, even if their own problem were solved, a purely materialistic
view would hardly be appreciably advanced.

But to return. Life, like electricity, can not be defined, but, like it,
manifests itself in certain ways. Movement, metabolism, growth and
reproduction are held to be characteristic properties of life by a large
class of physiologists ; but the insurgent group, with Wohler's artificial
production of urea — wherein he overthrew the idea that organic sub-
stances possess a "vital" force — as its foundation stone, is bent upon
showing us that there is no such barrier between the animate and the
inanimate. Is it movement that you are considering? Have we not
that in organic mixtures, in oil drops, in globules of mercury? And
are these not all explicable by changes in surface tension? Is it meta-
bolism— the taking in of food and the giving out of waste products ? If
«o, what of osmotic conditions, where solutions are separated by semi-
permeable membranes and where there is an interchange of substance?
Is it growth and reproduction ? If so, consider the growth and multi-
plication of crystals.

It is this argument by analogy that has led the ultra-scientific school
to its present theory with regard to the origin of life. Eightly brushing
aside the meteoric theories of Kelvin, Helmholtz and Arrhenius as irrele-
vant in so far as origin goes — for in their attempt to explain the first
sign of life on this planet they presuppose the existence of the germ else-
where— Schafer boldly upholds the hypothesis that life originated as a
result of the gradual evolution of inanimate material. In process of
time the simple substance became more and more complex and ultimately
emerged as the living germ — the nitrogenous colloid.

But Schafer goes a step further. Why are we to suppose that this
happened but once, as all theories with regard to origin have thus far
assumed? Why are we to suppose that at one time in the dim past a
series of fortunate accidents made life possible? Is it not more logical
to assume that these evolutionary processes are going on to-day and will
continue to do so ?2

Though even Huxley was of the opinion that at one time there was
"an evolution of living protoplasm from not living matter," the idea
that we should not relegate the process to some remote period in the
past is a comparatively new one, and has not by any means received the
approval of many otherwise loyal chemico-physiologists. These argue
with no small show of reason, that continuous life production would
imply similar terrestrial conditions throughout the ages; and this we
know not to be the case.3

2 E. A. Schafer, ' ' Life : Its Nature, Origin and Maintenance, ' ' Smithsonian
Report, Publication 2213.

3 Giving fancy full reign, Macallum pictures for us " a gigantic laboratory
where there had been a play of tremendous forces, notably electricity, which

THE ULTRA-SCIENTIFIC SCHOOL 465

As growth and multiplication are by far the most characteristic
features of the living organism, it is little wonder that the fiercest
antagonism centers around this point. Mitchell, one of the mildest crit-
ics, takes exception to the crystal comparison, on the ground that living
matter is a mixture of substances chiefly dissolved in water, and that
therefore it would be far more appropriate to take liquids as the basis
for comparison.4

Armstrong and Haldane, the one a chemist and the other a physiol-
ogist, and both among the most eminent in their respective professions,
flatly refute the analogy. In crystal growth there is a mere piling up of
simple units, and, under the proper conditions, there is no limit to the
growth of the crystal. Nothing corresponding to cell division, nor to
the complexity of organic growth, is ever met with. Bergson, whose
knowledge of the exact sciences makes him an exceedingly competent
critic, argues that whereas the living organism is composed of unlike
parts and performs diverse functions, the crystal neither consists of the
one nor performs the other.5

Of course, Bergson repudiates Schafer's whole hypothesis, but in this
he is in agreement with many a scientific authority. For example, Pro-
fessor Wilson, whose book on cell development is a classic, sums up his
views in these words :

The study of the cell has, on the whole, seemed to widen rather than to
narrow the enormous gap that separates even the lowest forms of life from the
inorganic world.6

Sir William Tilden, the English chemist, is equally emphatic from
the chemical standpoint. He writes :

Far be it from any man of science to affirm that any given set of phenomena
is not a fit subject of inquiry, and that there is any limit to what may be re-
vealed in answer to systematic and well-directed investigation. In the present
instance, however, it appears to me that this [the origin of living matter] is not
a field for the chemist, nor one in which chemistry is likely to afford any assist-
ance whatsoever.?

Let it at once be stated clearly and emphatically that the ultra-
scientific view is based primarily upon analogy — a very valuable method
provided it is not carried to excess, and provided, also, sufficient experi-
mental data are at hand. Mendeleeff s periodic classification tended to
show that caesium, rubidium, sodium and potassium were closely allied,

might have produced millions of times organisms that survived but a few hours,
but in which, also, by a favorable conjunction of those forces, what we now call
life might have come into existence." No less fanciful is Armstrong himself
(see H. E. Armstrong, "The Origin of Life: A Chemists' Fantasy," Smith-
sonian Eeport, Publication 2214). And yet we speak of the dry-as-dust scientist!

4 P. C. Mitchell, "Encyclop. Brit.," 11th ed., article on "Life."

5 Bergson, "Creative Evolution," p. 12.

6E. B. Wilson, "The Cell in Development and Inheritance," p. 330 (1907).
7 Tilden, London Times, September 10, 1912.

vol. lxxxv.— 32.

466 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

a fact which was known before Mendeleeff s time purely as a result of
experimental work on these elements. The movement of oil drops and
the interchange of substance in osmosis are certainly quicksand founda-
tions upon which to build inter-relationship theories of the animate and
the inanimate. This superficial connection fails to stand the test of
adaptation and coordination — to name two characteristic features of the
vital substance. Indeed, our knowledge is so remarkably extensive that
we can not as yet state the simplest vital manifestation in terms of
science.

But this does not make a discussion of this kind any the less valuable.
The impetus to research that it gives is productive of the highest good
to mankind, for if the results do not solve the problem, the scope of the
problem becomes so much clearer. The whole, which is made up of
many coordinated components, eludes the grasp, but the individual com-
ponents are gradually revealing many of their secrets to the untiring
scientific explorer. With the physiologist ever attentive in his study of
the human mechanism, with the chemist carefully analyzing and syn-
thesising the more complex forms of matter so intimately associated with
life's activity, with the scientific philosopher investigating the laws com-
mon both to animate and inanimate substance, who would venture to
foretell the outcome ?

The present situation may be summed up in some such way as this :

1. (a) Chemistry and physics may possibly contain all the necessary
factors, our ignorance being due to our inadequate knowledge of these
sciences, especially chemistry ; or ( o ) There may be an outside factor.

2. Whilst no definite theories as to the origin of life can as yet be ad-
vanced, it is not unreasonable to suppose that in process of time, with
consequent development, a better insight into (a), or an idea of (b)
will be obtained. Fancy may well picture even the acquirement of new
faculties, which will bring within range many of nature's present secrets,
unattainable by present methods.

3. At present we know of no better way of pursuing our search than
through the sciences. But here we are only safe when we apply them
to the things we can grasp. The application of scientific methods to
the spirit world (the methods of Crookes, Lodge and others) have thus
far been barren of result. Science, as we understand it, rules in the
world of matter, but it does not beyond. Whether this " matter " is but
a manifestation of the "spirit," whether there is any relationship be-
tween them, or whether, indeed, they spring from the same source, time
may, and time may not tell. Our duty is to plod the weary way, irre-
spective of where it leads to, or what the outcome of it may be. Patience,
diligence and truth are our guiding stars.

ARABIAN AND MEDIEVAL SURGERY 467

ARABIAN AND MEDIEVAL STTKGEKY1

By Dr. JOHN FOOTE

WASHINGTON, D. C.

AFTEE the conquest of Alexandria, when the victorious Mohamme-
dans were feeding the fires of the city baths with the priceless
treasures of the Alexandrian library, a young man who had been a stu-
dent at the now dismantled university was writing a medical work, the
sixth volume of which dealt with surgery. Little work has been done
by the Byzantine authors other than the copying of preceding works
which might otherwise be lost to us, and the works of Oribasius and
iEtius on surgery and the medical writings of Alexander of Tralles have
little more than their Greek contact to commend them. But the work
of Paul, called from his birthplace, Paul of iEgina, was more than a
mere copy. The rough, untutored Arabs who conquered Asia Minor,
were not long in being, in turn, conquered by Greek culture and Greek
science. Rapidly as this was assimilated, it is well to remember that an
important text-book on surgery had been written by one of the con-
quered before the Hellenization of the Arab had taken place. Gurlt con-
siders this a momentous work, and it describes among other things orig-
inal treatment for foreign bodies in the esophagus, the operation for
tracheotomy, and has an article on hernia. Of course this surgeon had
an operation for the radical cure, which included peritoneal suture and
drainage in its technique. Paul devised a gynecological speculum, was
credited with special knowledge of women's diseases, and indeed was
known as "The obstetritician."

The Nestorian monks had christianized many Arabs and these
Christian Arabs figure most prominently in the first period of Arabian
medicine as both translators and practitioners. The Bachtischua family,
the name being derived from Bocht Jesu, servant of Jesus, had several
illustrious members, the first, George, being physician to the caliph El
Mansur at Bagdad, and his son, as well as his grandson Gabriel, serving
Haroun' al Easchid in a like capacity. This physician claimed to have
received over $10,000,000 in fees, and the largest single fee on record,
$125,000, is credited to him. Perhaps the best known writers of this
period were Serapion, the Elder, who lived during the ninth century, and
Honein Ben Ischak, or Johannitius, whose accurate translations of the
old authors caused him to be called the Erasmus of the Arabian renais-
sance. Serapion describes an operation for stone in the kidney in which

1 Eead before the Medical History Club of Washington, D. C, December 27,
1913.

468 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

an incision is made in the groin and the pelvis incised and explored.
He did a ligation operation for hemorrhoids, wrote in detail on the use
of the catheter, and considered the suprapubic opening of the bladder
for stone a simple procedure if we can believe him.

The Jewish physicians are important figures in this period of the
history of medicine. Many of their scholars attained distinction as sur-
geons and writers; the best known of these, Maimonides, or Moses
iEgyptius, was surgeon to Saladin and lived in the twelfth century.
Spain, the rich Eoman province which had produced Lucan, the Se-
necas, Martial and Quintillian, did not entirely lose its traditions of cul-
ture after the barbarians from the north fell upon it, and the Moors,
hungry for knowledge, came to a feast of which they were soon the
masters.

The most distinguished Arabian surgical writer of the ninth cen-
tury was Rhazes, a Persian by birth, who was a singer until he was
thirty. He was a follower of Aristotle and Galen and wrote some 200
works, including a complete system of medicine and surgery. He
treated fractures with intelligence and discussed the treatment of
wounds of the intestine. Vesalius thought so well of his principal work
that he translated it, but later destroyed the translation. Ali Abbas,
who succeeded Ehazes in prestige, wrote a book, the Liber Eegis, dedi-
cated to his patron the Sultan. This was the leading Arabian text-
book until the Canons of Avicenna appeared. A method of ligating the
median basilic vein in troublesome hemorrhage after venessection is de-
scribed, as well as the technique of tapping the peritoneal cavity in
ascites. This work was translated by Constantine, and printed in Venice
in 1492.

Albucasis, a Spanish Moor, born, like Maimonides, near Cordova, was
probably the greatest of the Arabian surgeons. He lived in the second
half of the tenth century, and is reputed to have attained the age of 101.
While his writings cover the entire field of medical knowledge, his three
volumes on surgery are most original, and are the first illustrated surg-
ical writings that have come down to us. Fabricius, Harvey's teacher,
declared that he owed most of his knowledge to three writers, Celsus,
Paul of zEgina and Albucasis. Albucasis emphasized the importance to
the surgeon of a knowledge of anatomy. In discussing the treatment
of hemorrhage he advises the use of the cautery, complete division of
the partially severed artery, hemostatic applications and bandaging. He
classifies nasal polyps, advises the snare for their removal, has ingenious
methods for removing foreign bodies from the ear, makes some advances
in genito-urinary surgery, and differentiates between epitheliomata and
condylomata. He talks of the extirpation of varicose veins, but wisely
says this operation should not be resorted to unless absolutely necessary.
He diagnoses fracture of the pubic arch, and when it occurs in the fe-

ARABIAN AND MEDIEVAL SURGERY 469

male lie advises a vaginal tampon of wool, or of a blown up sheep's
bladder. Avicenna, the author of the " Canons/' was a medical rather
than a surgical writer, and his text-book was used for nearly five cen-
turies after it was written.

Bagdad and Cordova had now become the destination of many a
European scholar. The number of anatomical terms of Arabian origin
translated into Latin, according to Hyrtl, is surprising, and this more
especially in view of his assertion that " the Arabs paid very little atten-
tion to anatomy, and, of course, because of the prohibition of the Koran,
added nothing to it." He continues:

Whatever they knew they took from the Greeks and from Galen. . . .
They delighted in theory rather than practise.

This is a terse summing up of the general influence of Arabian
medicine. Taken as a whole, the Arabs were copyists and dialecticians ;
by their very virtues of erudition and scholarship they impressed upon
their medieval successors the supremity of Galenical tradition rather
than the desire for anatomical and bedside inquiry into the cause of
disease.

Constantine Africanus, who was first a traveler and a student, next a
professor in the University of Salerno, and finally a Benedictine monk
in the great abbey of Monte Cassino, is the connecting link between
Arabian and western medicine. His familiarity with oriental languages,
and his connection later with the great Benedictine order celebrated for
its libraries and zeal in copying books, gave him unique opportunities
for the translation and circulation of his medical writings. He was
born at Carthage early in the eleventh century, and died near its close.
After his travels he acted as physician and secretary to Duke Robert of
Salerno, and was made professor of medicine at the university. After
teaching for ten years he retired to the monastery, obtaining there both
the quiet and the material assistance which he needed in order to pass
his heritage of knowledge on to succeeding generations. The "Liber
Pantegni," a translation of Ali-Ben-el Abbas, as well as certain works
of Hippocrates and Galen, were among his best-known books. His orig-
inal work is better known through the writings of his students Afflacius,
Bartholemew and numerous others.

In view of this it is a seeming contradiction to have Gurlt assert that
the surgery of the Salernitian school was not a continuation of Arabian
surgery and that the surgeons of Salerno were not influenced by the
Arabian commentators. Yet he cites Roger's writings in evidence, and
declares that such authorities as are quoted come directly from the
Greek, while a good portion of the work rests on the writer's own
experiences.

Contrary to popular belief, surgery at this time was not an unlearned
profession, for there were many surgeons connected with the early uni-

470 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

«
versifies. The degradation of the surgeon comes later in the middle

ages. The greatest surgical teacher of the early thirteenth century was

Koger, who wrote about 1180. His work was annotated by his pupil

Poland, and the work of both edited later by the Four Masters. Gurlt

says of the latter:

This volume constitutes one of the most important sources for the history of
surgery in the later Middle Ages, and makes it very clear that these writers drew
their opinions from a very rich experience.

Their diagnosis of fractures of the skull is quite modern, subdural
hemorrhage is described, and the technique is given for a decompression
operation for depressed fractures, the old writers saying:

In elevating the cranium, be solicitous lest you infect the dura mater.

Suturing with silk, and drainage, are recommended for scalp
wounds, and the prognosis of infected wounds is considered at length.
The surgeon was told that he must keep his hands clean and that he
must especially avoid not only menstruating women, but all women, if
he would operate successfully.

Bruno da Longoburgo, Theodoric, Hugo of Lucca, and William of
Salicet are a famous group of North Italian surgeons of this period.
Mondino, the author of the first book on dissection, Lanfranc, who
taught at Paris, and, in the words of Pagel, "gave that primacy to
French surgery which it maintained all the centuries down to the nine-
teenth/' as well as de Mondeville and Guy de Chauliac, belong to the
early fourteenth century.

Hugo of Lucca and his son Theodoric used opium and mandragora
to produce anesthesia, and also used a mixture to be inhaled from a
sponge, the composition of which is not definitely known. Fifteen great
universities arose in Italy from the tenth to the fourteenth centuries,
and in all of these surgery was taught. Bruno was the first of the Ital-
ian surgeons to quote Arabian as well as Greek authorities. He worked
at the universities of Vicenza, Padua and Verona. His " Chirurgia
Magna" was completed at Padua in 1252. He insisted that surgery
was largely handwork, and must therefore be learned from practical
experience and observation. He sums up three important offices of
surgery as : " to bring together separated parts, to separate those abnor-
mally united and to extirpate what is superfluous." He discusses
wounds, healing by first and second intention, indications for suturing
and for drainage. He advised against the use of water in wounds, espe-
cially the water in camps and battlefields. Wounds of the intestine he
directed to be cleansed with warm wine and closed with fine silk sutures.

Hugh of Lucca was city physician to Bologna, and his writings were
edited by his son Theodoric. Theodoric studied medicine, entered the
Dominican order at the age of 23, but continued to practise surgery in
Bologna, devoting his fees to charity. At 50 he was made a bishop.
In his text-book, finished about 1226, he says :

ARABIAN AND MEDIEVAL SURGERY 471

All wounds should be treated only with wine and bandaging.

He emphasized the importance of diet in assisting in wound re-
pair, warned against the wounding of nerves, and suggests bringing
ends of cut nerves in proximity to favor repair. It is surprising to find
these old surgeons writing of union by first intention, and insisting on
cleanliness and antiseptic dressings, such as strong wine. With regard
to their treatment of wounds, Professor Allbutt, of Oxford, undoubtedly
our greatest English authority on the history of medicine, writes as
follows :

They washed the wounds with wine, scrupulously removing every foreign
particle; then they brought the edges together, not allowing wine nor anything
else to remain within — dry adhesive surfaces were their desire. Nature, they
said, produces the means of union in a viscous exudation, or natural balm, as it
was afterwards called by Pare and Wurtz. In older wounds they did their best
to secure union by cleansing, desiccation and refreshing of the edges. Upon the
outer surface they laid lint steeped in wine. Powders they regarded as too desic-
cating, for powder shuts in decomposing matters; wine, after washing, purifying
and drying the raw surface, evaporates.

Theodoric was six centuries in advance of his time when he wrote:

For it is not necessary, as Eoger and Eoland have written, and as many of
their disciples teach, and as all modern surgeons profess, that pus should be gen-
erated in wounds. No error can be greater than this. Such a practise is indeed
to hinder nature, to prolong the disease, and to prevent the conglutination and
consolidation of the wound.

Theodoric, like our present-day surgeons, was proud of his small and
beautiful scars produced without using salves "Pulcherrias cicatrices
sine unguento aliquo inducebat," while poultices, oils and powders on
wounds, he said, incarcerated foul material, "saniem incarcerare," evi-
dence enough that this writer knew not only the art, but also the funda-
mental principles of good surgery.

William of Salicet passed his early life at Bologna, and later was muni-
cipal and hospital physician to Verona. Being himself both a physician
and a surgeon, he believed that these two branches of medicine should not
be separated. In his book he quotes previous authorities less than his
predecessors, and he condemns the abuse of the cautery popularized by
Arabian writings, and advocates the use of the knife. He describes
operations for the relief of hydrocephalus, various eye conditions, nasal
polypi and tumors of the mouth. He relates the history of a tumor,
probably an epulis, larger than a hen's egg, which he removed from the
gums of the upper jaw, and says that he performed the operation in
four steps, the last being the resection of a portion of the jaw bone. He
did not hesitate to operate on cystic goiter, but he describes the large
veins encountered in certain types of goiter and he warns against
hemorrhage from them.

Lanfranc practised at Milan until his banishment about 1290. He

472 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

then practised at Lyons, and later taught at Paris, where he attracted
great numbers of students by his fame as a teacher and an operator. He
completed his " Chirurgia Magna" in 1296. Ten years later he died,
but meanwhile he had transferred the center of the surgical world from
Italy to France. Lanfranc was probably the first surgeon to absolutely
distinguish between nerve and tendon, and he was the first to advocate
and practise nerve suture.

Henry de Mondeville, or Henricus, was a Norman, little known
until modern times. The first printed edition of his book was edited
by Professor Pagel, in Berlin, in 1892. Mondeville was a scholar and a
traveler. Born in France, he studied under Theodoric in Italy, and
later at Montpellier and Paris. He afterwards lectured in both of these
universities. He was a very busy man — a teacher, a consultant and one
of the physicians to King Philip le Bel. We see in him the not un-
familiar picture of the famous surgeon trying to make time for his
writing. He died before he was forty of some lung disease — probably
tuberculosis. He sketched the earlier chapters of his work on his sick
bed, but wrote the practical portion at length in the last chapter so
that his students might profit by his experience. He was a shining
example of the wide culture and erudition of the university-trained
surgeon of his day, quoting, as he did, not only from the Latin, Greek
and Arabian authorities on medicine, but also from Cato, Diogenes,
Horace, Ovid, Plato, Seneca and other classics not popularly known
until the Renaissance. Mondeville used a large magnet to extract por-
tions of iron from tissues, and invented an instrument for extracting
barbed arrows from the flesh. He wrote intelligently on the nursing
problem, and spoke of the difficulties to the surgeon when wives nursed
their husbands. A chapter on the history of surgery is a novel feature
of his book. He was one of the first, if not the very first, to use illus-
trations in teaching anatomy.

Yperman, who was sent by the town of his name in Belgium to
Paris in order to learn surgery, fulfilled his mission, and returning to
his native town, practised and wrote two books on surgery in Flemish.
John Ardern, an Englishman, studied at Montpellier, and, returning to
England, practised and wrote on surgery. The " Practica " is a com-
prehensive work by this English surgeon, containing many case his-
tories. He was a skillful operator, especially famed as a proctologist,
and was the first surgeon to collect careful statistics of his eases. His
book is illustrated, and he writes on what we now recognize as appen-
dicitis under the title " Against Colic and the Iliac Passion." Ardern
was the first great English surgeon.

We are inclined to deny to the middle ages anything approaching
our tolerance of thought in the domain of education. The idea of co-
education, and women in the learned professions, would seem to be

ARABIAN AND MEDIEVAL SURGERY 473

essentially modern. Coeducation was tried in the middle ages and found
wanting, and women taught in the medieval universities, and were emi-
nent as physicians, gynecologists and obstetricians. Salerno admitted
women to the study of medicine, and women's diseases were taught
entirely by women teachers. The most famous of these was Trotula,
said to have been the wife of one of the professors. She wrote two
books, the most important one being called " Trotula's Wonderful Book
of Experience in the Diseases of Women, Before, During and After
Labor, with All Other Details Likewise Eelating to Labor." Prenatal
care, nursing and the care of mother and child during the puerperium
are considered. In the chapter on the perineum a description is given
of a complete tear, together with directions for a radical cure in which
sutures with silk thread are employed. This author writes:

The woman is then placed in bed with the feet elevated, and must remain
in that position even for eating and drinking and all the necessaries of life, for
eight or nine days. During this period, also, there should be even no bathing,
and care must be taken to avoid everything that might cause coughing, and all
indigestible material.

All students of obstetrics might read with profit her directions for
care of the perineum during labor. She says :

In order to avoid the aforesaid danger, care should be taken . . . somewhat
as follows: a cloth should be folded somewhat in oblong shape and placed on the
anus, so that, during every effort for the expulsion of the child, that should be
pressed firmly in order that there may not be any solution of the continuity of
tissue.

Her works were printed at Strassburg in 1544, and in Leipsig as
late as 1778. Nicaise, Chauliac's biographer, says:

Women continued to practise medicine in Italy for centuries, and the names
of some who attained great renown have been preserved to us. Their works are
still quoted from in the fifteenth century. . . .

Chauliac criticized women surgeons of his day for being too timid
in taking chances, and refusing to operate on dangerous cases. There
were at least seven women professors at Salerno who wrote works that
have survived. One of these, Mercuriade, was a surgeon, and wrote
" On the Cure of Wounds." Another one, Abella, wrote " On the
Nature, of Seminal Fluid " and " Black Bile." Eebecca Guarna wrote
on " Fevers," " The Urine " and " The Embryo."

The last great name in medieval surgery is Guy de Chauliac, that
brilliant man who, both chronologically and in virtue of his methods,
may be looked upon as the father of modern surgery, if indeed that dis-
tinction may be conferred upon any one individual. Born in southern
France late in the thirteenth century, he was educated at Montpellier,
and then journeyed down to Bologna in Italy, to do post-graduate work
in surgery, finally finishing his studies in Paris. One of his teachers

474 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

at Montpeliier was Bernard Gordon, author of "Lillium Medicinse,"
and a fellow student was John of Gaddesden, the first English Eoyal
Physician, who is mentioned by Chaucer in his " Doctor of Physic."
Guy did not like John's Book, "Rosae Anglian " because it lacked
originality and clung to authority unsupported by experience. At
Bologna he studied under Bertruccius, and he relates how " very often "
to quote his exact words, his master dissected dead bodies in four
lessons. His attitude toward anatomical study is shown by his expres-
sion, " The surgeon ignorant of anatomy carves the human body as a
blind man carves wood." He practised first in his native province, later
in Lyons, and finally was physician and chamberlain to three successive
popes at Avignon. He occupied the latter part of his life with writing
his " Chirurgia Magna," his " Solatium senectutis," he called it.
Nicaise emphasizes the freshness and originality of Guy's viewpoint, and
quotes him concerning the surgeons of his own and preceding genera-
tions as follows:

One thing is especially a source of annoyance to me, in what these surgeons
have written, and it is that they follow one another like so many cranes. For
one always says what the other says. I do not know whether it is from fear or
from love that they do not deign to listen except to such things as they have been
accustomed to, and as have been proven by authorities. They have to my mind
understood very badly Aristotle's second book of metaphysics when he shows
that these two things, fear and love, are the greatest obstacles on the road to the
knowledge of the truth. Let them give up such friendships and such fears.

For while Socrates or Plato may be a friend, truth is a greater
friend.

. . . Let them follow the doctrine of Galen which is entirely made up of
experience and reason, and in which one investigates things and despises words.

In writing on surgery of the brain he records the loss of brain sub-
stance with recovery, and notes the recovery, under expectant treatment,
of many patients with suspected fracture of the skull. His study of the
surgical anatomy of the ribs and diaphragm as applied in opening the
thorax, shows sound surgical sense. In wounds of the intestines he
gives an unfavorable prognosis unless the abdomen be quickly opened
and the wounds sewed up. He describes his sutures and his special
needle-holder, like any modern surgeon. In his chapter on amputations
he writes on the use of opium, morel, hyoscyamus, mandragora, ivy,
hemlock and lettuce to abolish pain during operations, and also refers
to inhalation anesthesia, from a sponge soaked in various sleep-produc-
ing drugs. Taxis and reduction in hernia were developed by him, and
he invented several trusses. Many operations for hernia, he wrote, bene-
fited the surgeon more than the patient. In strangulation he insisted
upon immediate operation. He describes six hernia operations, and
criticizes all of them, easily enough, since all of the operations at this

ARABIAN AND MEDIEVAL SURGERY 475

time included removal of the testicle. He alludes to the use of gold
wire, a forerunner of the silver wire of our day. His inventions for the
reduction of fractures and dislocations were far in advance of his day
and many of these cases were cared for in hospitals. Virchow has told
us of the excellence of the hospitals in the thirteenth century, and of
the good care given to the patients. How Chauliac and later genera-
tions of surgeons came to accept the doctrine of the formation of laud-
able pus in wound healing, when at this period surgical cleanliness, the
use of antiseptic wine dressings, and the possibility of natural union by
viscous exudate were written on and discussed, is difficult to under-
stand. But even in Chauliac's time, surgery was becoming more and
more divorced from medicine, and the surgeons were ceasing to be
students.

Chauliac was a genius living in an age of remarkable achievement.
Dante's "Divine Comedy" and Petrarch's sonnets were written in his
lifetime. Boccaccio and Chaucer were of his day. Giotto was painting
wonderful pictures, the great cathedrals were building and the universi-
ties were flourishing, and as Professor Huxley said in his rectorial ad-
dress at Aberdeen, in 1847, " probably educating in the real sense of the
word better than we do now." Portal in his " History of Anatomy and
Surgery " says :

Finally, it may be averred that Guy de Chauliac said nearly everything
which modern surgeons say, and that his work is of infinite price, but unfortu-
nately too little read, too little pondered.

This obviously extravagant praise is not discounted by Albutt who
writes :

This great work [the " Chirurgia Magna"] I have studied carefully and
not without prejudice: yet I can not wonder that Fallopius compared the author
to Hippocrates or that John Friend called him the Prince of Surgeons. It is
rich, aphoristic, orderly and precise.

Decadence in surgery began after Chauliac's death. His successors
seemed to think that they had little more to learn, and boasted, as each
generation does, of their progress. Wars and political disturbances also
came to distract men's minds, and study and achievement ebbed away
from the standard set by Guy and his immediate predecessors, until the
great flood tide of knowledge that came with the Eenaissance.

References

Nuburger. Gesch. Medizen. Tr. by Playfair (London, 1911).

Walsh, Jas. J. Makers of Old Time Medicine (N. Y., 1911).

Garrison, F. H. History of Medicine (Philadelphia, 1914).

Original manuscripts, reprints and Aldine editions of the works of Arabian
and medieval surgeons were loaned for reference and exhibition through the
kindness of the Surgeon General's Library, TJ. S. A.

476 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

CIVILIZATION AS A SELECTIVE AGENCY

By ROLAND HUGINS

COKNELL UNIVERSITY

WRITERS of recent years appear to agree that there has been little
or no improvement of civilized man through selection. Since
the dawn of history, it is recognized that many selective forces, some
favorable, some deleterious, have acted on the human breed; but it is
denied that any constant and effective agency which would bring about a
marked advance in moral and intellectual quality has been in operation.
August Weismann expressed himself on this score clearly, though with
scientific reserve. He said :x

But as a mere suggestion, without any pretense to exactness, I will state
that the people of "antiquity," viz., the ancient civilized nations of the Medi-
terranean, had already, at the very dawn of their history, attained the highest
level of intellectual development. If any further growth has occurred since in
European states, it certainly has been so imperceptibly small that it could cause
no sensible difference in the susceptibility of the human soul to music. The
times which produced such legislators as Moses and Solon, poets like Homer
and Sophocles, philosophers and men of science like Aristotle, Plato and Archim-
edes— times which created the Egyptian temples and pyramids and the statues
of the Greek gods, most undoubtedly display the achievements of the human in-
tellect at its best. And an age which produced the gentle and forgiving Chris-
tian philosophy shows us that, as regards character and feeling, the human mind
had attained the highest development.

This view has come, indeed, to be orthodox. Except among think-
ers who still cling to the Lamarckian doctrine, it is generally accepted.
It is taken over without reservation in many books on social theory.2
According to this principle our inheritance is primitive inheritance.
The growth of the social heritage, rather than changes in the racial
heritage, has wrought civilization for us and bridged the gap between
aboriginal Teuton and modern German. Mankind may have progressed,
certainly has altered, but for cause we must look to " those contrivances
which enable human beings to advance independently of heredity."3

Among writers of authority possibly no one has given more emphasis
to this conception that Alfred Russel Wallace, codiscoverer with Dar-
win of natural selection. In his latest book4 Wallace reiterates the
conclusion :

i ' ' Thoughts Upon the Musical Sense in Animals and Man. ' '
2 For example, see Simon N. Patten, "The New Basis of Civilization
p. 169.

3D. G. Ritchie, "Darwinism and Politics," p. 101.
4 " Social Environment and Moral Progress," p. 102.

j t

CIVILIZATION AS A SELECTIVE AGENCY 477

that the higher intellectual and moral nature of man has been approximately
stationary during the whole period of human history, and that the cause of the
phenomenon has been the absence of any selective agency adequate to increase it.

Somewhat earlier than this Wallace asked :5

Looking back at the course of our history from the Saxon invasion to the
end of the nineteenth century, what single cause can we allege for an advance in
intellect and moral nature? What selective agency of "survival value" has ever
been at work to preserve the wise and good and to eliminate the bad? And it
must have been a very powerful agency, acting in a very systematic manner,
even to neutralize the effect of the powerful deteriorating agencies above re-
ferred to.

And again :

there is no good evidence of any considerable improvement in man's average
intellectual and moral status during the whole period of human history.

At one point in this essay, as a matter of fact, Wallace goes so far
as to say, after discussing the ways in which the human breed was
brutalized by the withdrawal of the more refined natures to monasteries
and nunneries, and the destruction of radicals and students during the
witchcraft mania and by the inquisition, that :

we are to-day, in all probability, mentally and morally inferior to our semi-
barbaric ancestors.

Must we accept this view as final? Are we sure that a denial of
selection during historic times, strongly supported as it is, expresses the
whole truth? In the first place, it certainly runs counter to the wide-
spread belief that men are to-day inherently more humane, kindlier in
character and action, than they were in antiquity. Attention is often
called to the growth of altruism, especially during the past century. It
is maintained that suffering will not be endured, either among men or
animals, as in former times; that cruel punishments have been abol-
ished; that brutal sports, once popular, now only disgust and repel.
Further evidence of increasing altruism is offered in the development
of social legislation, and in the multiplication of charitable and educa-
tional enterprises. And it must be admitted that the twentieth century,
with its vast philanthropies, its soft-heartedness, verging so often even
to sentimentality, and its insistence on the ideal of service, belongs to a
different world from the hard life of the Greek and Latin city states,
which seem, sometimes, in their unthinkable indifference to human pain
and the rights of the weaker, to be prototypes of nothing modern except
the Camorra and the Mafia.

This notion that the human breed is now, in civilized societies,
kinder, gentler, more tractable, is not merely a popular idea. One
phase of it has been remarked upon by that keen observer, Walter
Bagehot.6

s "Evolution and Character," Fortnightly Review, Vol. 89, 1908, pp. 1-24.
e "Physics and Politics," p. 25.

478 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

They both (Aristotle and Plato) — unlike as they are — hold with Zenophon —
so unlike both — that man is the ' ' hardest of all animals to govern. "... We
reckon, as the basis of our culture, upon an amount of order, of tacit obedience,
of prescriptive governability, which those philosophers hoped to get as a prin-
cipal result of their culture.

Bagehot, of course, had no difficulty in explaining this increase in
social amenability which he believed he observed. He had accepted the
idea that acquired characters are inherited; and he thought that our
modern orderliness and sympathy would be attained "when the soft
minds and strong passions of youthful nations are fixed and guided by
hard transmitted instincts." But if we rule out this agency, and adhere
to the position of Weismann, now generally acknowledged as correct,
we must forego this easy explanation and seek some other reason than
the transmission of acquired characters for the world's increasing moral
stability.

There remain two possible views to be taken of the fact that the
moral complexions of the ancient world and the modern are so different.
First, we may accept the orthodox dictum, and maintain that any ap-
parent changes are due to the increased weight, so to speak, of the race's
moral heritage — to strengthened social controls and the ascendency of
new ethical types; or secondly, we may postulate a change in man's
innate moral nature, accompanying and reenforcing the influence of the
augmented social heritage. We shall be justified in pursuing the second,
and bolder, course only if we can discern some selective agency adequate
to effect the change.

It is here suggested that such a selective agency can be discerned as
operative, an agency at once powerful, comprehensive and continuous.
We may denominate it the elimination of the anti-social — that is, the
constant cutting off of those elements in society which do not fit in with
the requirements of orderly civilized life. The forms that this process
has taken — a number of which we shall examine shortly — have been
many and diverse ; but the result has been unified and focused.

Settled community life creates an environment of its own, imposing
new requirements of " fitness." A heavy survival value comes to attach
to tractability, so that non-conformity, in greater or less degree, leads
to extinction or failure to beget offspring. The church and the state cut
off the anti-social person by capital punishment, imprisonment and
banishment; while the anti-social individual eliminates himself by
suicide, by choice of a dangerous occupation, by withdrawal to the
world's frontiers, by exposing himself to vice and racial poisons. Those
who tend to survive and perpetuate themselves, on the other hand, are
those whose moral natures make the restraints of sedentary communal
life less irksome.

It would not be possible — nor is it necessary to our present purpose

CIVILIZATION AS A SELECTIVE AGENCY 479

— to draw a sharp line between the social and the anti-social. That
psychology of individual differences which might enable us to grade
men and women into distinct ethical types is still in process of creation.
Yet in a broad empirical way it is easy to distinguish the moral quali-
ties favorable to communal life. The complete social person is marked,
fundamentally, by industry, self-control, kindliness, perseverance and
the ability to subordinate present pleasure to future welfare. Anti-so-
cial persons embody the opposite characteristics — shiftlessness, violence,
brutality, predatory tendencies, viciousness and impatience at restraint.
Of course these qualities, social and anti-social, combine in all sorts of
mixtures in all sorts of persons. But the principle is clear. As na-
ture's standards of fitness become progressively more civil the social
qualities stand a better and better chance, in contrast with their oppo-
sites, of perpetuation.

One reason thinkers have overlooked the existence and operation of
this selective factor has been a too great preoccupation with the ques-
tion of intellectual and moral improvement. This, as we shall note
later, has led to wrong inferences from the data. The problem, in fact,
is not one of advance, but one of change. Another source of error has
been a confinement of attention to group selection, leading to excessive
emphasis of the importance of military success, and neglect of internal
selective processes in semi-military communities.

It has long been recognized, of course, that before the emergence of
civilizations along the Nile and the Euphrates the race had been sub-
jected to discipline for hundreds of thousands of years. Men lived in
groups where tribal custom was supreme. The necessity of prolonged
care during infancy had sifted out the gentler mothers and fathers.
The clans, moreover, waged incessant war among themselves ; and fight-
ing strength and pugnacity being equal, the clan most solidly cemented
by fellow feeling succeeded in the conflict with less adhesive clans. So-
cial solidarity, crystallized and preserved in the " cake of custom," stood
at a survival premium. Therefore at the beginning of civilization selec-
tion had already picked out and conserved a certain minimum of tracta-
bility.

Was this role of selection dropped with the passing of the predatory
pastoral stage and the setting up of orderly communal life ? Has the
capital of cooperative spirit, acquired before the pyramids, sufficed for
all subsequent elaborations ? Is not the truth rather that, although the
mode of eliminating the anti-social elements has altered, the process has
been continuous? Men began to be graded into classes, into occupa-
tions and castes. Up to that time man's nature had been clan-hewn.
Thereafter selection worked on the individuals within the group, sifting
them out in their extensive variety.

48o THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

II

We may now examine a number of the ways in which this form of
socialized selection has worked. Here we shall not try to proceed
chronologically, or attempt to strike a quantitative balance between this
and other selective forces operating within historic times. Yet by a
sketchy enumeration of the factors we may, possibly, suggest how strin-
gent and unrelenting has been the elimination of the anti-social.

In the first place, obviously, the state itself is constantly trying to
grind out of society its elements of friction. To-day murderers are
executed, and lesser criminals separated from their families and im-
prisoned; but the penal regulations of the present are charity itself
compared with the harsh punishments of the past. For centuries a
gallows decorated every cross-roads in Europe, and malefactors, great
and petty, were ruthlessly weeded out. Even a hundred years ago in
England there were two hundred and twenty-three crimes punishable
by death. Throughout the stressful past persons who preferred theft
to industry, who scorned constituted authority, who were heedless of
the rights and pains of others, were — when caught — swiftly annihilated.
Mutilations, shortening life, were so common that the highways were
frequently crowded with maimed beggars. Despite tbe chaos of medie-
val times life was hazardous for the predatory — at least for the preda-
tory poor.

Again: for many centuries rebellions have been suppressed with
bloody finality. Although quickness to rebel, boldness to defy, do not
necessarily mark a man as anti-social, yet meekness and a bending to
authority, like forbearance, are bound up temperamentally with a
kindly disposition and brotherly love. It must be further remembered
that the persecutions of the church in all ages have cut off the recalci-
trant along with the liberal. Although there has been loss in original-
ity, there has been gain in pliancy. Some of the martyrs were more
anarchists than saints. Finally, under the head of legally enforced
conformity stands the fact that practically all the civilized race has
passed, at one time or another, under a regime of slavery or serfdom.
Captives have often come to form, after a few generations, the bulk of
the population of the conquering nation. The slave is seldom free to
propagate, or, frequently, to live, against the will of his master; so that
the descendants of slaves and serfs are bred from the most docile and
most industrious of the first generations. Slavery as an institution has
vanished, but its effects on human reproduction have been far reaching ;
for thus man aided directly in his own domestication.

We next consider those various modes of elimination which may be
grouped under the term voluntary withdrawal. Suicide during early
life effectually abolishes an anti-social strain. The person who has lost

CIVILIZATION AS A SELECTIVE AGENCY 481

the will to live is one who, speaking in the large, has found the condi-
tions of civilized existence unbearahle. Suicide as a selective agency is
not negligible. The present annual rate for European countries runs
above one hundred per million of living; and every day in the year
there is a self-murder in the Prussian schools.

Occupational and geographical withdrawal, furthermore, is more
significant than withdrawal from life. The hardy, callous, near-savage
type of man has ever been employed to do the rough and dangerous work
of civilization. From this obdurate material has, in all stages of in-
dustrial development, been drawn the sailors, the miners, the range-
riders, the pioneers. The bonds of civilized life moreover, are an irrita-
tion to many strong and reckless spirits. Such cut loose; for so long
as people live together in a net of social interrelations, some overactive
elements will break through to the freer life of adventure. Hazardous
occupations and adventurous callings have offered opportunity for segre-
gation and voluntary exile. Who, from the first, have been our ex-
plorers, our soldiers of fortune, our gold-seekers ? Of what stuff are the
lads who, in all times, have "run away to sea" or "gone West"?
Surely not those who were succeeding best in their trades, not the young
men of peaceful ambitions, not those enamored of family life. In
somewhat the same class are those restless or slothful souls who take to
"the open road." The number of professional tramps in this country
is about two hundred thousand. Their occupation is to avoid work:
they are anti-social.

It is plain that those who withdraw socially or geographically from
their kind contribute less than their normal share to the blood of pros-
perity. Combat and danger bring death to a considerable proportion.
The rest are outside the pale of regular family life. In trading posts,
in mining towns, along the frontiers, males are largely in excess; and
they are relatively barren. The influence of this selective factor,
coupled with the results of military selection, can hardly be over-em-
phasized. From the loins of the "stay-at-homes" come succeeding
generations. The prophecy has been fulfilled; the meek have inherited
the earth.

It may be worth while to notice more particularly the effects of
military selection, especially because the peace advocates have recently,
in their attempt to make out a strong case against war at this point,
quite effectively muddled the subject. Possibly the persistence of the
military organization, involving the continuous recruiting of a profes-
sional military class, alongside of the waxing industrial organization,
is the most conspicuous fact in history. Selectively, the question to be
asked is : what sorts of men have perished in war ? Who marched away ?
The one patent answer is: not those who were the most peaceably in-
clined. The factors are, of course, complex; but military selection has

vol lxxxv. — 33.

482 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

drained, on the whole, neither the best nor the worst of the racial
stock, but has been an outlet for the intractable members of society.
Wild, ungovernable boys, hoodlums in the making, men with the blood-
lust still strong in them — such have joined the army and entered the
navy through the centuries. The great mercenary forces, recruited so
long throughout Europe, did not deprive civilization of men in whom
the social virtues were strongly marked. The professional military
class has always absorbed — and utilized to advantage, indeed — the men
tbat in the freedom of a purely commercial regime would have been
so much explosive material.

This is not to deny, it is admitted, that war has often resulted in
retrogression through unfavorable selection. But the peace advocates
reveal the one-sidedness of their argument by a too frequent appeal to
examples of revolution and internal rebellion, like the French Kevolu-
tion and the Civil War in the United States, where members of the
superior and ruling classes were lopped off, or where enormous masses
of enthusiastic volunteers were enlisted from the citizenship. If war
had committed such ravages in the human stock as these pacificists
maintain, it might be supposed that there would have been a decline in
the fighting force of civilized men. But the very opposite is true.
Modern men are braver and steadier, make better soldiers, than did the
men of antiquity.7 The reason is that the same moral qualities which
have been selected through the elimination of the anti-social, are, in
part, the virtues which make the best armies — such virtues as obedience,
the habit of discipline, self-control and steadfastness. And, curiously
enough, in the breeding out of the opposite qualities, the predatory dis-
position, irresponsibility and refractoriness, the unbroken existence of
the military organization has played its part.

Another prominent factor in socialized selection comes under the
head of vice and racial poisons. No argument is required to prove that
persons who indulge in sexual excesses, in drunkenness, in drug habits,
in debauchery of any kind, are anti-social, lacking the moral stamina
which would make them, say, self-supporting individuals contributing
their share to the social income. Our point is that vice, in the degree
of indulgence, is also eliminative. Sexual excesses, for example, sap
energy, weaken resistance to disease, and predispose to early death.
The more licentious a man or woman, the greater are his or her chances
of contracting a venereal disease. Gonorrhea and syphilis, where they
do not kill, tend to sterilize. Consequently those who can not, through
lack of self-control or excessive lust, conform to social and ethical
standards of purity, cripple themselves in reproductive power. Prosti-
tutes, a big population in every country, every age, bear few, if any,
children.

» ' < Physics and Politics, ' ' p. 47.

CIVILIZATION AS A SELECTIVE AGENCY 483

Alcohol and the other narcotics produce much the same results. On
the question as to what extent drunkenness is due to flabby moral fiber,
there has been dispute. Archdall Eeid declares8 that alcohol taken to
excess is an " agent of elimination at once selective and very stringent.
It weeds out great numbers of individuals of a particular type — those
most susceptible to its charm." This authority thinks moral resistance
to alcoholic temptation of small consequence ; men, he says, " indulge in
it in proportion to their desires." On this point there is naturally much
dissent, but there is no need that we enter the controversy. Certain
men are swamped by alcohol and other- men left. In so far as the moral
factor determines the incidence of this selective force, we have elimina-
tion of the anti-social.

Finally we may note one more agency which works for the increase
of social tractability. The various factors we have mentioned so far
have been mainly phases of lethal selection ; now we turn for a moment
to sexual and reproductive selection. In every generation there are
persons who are debarred or abstain from wedlock. Among the men
who enter matrimony a certain proportion desert their wives or are
divorced. There is, further, a wide-spread practise, rapidly growing in
our day, of placing voluntary restraints on child-bearing.

Now persons who do not mate with the opposite sex, or mated, refuse
to have children, are sometimes those whose social sympathies are feeble.
The domestic virtues are the social virtues par excellence. We could
never breed a race of misogamists, nor are we in any danger of popu-
lating the earth with a race of women militant against men. Along
with many other results we perhaps have here some elimination of the
anti-social. But we do not care to stress this point. The motives which
lead to voluntary childlessness are numerous and mixed, and the final
influence on the racial inheritance seems most disastrous, since it sub-
stantially results in a continuous sterilization of the better stocks. All
things considered, this is the gravest difficulty that the eugenists have
to face.

Ill

The foregoing hasty summary of the more important factors which
have conferred survival value on altruism and tractability has, it is
hoped, given some appearance of solidity to the contention that there
has been a steady elimination of the anti-social throughout historic
times. It is not argued that we have here an explanation of all the
moral differences between the civilizations of antiquity and of the
present. The increments of knowledge, the growth of cohesive social
and political institutions and the betterment of economic conditions,
have all played a part in knitting the moral fabric of the world of

s "The Principles of Heredity," p. 195.

484 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

to-day. Nevertheless, the centuries spent in purging the primitive from
the race have contributed to the result. Undoubtedly, too, this agency
will continue to operate in the future, although with what modifications
it is hard to predict.

Patently it is impossible to weigh statistically the effect of the many
criss-cross forces which have molded nations, or to reconstruct with
accuracy the historical process. Both the men who perished and the
men who survived are now gone beyond recall. It might be suggested
that we could make a "control test" by analyzing the mental char-
acters of contemporary savages, who are often said to be close replicas
of our own barbarian ancestors. We might, provided we had the psy-
chological method at hand, make enough mental tests to define a type-
barbarian. In similar wise we might be able to define a civilized type.
Then by comparing the two we could determine what were the inherent
moral differences between them. But there are unsurmountable difficul-
ties in this procedure. We have not the psychological method as yet to
work with, and after the work had been accomplished we could not be
sure that the savages whose natures had been charted were in truth
identical with the ancients from whom civilized men are sprung. We
should, moreover, become entangled in the questions of racial differ-
ences— why, for example, some savage peoples, like the Papuans, the
Aleuts and the Dyaks, are so amiable, while other savages, such as the
North American Indians and the Gonds, are bloodthirsty; or why the
ancient Egyptians were apparently less cruel than the ancient Assy-
rians. In our discussion of selective agencies attention has been directed
chiefly to the development of the Aryan peoples.

One test of a logical nature is available. If we grant the validity of
socialized selection we find an immediate explanation of the paradox
which has puzzled former commentators on the dissimilarities of the
classic and modern cultures. We can now understand why it is that
there has been an enormous increase of kindliness, of steadiness, of
"prescriptive governability," despite the fact that early civilizations
were quite as prolific of eminent men of the highest intellectual and
moral caliber.

As we said earlier, confusion has been wrought by looking for moral
improvement where there has been only moral change. A growth in
human meekness may very naturally have been accompanied by a
decline in a certain splendid turbulent virility possessed by our ances-
tors. When this selective instrument made men more sympathetic, it
may also have made them less daring. David Starr Jordan remarks :9

If France, through wine, has grown temperate, she has grown tame. "New
Mirabeaus, " Carlyle tells us, "one hears not of; the wild kindred has gone out
with this, its greatest."

»"The Human Harvest," p. 69.

CIVILIZATION AS A SELECTIVE AGENCY 485

To get altruism we have sacrificed the higher, intenser type of
energy; and the cowboy, the soldier and the haughty aristocrat typify
the passing virtues of the race. There is a great deal of pregnant
meaning in the assertion of William James that the world is evolving
into a middle-class paradise.10

An irremediable flatness is coming over the world. Bourgeoisie and medi-
ocrity, church socials and teachers ' conventions, are taking the place of the old
heights and depths and romantic chiaroscuro. . . . The higher heroisms and
the rare old flavors are passing out of life.

Along with this probable decline in energy and intensity, it must be
remembered that the elimination of the anti-social has never conferred
survival value on originality, on intellectual independence, on path-
breaking initiative, or on genius. In fact the very agencies which con-
served sociability were the ones which cut down inventive capacity. No
force has been at work to increase the racial store of eloquence, poetic
imagination, of musical and mathematical ability; so that, while there
has been a progressive selection of the fundamental moral qualities,
there has perhaps at the same time been a deterioration in the esthetic
endowment.

It is plain, then, why individuals of the noblest intellectual and
moral qualities appeared as often in early civilizations as among the
millions we spawn to-day — why, as James Bryce phrases it,11 those
rare combinations of gifts which produce poetry and philosophy of the
first order " are revealed no more frequently in a great European nation
now than they were in a Semitic tribe or a tiny Greek city twenty-five
or thirty centuries ago." Nothing which the human mind exhibits at
present has been added by nature since the dawn of history. The
esthetic and intellectual powers were then in as full, if not fuller, bloom,
as now, being, as Weismann points out, by-products of the human mind,
which had been " so highly developed in all directions." 12 The average
man in those times was, we may safely assume, more brutal and flightier
than the average man of to-day, but he probably possessed a larger store
of native ability, more of sheer mental energy.13 Selection, through the
elimination of the anti-social, has whittled us down, so to speak, to fit
our civil environment, cutting away our intellectual strength and our
moral weakness with the same strokes.

This is the reason that it is unsafe to argue from the exceptional
man to the average man. The exceptional man, in the nature of the
case, exhibits a combination of the higher ethical and intellectual traits.

10" Talks to Students on Some of Life's Ideals."

11 "American Commonwealth," Vol. 11, p. 768.

12 Lecture on ' ' Heredity. ' '

is This is quite in accord with Galton's calculation that the average ability
of the Athenian race was nearly two of the mental grades higher than that of
present-day Englishmen. "Hereditary Genius," p. 330.

486 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

In him the native harshness of the race is disguised. Alfred Russel
Wallace, because of the clarity of his reasoning, betrays the precise
manner in which one falls into the mistake of supposing great men to
be a racial barometer. He declares :14

Tolstoy can hardly be ranked as higher than Buddha, or Ruskin than Con-
fucius, and as we can not suppose the amount of variation of human faculty
about a mean to be very different now from what it was in that remote era, we
must conclude that equality in the highest implies equality in the mean, and that
human nature on the whole has not advanced during the last three thousand
years.

Wallace did not realize that in some particulars the highest may
seemingly, at the distance of thirty centuries, belie the mean.

Selection has had an almost infinite variety of human material to
work on — all sorts of combinations between intellectual powers and
moral excellencies. What selection has apparently done, through those
agencies we have denominated the elimination of the anti-social, is to
knock apart the two sets of endowments, and to recombine them in ways
which give us, speaking broadly, a general average of greater moral
stability linked with lesser innate talent. Civilization, in bending
human nature to its wheel, has softened it and at the same time
crushed out some of its virgin vigor.

14 Essay on ' ' Evolution and Character. ' '

EPHEMERAL LABOR MOVEMENTS 487

EPHEMERAL LABOR MOVEMENTS, 1866-1889

By Db. FRANK T. CARLTON

ALBION COLLEGE

THE history of labor organizations (1866-1889) is a record of ebb
and flow, agitation, organization and disintegration. It is, in-
deed, a strange blend of unionism and politics, of individualism and
socialism, of strikes, greenbackism and cooperation, of prosperity,
panics and concentration of industry. This quarter of a century is
preeminently one of preparation; in it are laid the economic and psy-
chological foundations upon which have been built, in a large meas-
ure, the trade-union organizations of to-da}r. Movements, ephemeral
and incohoate, but grand in conception, hasten nervously across the
stage. At intervals during the period writers in the numerous labor
papers declare that now is a time of transition and that organization
at this particular moment will be unusually fruitful of good results.
The workers, distrustful and individualistic but harassed by the fear
of monopoly, the competition of unskilled labor, the introduction of
machinery and lower wages, cohere for a brief period under the pres-
sure of extraordinary conditions or the influence of enthusiastic lead-
ers, only to repel each other as their financial skies appear to clear.
But, by the end of the period, the labor organization had become one
of the permanent institutions of the nation.

When the civil war ended labor organizations of the trade-union
type were multiplying and waxing stronger. The return of the soldiers
to peaceful pursuits, the continued influx of immigrants from the old
world, and the growing power of industrial combinations, all contrib-
uted to arouse the wage earners of the nation to activity. The years
1866 and 1867, probably represent the period of maximum activity
during the era immediately following the surrender at Appomattox.
In 1864, an unsuccessful attempt had been made to organize a national
federation of trade unions. Two years later the National Labor Union
was organized at a National Labor Congress held in Baltimore. This
was the first successful national federation of trade unions formed since
the National Trades' Union disappeared in 1837. In 1865, a state
federation of trade unions was organized in New York — The Working-
men's Assembly. This continued until merged in 1897 with the state
organization affiliated with the American Federation of Labor. Its
chief purpose seems to have been to influence legislation. " The distinc-
tive features of the organization are Protective, Benovelent and
Secret." 1 In the early years of the Assembly, nearly all of the affiliated

1 Proceedings of Fifth Annual Session, January, 1869.

488 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

bodies were protective, many benevolent, and at least two were secret —
The Supreme Mechanical Order of the Sun and the Knights of St.
Crispin. In 1869, the assembly favored the establishment of coopera-
tive enterprises; but little progress was reported for the year 1868. At
the close of that year there were at least six cooperative foundries in the
state.

The Workingmen's Union of New York City and vicinity, "reor-
ganized in 1861 and incorporated in 1866," was a city central labor
union. All representatives sent to this central body were required to be
"practical" workingmen actually working at their trade. The objects
of the union were to unite the strength of different organizations in
the city, to foster a friendly feeling between workingmen, to discuss and
modify proposed legislation, to adjust difficulties between labor and
capital — accepting the "axiom, That the interests of labor and capital
should be identical," — to discountenance strikes except when " they
become absolutely necessary." Evidently class consciousness was not
as yet highly developed among the organized workingmen of our larg-
est city.2 A very interesting preamble to the constitution of The Stair
Builders' Mutually Protective and Benevolent Union of New York City
offers further evidence. The Stair Builders deplored the concentration
of wealth in the hands of the few. They asserted in italics that the
"interests of the employee and the employer are identical." But they
also declared "the independent and irresponsible action of individual
employers ignores the claims and rights of employees, casts upon the
field of labor incompetent workmen, lowers the dignity of the me-
chanic, and degrades labor." Through union action they hoped to ad-
vance the interests of labor and to secure their just reward.3

In 1868, at least twelve national and international trade unions were
in existence: International Union of Bricklayers, Plasterers' Interna-
tional Union, Carpenters' National Union, National Typographical
Union, Moulders' International Union, International Union of Ma-
chinists and Blacksmiths, Coach Makers' International Union, Ship-
carpenters and Caulkers' International Union, Brotherhood of Locomo-
tive Engineers, Glass-Bottle Blowers' Association, Cigar Makers'
International Union, Knights of St. Crispin. The Daughters of St.
Crispin was organized in 1869 ; and was the only women's trade union
having a national organization. One authority states that more than
thirty national trade unions were in existence during the decade, 1863-
1873.4

The President of the New York State Workingmen's Assembly re-
ported a membership of 280 organizations in January, 1868, and 305

2 Laws, Rules and Regulations, issued 1867.

3 Constitution and By-laws, printed in I860.

4 Andrews, "Report on the Condition of Woman and Child Wage Earners in
the United States," Vol. 10: 89.

EPHEMERAL LABOR MOVEMENTS 489

one year later. The assembly was said to represent 25,000 working peo-
ple. Five unions in New York City were reported to contain a mem-
bership of at least 1,000 persons each. These unions were : Typograph-
ical Union, No. 6, 2,300 members; Longshoremen's Society, No. 2,
2,300 members ; Bricklayers' Union, No. 2, 1,600 members ; Cigar Mak-
ers' Union, No. 90, 1,250 members; United Cabinet Makers' Union
(German), 1,000 members.5 In the year 1867, thirty thousand was
"not an extravagant estimate of the actual strength of the labor or-
ganizations in New York" City. Brooklyn, Jersey City, Newark and
the Westchester towns were estimated to contain 20,000 additional
union men.6 At the annual meeting of the Bricklayers' International
Union in 1867, it was reported that the national body contained 24
unions in good working order. One year previous, the number was
only ten.

As has been indicated, with the return of the soldiers looking for
employment, the rising tide of immigration, the greater use of labor sav-
ing devices, and the growing strength of corporate organizations, the
need of greater solidarity and unanimity of action among the working
people was felt sufficiently to enable a national federation to be formed
and continued for a few years. Like the pioneer national federation of
trade unions organized in the thirties, the National Labor Union was
merely an advisory body; it never attained much strength or prestige.
William H. Sylvis, one of America's ablest labor leaders, was an im-
portant factor in initiating and building up this organization. Mr.
Sylvis was elected president of the National Labor Union in 1868.

From its inception political activity seems to have been an im-
portant part of the work of the National Labor Union. In fact the
chief aim and purpose of the organization was political rather than
purely industrial. The first congress, held in 1866 at Baltimore, recom-
mended that steps be taken to form a national labor party " which shall
be put in operation as soon as possible." 7 Again, in 1867, it was re-
solved that the time had arrived when "the industrial classes should
cut themselves aloof from party ties and predilections and organize
themselves into a National Labor Party." In the first congress much
stress was laid upon the necessity of organizing trade unions; but, in
1868, a resolution was adopted stating that " the very existence of the
National Labor Union depends upon the immediate organization of an
independent labor party." 8 The greenback issue and the opposition to
national banks first received official recognition in 1867. Doubtless
those two issues were raised at that time because of the depression which

5 Proceedings of the 5th Annual Session (1869).

6 New Yorlc Tribune, April 30, 1867; also in "The Labor Question," a col-
lection of articles published in 1867.

7 " Documentary History of American Industrial Society," Vol. 9: 137.
s Hid., p. 204.

49o THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

followed the close of the war and because of the demand that the green-
backs be retired. Contraction of the currency was checked by act of
congress in 1868.

An influential element within the National Labor Union favored
affiliation with the International Workingmen's Association; but it
never united with this socialist organization. In 1870, a resolution was
adopted in which the National Labor Union " declares its adhesion to
the principles of the International Workingmen's Association, and ex-
pects at no distant day to affiliate with it."8 The National Labor
Union as an organization can not, however, be said to have been class
conscious.10 Substantiating this statement is the fact that delegates
were admitted to the annual meetings from organizations other than
those of workingmen. In 1866 delegates from Eight-hour Leagues,
Land and Labor Eeforrn Unions and Anti-Monopoly Associations were
admitted. At the annual congress in 1870 a representative from a
farmers' club was seated. It is also worthy of mention that at this
congress a representative of the National Guard of Industry and one
from the Colored Teachers' Association of Cincinnati were given seats.
Nevertheless, at the congress of 1869, Miss Susan B. Anthony was re-
jected as the delegate of the Working-women's Protective Association,
on the ground that it " was not a bona fide labor organization." 1X The
credentials of Mrs. Elizabeth Cady Stanton as a representative of the
Woman's Suffrage Association were accepted in 1868 — because she came
from an organization for the "amelioration of the conditions of those
who labor for a living."

After the death of President Sylvis in the summer of 1869, only a
few days before the annual meeting, the National Labor Union began to
show unmistakable signs of weakness. The editor of its official organ,
The Workingmans Advocate, of Chicago, pointed12 to the apathy of
the workingmen as an alarming sign of the times. The officials were
not receiving that essential of all organizations, financial support. On
January 29, 1870, appeared an editorial in regard to the union under
the caption, "To Be or Not To Be." In March, the president issued
an urgent appeal for funds. Since the preceding summer only $448
had been received by the treasurer of the organization from all sources.

The Congress of 1871 decided to divide the political and industrial
activities; and it authorized calls for two conventions for 1872 — the
National Labor Party and the National Labor Union. It was the con-
vention of the former which nominated David Davis for president in
1872. The last Congress of the National Labor Union was held in

9 " Documentary History of American Industrial Society," Vol. 9: 268.
io See Hillquit, "History of Socialism in the United States," p. 193.
ii " Documentary History of American Industrial Society," Vol. 9: 231.
Miss Anthony was seated in 1868.

12 Working man's Advocate, December 11, 1869.

EPHEMERAL LABOR MOVEMENTS 491

1872. It was of little importance; but steps were taken leading toward
the organization of a " National Industrial Congress." Nevertheless,
as late as March 24, 1874, The Working man's Advocate still called itself
" the official organ of the National Labor Union."

The first National Industrial Congress was held in Cleveland, July
15, 1873. The only labor organization which opposed the movement
was the ever-conservative Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers. The
leaders of the new movement proposed to steer clear of politics. No
constitution was adopted in 1873. Eobert Schilling, of Ohio, was chosen
as its president. Some of the resolutions adopted savored somewhat of
political activity; and later some opposition developed because of the
adoption of these resolutions. But the call for this congress stated
definitely that steps would be taken to prevent it from deteriorating into
a political party.13 Evidently the leaders of the Industrial Congress
believed that politics had wrecked the National Labor Union; and that
a stronger national federation of trade unions was desirable. The
second congress was held at Bochester, April 14, 1874. Many of the
delegates were men who had been prominent in the National Labor
Union. A constitution was adopted and the name Industrial Brother-
hood was assumed. The declaration of principles was almost the same
as that later adopted by the Knights of Labor.14 Many of the demands
were political rather than purely industrial. Its platform viewed with
alarm the aggression of aggregated wealth, which, it was urged, tends
toward the degradation of the masses.

Although Mr. Powderly15 is of the opinion that a third congress was
not held, there is evidence that a National Industrial Congress was
held at Indianapolis on April 13, 1875.16 In its declaration of prin-
ciples, appeared a clause opposing the use of the military power against
striking workingmen. The Workingmans Advocate became in due
time the "official organ of the National Industrial Congress"; and as
late as October 13, 1877, it still used this title. Although the Brother-
hood or the National Industrial Congress was organized by trade-union
men, it was somewhat like the Knights of Labor in principle. Trade
unionists objected to the organization of locals under the auspices of
the Industrial Brotherhood; and they also were adverse to associating
with unskilled labor in an organization. This attitude on the part of
the skilled men and the continued industrial depression following the
panic of 1873 destroyed the organization.17 The early death of the
Industrial Congress indicates that the National Labor Union was not

^WorJcinginan's Advocate, May 3, 1873.

14Eeport of the Industrial Commission, Vol. 17: 3.

is "Thirty Years of Labor," p. 126.

is Files of The Working man's Advocate, 1875.

17 Powderly, "Thirty Years of Labor," p. 126.

492 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

destroyed solely because it went into politics, but chiefly because the
industrial development of the country was not sufficient to weld the
workingmen of the nation into a strong and permanent federation.
They could see no excellent reasons for paying dues to such an organi-
zation— except during a time of stress. The National Labor Union and
its successor, the National Industrial Congress, died of financial weak-
ness and the apathy of their members.

In 1876, another attempt was made to form a national federation.
A call was issued by an "executive committee" from Pittsburgh,
January 5, 1876, "To all Labor Orders, Unions and Associations of
the United States." Delegates were asked to be " prepared to take such
steps as will place our now scattered forces under one organized move-
ment, for immediate action, to get and to hold, and use the balance of
power. . . . The issue is a labor issue, an issue of the right of men to
1876. The social democrats tried in vain to commit it to the policy of
organizing a distinct labor party. A substitute plan was adopted which
is quite similar to the more recent plan fathered by President Gompers
of the American Federation of Labor.

Resolved: That independent political action is extremely hazardous and
detrimental to the labor interests; that the workingmen of the country should
organize into trades unions and labor leagues to educate the people first,

and endeavor to elect men in both parties favorable to the interests of
the wage earners.

The editor of a labor paper complained in 1877:

All our national organizations for the unification of labor, are dead. Labor
is divided in a thousand unions and factions.ia

He declared that employers and employers' associations were bitterly
fighting labor and that the next necessary step in the struggle against
combinations of capital was a " National Federation of Trades' Unions."
During the last years of the seventies, such national unions as the
Amalgamated Association of Iron and Steel Workers of the United
States, the International Typographical Union, and the Cigar Makers'
International Union were agitating the matter of a national federation.
In 1881, the President of the Typographical Union wrote in his annual
report :

The subject is of such importance that we can afford to suffer in patience
numerous failures if as an ultimate result the mechanics of the United States
and Canada can be brought into a closer and common organization for the
common good.

There is much evidence indicating that the far-sighted labor leaders
of the seventies saw the need of a permanent national federation of
trade unions. On November 15, 1881, at Pittsburgh, was formed the
Federation of Organized Trades and Labor Unions of the United States

is National Labor Tribune, April 7, 1877.

EPHEMERAL LABOR MOVEMENTS 493

and Canada. This organization in 1886 voted to merge with other
trade unions and the name, American Federation of Labor, was
adopted.

In addition to the trade unions of the period, such as the Inter-
national Typographical Union and the Cigar Makers' International
Union, and the national federations, such as the National Labor Union
and the Industrial Congresses, the Knights of Labor and numerous
ephemeral labor organizations appeared whose ideal was that of "one
big union." Like the Knights of Labor these organizations practically
ignored trade lines. Except in the case of a few controlled by the
socialists, they were in reality reform associations composed chiefly of
wage earners. These ephemeral organizations are interesting chiefly
because they throw some light upon the conditions of the period and
upon the ideals and demands of the wage earners. The decade of the
seventies was especially prolific of ephemeral labor-reform associations.

The National Guard of Industry was organized in 1869. It ad-
mitted "all trustworthy persons who earn their bread by the sweat of
their brow " and who are friendly to its purposes. The platform of the
order was a peculiar hotch-potch of humanitarianism, trade unionism
and political reform; it favored the eight-hour day and cooperation,
and opposed granting land to corporations.20 The " early closing move-
ment" is not of recent origin. As early as 1866 or 1867, in New York
City, a "Dry Goods Clerks' Early Closing Association" was in exist-
ence. The Supreme Mechanical Order of the Sun was established in
the early sixties. It was still in existence in 1869, a secret order having
an extensive ritual and several degrees.

In 1872, the Christian Labor Union was formed for the purpose of
influencing the Church to aid in the establishment of cooperative asso-
ciations. The Association of United Workers of America, called by
Professor Commons the "nationalized International," came into being
in 1874, and was apparently merged into the Workingmen's Party two
years later. It was a socialist organization. Each member was expected
to support only those political movements which aimed directly at the
economic emancipation of the wage earners.21

The Junior Sons of '76 "do not attribute all our suffering to any
single cause, but to a variety of causes." They appealed to all workers
to unite "against the growing power of monopolies" by using the
ballot. Laboring men should be elected to office. The Junior Sons
was a secret organization supposed to be composed exclusively of
workingmen. In the spring of 1875, it was stated that in several
counties of Pennsylvania the majority of the voters were members of

20 Pamphlet in New York Public Library.
2i General Bules, published in 1876.

494 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

the order.22 The Order of American Mechanics admitted only native-
born persons.

One of the most unique and most powerful of the ephemeral organi-
zations was the Sovereigns of Industry, established in 1874. It was a
secret order which admitted both men and women. According to the
preamble of the organization's constitution, it was "an association of
the industrial working classes without regard to race, color, nationality
or occupation; not founded for the purpose of waging any war of ag-
gression upon any other class, or fostering any antagonism of labor
against capital, nor of arraying the poor against the rich, but for
mutual assistance in self-improvement and self-protection." The
sovereigns repudiated the subsistence theory of wages, and proposed to
increase real wages by reducing expenses through cooperation. The
ultimate purpose seemed to be the elimination of the wage system.
They proposed to " make war on the middleman as the exclusive remedy
for the ills of the workers." The sovereigns did not propose to displace
any existing labor organization. In the spring of 1875, it was esti-
mated that over 50,000 Pennsylvanians belonged to the order.23

The International Labor Union was organized in 1877 with George
E. McNeill as president.

In this hour of the dark distress of labor, we call upon all laborers of what-
ever nationality, creed or color, skilled or unskilled, trade unionist and those now
out of union, to join hands with us and each other to the end that poverty and all
its attendant evils shall be abolished forever.

The chief objects of the union are indicative of the important
demands of the labor reformers in 1877: reduction of the hours of
labor; higher wages; factor}', mine and shop inspection; abolition of
the contract convict labor and truck system; employers to be held
responsible for accidents to employees on account of the neglect of
employers; prohibition of child labor; establishment of labor bureaus.
Although branches are reported to have existed in seventeen states, the
membership was small. The union attained its greatest strength in
1878.24

As early as 1866, organized labor began timidly and intermittently
to enter the political field. Editor Cameron of The Working man's
Advocate, perhaps the leading labor paper of the period and the official
organ of the National Labor Union, was nominated as a candidate for
a seat in the lower house of the Illinois legislature, by the workingmen
of Chicago. The editor of the National Workman, the official organ of
the federated trades of New York City, wrote (January 5, 1867) :

22 National Labor Tribune, April 24, 1875.

24 McNeill, "The Labor Movement," pp. 161-162.

23 National Labor Tribune, April 24, July 31, October 23, 1875.

EPHEMERAL LABOR MOVEMENTS 495

The New Year opens with flattering auspices to the cause of labor reform.
Many governors of states and members of state legislatures have been elected
upon the workingmen's tickets, as friends of the eight-hour system.

The first Congress of the National Labor Union (1866) declared
that only candidates favorable to an eight-hour law should be deemed
desirable by the workingmen of the country. In 1867, at least three
states, New York, Connecticut and Michigan, held workingmen's con-
ventions; and a National Labor Eeform Party seems to have been
organized. In a platform adopted August 22, 1867, it opposed national
banks. The "money monopoly" was held to be "the parent of all
monopolies." The issuance of treasury notes was recommended as a
preventive of growing inequality in the distribution of wealth. Land
monopoly was feared; and as a remedy for insufficient employment, it
was urged that workers proceed to the public lands and become actual
settlers. The platform contained a clause favoring cooperation; and
strikes were deprecated. A demand was made for improved dwellings
and tenements for workers.25 This party undoubtedly died soon after
its birth, because William H. Sylvis, upon being elected president of the
National Labor Union in 1868, urged the organization of a working-
man's party, and the congress voted to organize a " labor reform party."

The leaders of the labor movement in the late sixties often deplored
the rottenness which prevailed in partisan politics.

It is a sad day for the people when such rottenness prevails in the Senate;
when knavery rules the House; when pampered debility occupies the presidential
chair, and cabinets are composed of corrupt politicians or political ingrates. . . .
The laboring man of to-day in America whatever he may be theoretically, is
practically a paria and a slave, at the mercy of corrupt swindlers, under the
guise of respectable capitalists.26

An address of the National Labor Union, issued in 1870, declared
that the whole country was under "the supreme control of bankers,
moneyed men and professional politicians." The editor of The WorJc-
ingman's Advocate urged the formation of a " Great Peoples' Party."
At this time "money and monopoly" were repeatedly mentioned as
menaces to free government.

In 1870, the National Labor Congress voted to take independent
political action throughout the country. It was stated that the two old
parties would not join hands with labor and would not accept the plat-
form of the National Labor Union. The workers did not rally to the
support of the labor candidates. After the election, the editor of The
WorJcingman's Advocate declared with some bitterness that the labor-
reform candidates had been overwhelmingly defeated — and by the
workers themselves. The candidates, it was stated, " were for the most

25 WorJcingman's Advocate, September 12, 1868.

26 Letter written by H. H. Day, member of executive committee of the N. L.
XL, to Senator Henry Wilson, Working man's Advocate, June 19, 1869.

496 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

part representative trade unionists." The Congress of 1870 also
authorized the appointment of a committee to issue a call for a national
convention. It was issued soon after a meeting of the committee, held
January 17, 1871.

This call is worthy of brief notice. It confidently asserted that
capital was master in the United States. The instrumentalities which
gave capital its favorable and dominating position were enumerated
under five heads :

1. Banking and moneyed monopolies.

2. Consolidated railways and other traction monopolies.

3. Manufacturing monopolies which crushed the small operators
and determined the wages of the workers.

4. Land monopolies — the result of the absorption of the public
domain by a few corporations.

5. Commercial and grain monopolies which indulge in speculation.
The first and fourth points were not new or especially significant. The
outcry against banks dates back to the time of Jackson or before that
era. During the forties and fifties much opposition was manifested
against land monopoly.27 This call was, however, directed specifically
against the policy of giving land to railways. But the remaining three
points are of more significance; new foes are now feared by the wage
earners of the country. Consolidated railways, manufacturing, com-
mercial and grain monopolies are represented as inimical to the interests
of the wage earners ; and the call favored the regulation or abolishment
of corporate monopolies. The editor of The Working man's Advocate26
asserted that " centralization and labor " are two antagonistic elements.

A labor-reform party was organized in Massachusetts in 1869; and
in that year it elected twenty-one representatives to the State Assembly
and one state senator. The state ticket polled 13,000 votes. In the
following year, Wendell Phillips was nominated for governor. The
party advocated the separation of industrial from political questions.
Two new and significant demands are found in the platform : the regu-
lation of railway rates and the abolition of the importation of laborers,
particularly from China, under contract. In 1871, the resolutions
presented by Phillips and adopted by the labor-reform party were tinged
with socialism. It was affirmed that labor is the creator of all wealth;
the abolition of special privileges was demanded; and it was asserted
that the capitalistic system was making the rich richer and the poor
poorer.29

An attempt was made, in 1872, to put a national ticket in the field.

27 See article by the writer in Quarterly Journal of Economics, February,
1910.

28 July 35, 1871.

20 Carlton, "The History and Problems of Organized Labor," p. 61.

EPHEMERAL LABOR MOVEMENTS 497

David Davis of Illinois was nominated for president and Joel M. Parker
of New Jersey for vice-president. Neither of the gentlemen were
workingmen. Both withdrew a few weeks later ; and no further nomina-
tions were made. Two years later, independent reform candidates were
nominated in Illinois and, perhaps, elsewhere. In 1875, the editor of
The Worhingmans Advocate was interested in the Greenback Party.

Undoubtedly many members of the National Labor Union who were
committed to political action and opposed to the "money monopoly"
became members of the Greenback Party. Others who were more
radical turned to the Workingmen's Party of the United States. In
other words, the small but aggressive class-conscious element within the
National Labor Union joined the latter party; and the element which
stood for reform affiliated with the Greenback movement. Those who
joined the Greenback Party adopted the philosophy of the small pro-
prietor and the skilled artisan ; but those who united with the Working-
men's Party and later the Socialist Labor Party, adopted the economic
theories of Karl Marx. The Greenbackers did not propose to do away
with private ownership of capital ; they only desired to prevent the con-
centration of capital in the hands of a few large capitalists. The Green-
backer was a reactionist rather than a progressive ; he wished to prevent
the growth of monopoly and large-scale industry. His viewpoint was
that of the pre-Civil-War period; he looked backward instead of
forward. Consequently, the Greenback movement is much more closely
related to anarchism than to socialism.30

The American workingman of the generation immediately following
the Civil War was still saturated with the philosophy of the frontier or
of Jacksonian democracy; he as yet accepted the oft-repeated, and not-
frequently contradicted, dictum that each and every wage earner had
an excellent opportunity to become a small proprietor or even a captain
of industry. As long as this situation obtained, it was not difficult for
"pure and simple" trade unionism generated in a period of stress and
of rising prices like the last years of the Civil War, to be gradually
transmuted into " labor reformism " and " greenbackism." The greatest
labor organization of the period under discussion, the Knights of Labor,
was primarily a reform association. The ultimate aim of its leaders
during its years of growth was some form of a cooperative common-
wealth. Its famous preamble was taken almost verbatim from one
drawn in 1874 for another organization, by George E. McNeill, the
" Apostle of the Eight-hour Movement." But hard times, unemploy-
ment, the disappearance of the famous westward-moving frontier line,
the rush of immigrants from Southern Europe, the consolidation of
capital, and the failure of sundry reform movements were preparing

30 For a statement of the theory of greenbackism, see ' ' Documentary His-
tory of American Industrial Society," Vol. 9: 33-43.

vol. lxxxv. — 34.

498 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

the way for the development of permanent trade unions. During the

decade of the eighties were organized over one fourth of the national

trade unions considered by the Industrial Commission in 1901 ; but

only about one in every six were organized before 1880. Or, less than

one half were in existence prior to 1890.

Likewise the socialists were not strong before 1890. The " German

period of socialism in the United States" ended about 1876. 31 The

International Workingmen's Association formed its first American

section in 1871.

By 1874, the attempts to internationalize the American movement were
abandoned, and in that year a nationalized International, the United Workers of
America, was attempted.32

and several local socialist parties arose. In 1876, several organizations
of socialists, including the United "Workers, were united to form the
Workingmen's Party of the United States. One year later the name
was changed to Socialist Labor Party. At first the Socialist Labor
Party advised its members not to take part in political campaigns ; and,
although interested in several local campaigns, epecially in New York
City and Chicago, it did not put a presidential candidate in the field
until 1892. In 1886, however, the Socialist Labor Party of New York
united with the single taxers and certain labor organizations to support
Henry George for mayor on the United Labor ticket.33 The socialists
joined, in 1878, with the labor reformers to form the International
Labor Union.

Another International Workingmen's Association was organized, in
1881, composed of American workingmen and farmers. It was strong-
est in the west ; but soon disbanded. Two years later, the International
Working Peoples' Association was formed. In this organization the
anarchists were in control.34 The local socialist labor party in Chicago,
which polled about 12,000 votes in the city election of 1879, and elected
three aldermen,35 was soon broken into factions. One portion supported
General Weaver of the Greenback ticket in 1880. Another faction
influenced by the teaching of anarchists, began to doubt the wisdom of
political action.36 In recent years, the direct-actionists of the Chicago
branch of the Industrial Workers of the World seem to constitute a type
of socialists similar to the American Internationalists of the eighties*
In each case, the value of political action is depreciated, revolution and
direct action are emphasized, and a tendency toward anarchism may be
discerned.

The panic of 1873 and the five years of depression following the

si Hughan, "The Present Status of Socialism in the United States," p. 34.

32 " Documentary History of American Industrial Society," Vol. 9: 46.

33 Hughan, ibid., p. 38.

34 Ely, "The Labor Movement in America," Ch. 9.

35 One was also elected in 1878 and again in 1880.

36 Schilling in Parson's "Life of Albert E. Parsons."

EPHEMERAL LABOR MOVEMENTS 499

panic forced many unions to disband. It was a period marked by an
extraordinary amount of unemployment, unrest and suffering, by
reductions of wages, and by strikes and lockouts.37 In the later years of
the period, many secret organizations of workingmen appeared. In the
spring of 1874, a writer in a labor paper asserted, doubtless with some
exaggeration, that " to-day there is not a Trade or Labor Union in exist-
ence but gives the greatest publicity to its aims and objects." 38 It was
intimated that opposition on the part of employers would cause secret
unions to spring up. One year later, the National Labor Tribune con-
tained an editorial entitled, " The Spread of Secret Orders " — meaning
labor organizations.39 Pinkerton, the detective, writing in 1878, asserted
that there were scores of secret labor organizations.40 Labor difficulties
culminated with the railway strikes of 1877. These were precipitated by
cuts in wages. The year 1879 ushered in a more prosperous period.

The two quotations following represent fairly well the attitude of the
discontented wage earners in 1876, the centennial year.

Symbolize if you can the American laborer of 1876. Show him as he is,
without liberty of thought or action, oppressed, cheated, trodden on, vilified by
press and public opinion, condemned by the pulpit and the platform, reduced to
serfdom by a combination of capitalists and monopolists; bring such a picture
among your grand paintings, produce such an image among your statuary, and
look on this picture and then on that, and ask what has the public of America
accomplished for the cause of humanity .41

The chairman of an " Immense Mass Meeting of Workingmen " held
at Cooper Institute, June 17, 1876, under the auspices of the Indepen-
dent Labor Party, declared :

The lands, the money, the property of the nation have passed into the hands
of the few, and the many are idle, homeless and starving.

The agitation and unrest among the workers led to repressive meas-
ures on the part of various city officials.

On the announcement of public meetings of the unemployed, the conscience-
pricked communities took alarm and feared that the bringing together of so
many heretofore patient sufferers might imperil their lives and property. From
the earliest days of the agitation of the question of the relations of labor and
capital, free speech had often been restrained and sometimes forbidden. This
had been especially true in those smaller towns and manufacturing centers.42

In New York City, the city officials revoked a permit to hold a meet-
ing of laboring people in Tompkins Square, and drove out the people
who came to attend the meeting. This was frequently referred to as
"The Tompkins Square Outrage."

sTEhodes, "History of the United States," Vol. 7: 52-53.

38 iron Moulders' International Journal, quoted in The Toiler, June 27, 1874.

39 April 24, 1875.

40 Pinkerton, "Strikes, Communists, Tramps and Detectives," p. 89.

41 National Labor Tribune, April 24, 1875.
42 McNeill, "The Labor Movement," p. 147.

5oo THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

In the soft coal fields, after a strike in 1875 caused by a reduction
in wages, two of the strike leaders, John Siney, president of the Miners'
Union, and Zingo Parks were arrested for conspiracy. Siney was ac-
quitted ; but Parks was sent to the penitentiary.43 The famous " coal
and iron police" was organized at this time. The union among the
miners was practically destroyed, and soon the "Molly Maguires" ap-
peared as the natural product of a policy of repression.

The pressure of hard times caused the membership of the Inter-
national Typographical Union to decrease from 9,797 in 1873 to 4,260
in 1878; and the number of unions in the organization declined from
105 to 60. In 1877, unionism among cigarmakers "was almost extinct."
Only 17 unions remained in good standing in the International Union.
Outside of New York City, Chicago and Detroit there were only 217
union cigarmakers in the United States and Canada. The strikes of
1877 are said to have acted as an "alarm bell." There were over six
times as many unions in 1881 as in 1877; and they were better organ-
ized " than in the most flourishing days of the past." 44 Organization
among the coal miners was practically destroyed by the period of hard
times.

John Siney died of grief and hunger in 1876, and with him all organization
among the men.45

The Knights of St. Crispin and the Daughters of St. Crispin also
practically disappeared with the panic.

Up to 1875 as a rule, labor leaders opposed the use of the strike
except as a last resort. President Siney of the National Miners' Asso-
ciation stated that one of the objects of the association was "to remove
as far as possible the cause of all strikes." In 1877, the first great
railway strike occurred, and many bitter contests took place in the cigar-
making industry. And after 1877, "strikes multiplied enormously."46

The middle years of the decade of the eighties were years of dis-
content and struggle. The competitive battle was extremely fierce.
Many independent industries and proprietors were being ruthlessly
crushed in order that industrial " American Beauty roses " might
flourish ; and in the process the employee inevitably suffered. The em-
ployer no longer came in personal touch with his employees ; and the old
personal relations no longer existed to soften and humanize the treat-
ment of his employees. On the other hand, where the unions were in
control, " the methods employed were not always diplomatic, and some-
times they were a bit coarse." 47 This big-stick policy reached its climax
in some of the western mining towns the government of which was con-

•*3 Simonds, "The Story of Manual Labor in all Ages," p. 661.

44 Cigarmakers ' Official Journal, March 10, 1881.

45 Simonds, "The Story of Manual Labor in all Ages," p. 661.

46 Swinton, "Striking for Life or Labor's Side of the Labor Question."
4i Buchanan, ' ' The Story of a Labor Agitator. ' »

EPHEMERAL LABOR MOVEMENTS 501

trolled by the unions.48 The dark pictures painted by the labor leaders
of the decade should be studied.

Absorbed in the task of getting large dividends, the employer seldom in-
quired of his superintendent how he managed the business intrusted to his keep-
ing, or how he treated the employees. In thousands of places throughout the
United States, as many superintendents, foremen or petty bosses are interested
in stores, corner groceries or saloons. In many places the employee is told
plainly that he must deal at the store, or get his liquor from the saloon in which
his boss has an interest; in others he is given to understand that he must deal
in these stores or saloons, or forfeit his situation.^

Worse conditions never existed in any industry in this country than those
of the Hocking Valley region of Ohio in 1884. Slavery was heaven compared
with what the miners of the Hocking Valley had to endure.50

A new era was in the making ; and the wage earners were being pre-
pared for more definite and firm organization. But it was also a period
in which capitalism was becoming strong and immigration was multi-
plying. The old individualistic ideals were still generally accepted;
and were not displaced without much social friction. Strikes were of
frequent occurrence and the boycott a popular weapon.

The fall and winter of 1884 will long be remembered by men active in the
labor movement at that time as a period of great stress. Strikes and lockouts
were prevalent as never before in this country, and labor was often a heavy
loser. Capitalism was beginning to look upon the militia as its natural ally, and
labor was not sufficiently well organized to make politicians who had charge of
the state machinery respect or fear its power.si

What is the spectacle presented to our view? Crime reaching a magnitude it
never did before; poverty increasing with frightful rapidity; intense and stead-
ily increasing competition with labor in nearly every vocation of industry; an
army of idlers crowding upon the workers everywhere; the man who is driven by
necessity or want to work or die of starvation is compelled to fight his own
fellows or be guarded by the police in the discharge of his duties. A decrepit,
homeless humanity, swelling in numbers every day, audible groans of want, woe
and misery coming up from every mining, manufacturing and commercial dis-
trict, and from many agricultural districts throughout the civilized world.
Strikes on every hand and general discontent prevailing.52

Finally, what would to-day be called " direct action " was advocated,
and the Haymarket Square episode followed. The decade of the eighties
was an era of capitalistic combination in the form of " pools " ; but the
spirit of solidarity among the wage earners was still very weak. The
"separating influences of shops in one town, theories about general
principles, language, nationality, or the division of labor, split the
workers on one and the same product into bickering factions."53

•48 Cherouny, "The Historical Development of the Labor Question," pp. 240-
244.

49Powderly in "Labor: Its Rights and Wrongs" (1886). Also, in North
American Review, May, 1886.

50 Buchanan, ' ' The Story of a Labor Agitator. ' '

si Ibid., p. 128.

52 Morgan, "History of the Wheel and Alliance," p. 662 (1889).

53 Cherouny, ' ' The Historical Development of the Labor Question. ' '

502 THE POPULAR SC1KXCE MOXTHLY

The variety of political reform movements, their weakness and lack
of harmony are indicative of the bankruptcy o( the reform movements
o( the type then prevailing. Truth, "A Journal for the Poor," and a
radical paper, declared :

This journal is not the paid mouthpiece of either Trades' Unions, Knights of
Labor, Ant i-Monopoly Party, Greenback Party, Socialistic Labor Party, Liberal
League, Patrons of Husbandry (Grangers), Fanners' Alliance, Irish Revolu-
tionary Organizations, or any other Nihilistic, Communal or Socialistic organiza-
tion. But it is the friend of every one of them."

Buchanan speaks of the lack of harmony in the ranks of the labor
and reform forces of this period. In 1SSS. as editor of the Chicago
Enquirer, he pled for a union among the following movements: "The
Union Labor Party, United Labor Party, Progressive Labor Party,
American Reform Party, the Grange, the Farmer's Alliance, the Tax
Reformers, Anti-Monopolists, Homesteaders, and all other political and
politico-economic organizations of bread-winners." 65

Nevertheless, labor organizations were gaining in strength. The
Knights of Labor reached its high water mark in 1886; and the Ameri-
can Federation of Labor increased from less than 50,000 in 1881 to
over 200,000 in 1889. In an address sent by the heads of several trade
unions to the convention of the Knights of Labor in 1886, it was confi-
dently assorted that "within the past year the national and international
trades unions have grown with giant strides." The following statistics
of growth during the preceding year were offered :56

Members

International Typographical Union has gained 9,642

Cigarmakers' International Union has gained 7,101

Brotherhood of Carpenters and Joiners has gained 13,464

International Union of Bricklayers and Masons has gained. 9,578

National Bakers ' Union has gained 7,564

Furniture "Workers ' Union has gained 6,633

Amalgamated Iron and Steel Workers has gained 8,230

Iron Holders' Union has gained 12,400

Granite Cutters' Union has gained 3,622

Custom Tailors have gained 2,541

Coal Miners have gained 36,000

Labor was sloughing off its reformism and returning to the " pure and
simple" type of trade unionism. Its was evidently becoming more
difficult to lead the wage earners into the camp of the reformers.

During the period under consideration, employers' associations hos-
tile to organized labor were by no means unknown. In July, 1872, " The
Employers" Central Executive Committee" of New York City sent out
a questionnaire containing eleven questions. The committee desired
"to avail itself of the wisdom and experience of Thinkers and Em-

" September 15, 1883, Vol. 7.

65 "Story of a Labor Agitator," p. 429.

60 "Labor: Its Rights and Wrongs" (18S6).

EPHEMERAL LABOR MOVEMENTS 503

ployers," and hoped to be able to solve the difficulties arising because of
combinations of workingmen. The prevention of strikes seemed to be
one important problem. The Beventh question asked whether unionists
had given trouble and whether it would be easy to displace them. The
at read: " Wbat Restrictions arc imposed upon yon as an Employer
by Combinal ions of workmen assuming to regulate the pay or other con-
ditions of Labor?1' Another circular letter emanating from the same
source requested employers to meet personally with the executive com-
mittee. This committee "are in session every day from 10 o'clock A.M.

to 10 o'clock p.m."67 There is rea on to believe that this employers1

association was not a weak organization. In a speech given at a mass
meeting held in New York City in June, 1876, a member of the " execu-
tive committee of the Independent Labor Party" said :

Less than five years ago we had over 79,000 organized men in the city; but
200 or 300 men gathered together in a hotel on Fifth Ave., combined against you
by using the government, by going to Albany, to Washington, and to the Board
of Aldermen. They have destroyed the Trade Union system, and reduced the
workmen of the city to a condition of beggary and starvation.

The employers' associations of the seventies and eighties used many
of the weapons which similar bodies of a more recent date have fre-
quently used — blacklist, detectives, coal and iron police, the labor spy,
promotion of labor leaders in order to weaken the union, discharge of
union men, and the like.68

In conclusion, the chief peculiarities of the labor movements of the
quarter of a century, 18GG-1889, may be briefly summarized:

1. Unstable — ebbed and flowed with industrial changes and disputes.

2. Undisciplined — demanded of leaders immediate and strenuous
action. Many strikes, usually of short duration.

'A. No very definite class consciousness, except in the eighties. The
chief demands were of the purely trade-union type — higher wages,
shorter hours, better working and living conditions, etc. — for political
reform — elimination of money or land monopoly, labor bureaus, etc. —
or for cooperation.

4. Time after time leaders asserted that a transition period was just
ahead and that especial efforts were needed at that particular time and
place.

5. Repeatedly the attention is directed to the concentration of
wealth and the growing menace of monopoly power.

G. The labor leaders of the period were muckrakers ; they attacked
the political rottenness of the time.

7. Immigration of Chinese laborers (coolies) was feared — not only
in the west but also in the east.

8. Many persistent, but futile, attempts were made to weld labor

into a strong political party.

57 Circulars in New York Public Library.
sa McNeill, ' ' The Labor Movement, ' ' p. 266.

504 TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

THE SCIENCE OF EDUCATION1

By Rbofessor JOHN PERRY

IMPERIAL COLLEGE OF SCIENCE AND TECHNOLOGY, LONDON

I WANT you to understand that we have established some funda-
mental principles in our science: (1) A subject must interest a
pupil. (2) A man who trains dogs or seals or bears or other animals
makes a close study of their minds. In the same way we must recognize
that one boy differs from another, and study the mind of each boy.
(3) If a boy is not very receptive of an important subject we must do
our best with him and try to settle what is the minimum with which
we ought to be satisfied. Only a few subjects ought to be compulsory
on all boys. (4) There are two classes of boys unequal as to numbers,
(a) those fond of, and (b) those not capable of abstract reasoning.
(5) Another two classes are (a) those fond of, and (&) those not fond
of language study. (6) Every boy may be made to write and read in
his own language and he may be made fond of reading. (7) The aver-
age boy's reasoning faculties are most surely developed by letting him
do things. That is, for example, through his sports, or through wood
or metal working, or gardening, or experiments involving weighing and
measuring. Through the last of these he learns to compute. A boy of
eight learns decimals in an hour if he weighs and measures, whereas by
the usual method of teaching he is ignorant of decimals at the age of
fourteen. A boy learns whist very quickly if you seat him with three
other people at a table with a pack of cards; he would not learn in a
month if he had no cards. Would you teach a boy to swim by mere talk ?
(8) Every boy must get a good deal of personal attention. (9) How-
ever good a system may be there can be no good results if the teachers
are cheap; cheap teachers are usually stupid and over- worked. Men in
charge of schools and colleges never seem to learn this. The market
price must be paid for a capable man. (10) Fairly good results may
be expected from a good teacher, even when he is compelled to work on
a bad system, but really good results can be obtainable only from a good
teacher with a good system.

I need not go into details about all these principles, but I should like
to dwell presently upon a few of them. At the beginning of this address
I spoke of the obstruction to great necessary reform — too much anti-
quated machinery to " scrap." Most schoolmasters will admit the neces-
sity for reform in the case of the average boy, but they say that parents

i From the address of the president of the Educational Science Section of
the British Association for the Advancement of Science, Australia, 1914.

THE SCIENCE OF EDUCATION 505

are opposed to the reform. Unbelief in education for the average man
is so general among the higher classes that I am afraid we shall have no
reform unless some great national disaster causes conversion. There
is a lesson for England, and, indeed, for all European races, in the
recent history of Japan. The old structure of Japan was in many ways
beautiful, but it proved to be without physical strength. Its extreme
weakness proved its salvation. Even the teachers of ancient classics
saw that for strength it was necessary to let scientific method permeate
the thought of the whole population. And now, at the end of the first
chapter of Japan's modern history, we find a nation which can not only
defend itself, but which retains all of its spiritual life which was beauti-
ful. Every unit of the population can not only read and write, but it
is fond of reading, and its education did not cease when it left school.
It is getting an increased love for natural science, so that it can reason
clearly ; it is not carried away by charlatans ; it retains its individuality.
One result of this is that in time of war Japan has scientific armies.
Not only are its admirals and generals scientific, but also every officer,
every private is scientific. Everything in the whole country is being
developed scientifically, and we Europeans, hag-ridden by pedantry in
our schools and universities, refuse to learn an easy lesson. At present
we do not even ask what is meant by education or what education is
necessary if a particular boy is to be fitted for his life's work. In 1902,
when I was President of Section G-, and in opening a discussion on the
teaching of mechanics at Johannesburg in 1905, I gave my views as to
the teaching of a young engineer, but they apply also to the teaching
of nearly all boys. These views have been commended by experienced
engineers and teachers. To understand me it is first necessary to try
to cast away prejudices, and this is especially difficult if one has a
pecuniary interest in education. The student of almost any other sci-
ence than education cares for nothing but the truth ; even when he has
committed himself to a theory and his good name or credit is at stake
the rule of the game is perfectly well known and must be adhered to.
The student must not neglect fact or pervert fact ; he must be quite fair.
The student of physical science sees at once whether or not he is playing
the game, because the coordinates are few; there are no complexities,
such as we find in our own life problems. This also is why the study
of physical science is so good in causing boys to reason, for reasoning
can only be taught by constant practise on simple matters which one
thoroughly comprehends. Consider a boy's views about ordinary affairs.
He is downright. A complex thing must be greatly simplified to him.
His painting is in black-and-white; there is no delicate shading in his
picture. He never sits on the fence; he is never a trimmer. An his-
torical character is awfully good or awfully bad, very clever or very
stupid. A boy is, in fact, cocksure about everything. He is incapable
of reasoning about complex things. And when we try to teach him to

5o6 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

reason about simple things we must be quite sure that they really are
simple to him, that he understands them. For example, many educa-
tionists say that the study of geometry is just right for a boy. Well,
yes, for five per cent, of all boys, boys who can take in abstract ideas.
They take to Euclid as a duck takes to water. But for the other ninety-
five per cent, geometry is very hurtful, because unless they continually
experiment with rulers and compasses they do not understand what the
reasoning is about. In ancient times only very old and exceptionally
clever men were allowed to study geometry. We now assume that it
ought to be an easy study for the average English boy. Generation after
generation we stupefy the average English boy with demonstrative
geometry, and we call him a duffer so often that he thinks himself a
duffer, and even his mother thinks him a duffer, and, indeed, we have
done our best with geometry and Latin to make him a duffer. Only
for his football and cricket, which teach him to reason a little, he would
become a duffer. And yet in my opinion if this average boy were prop-
erly taught in school he would prove to be very superior to the boy who
is usually called clever. The schoolmaster calls a boy clever because he
is exactly like what the schoolmaster himself was when a boy ; but I am
afraid that I place little value on the schoolmaster's cleverness, whether
as a boy or a man. Eeasoning can be taught through almost anything
that a boy does, but more than all things through his experiments in
natural science. Formal lessons on reasoning, on logic, are utterly use-
less, and I may say that set lessons on almost any subject are utterly
useless for the average boy.

Milton's poems are greatly praised. Well, I am not going to say a
word against the people who talk in public about the most wonderful
epic in our language and who never read it ; but how many people have
read Milton's magnificent prose works? Milton first taught me the true
notion of education, that the greatest mistake is in teaching subjects in
watertight compartments. It is the idea underlying one of the most
instructive books ever written, " Sandford and Merton." When teach-
ing a subject, teach all sorts of other subjects as well. If Mr. Barlow's
boys were interested in astronomy he showed them stars and planets
through a telescope for a night or two, but he gave them no stupefying
course on astrononry. He gave them stars and the solar system just as
long as they were interested. He used a globe as well as mere maps in
teaching them geography and history, but the soul-destroying idea of a
course of study on " the use of the globes " did not commend itself to
him. They walked over the fields and took an interest in trees and
flowers, but he gave them no stupefying course on botany. When he
gave them a lesson on English grammar or literature he taught them
at the same time the geography and history and the fairy stories of their
country. How can a man give a course on grammar or geography or
history or anything else without diverting his talk in an interesting way

THE SCIENCE OF EDUCATION 507

to other subjects? What is so tremendously important about natural
science laboratory work is that a student must be thinking all the time
about the same matters, not from one but from ten interesting points
of view. He is not merely observing, he is measuring, he is computing,
he is reasoning; he has to write out descriptions of what he sees and
does, and he thinks then of his spelling and grammar; he has to sketch;
he has to read books about what other people have done before him on
the same subject, and also for statistics. He learns the value of a bit
of work done in a clean honest way, and when he gets some more
experience he glows with the feeling that he has really added to the
knowledge of the world. He is a discoverer, and he feels the emotion of
Cortez ! It is marvelous the alteration which has occurred in the
mental attitude of the common average boy. Instead of feeling that he
is a degraded slave he feels the emotion of his childhood returning to
him. He once made the great discovery at the age of six that the back
garden was inhabited by fairies and lions and Indians and pirates. He
was the Caliph Haroun Alraschid for a while. And now, after a
wretched life at Latin and Euclid, a new revelation is vouchsafed to him,
and as he gathers years he finds that nature is placidly willing to let
him steal her secrets little by little, one by one, secrets that are gradually
changing men from the bewilderment and spirit possession of the Middle
Ages ; so that at length he enters into complete communion with nature
and rollicks with her, and quarrels with her, and loves her more and
more until he dies. And his reasoning power has been growing all the
time, so that more and more he understands complex things, for, after
an experimental study of story-books, he probably entered the kingdom
of Shakespeare at the age of fourteen. Things requiring memory can
be learned only in early life — weights and measures, the multiplication
table, languages. He knows games involving spelling. But, over and
above all these, he has from infancy repeated all sorts of poetry long
before he could enjoy much more of it than the jingle of its rhyme.

Education consists in the development of a man from his earliest
day, and does not cease till he dies. Any thoughtful man must see that
there is no science so important as that of education, the preparation
of children of this generation to be the citizens, the rulers of the country,
in the next generation. The whole future of our Empire depends upon
the education of the children. By the study of this science we hope to
improve teaching so as to make future citizens not only to have more
knowledge and more skill, but to make them wiser than the people of
the present or the past.

Early training determines what later training ought to be. Let us
consider what the early training of a boy ought to be. In his very
early days nature has provided that his education shall proceed very
rapidly by observation and experiment, and the only teaching needed is
through careful nursing and affection. He teaches himself, and he loves

5o8 TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

to learn. He ought to get toys not too realistic, for he loves to weave
romance around his toys, but still things to observe and experiment with.
He has most complex problems in physical science when he is only a few
weeks old, the solution of which involves much labor, but it is pleasant
labor and he is happy. And he will remain sweet-tempered and happy
and unspoilt if there is real affection from his teachers. If, however,
somebody teases him by playing practical jokes, or if a selfish mother
who was unreasonably kind to him yesterday is unreasonably unkind to
him to-day, he gets, because of his reasoning power, a sense of injustice.
Man, woman, or child with a sense of injustice may be said to be pos-
sessed of a devil. During the first six years of a child's life the creation
of its power to reason is more wonderful than anything else, and this
reasoning power comes altogether by observation and experiment. An
affectionate parent easily finds methods of helping nature in this process.
The unspoilt boy of six years seems to forget nothing that he hears ; he
has gathered a most wonderful vocabulary; he knows endless nursery
rhymes and simple poetry; he is as active and adventurous as a kitten,
and everything he does is cultivating his senses. This is the time when
he fills the smallest playground (which to grown-ups seems bare and
desolate) with giants and fairies and Indians and pirates, with forests
and mountains and rivers and oceans. His imagination is so extra-
ordinary that the most uncouth creation of his own gives him exquisite
pleasure. Why do I dwell upon this stage of a boy's development?
Because it has been so perfect ! Nature has learned to do this to children
during perhaps hundreds of thousands of years, and it has been the
most important time of a boy's life, the time when, if parents will only
give the boy their love and greatly let him alone otherwise, he develops
mentally more than during all the rest of his life. Speaking broadly,
he has done nothing in all this time except what nature and affection
made pleasant to him. I have studied the science of education and
practised the art of teaching all my life, and I say that all our failures
are due to our neglect of nature's methods, and our schools destroy the
good effects which nature has produced.

As a rule I do not like to be told that certain subjects must be com-
pulsory, but surely every child of eleven must have some such qualifica-
tions as these: (1) The power to speak and read and write in his own
language. (2) To be able to do easy computation. (3) To have an ex-
act knowledge of the simplest principles of natural science from his own
observation and experiment. I think that every observer must acknowl-
edge that these powers are possible for almost every boy of eleven. Some
of us have for many years been endeavoring to show how the child of six
may acquire these powers by the age of eleven if nature's methods — that
is, kindergarten methods — are followed. For example, he plays at
keeping shop, selling or buying things by weight and measure, and pay-
ing or receiving actual money and giving change. He weighs and meas-

THE SCIENCE OF EDUCATION 509

ures with greater and greater accuracy as he makes experiments in me-
chanics and heat and chemistry. Every boy is fond of stories, and if
treated reasonably is easily induced to learn to read. Heading aloud is
easily made a pleasure and a habit, and so the boy learns to speak prop-
erly. Any boy whatever will become fond of reading if the people about
him are fond of reading : I state this as a fact which I have investigated.
A boy who is fond of reading gets later on to know the value of books
and the use of books, and he will go on educating himself till he dies.
Any attempt at coercion, unless it is the very gentle coercion of a per-
son whom he loves, is fatal; even coaxing is not always good. He as-
similates knowledge from everything which he does, and therefore he
ought to be induced to do things which not only keep him healthy, but
which give him knowledge and teach him to reason. Do you remember
how angry Lanfranc of Bee was at the idea that any pupil could be
forced to learn ; he said " it turned men into beasts." I speak to you
who love children, who love young people, who know that there is
hardly one child in a hundred, even among rather spoilt children, who
does not love to do his duty.

Under the best and most loving of teachers a lonely child has enor-
mous disadvantages, but these can generally be remedied. The usual
mistake is to send it to a large school. If it is merely a day school there
is no great harm. But no child under thirteen ought to be sent to a
boarding school unless it is a small school and the master and his wife
have a love and sympathy for other people's children. There are such
people in the world, God bless them ! but they are not numerous. They
are so few that we must return to nature as the best of teachers. The
time is coming when a child's own father and mother will have much
more knowledge and wisdom than they have now, and they will refuse to
give up to others the doing of their highest duties. It is at present not
sufficiently recognized that the most important duty of the parents is
the education of their children. At present, men who are building up
fortunes are too busy to think of their children, and so we find that the
sons of Lord Chancellors and other successful men have been marrying
chorus girls and squandering those very fortunes to which their educa-
tion was sacrificed. Of course, if parents are uneducated, and there-
fore selfish or otherwise foolish, any kind of school may be better than
home for their doomed children. It is one of the great advantages of
poverty that the children go to day schools and they keep in touch with
home life. If the day school is really a boarding school as well, it will be
found that there is always a differentiation in favor of the boarder, which
has a very bad caste effect, just as the "modern-side" boy of any public
school suffers in character because he is of a lower caste than the class-
ical-side boy. It is usual to remove a stupid classical-side boy to the mod-
ern side, and every boy on the modern side has a sense of injustice. The

510 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

work of the modern side ought to be much the higher, but it is always
badly done because the atmosphere is altogether bad.

It may be said that I am only destructive in my criticism of public
schools. I think it will be found that I am also constructive, although
I acknowledge that my sketch needs much filling in. "Well, can much
more be done in an address lasting one hour ? I will now try my hand
at a little filling in. I have no objection to the existence of classical
schools something like the present for boys who are fond of classics.
The average boy will not be asked to attend such a school. I feel sure
that much greater attention ought to be paid to the teaching of English
composition, to English poetry and prose, and to English subjects gen-
erally. I also feel sure that much attention ought to be paid to natural
science. And surely it can do no good for the classical masters to go
on sneering at natural science subjects and calling them "stinks" as
they do now.

I want, however, to speak more particularly of a much higher kind
of school, which will educate the boy usually called clever and also the
boy usually called stupid. As I have already remarked, I think that
these names may sometimes be redistributed.

The school is one for boys from eleven to sixteen years of age. It
ought in no way to be connected with any classical school. English
subjects will predominate, but teaching in Latin and Greek and modern
languages and other alternative subjects will be provided, although they
will not be forced upon any boy. The masters who teach English ought
to know enough Latin and Greek and Celtic and Old English and mod-
ern languages to be able to illustrate the derivation of English words
through their roots. And they must be well read in English subjects and
fond of English literature. They will make the boys fond of reading Eng-
lish, and encourage them to find out what they like best. Some boys will
take to history and philosophy, some to poetry and imaginative litera-
ture. Every boy ought to get the best chance of developing his facul-
ties. It may be asked — if we can not make the average boy spend or
waste twelve hours a week on Latin, what are we to do with him ? At
all events, now, we keep him doing something, even if it is only marking
time. My answer is, you think only of his putting in time ; well, then,
let him put in his time at work that interests him; any work of that kind
must be educative under an intelligent master who can help him in his
studies if it induces him to look up information for himself. Thus,
when reading travels or history, he will use the globe and raised maps
and read geography, and hunt up plans of battlefields. Think of the
things that a boy used to be punished for doing, and let him do those
things under wise direction. I used to be punished for reading Scott
and Cooper. Nowadays prizes are given to boys for their knowledge of
Ivanhoe or Quentin Durward. Expand this into a system. A boy who
loves to browse over Chambers' English literature ought to be guided

THE SCIENCE OF EDUCATION 511

in his browsing, and induced to take up something more than selections,
and he may easily be induced to get off selections by heart if his teacher
does not show his contempt by speaking of such exercises as Rep.
[repetition].

Let the teacher take a leaf out of our methods of teaching chemis-
try and physics. It has been shown that twenty-five boys doing work in
the laboratory during a lesson of an hour and a half or two hours can be
managed by one teacher. Experimental lectures in a lecture room have
now been greatly discarded ; such lessons as I speak of take place in the
laboratory, but reliance is placed particularly upon the personal atten-
tion of the teacher being given to each group of students in charge of
an investigation, the group not being usually greater than four in num-
ber, and often being less than two. These students are sometimes
merely verifying or testing a statement made by the teacher or found in
a book, but they are often finding out things for themselves. One idea
underlying the work is that there ought to be more and more illustra-
tions of simple fundamental principles. It is long before these simple
things really become part of a boy's mental machinery; things like the
mere definition of force, for example. It is, of course, quite different
work for the teacher from anything that he used to have to do; for one
thing, being much more exhausting. He can not shirk his duties and
sit down waiting for students to come to him. When teaching degen-
erates into mere maintenance of discipline, everything being regarded
as right if the pupils are quiet and seem to be diligent, it is necessary
to make a radical change, usually a dismissal of the teacher. It used to
be that a science master gave an experimental lecture, and afterwards he
had a very easy time, letting the students follow a set routine in the
laboratory, but this will no longer do; such attendance at lectures and
laboratory work means poor mental training.

Now, I would work out a system for English, English composition,
English poetry and prose, geography, history and other English sub-
jects, on the lines that we have found so successful in natural science.
An enormous change has been effected during the last fifteen years in
the teaching of mathematics. The older methods always failed with
the average boy or man. The new system, which is sometimes called
practical mathematics, is based on the idea that students shall work ex-
perimentally, just as they do in their natural science. It is found that
their eyes and faces are bright, they work hard, and they evidently enjoy
their work. We have merely introduced common sense into the teach-
ing; we have approached the student's mind from other points of view
than the old academic one, from the only side on which he has ever been
taught anything — the side of observation and trial. He weighs and
measures. He does experimental geometry and mensuration, and is as-
sisted by abstract reasoning just to the extent which interests him; he
makes plans of the school buildings and maps of the district; algebra

5i2 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

becomes interesting when in coordination with experiments in mechan-
ics and physics; trigonometry becomes interesting in the actual meas-
urements of heights and distances. The infinitesimal calculus is bound
to be a weapon which any boy of fifteen easily gets to understand by
actual use when he is dealing with dynamic experiments. In fact, the
physical and mathematical laboratories are in one, and the same
teacher takes charge of both subjects and teaches them as much as pos-
sible together.

Furthermore, in the preparation of an account of an investigation
there are practical lessons in English composition; there is sketching,
and also more careful drawing with instruments, and the finding of em-
pirical laws, using squared paper. In such a school every subject is
being taught through all the other subjects; every boy is doing the work
in which he is greatly interested, and no boy is attending merely and
putting in time. Furthermore, out of school-time there might be the
usual restrictions as to "bounds," but otherwise I would let a boy do
pretty much as he pleased. " Prep." at boarding schools and home
lessons for boys at day schools are to be quite discredited. I would — it
may cost a little more money — allow a boy to work in the workshops or
laboratories or library or in his own room or common rooms at anything
he pleases in this off-time, and I would give him advice only if he asks
for it. If I saw a boy reading a penny dreadful I would not stop him ;
nor if he were reading Paine's " Age of Eeason," or any wretched trea-
tise on psychology or logic. I would in no way discourage a boy from
acquiring a greater and greater fondness for reading, knowing that this
is the foundation of future happiness and education, and that no harm
which he can get from his reading is of the slightest importance in com-
parison with the importance of our main object. As he grows up he will
become less and less fond of the sixpenny magazine. The school can at
its best be merely a preparation for the lifelong education of the man. I
would not keep the boy at school after sixteen. Let him then go into
business, or to a science or technical school, or to the university.

Unfortunately for the present no university will take men without
an entrance examination involving other languages than English. This
is a great evil, but it is not going to last much longer. In the meantime
a competent coach will prepare any student to pass the necessary exami-
nations (say, in Latin and Greek) in three months, even if there is much
other work to do. This is not a matter of learning any classics; it is
rather the manufacture of some contempt for the classics, a necessary
evil for the present. Indeed, for the present, but let us hope not for
long, there are many other necessary evils. We have to find competent
enthusiastic teachers, we have to persuade governing bodies to pay sal-
aries two or more times as great as at present, we have to make parents
see that some mental training and fondness for reading and writing are
really of value, and that Tom Sawyerism is only childish.

THE SCIENCE OF EDUCATION 513

The imjjortance of primary education is now well recognized. Eich
and aristocratic folk know that they are now in the hands of the com-
mon people in a democratic country, and it is important to see that the
common people shall be made fit to rule and shall have a real sense of
fairness and reasonableness. Above all, if they are to be good citizens
we must cultivate their common sense. I think that in the schemes and
the administration of primary education by the Boards of England and
Scotland it is in a good way; but there is one great curse upon it, and
the enormous sums of money spent upon it are greatly wasted. The lo-
cal authorities give to every teacher far too much to do, and they give
him only half his proper wages. In a few years the government of our
democratic country will be in the hands of the boys now at school. That
they should be good citizens full of common sense is more important
than any other thing. If they are without fondness for books, and if
they can not reason, their votes will be at the command of fraudulent or
foolish, or perhaps only selfish or self-deceiving speakers. Our empire
was ruled by George the Third, and by God's grace we only lost America
and piled up the national debt; but think of an empire ruled by millions
of Georges ! Teaching the young requires great wisdom and sympathy,
and we trust it to people paid half wages, the " otherwise unemployed.*'
In the secondary schools also we find this penny wise pound foolish
policy, and it is particularly evil in the great technical schools. A city
is proud of its magnificent college of science, first because of its archi-
tecture: secondly, because of its equipment in apparatus, perhaps in
steam and gas engines and other expensive machinery. And the man
in charge of the most important department of that college receives per-
haps £250 a year. He ought to get at least £600. That is the market
price of a fit man, and without a fit man the whole money and the time
of students are being wasted ; the thing is really a fraud, a whited
sepulcher, and of course the principal is always a classical non-scientific
man. Photographs of the building and its laboratories are very fine to
look at in guide-books of the city, and the managers of the college get
public thanks for their services. I know nearly all the technical and
science colleges of Great Britain, and I hardly ever see any of their com-
placent managers, members of their governing bodies, without wish-
ing that I had some of the powers of the familiars of the old Spanish
Inquisition. What right have they to undertake duties which require a
knowledge of natural science?

The latest proposal of our callous copiers of the Germans is to make
attendance at evening classes compulsory up to the age of seventeen. At
present working boys attend evening classes voluntarily, although in
many cases they are too tired to learn much. Yet many of them do
learn. These boys are almost martyrs. They sacrifice so many of their
poor pleasures, and indeed duties, that they certainly deserve success in

vol. cxxxv. — 35.

5 H THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

life. But it is not fair to impose these sacrifices upon boys who are, as
apprentices, learning the principles underlying their trade, and who
are paid only small wages on the understanding that their masters teach
these principles. In 1889 I introduced a bill into the Kensington
Parliament compelling employers to provide such instruction during
the working hours. Eeforms of all kinds proceed with exasperating
slowness, but already many employers are carrying out this idea.

In some things we reformers have made way. It is now recognized
almost everywhere that examinations ought to be conducted mainly by
the teachers of a student. I have often put the matter in this way:
Huxley used to teach about forty students in biology; we can not
imagine better teaching. But if those students had only wanted to
pass the examination of London University, it is quite certain that they
would have done very much better by attending the class of a cheap
crammer. A university consisting of two, three, or more federated
colleges is very little better than a mere outside examining body, and
this is what London University has always been. I am glad that a change
towards something better is now about to take place. A number of
separate universities would be better, but in two years or less, probably,
the colleges of London will conduct their own intermediate and degree
examinations. One result will be that when a man gets his degree he
will not shut up his books forever.

I would, however, point out that Old London University, which was
a mere examining body, served an exceedingly important purpose. This
statement may seem curious coming from a person who has always
railed at London University as a mere examining board. I still say that
it was never a university at all in the past. But a man reading hard by
himself, perhaps far away from a college, could have a severe test applied
to his acquirements which encouraged him in his studies when he had
no other encouragement, and the test was very rightly a severe test.
To do away with its outside examinations altogether, as I believe is
the intention of the authorities, will be exceedingly harmful. It would
be impertinent in me to make a suggestion as to the distinction which
might be made between a degree conferred by his own professors upon
a man who has attended regularly a college of repute, and a degree con-
ferred by a mere examining body upon an outside student. For the
first, the examination test may be easy. The Oxford and Cambridge
pass degree examinations are quite easy, and rightly so, for the real
qualification is that an undergraduate shall have lived for three years
in the intellectual and cultured life of an Oxford or Cambridge college.
In the other case the mere examination is the only test, and it is rightly
very severe. The two kinds of degree differ altogether in quality. In a
new country of great distances I can imagine many good secondary schools
to be established having neither sufficient funds nor sufficient pupils to
be qualified as universities. Yet it may be of enormous importance that

THE SCIENCE OF EDUCATION 515

a few of the older pupils at such schools should as external students be ex-
amined for degrees by distant universities, which in such a case, are merely
outside examining bodies. I can see the gradual increase in impor-
tance of such secondary schools leading to the establishment of some-
thing higher — namely, colleges of university rank — and I can see such
affiliated colleges becoming universities themselves perhaps after a
period in which two or more of them federated themselves as universi-
ties. But I say that there ought always to be some examination ma-
chinery by which a student who is too poor or who through any other
circumstance is unable to attend a university college may be encour-
aged to study by himself, by having his attainments tested.

In this address I have said nothing about the education of women.
I have always advocated higher education for girls, but it is surely
wicked to teach girls as if they were boys. Men are concentrative, and
they specialize ; women observe more and more about many things, and
they really have more capacity for acquiring mental power. Until quite
recently girls were saved from stupidity, but the high schools are now
giving a crammed knowledge of facts and of the opinions of the tribe,
so that girls and women are ceasing to think for themselves. The edu-
cation of men is in a bad way, but that of women is becoming much
worse.

I think that in this address I have put forward no idea that I have
not already published time after time in the last thirty-five years. I
put these views forward again because, after much thought and much
experience, I still think them to be correct, and I feel sure that they
must prevail. But I must confess that it is only a very hopeful man who
can peg away at a thankless task as Dr. Armstrong and I have been
doing so long.

.Si 6

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

THE PROGRESS OF SCIENCE

SCIENCE AND THE WAR

One of the most serious aspects of
the war is the diversion from scien-
tific work which it involves. Should
the contributions to pure and applied
science in the course of the next ten
years be reduced to one half, the loss to
the world in life and wealth would be
far greater than that caused directly
by the destruction of war. It may be
guessed that in the course of the past
hundred years the death-rate has been
reduced to one half in the more civil-
ized nations and the annual production
of wealth has been increased by a hun-
dred billion dollars. If a comparable
advance would have been made in the
next ten years apart from the war
and this should be reduced to half as v.
result of the war, the loss would be so
great as to be almost incredible. Thus
the death rate in England has been re-
duced from 23 per thousand to 14 per
thousand in the course of fifty years.
If by the advances of science and civ-
ilization in the course of ten years the
death rate would have been reduced
to 12 per thousand and as the result of
the war the reduction should be only to
11, so that for a period of ten years
the death rate is one per thousand
larger than it otherwise would have
been, the deaths in England chargeable
to the war apart from those directly
caused by it would be in the neighbor-
hood of 400,000 and in the civilized
world of 4,000,000. There would be a
corresponding excess of ill--health and
disease over what would have been suf-
fered had there been no war.

In like manner it may be calculated
that if the increased production of the
world's wealth which might have been
expected from new applications of sci-
ence should be decreased to one half
by the war for a period of ten years
the economic loss would be in the

neighborhood of fifty billion dollars.
These calculations are, of course, sub-
ject to a very large probable error.
We may hope that the advance of sci-
ence will not be checked to the extent of
one half for a. period of ten years. Tt
has been said that it will be a genera-
tion before the nations involved will re-
gain the position they now hold, but it
may, on the contrary, be the case that
the loss will be far less than is as-
sumed as the basis of these calculations.
It depends on the length of the war
and on many other conditions of which
we are ignorant.

But figures such as these, even
though they have but small reliability,
may impress on us the magnitude of
the value of science for the world and
the injury done by an interruption
to its progress. A loss of four million
lives and of fifty billion dollars from a
slackening in scientific work due to the
war is greater than the destruction
which will be directly caused. While
we are helpless in presence of the di-
rect destruction from the war, this is
not equally the case with the loss due
to the failure in scientific research and
the applications of science. We
should in this country do what we can
to carry forward the work which will
1 e dropped by the disabled nations.

THE DISTRIBUTION OF SCIEN-
TIFIC MEN AMONG THE
DIFFERENT NATIONS

Some idea of the relative contribu-
tions to science by the different na-
tions may be gathered from the num-
ber of scientific men recorded in
"Who's Who in Science," an inter-
national biographical directory edited
by II. H. Stephenson and published
here by The Macmillan Company. In
this compilation there are recorded
1 .678 scientific men from the United

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THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

States and 1,472 from Great Britain.
These figures indicate that there are
more scientific men in the United
States than in Great Britain, practi-
cally all those from the latter country
having been included. The work being
an Anglo-American compilation, the
numbers are not comparable with
those of the continental nations, but
there is perhaps no reason why any
one of these should have been favored
in the selection of names. In so far
as this is the case, the numbers of sci-
entific men of some distinction in the
different countries are as follows:
Germany, 1,280; France, 423; Austria-
Hungary, 236; Italy, 215; Switzer-
land, 214; Holland, 155; Sweden, 109;
Russia, 97; Denmark, 94; Belgium,
90; Norway, 88; Portugal, 49; Spain,
41. It thus appears that Germany has
three times as many scientific men as
France. The population of Germany Is
considerably larger, but this was not
the case at the time the men were
born, they being on the average about
50 years of age and practically none
of them under forty. The number of
men in France over 45 years is only
about one million less than in Ger-
many, though there are twice as many
children in Germany.

In order to compare the smaller na-
tions with the larger we must take ac-
count of their size. The numbers of
scientific men for each million of the
present populations of the different na-
tions are as follows: Switzerland, 58;
Norway, 37; Denmark, 34; Holland,
26; Sweden, 20; Germany, 19; Bel-
gium, 12; France, 11; Portugal, 9;
Italy, 6; Austria-Hungary, 5; Spain,
2; Russia 1. In this comparison the
smaller nations show to advantage, and
this is a factor that should be kept in
mind in any redistribution of empire.
Switzerland leads all other nations, fol-
lowed by the Scandinavian countries
and Holland. Belgium is before
France, and Portugal is close to it.
In so far as the production of scientific
men is a measure of civilization, Aus-
tria-Hungary and Italy fare badly and

Russia is far behind all other nations.

A study of the distribution of the
more distinguished men of science was
contributed to this journal (October,
1908) by Dr. E. C. Pickering, the di-
rector of the Harvard College Observa-
tory. Taking the scientific men who
were members of at least two foreign
academies, they were distributed as
follows: Germany, 29, France 12, Eng-
land 13, the United States 6, Austria
4, Italy, Sweden, Holland, Norway,
Denmark and Russia, 3 each. The rec-
ognition of scientific eminence is likely
to come late in life and these men were
mostly old; half of the six distin-
guished Americans — Agassiz, Hill and
Xewcomb — have since died. The pres-
ent distribution of the foreign mem-
bers of the National Academy of Sci-
ences is as follows: German 18, Great
Britain 11, France 4, Holland 4, Rus-
sia and Sweden, two each, Austria,
Italy, Norway and Switzerland, one
each. Here again France does not com-
pare favorably with Germany. Among
its four representatives are two distin-
guished mathematicians, Darboux and
Picard, the other two being Deslan-
dres, the astronomer, and Barrois, the
paleontologist. They are scarcely the
peers of the four Dutch representatives,
Kapteyn, Lorenz, de Vries and van der
Waals, and are apparently less distin-
guished than the Germans and the
English.

If we select the greatest men from
the list compiled by Dr. Pickering or
from the foreign membership of the
National Academy, it is not easy lo
find any who can be placed beside
Helmholtz or Pasteur, whose portraits
happen to be reproduced in this place,
it may be an error of perspective that
those nearer to us seem smaller. But
when Germany names its greatest men
it goes back to Goethe and Kant, and
the scientific men who have died or
have ceased their active work appear
to be greater than those who are now
filling the chairs in the universities.

This does not mean that present
work in science is less important than

cv .• ' ■ «

r'C

Louis Pasteur.
A replica of the bust by Dubois, presented to the American Museum of Natural
History for installation in the hall of public health, through the generosity of Dr.
Itoux, director of the Pasteur Institute in Paris and M. Vallery-Radot, son-in-law of
Pasteur.

520

Til E POPULAR SCIEXCE MONTHLY

it was formerly. It may be that in
its earlier history, there was more op-
portunity for striking discoveries. The
condition may also he explained by an
inversion of the proverb "The forest
can not be seen for the trees. ' '
There are now so many scientific men
doing work of importance that it is im-
possible to remember even their names.
' ' The trees can not be seen for the
forest.'' Still, if we write the names!
of the leading scientific men of the
last generation, beginning with Dar-
win in England, Pasteur in Frame
and llelmholtz in Germany, beside those ;
who have recently died or are still liv-
ing at an advanced age, there seems 'o
be a decline in distinction, and the
same holds if this group is compared ;
with scientific men who are now active.
It is not easy to decide whether this :s
appearance or reality.

SCIENTIFIC ITEMS
We record with regret the death of
Dr. Morris Longstreth, formerly pro-
fessor of pathological anatomy at Jef-
ferson Medical College; of Dr. James
Ellis Gow, professor of botany in Coe
College; of Overton Westfield Price,
at one time associate forester of the
U. S. Forest Service; of Dr. W. H.
Gaskell, university lecturer in physiol-
ogy at Cambridge University and of
Dr. Eugen von Biihm-Bawerk, pro-
fessor of economies in the University
of Vienna, formerly minister of fin-
ance, president of the Vienna Academy
of Sciences.

An international committee has been
formed to establish a foundation in
memory of Henry Poineare. A medal
will be struck in his honor, and a fund
will be established under the Paris
Academy of Sciences to encourage or

reward young scholars engaged in work
in the directions in which Poineare
led, namely, mathematical analysis, ce-
lestial mechanics, mathematical physics
and scientific philosophy.

Dr. A. Pence, professor of geog-
raphy at Berlin; Dr. P. von Luschan,
professor of anthropology in the same
university, and Dr. J. Walther, pro-
fessor of geology and paleontology at
Halle, aie among the German men of
science who attended the Australasian
meeting of the British Association. It
is said that there is some anxiety as to
how they shall return home. If press
despatches are to be believed, several
German astronomers, including Pro-
fessors Kempff and Ludendorf, who
had gone to the Crimea to observe the
eclipse of the sun, have been taken
prisoners and their scientific instru-
ments confiscated. — Among the German
scientific men who have affixed the.r
names to a manifesto renouncing the
honors conferred upon them by Eng-
lish universities and other learned in-
stitutions are Professors Paid Ehrlieh,
Hmil von Behring, Ernst Haeckel, Au-
gust Weismann and Wilhelm Wundt.

Sir Ernest Shackleton and the
members of his Transantarctic Expedi-
tion left London on September 18 for
the South Polar regions. The explorers
departed in two sections, the portion
for the Ross Sea or New Zealand side
of the Antarctic leaving in the morn-
ing via Tilbury for Tasmania, and the
Weddell Sea section, including Sir
Ernest Shackleton, leaving for South
America later in the day. The En-
durance. the ship of the Weddell Sea
party, left Plymouth on August 8.
The Ross Sea ship Aurora is to leave
some Australian port about the begin-
ning of December.

THE

POPULAR SCIENCE

MONTHLY.

DECEMBER, 1914

THE CINCHONA BOTANICAL STATION

By Professor DUNCAN S. JOHNSON

JOHNS HOPKINS UNIVERSITY

THE botanical laboratory and garden at Cinchona, in the Blue Moun-
tains of Jamaica, which for the past ten years has been a tropical
station of the New York Botanical Garden, is now to be maintained
under the auspices of the British Association for the Advancement of
Science, with the cooperation of the Jamaican government. The Brit-
ish Association is concerned primarily in making Cinchona available for
British investigators, but it is believed that, except when the laboratory
is taxed to its capacity by appointees of this association, its privileges,
will be extended, upon the recommendation of the Jamaican government,,
to properly accredited American botanists.

The opening of a new chapter in the history of this long-established
seat of botanical activity makes this a fitting time to call attention to the
work that has been done at this laboratory during the past forty years,
and to its peculiar advantages in location as a botanical station. We
may also note the evidence for the need of such a laboratory, and the
character of its possible service to botanical science. "With the general
appreciation of the variety of plant material and other advantages to be
had at this laboratory, it is believed that Cinchona will be more and
more resorted to by investigators working on those botanical problems
which can best be studied with organisms living under tropical or sub-
tropical conditions.

The need of a botanical laboratory in the western tropics, which
could offer the facilities and give the stimulus afforded to old-world
botanists by the Dutch garden at Buitenzorg, in Java, has long been
recognized by American botanists. It is true that biological explorers
in quest of new forms, or of new evidence concerning the distribution of
known forms, have been searching since the days of Hans Sloane (1687)
and Humboldt (1799-1804) through many parts of the western tropics..
The plant taxonomists of Europe, of the H. S. National Herbarium, of

VOL. LXXXV. — 36

522 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

the Columbian Field Museum, and especially of the New York Botan-
ical Garden, have recently made extensive collections in the continental
and Antillean portions of the American tropics. But facilities have been
lacking for working out the life-histories or the physiology and ecology
of tropical and subtropical seaweeds, as this has been done at Naples and
Ceylon ; the chance has been wanting to select, study and carefully pre-
serve developmental stages of tropical mosses, ferns and seed plants, and
to make investigations of the physiology of growth, nutrition and other
activities of plants near the equator, as these have been made at Buiten-
zorg. This sort of opportunity for studying tropical plants where they
must be studied — in their tropical surroundings — has seldom been
offered to American investigators until within the last decade. The more
or less temporary summer laboratories established in the western tropics
have been located directly upon the seacoast, primarily with a view to
their fitness for zoological work. They have usually proved unattrac-
tive to botanists engaged in studies other than those upon marine algae.
This has been largely true of the summer laboratories established by the
Johns Hopkins University in the Bahamas and Jamaica, by Harvard
University in Bermuda and by the Carnegie Institution on the Dry Tor-
tugas. It is evident, therefore, that for many kinds of botanical research
a laboratory must be established at a site selected with these in view — in
other words, it must be primarily a botanical station.

A serious attempt to arrange for the establishment of an American
tropical laboratory was made by certain of the botanists of this country
in 1897. The desirability of such a laboratory was pointed out by The
Botanical Gazette, and a commission composed of D. T. MacDougal, D.
H. Campbell, J. M. Coulter and W. G. Farlow was chosen to select a site.
This Tropical Laboratory Commission, after profiting by such informa-
tion and suggestions as they could obtain, and after two of its members,
Drs. MacDougal and Campbell, had visited Jamaica in 1897, was in-
clined to favor that island as the location for the laboratory. During the
presence of these two commissioners in Jamaica they were aided by Hon.
William Fawcett, late director of Public Gardens and Plantations, Wil-
liam Harris, superintendent of Public Gardens and Plantations and Pro-
fessor James E. Humphrey, of the Johns Hopkins University, who was at
this time in charge of the Johns Hopkins Laboratory, established at Port
Antonio. The sad fate of Professor Humphrey and of that promising
young zoologist Franklin Story Conant, as victims of the unwonted
visitation of yellow fever to Jamaica, undoubtedly checked the enthusi-
asm of many who had been interested in establishing a tropical labora-
tory. The anticipated encouragement and cooperation were not given to
the commission, and, in consequence, the search for a site and all further
work on the project were, for the time, abandoned. The project was not
again taken up by American botanists or institutions during the follow-
ing six years.

THE CINCHONA BOTANICAL STATION 523

In August, 1903, the Jamacian government, having abandoned Cin-
chona cultivation, decided to lease the Cinchona property. Through the
suggestion of the late Lucien M. Underwood and the writer, and by the
prompt action of Director X. L. Britton and Dr. D. T. MacDougal, Cin-
chona was leased by the New York Botanical Garden. It was maintained
by the garden as a laboratory, and as a substation for the propagation of
tropical plants. The director of the garden also placed the laboratory
and other equipment at the disposal of botanical investigators, of whom
more than thirty have worked at Cinchona during the past ten years.

In the last decade, it is true, several other botanical laboratories, all
of them primarily for experiment-station work, have been organized in
the American tropics. Two of these were maintained by commercial
organizations in Mexico. Of the other three, two, at Miami, Florida,
and Mayaguez, Porto, Bico, are supported by the United States, and a
third, at Paramaribo, is maintained by the government of Dutch Guiana.
At none of these has much botanical research thus far been carried on,
except the economic agricultural work of the regular staff members.

It is thus evident that the interest of American botanists desiring a
tropical laboratory has centered about Cinchona for the past two decades.
There is good reason to believe that this interest will continue and in-
crease. When, therefore, it was learned that Cinchona, the only station in
the western tropics for the study of pure botany, was not to be again
leased by the New York Botanical Garden, the Botanical Society of
America, meeting in Cleveland, attempted to secure the continuation of
the use of the Cinchona station for American botanists. For this pur-
pose a committee was appointed consisting of D. S. Johnson (chair-
man), N. L. Britton and D. H. Campbell, and an appropriation was
made to pay a year's rental, if this should be necessary, while more per-
manent arrangements were being perfected. Before the committee had
had opportunity to act, it learned of the prospect that the Jamaican
government would make the privileges of Cinchona available for Amer-
ican investigators. The publication of this account of Cinchona, and
its advantages as a botanical station, may serve to indicate the interest
of the committee in its work, and its appreciation of the encourage-
ment given to botanical investigators of our country by the Jamaican
government.

Location

The Hill Garden, or " Government Cinchona," as it is commonly
called by Jamaican planters, is a reservation of many thousand acres,
where the cinchona tree, from which Peruvian bark and quinine are ob-
tained, was introduced 45 years ago. Here, and on the neighboring pri-
vate plantations, it was grown for profit, until the cheaper labor and
transportation in the parts of India and Java devoted to this crop greatly
lowered the price of the bark.

524 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

Lying on a rugged spur stretching southward two miles from the
main ridge of the Blue Mountains, the Cinchona reservation extends
upward from the cleared slopes at the 4,500-ft. level to the well-wooded
peaks 6,100 feet high, in the main range itself. Practically all the Blue
Mountan country above the 4,500-foot level is reserved by the gov-
ernment as a water shed, and thus forms an immense area of mountain
forest that may be used for floristic exploration and ecological study. At
a spot commanding a remarkable prospect, on the shoulder near the south
end of the spur, stands the Cinchona residence and laboratories, situ-
ated at an altitude of 4,900 feet. The house is the highest dwelling of
any pretensions anywhere in the West Indies.

HlSTOKY

The idea of developing a hill garden, or " European garden," as he
called it, was conceived by a governor of the colony, Sir Basil Keith, in
1774. He planned especially to introduce the cultivation of European
vegetables in the cool, moist hill country. The plan was first realized
in 1869, through the energy of a later governor, Sir John Peter Grant,
whose primary object was the encouragement of the culture of Peruvian
bark, coffee and tea. Here, in the early seventies, scores of acres were
cleared and planted with seedlings of several species of Cinchona.
These were derived from plants brought out of Peru in 1860 by Clem-
ents Markham. In 1874 the Jamaican government organized at Cin-
chona an experiment station, which became the center of botanical
work in the island. A director's residence, other dwellings, offices, lab-
oratories, greenhouses, servants' quarters and stables were erected. A
beautifully planned garden was developed about these buildings, and
planted with hundreds of subtropical and temperate-zone plants.

Here was stationed during the prosperous days of cinchona culture,
nearly the whole botanical staff of the Department of Public Gardens
and Plantations. For seven years, under Sir Daniel Morris (1879-
1886), and eleven years under the Hon. William Fawcett (1886-1897),
the staff was engaged in agricultural and in some purely botanical re-
searches. Methods of propagating, cultivating, harvesting and curing
cinchona, tea, etc., were studied. At a lower altitude experimental
plantations were made of oranges, orris root, forage plants, and fiber
plants such as China grass, which showed that these can be grown suc-
cessfully in the Hills. The staff included a trained English gardener,
William Nock, brought over to demonstrate the possibility of cultivating
' English " vegetables in these higher parts of the island. This ex-
periment was entirely successful, and in consequence the natives now
grow these vegetables, then carry them as head loads for 15 or 20 miles
over the mountain trails to the Kingston market. Besides these purely
agricultural investigations, important taxonomic studies were made of

THE CINCHONA BOTANICAL STATION 525

the flowering plants of this most interesting part of Jamaica by Messrs.
William Fawcett and William Harris, of the staff. Diligent search for
new forms in the more inaccessible regions was made especially by Mr.
Harris, while G. L. Jenman, then superintendent of Castleton Gardens,
studied the ferns of this area. Hundreds of species of mosses, ferns
and seed plants new to the island, and to science, were found by these
workers. The Flora of Jamaica, now being published by Fawcett
and Kendle from the British Museum, was initiated at Cinchona.
Records were also made for twenty years of the temperature and rainfall
at several stations in this region, including Blue Mountain Peak, at
7,423 feet elevation.

Some sixteen years ago the staff was removed to new headquarters
at Hope Gardens, near Kingston, from which the lowland agriculture,
now of most importance to the island, can be more readily studied and
aided. For a number of years after the removal of headquarters, the
Cinchona Station was not occupied, except occasionally as a summer
retreat from the heat of the plains, by the governor, or other island offi-
cials, or by visiting botanists. For example, it was used as a base for
botanical work by Campbell in 1897, by Harshberger in 1902, and by
Underwood, Maxon, Johnson and Shreve in 1903.

The importance of the later history of Cinchona, during its lease by
the New York Botanical Garden, has already been suggested. Aside
from being used as a propagating station, it has been the base for much
purely botanical work by Americans and Englishmen. Researches have
come from Cinchona during the past decade by workers from the New
York Botanical Garden, the United States National Museum, Colum-
bia, Yale and Johns Hopkins Universities, and Wellesley College. Im-
portant studies of the ecological distribution of Blue Mountain plants
have been made here by Forrest Shreve, of Johns Hopkins University
and of the Carnegie Institution. Developmental and anatomical in-
vestigations have been initiated at Cinchona on the Orchidaceae, Piper-
aceae, Loranthaceae, Filicales and Hepaticeae by investigators from
Columbia, Glasgow, Johns Hopkins and Yale Universities. Aside from
the investigations accomplished, many botanists have here had their
first opportunity of perceiving the intimate dependence of certain types
of extreme specialization in plant structure on the accentuation of defi-
nite climatic or edaphic conditions. In other words, many have here
first seen ferns and seed plants living as epiphytes, and have first ap-
preciated the extreme diversity of habit and complexity of composition
attained by the plant life of a primeval forest under tropical conditions.

Cinchona and the Surroundings

The Cinchona Station of to-day consists in the first place of the
residence, a bungalow. This, with an adjoining building, can furnish

526

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

Residence, Gbeeneouses and Offices at Cinchona. The laboratories are behind

the flowering pampas grass.

•

"jg.r. , ^

4BK^R^- -^ d '

yjt

■ -f ■

fiii 11,; I

•4h>

Residence, Greenhouses and Office.

THE CINCHONA BOTANICAL STATION

527

living and sleeping accommodations for eight or ten workers. There are
two laboratories, each well lighted on two or three sides, that will ac-
commodate the same number of workers, with tables, shelving, some
simple glassware and a supply of plant dryers. There are two green-
houses that can be used for keeping experimental material under con-
stant conditions, and which incidentally collect water for two large
cisterns that supply the laboratories and house. The clear, absolutely
pure water for drinking and cooking is brought on the head of a native
carrier from the springs of the Clyde River, 500 feet below Cinchona.
The finely terraced garden about the house and laboratories is main-
tained in excellent condition. Despite the ravages of the hurricane of
1903, it still contains numerous fine specimens of tropical, subtropical
and temperate-zone shrubs and trees. There are the native tree ferns,
junipers, Po do carpus, orchids, bromeliads and a great Datura with

Two Laboratories. Stables in the background.

corollas a foot long, that have been transplanted from the mountains
behind Cinchona. There are fine examples of many Himalayan and
Cape of Good Hope species. Large trees are here of Cryptomeria,
Cupressus Lawsoniana, Pinus Massonianu, and two species of Podo-
carpus. The genera Grevillea, Hakea, Callistemon, Gordonia, Pitto-
sporum and the beautiful Acacia are represented by from one to several
species each. There are splendid specimens or clumps of each of a dozen
species of Eucalyptus. Eight or ten species of subtropical palms are
found here, together with Agaves, Yuccas, New Zealand flax with leaves

528

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

Corner of Garden.

Doryanthes Datura and native ferns in foreground. Silk oaks
and Eucalypti in background.

six feet long, and the huge Amaryllidaceous Doryanthes. There are
clumps of beautiful Azaleas, whole hedges of bamboo, and thickets of
two Asiatic raspberries ten feet high. On the terraces near the house
are dozens of roses, Fuchsias with two-inch trunks, and tangled masses
of deliriously scented heliotrope and Mandevilla, besides dozens of the
more usual garden plants of temperate zones. The laboratories are
nearly hidden by great clumps of pampas grass.

Among the flowers of the garden flit many beautiful humming
birds, while up from the valleys below float the mellow, plaintive notes
of a thrush — the solitaire. The garden at Cinchona, like all the sur-
rounding region, is free from snakes and from troublesome insects.
The native negro people of the Hills are courteous and obliging, and,
of course, speak English.

The surroundings of Cinchona, beyond the confines of the garden,
are equally interesting. Just north of the house a high knob of the spur
rises a hundred feet above it. Then, after dropping 200 feet, to a sad-
dle ten yards wide, at St. Helen's Gap, the ridge continues northward,
growing wider and higher, to the Blue Mountain range itself. South-
ward from the house the ridge drops off abruptly, except on the south-
east, so that from the terrace one may look off over the Port Royal
Mountains to Kingston Harbor and Port Royal, fifteen miles away and
nearly a mile below. East and west of Cinchona are the steep-sided

THE CINCHONA BOTANICAL STATION

529

valleys, half a mile deep, of the Green and Yallahs Rivers, the lower
slopes of which have been largely cleared and planted with coffee or
vegetables. These valleys, with their changing lights and shadows, from
dawn till twilight, are a constant delight to the dweller at Cinchona.
In the early -morning they are in deep shadow long after the sun has
lighted up the mountain tops around them. A thin veil of cloud floats
far down below, and, in the stillness of the morning, the faint roar
of the river, coming up from the dimly seen bottom, makes the valley
seem miles in depth. All day long the clouds, driven by the northeast
trade winds, roll over the Blue Mountains from the cool north side and
quickly melt away in the dry air above the warm southern valleys. In
the afternoon the sun sets in these valleys at four or five o'clock, and
their slopes cool down rapidly. Then bits of the flowing cloud break
off and slowly settle down into the valley beneath, to form anew the
billowy curtain that screens the valley each night. A sight long to be
remembered is such a sea of cloud, reflecting from its top the glow of a
sunset, or the brilliant light of the tropical moon.

During the rainy season, or " the seasons," as Jamaicans call it, the
clouds become denser south of the mountains. Then Cinchona itself is
enveloped in cloud most of the time for days together. I might almost
say enveloped in water, for the rain is so heavy that a tumber will fill
directly from the skies in three or four hours. An inch an hour may
fall for hours together. The spring rainy season, of heavy rains both

Cloud Fragments Settling into Valley.

5 3°

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

A Sea of Cloud above a Valley Half a Mile Deep.

day and night, extends over two or three weeks in May or early June.
A second one occurs in October. For several weeks preceding each of
these rainy seasons there may be dense clouds and occasional showers at
midday. From four or five o'clock in the late afternoon, till nine or ten
in the morning, the sky above is cloudless. The sun sets in splendor over
the western peaks and the moon and stars shine out with a sparkling
brilliancy. The clear days after "the seasons" are the most beautiful
of all the year. On the mountains 'round about, where all had been
dark green and gray before the rains, the foliage now takes on a new
brightness, and the scar-like watercourses are now veiled by white cata-
racts that plunge hundreds of feet down the mountainsides. Beyond
the lower mountains of Guava Eidge one can see on, past the foaming
surf line, out a hundred miles over the blue Caribbean.

During the late summer, and again in midwinter, the rainfall may
average but three or four inches per month, and it may even be fair for
weeks together, so that the soil of the hilltops and ridges about Cin-
chona becomes very dry. The total rainfall for the year at Cinchona is
from 100 to 115 inches. North of the mountains, three miles away,
there may be 200 inches in a year. The temperature at Cinchona ranges
from 48 to 78 degrees, but these extremes are seldom reached. In
June, 1906, while New York and Baltimore had temperatures in the
upper nineties, the thermometer at Cinchona reached 72 degrees but
twice, and then for but an hour or two at a time. At night, on these
same days, with temperatures of 52 or 54 degrees, we were ready to
enjoy the open fire of juniper logs in the living room of the bungalow.

DUCTLESS GLANDS 53 1

DUCTLESS GLANDS, INTERNAL SECRETIONS AND HOR-

MONIC EQUILIBRIUM

By FIELDING H. GARRISON, M.D.

WASHINGTON, D. C.

IN the year 1749 there eame up to Paris from the Pyrenees a young
medical graduate of Montpellier who was destined to become, by
reputation, at least, the most distinguished French practitioner of his
time. At the age of twenty-three Theophile de Bordeu (1722-76)
was already professor of anatomy at Montpellier and inspector of min-
eral waters at Auch and Pau ; at twenty-five he had been elected a cor-
responding member of the Royal Academy of Sciences, and, except for
an empty purse, his Parisian success was assured, not only through his
handsome presence, his attractive meridional disposition and his newly
acquired fashionable connections, but in part through the influence
and reputation of his father, who was one of the best known Montpellier
physicians of his time. In order to launch himself it was necessary
for young Bordeu to pass the examinations of the Paris Eaculty (his
Montpellier degree counting for nothing here) and to gain the good will
of its members ; yet, in spite of these handicaps, he began to loom large
in public consideration, when his fortunes took an unexpected turn.
Bouvart, a rich and powerful practitioner of the day, became so envious
that he pursued Bordeu with venomous hatred, and accused him of
stealing jewels from the body of a dead patient.1 On this charge he
actually succeeded in having his name stricken from the list of Parisian
physicians, and it was reinstated, after long dispute, and only through
powerful influence and by two acts of Parliament. The reason for this
savage manifestation of professional jealousy (the charge of theft is
said to have been false) was not because the young Bearnais physician
possessed any very formidable, overtopping ability, but on account of
the ease with which he glided into a fashionable practice and aristo-
cratic consideration. In an age in which the byword was " Le ridicule
iue," his morals and his moral life were those of the courtiers of the
period, and he seems to have succeeded largely through the good graces
of women, one of whom, in fact, raised the money start him in prac-
tice. In his early days he had not found the rustic patients of the
provinces to his liking and he aimed at a court clientele with such suc-
cess that shortly before his death he was called to the bedside of the
moribund Louis XV. He himself was found dead in bed on the morn-

1 Stealing from dead bodies was a favorite imputation against the eighteenth
century doctor and is represented in an old water-color sketch of Eowlandson 's.

532 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

ing of the day before Christmas, 1776, and his old enemy, Bouvart, who
seems to have always kept him in mind for judicial hanging, vented his
glee in an epigram which, for venom, matches up with what Louis XIV
said as the cortege of la Montespan passed by in the driving sleet: Je
n'aurais pas cru quil fut mort horizontalement ! "

At the present time, the scientific reputation of Bordeu is of the
slenderest kind. He is one of the gods of the old Montpellier faculty.
In his relation to the fashionable mineral springs of the Pyrenees —
Pau, Bareges, Bagneres — he seems the original, indeed, the archetypal
Badearzt. He was a good anatomist, a piquant writer on medical his-
tory, a promoter of variolation. His view of the brain, the heart and
the stomach as " the tripod of life " made its fortune in its day, and he
achieved a great reputation by his revival of the complex pulse-lore or
ars sphygmica of Galen and the Chinese physicians, a phase of eighteenth
century medicine which Dr. Weir Mitchell pithily described as "ob-
servation gone minutely mad." In the history of medicine these dis-
tinctions count for very little. Bordeu, who died on the eve of the
Eevolution, was doubtless one of the giants before the flood, but, as
compared with the great names of those who came apres le deluge —
Bichat, Louis, Laennec, Bretonneau, Andral, Pinel, such clinical
" genius " as he had acquires the ghostly implication conveyed in the
original meaning of the term. It has been said that every physician of
florid or fashionable reputation has in him something of the charlatan,
and there are anecdotes about Bordeu which show that he was no excep-
tion to the rule. But there are one or two things which make him an
important connecting link between the outmoded, pompous, pedantic
French medicine of the old regime and the brilliant and truly scientific
output of the Napoleonic period and after. Bordeu appears to have
been the first anatomist to employ the term " tissue," and his " Ke-
cherches sur le tissu muqueux ou l'organe cellulaire" (1767) imme-
diately suggest the great Bichat, whom he influenced, it is true, but in
a most untoward way. By tissu muqueux, which he also calls l'organe
cellulaire, Bordeu means neither cellular structures as Schleiden and
Schwann saw them nor protoplasm as Purkinje and Schultze saw it, but
simply such vague protoplasmic configurations as were visible through a
lower-power microscope. It was his ambition to confirm and uphold
the humoral pathology of Hippocrates, and he regarded the three Hip-
pocratic stages of disease, irritation, coction and crisis, as dependent
upon the glandular and other secretions. Corresponding with the dif-
ferent organs and secretions, he classified diseases, not according to their
clinical or pathological manifestations, but arbitrarily as cachexias, of
which he devised a prodigious list, e, g., bilious, mucous, albuminous,
fatty, splenic, seminal, urinary, stercoral, perspiratory; with an equally
complex classification of the pulse as critical, non-critical, nasal, tracheal,

DUCTLESS GLANDS 533

gastric, renal, uterine, seminal, etc. All this undoubtedly influenced
Bichat in the fundamental error of his scientific work, viz., the ascrip-
tion of specific vital property to each classifiable tissue. Bordeu's slen-
der reputation to-day is concentered in a single idea — the doctrine that
not only each gland, but each organ of the body, is the workshop of
specific substance or secretion which passes into the blood, and that upon
these secretions the physiological integration of the body, as a whole,
depends. This doctrine is contained in his "Analyse medicinale du
sang" (1776), the importance of which has been signalized by the emi-
nent medical historian, Professor Max Neuburger, of Vienna.2 An
examination of this work will hardly realize the expectations which are
raised by Professor Neuburger's panegyric. It is a typical example of
the purely theoretical reasoning so common in the medical literature of
the eighteenth century, in which an intolerable deal of verbiage is spread
over the smallest substructure of fact. Cases are frequently cited but
they are not true clinical delineations, only gossipy personal anecdotes,
not unlike those of Brantome. A great deal is said about the sexual side
of man, and indeed the most interesting part of Bordeu's theory is his
observation of the effects of the testicular and ovarian secretions upon
the organism. He regarded the sexual secretions as giving "a male (or
female) tonality" to the organism, "setting the seal upon the animal-
ism of the individual," and as a special stimulus to the human machine
(novum quod dam impetum faci-ens). He described in detail, the sec-
ondary sexual changes, not only in eunuchs and capons, but also in
spayed animals of the female sex. In connecting all this with specific
secretions, discharged, not externally, but into the blood, Bordeu was, as
Xeuburger rightly contends, very close upon the modern theory of the
internal secretions, but, as he made no experiments, his ideas can only
be regarded as an interesting phase of eighteenth-century theorizing.
Aside from Bordeu's deduction from what he saw, almost any stock-
raiser or poultry-fancier might have noted the same facts, and facts
of equal moment had been noticed long before his time.

To begin with, one of the oldest therapeutic notions is the idea that
such unsavory materials as the viscera or excreta of animals, administered
either singly or as a maximum compositum might avail in the treatment
of disease. This mode of therapy was a common feature of the Egyptian
medical papyri, was known to the Greeks and Eomans, made great head-
way during the dark ages, and reached its height in the seventeenth cen-
tury. The four London Pharmacopoeias of 1618, 1650, 1677 and 1721
abound with such remedies as the bile, blood, bones, brains, claws, eggs,
excrement, eyes, fat, feathers, hearts, horns, intestines, marrow, milk,
omentum, placenta, rennet, sexual organs, skin, teeth and urine of all
manner of animals; also bee-glue, civet, cock's comb, coral, crayfish,
2 Neuburger, Wien hlin. Wochenschr., 1911, XXIV., 1367.

534 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

earthworms, pearls, perspiration, saliva of a fasting man, scorpions,
raw silk, silkworm's cocoons, moss from the skull of a man who has
met a violent death, spermaceti, sponge, spider webs, cast off snake's
skin, sea shells, swallows' nests, suet, viper's flesh, wax and woodlice;
and along with these went those relics of the old Arabian polypharmacy,
the theriacs and mithridates, which consisted of grand mixtures of any-
thing and everything in the way of vegetable simples. In the seven-
teenth century there were actually "filth-pharmacopoeias" (Dreclc-
ApotheJcen) . The only physician of the time who did not attach much
importance to these remedies was the one who had the greatest fund
of practical sense, Thomas Sydenham. In the pharmacopoeias of 1721
and 1746, these nauseating remedies begin to disappear. One year
before the latter date, William Heberden, who was probably the greatest
English clinician between Sydenham and Bright, published his satirical
pamphlet " Antitheriaka " (1745), which was, in effect, a critical on-
slaught on polypharmacy. Charles Lever tells of a certain individual
who was " laughed out of Ireland." Heberden banished the theriacs
and mithridates from medicine with the scholar's ironical smile, and
with them went the filthier features of the materia medica. As a result
of this cool douche of common sense, the Pharmacopoeia of 1788 retains
but a single animal remedy — woodlice. Yet these things were the crude
elements of the present theory of treating certain diseases by means of
animal extracts. Before the time of Brown- Sequard, the only animal
extracts in our present pharmacopoeia were the antispasmodics, musk
and castoreum, which used to be described to gaping students, receiving
their first instruction in the action of drugs upon the human frame, as
derivatives of the preputial gland and follicles of the Tibetan musk deer
and the beaver, respectively.

Another set of observations which bears upon our subject is that
connected with the universal interest in giants and dwarfs, the acro-
megalics and achondroplasics of modern pathology. The acromegalic
giants go back to the legendary lore of the Nephelim in Genesis (VI. 4),
of Og, king of Bashan, the Anakim, Goliath of Gath, the Titans,
Antaaus, Polyphemus, Fafner and Pasolt, Gog and Magog, down to the
huge images of Manchuria, the innumerable reports of excavations of
giant skeletal remains and the Irish, Chinese and Eussian giants of
more recent date. The achondroplasic dwarfs suggest the short-limbed
satyrs, the dwarf gods of Egypt (Bes, Phtah and others),3 the black
pygmy races,4 the court dwarfs and buffoons figured by Velasquez and

3 For a full account of these, with many illustrations, see the Munich disser-
tation of Franz Ballod : ' ' Prolegomena zur Geschichte der zwerghaften Gotter in
Aegypten" (Moscow, 1913).

4 There are no white races of pygmies, and it is probable that most white
dwarfs are myxoedematous or achondroplasic.

DUCTLESS GLANDS 535

other great painters, and the athletic, acrobatic and hmnoristic dwarfs
of our vaudeville shows.

Among the ancient Eomans, it was customary to test the increase
in the girth of a young woman's neck, in connection with defloration or
pregnancy, by measurement with a thread, as indicated in the lines of

Catullus :

Non illam nutrix oriente luce revisens
Hesterno collum poterit circumdare filo,

but there is no evidence that they associated this cervical enlargement
with the thyroid gland. Endemic goiter, however, was so well known
in antiquity that Juvenal (XIIL, 162) has preserved its commonplace
aspects in a single line: " Qais tumidum guttur miratus in Alpious"
("Who wonders at goiter in the Alps?") ; and Pliny, in his Natural
History (XL 68), hinted at one theory of its causation when he said
that "only men and swine are subject to swellings in the throat, which
are mostly caused by the noxious quality of the water they drink."
In the sixteenth century Paracelsus found goiter to be endemic in the
Salzburg region, again attributed it to metallic and mineral constituents
in the water, and noticed that it coexisted with another disease of the
same locality, cretinism or myxcedema. While goiter is not a necessary
characteristic of idiots (proprium stultorum) , says Paracelsus, yet it is
most commonly found among them (so trifft es die am meisteti)5 after
which, he wanders off into his usual astrological theories, in which few
can follow him. The important point is that in goitrous regions, as
Dock says, cretins may have goitrous mothers while the marriage of two
cretins is usually sterile,6 which makes the observation of Paracelsus fit
in very well with his main theory of the provenance of idiots (generatio
stultorum).

In 1614 Felix Plater, another Swiss physician, published an obser-
vation which seems truly modern, an autopsy of an infant who had died
from enlargement of the thymus gland ("thymus-death").7

As we begin to perceive the relation of these varied phenomena to
the glands of internal secretion, it will not seem strange that Bordeu,
who -first stated the modern theory, should have hit upon the sexual
gonads as the most obvious illustration, for nearly all these glands are
in some way connected with the sexual characteristics of the individual.
We may now pass from the stage of hap-hazard observations to that
in which certain diseases were closely and accurately described, like
objects in natural history, and it is worthwhile to range these in chrono-

s Paracelsus, "De generatione stultorum" (in his "Opera," Strassburg,
1603, pt. 2, p. 177.

e George Dock on "Cretinism" in Osier's "Modern Medicine," Philadel-
phia, 1909, VI., 448.

7 Plater, " Observationum in hominibus affectibus . . .," libri III., Basel,
1614, 172. Cited by Friedleben.

536 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

logical order, as illustrating the slow growth of a certain phase of
inductive science.

II

On the continent of Europe, the disease "exophthalmic goiter" is
variously known as "Basedow's disease," or morbo di Flajani, after
the two observers who in Germany and Italy are thought to have
originally described it. Basedow, a physician of Merseburg, published,
in 1840, a description so complete that the Germans regard it as the
classical one. The three symptoms which he signalized— swelling of the
thyroid gland, protrusion of the eyeball and palpitation of the heart —
the Germans sometimes call the "Merseburg triad,"8 which they also
designate by the simple telegraphic epithet " Basedow." Among English-
speaking people, exophthalmic goiter is usually known as Graves's dis-
ease, after the well-known Irish clinician who printed an accurate
account of it in 1835. But more than fifty years before Basedow, Caleb
Hillier Parry, an eminent physician of Bath, England, made a nota-
tion of all phases of the Merseburg triad, part of which deserves cita-
tion, if only on account of its historic interest.

Enlargement of the thyroid gland in connection with enlargement or palpi-
tation of the heart. — The first case of this coincidence which I witnessed was that
of Grace B., a married woman, aged thirty-seven, in the month of August, 1786.
Six years before this period she caught cold in lying-in, and for a month suffered
under a very acute rheumatic fever; subsequently to which she became subject to
more or less of palpitation of the heart, very much augmented by bodily exercise,
and gradually increasing in force and frequence till my attendance, when it was
so vehement, that each systole of the heart shook the whole thorax. Her pulse was
156 in a minute, very full and hard, alike in both wrists, irregular as to strength,
and intermitting at least once in six beats. She had no cough, tendency to faint-
ing or blueness of the skin, but had twice or thrice been seized in the night with
a sense of constriction and difficulty of breathing, which was attended with a
spitting of blood. She described herself also as having frequent and violent
stitches of pain about the lower part of the sternum.

About three months after lying-in, while she was suckling her child, a lump
of about the size of a walnut was perceived on the right side of her neck. This
continued to enlarge till the period of my attendance, when it occupied both sides
of her neck, so as to have reached an enormous size, projecting forwards before
the margin of the lower jaw. The part swelled was the thyroid gland. The car-
otid arteries on each side were greatly distended; the eyes were protruded from
their sockets, and the countenance exhibited an appearance of agitation and dis-
tress, especially on any muscular exertion which I have rarely seen equalled. She
suffered no pain in her head, but was frequently affected with giddiness. [After
outlining his scheme of treatment, Parry concludes:] From this time no further
application was made to me respecting this patient, who probably soon paid her
debt to nature.

Between 1786 and 1815, Parry collected eight cases of this malady,
which were published after his death, in 1825.9 He undoubtedly is en-
s Basedow, Wochenschr. f. d. ges. Heilk., Berlin, 1840, VI., 197: 220.
a Parry, "Collective Writings," London, 1825, II., 111.

DUCTLESS GLANDS 537

titled to the credit of the original and classical account of the disease,
although he did not, as the French say, afficher, that is advertise, his
discovery by attempting to label it.

In 1833, Flajani published his account of the disease, in which he
recognized two of the cardinal symptoms, the goiter and the cardiac
palpitation. In discussing palpitation of the heart at the Meath Hos-
pital in 1835, Eobert Graves, the Dublin clinician, published his classical
description of exophthalmic goiter, in which the exophthalmic feature
was noted. He records that, in one patient, the beating of the heart
could be heard at least four feet from her chest. After the time of
Graves and Basedow, many similar observations were collected by
clinicians, but it was not until the year 1886 that the condition was
attributed to an excessive outpouring of the thyroidal secretion by the
German neurologist. Mobius,10 who at the same time, described a
number of related symptom-groups which he regarded as due to quali-
tative or quantitative changes in the secretion itself ("dysthyroidism").
In connection with the cretins observed by Paracelsus around Salzburg,
it is of record that Curling, an English pathologist, first observed that
absence of the thyroid body is accompanied by "symmetrical swellings
of fat tissue at the sides of the neck, connected with defective cerebral
development" (1850). The classical account of this condition is due
to Sir William Gull (1873) and it was called myxcedema hy William
M. Ord, of London, in 1877.

It is a curious fact that the same volume of the journal in which
Basedow published his account of exophthalmic goiter contains an
observation by Benhard Mohr,11 a privat docent at Wurtzburg, of a
remarkable and fatal obesity in an elderly gardener's wife, attended by
incipient imbecility (lappisches und Jcindisclies Benelimen), loss of
memory, general somnolence and scotoma, which, coming to autopsy,
revealed a tumor-like degeneration of the pituitary body produced by
inmixture and copious effusion of a serous fluid, the discharge of which
had induced pressure phenomena in reference to the adjacent parts of
the brain. This was the first recorded case of what is now known as
pituitary obesity (1840), the "dystrophia adiposo-genitalis " of Froh-
lich and Bartels.

In spite of the amount of original clinical delineation already on
record in the first half of the nineteenth century, these lesions of the
ductless glands attracted little attention. More interest was excited
by the appearance, in 1855, of what we must now regard as the principal
milestone in the history of the subject, the monograph "On the Con-
stitutional and Local Effects of Disease of the Supra-renal Capsules,"
a quarto of 43 pages by Thomas Addison, senior physicion to Guy's

io Mobius, Schmidt's Jahrb., Leipzig, 1886, OCX., 237.

11 Mohr, Wochenschr. f. d. ges. HeilJc., Berlin, 1840, VI., 565-571.

vol lxxxv. — 37.

538 TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

Hospital, London. In the history of medicine, this work was destined
to have an immortality of its own. In the very opening lines of his
preface, Addison clearly states, for the first time, the true paths by
which, as subsequent experience has proved, the problems of these
mysterious glandular structures have been best approached and attacked :

If Pathology be to disease what Physiology is to health, it appears reason-
able to conclude, that in any given structure or organ, the laws of the former will
be as fixed and significant as those of the latter; and that the peculiar characters
of any structure or organ may be as certainly recognized in the phenomena of
disease as in the phenomena of health. When investigating the pathology of the
lungs I was led, by the results of inflammation affecting the lung-tissue, to infer,
contrary to general belief, that the lining of the air-cells was not identical and
continuous with that of the bronchi; and microscopic investigation has since dem-
onstrated in a very striking manner the correctness of that inference — an in-
ference, be it observed, drawn entirely from the indications furnished by pathol-
ogy. Although pathology, therefore, as a branch of medical science, is neces-
sarily founded on physiology, questions may nevertheless arise regarding the true
character of a structure or organ, to which occasionally the pathologist may be
able to return a more satisfactory and decisive reply than the physiologist —
these two branches of medical knowledge being thus found mutually to advance
and illustrate each other. Indeed, as regards the functions of individual organs,
the mutual aids of these two branches of knowledge are probably much more
nearly balanced than many may be disposed to admit; for in estimating them, we
are very apt to forget how large an amount of our present physiological knowl-
edge, respecting the functions of these organs, has been the immediate result of
casual observations made on the effects of disease. Most of the important
organs of the body, however, are so amenable to direct observation and experi-
ment, that in respect to them the modern physiologist may fairly lay claim to a
large preponderance of importance, not only in establishing the solid foundation,
but in raising and greatly strengthening the superstructure of a rational
pathology.

Tbus did Addison set forth the fact that Nature herself is sometimes
the physiologist's best vivisector, even as Billroth and the followers of
Marion Sims elucidated the pathology of the abdominal and pelvic
viscera by making " autopsies in vivo."

On March 15, 1849, Addison read a paper before the South London
Medical Society12 in which he described the symptoms of what is now
styled pernicious anasmia, cases in which the whole surface of the body
"bear some resemblance to a bad wax figure." Only three of the cases
came to autopsy, but "in all of them was found a diseased condition'
of the supra-renal capsules." Was this a mere coincidence? Addison
inquires.

Making every allowance for the bias and prejudice inseparable from the
hope or vanity of an original discovery, he confessed he felt it very difficult to
be persuaded that it was so. On the contrary, he could not help entertaining a
very strong impression that these hitherto mysterious bodies — the supra-renal
capsules — may be either directly or indirectly concerned in sanguification; and
that a diseased condition of them, functional or structural, may interfere with

12 Addison, London Med. Gas., 1849, XLIIL, 517.

DUCTLESS GLANDS 539

the proper elaboration of the body generally, or of the red particles more espe-
cially. . . . Indeed, not only had he found the anaemia in question occasionally
occurring in connection with purpura, but had observed in cases of the latter
disorder certain local symptoms which pointed somewhat significantly to the
supra-renal capsules; whilst the bloodless and waxy appearance of certain
chlorotic females bore so close a resemblance to the anaemia described, that it was
difficult not to suspect the existence of something common to both.

In his monograph of 1855, after referring to " an ill-defined impres-
sion" that the suprarenals, in common with the spleen, thymus and
thyroid body, " in some way or other minister to the elaboration of the
blood," and after a modest reference to the "curious facts" upon
which he had "stumbled," Addison proceeds to develop the symptoms
of what is now called Addison's disease — anaemia, general langor and
debility, feeble heart action, irritable stomach, with a dingy or smoky
discoloration of the whole surface of the body, sometimes reaching a
deep amber or chestnut brown — and elucidates its pathology in eleven
cases, accompanied by striking and life-like colored plates. From these
records, it appears that the earliest known case of Addison's disease
was reported by his great colleague at Guy's, Richard Bright (of
Bright's disease) in 1829. In another, reported by Addison himself,
the post-mortem section was furnished "by my distinguished friend
Dr. Hodgkin" (of Hodgkin's disease). While developing his subject
with the firm hand of the master in descriptive pathology, Addison
draws no such striking conclusions in this memoir as we find in his
paper of 1849 or as are indicated in the preface to the memoir itself.
He does, however, draw attention to the important fact that even
malignant disease may exist in both capsules without giving rise to the
Addisonian discoloration of the skin. It was this memoir which led
Brown- Sequard to reproduce the fatal disease experimentally by excising
the suprarenal capsules in animals. The pouring out of the thyroidal
and adrenal secretions during surgical shock or under the passion of
fear (psychic shock) was emphasized long after by Crile and W. B.
Cannon.

There remains one other affection which, on account of its present
importance, may be briefly considered before passing to the experimental
phases of the subject. The disease of acromegaly or gigantism was, as
we have said, regarded as an abnormity from the days of Goliath of
Gath up to the time of John Hunter's famous and expensive chase after
the skeleton of the Irish giant (1783), but even before this definite
cases had been reported, with good accounts of the deformities of the
bones and the periodic coma, by Saucerotte (1772) and Noel (1779),
and in the nineteenth century by Alibert (1822), Chalk (1857), by
Friedreich in the case of the two Hagner brothers (1868), by Lom-
broso (1868), and by Sir Samuel Wilks, who in 1869 made a strik-
ing notation of the disease. The accepted classical account is that of

540 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

Charcot's pupil, Pierre Marie, who differentiated the affection from
myxcedema, osteitis deformans and leantiasis ossea, gave it its present
name and, four years later, correlated it with disease of the pituitary
body.13 Marie's claims to priority are somewhat vitiated by the fact
that a lesion of the pituitary body in acromegaly had already been noted
by Verga (1864), Brigidi (1877) and more particularly in the superb
autopsy made by the late Edwin Klebs in 1884, which is the work of
a veteran pathologist. This monograph,14 based upon a case furnished
by Dr. Fritsche, of Glarus, Switzerland, contains two striking views
of the patient and a remarkable diagram of the acromegalic skull;
the hypertrophy of the pituitary body and the consequent widening
of the sella turcica is strongly emphasized. But the opinion of the
eminent pathologist is divided between this lesion and a proliferation
of the thymus gland, which he found in the same autopsy, and after
balancing the claims of the two lesions at length, he winds up by declar-
ing that the cause of the disease must remain obscure. The view of
Marie, which connects it directly with a lesion of the pituitary body,15 has
been, with some reservations, the theory accepted up to the present hour.
It is interesting to note that, from the time of Galen up to the seven-
teenth century, the pituitary body was held to be the source of the
mucous discharges of the nose. Vesalius, for this reason, called it the
" glans pituitam excipiens." This idea was overthrown in Conrad Victor
Schneider's treatise on the membranes of the nose (" Decatarrhis," 1660)
and by Eichard Lower in 1672. Theophile de Bordeu, in his anatomical
researches, states that the ancients thought the office of the pituitary
ibody was to empty its humors through the nostrils, the moderns hold-
ing that it sent them to the sinuses of the sella turcica, and there the
matter ends with him, although he indulges a few vague conjectures
as to the possibility of the passage of the pituitary secretions into the
circulation.

(To be continued)

is Marie, 'Rev. de med., Paris, 1886, VI., 297-333, and in the graduating dis-
sertation of his pupil, Souza Leite (Paris, 1890).

14 Fritsche and Klebs, "Ein Beitrag zur Pathologie des Riesenwuchses, ' '
Leipzig, 1884.

is For an interesting account of this disease, see ' ' Acromegaly, A Personal
Experience" (London, 1912), by Dr. Leonard Portal Mark, a practising physi-
cian who has given a graphic and pathetic description of the gradual onset of the
distressing malady in his own body. Although his disease was privately diag-
nosed by most of his clinical associates and he was "spotted" as an acromegalic
in a Parisian crowd by Marie himself, Dr. Mark did not begin to realize his con-
dition until he was fifty.

A NEW PHASE OF AN OLD CONFLICT 54*

A NEW PHASE OF AN OLD CONFLICT

By LAUNCELOT W. ANDREWS

DAVENPORT, I A.

WHEN those among us were young, upon whom time has now
placed his silver stamp, the intellectual atmosphere was trem-
bling with the noise of a conflict in the clouds. It was called " The War-
fare of Science and Beligion." The dragon's teeth from which this
warfare sprang were sown with the first steps in organizing human
society.

The social order is a machine and, like every machine, consists of
two functionally distinct elements, the static and the dynamic. In the
machine, the static element is the framework which correlates the other
parts and maintains stability, while the dynamic part is made up of the
moving parts which confer the capacity for change and, hence for
work. The static or conservative element in the social order is that
body of ethical or moral ideas and traditions which we denominate
religion, while the dynamic element is the summation of man's experi-
ence with nature, of his knowledge of phenomena, of his technical in-
formation, of his objective social history, things which, taken together,
we call science.

From the earliest beginnings of science, onward, the scientists have
been the pioneers of society and have exhibited the characteristics of
pioneers, in their keen interest in the new, in their disregard of the old,
in their readiness to risk goods already in hand for better goods dimly
seen on the horizon, and their disesteem of tradition. One can easily
imagine that if the parts of a machine were conscious the moving mem-
bers would look upon the stationary stability of the frame with a certain
contempt and, resenting its restraint, might even regard it as a thing
superfluous, as an obstacle in the way of free movement. This has often
been the attitude of men of science.

The religionists, on the other hand, conscious of their conservative
function, must regard themselves as the responsible custodians of an
inheritance threatened by every change and by every disturbance of
the social order, and must, on principle, oppose a new thing until it has
proved its value; by which time it is of course no longer new. So we
find, the scientist always trying to induce the people to do something
they have never done before, while the religionists are urging them to
keep out of danger and to return to a model of the past, that is, to
imitate the example set by the founders of the several sects.

From this point of view there must always be a conflict between
science and religion, but a conflict only in the sense of an action and

542 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

reaction, a mutual pressure exerted by each upon the other. Religion
is the fulcrum and science the lever which together raise mankind.

Recent debate on these matters is marked by a great improvement in
tone as contrasted with that prevalent thirty or forty years ago. Not
only is the spirit of the controversy altered, but its ground has shifted.
Both parties have changed their positions. The religious partisans no
longer dispute the verdict of the scientists in scientific things and many
scientific men have abandoned the position that " matter holds the prom-
ise and potency" of everything in the universe, and now assign this
" promise and potency " to energy, regarding matter merely as a symbol
of thought.

Now the concept of energy is a good deal more closely related to that
of spirit than is the concept of matter, so that it has become easy for the
scientific men so to extend the bounds of their own field as to claim all
that which was formerly regarded as the exclusive domain of religion.
To make this new position clear, I might attempt to give a bird's-eye
view of the utterances of several recent scientific writers, to construct
a composite picture, so to speak. But to do this briefly would be im-
possible, so that I have perforce elected a different procedure, namely,
to present in outline the views of a single author, selected as highly
typical of the modern drift of thought along these lines. The writer
chosen for this purpose is Wilhelm Ostwald, formerly, for many years,
professor at the University of Leipzig, distinguished as a scientific man
and now editor of the Annalen der Naturphilosophie.

In what follows, it shall be my aim to lay before you a brief sum-
mary of the position taken by Ostwald on the relations of science to
religion, in a manner as devoid as possible of any color reflected from
my own views. With this object, I shall not break into the presentation
by any comment or criticism, and shall follow Ostwald's own phraseology
so far as may be compatible with necessary condensations and omissions.

Self-respect and happiness are, in the last analysis, the motives of
human conduct in those things that lie beyond mere maintenance of
existence. In fact, the greatest happiness which can come to a man in
advancing years is to diffuse happiness about him by the production of
creative ideas which relieve mankind of heavy burdens and increase the
general opportunities for happiness. The creative ideas which bring
happiness most directly are, in the first line, those furnished by science,
in so much as science lessens or removes many forms of disease and
misery which plague or threaten man in consequence of his biological
relationships. What no one of the many religions has been able to do
has been accomplished, in an ever-increasing degree, in bettering those
conditions of life which make for happiness, not alone through the
advance of medical knowledge in the treatment of disease, but still more
in teaching man how to minimize the causes of disease. The surprising

A NEW PHASE OF AN OLD CONFLICT 543

extension of the span of human life, within a few decades, is an index
of what has already been attained in this direction.

The fact that any one, to-day, can buy at small cost works of the
best thinkers and poets, and excellent reproductions of works of art, is
a witness to how much richer, not only our external, but also our inner
lives have become, through technical achievements that rest absolutely
on scientific progress. So, a fruitful stream, bearing all manner of
opportunities for intellectual and esthetic culture, flows among the
people.

Yet more deeply does science now influence the spiritual life of man.
Self-respect1 has already been alluded to as holding first place among
the conditions that make for happiness. No religion can impart this
highest good of mankind, this deep harmony which can withstand all
vicissitudes of life. This results from the circumstance that every reli-
gion is impelled to construct a fixed and permanent standard for all
believers out of the mode of thought of its founder. Now the founder
must have been able to raise himself far above the level of his contem-
poraries in order to become such a founder. But it is no less true that
he must have stood on the foundation which his time furnished, other-
wise he could have had no profound influence over his own age. Herein
lies a necessary limitation.

Again, to science we owe our recognition of the evolution of the
human species and of its continued foregoing to higher and higher
planes of thought and feeling. This recognition involves the corollary
that every religion, in proportion as it becomes older, is brought into
ever greater contradiction with the science of the present.

Protestantism is nothing else than a four-century effort to accom-
modate the content of the christian religion to the time, more fully than
was possible with the Eomish church. This form of religion succeeded,
accordingly, for several hundred years in meeting the needs of the
masses, but not so completely those of more advanced religious thinkers.
Here again the tendency to become outgrown, which is inherent in
every religion, became irresistible, and a sense of the conflict disturbed
the conscience, alike of the most spiritually minded and of the multitude.

In contrast with this inevitable, inexpugnable, drift toward senes-
cence of all religions, science shows itself of another character, as being
eternally young. Since with her no condition, no cognition, is ever
regarded as final or unalterable, and since by her all things are sub-
jected to a ceaseless, conscientious criticism, errors may indeed occur,
but they can not become firmly fixed. "Inner self-respect," the un-
shakable determination to tolerate no internal contradiction, is her life's
element and the condition of her existence, hence she must, as against
death, defend herself against every attempt to limit the right of criti-

iThe word "self respect" is here used to designate a freedom from all
conflict between the thinking and the doing, between "I will" and "I must."

544 TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

cism, that is, of scientific investigation of anything whatsoever, under
the obligation of absolute sincerity. None will deny that science has not
always been conceived in this high sense, but the religions have fallen
still further short of their standards, because they have not contained
the source of self-betterment, which science possesses in the principle of
free criticism.

It is of interest to enquire how it comes that most religions place
the paradise or golden age in the past, and teach that man has become
worse through sin, while science teaches that savagery, cruelty, blood-
thirstiness, murder and cannibalism are greater as we go backward in
the history of mankind, and points to the future, not to the past, as the
golden age. How does it happen that the opposite view has been so
general ? The answer is to be found in the attitude of the aged toward
the time of their own youth. The old, almost without exception, think
that the period when they were young was better, the weather more
brilliant, the apples more tasty, the bread their mothers made finer, and
the boys more industrious than is the case now. This is not difficult to
account for on the ground of the impairment of the keenness of all
organs of sense and the enhanced habit of criticism which age brings.

The early writers, who presented views on the topics in question,
were naturally old men, for the young have but little inclination for
such activities. It comes, then, that the attitude of the aged, tinged as
it is by the limitations of age, has very often been accepted as represent-
ing a historic fact with regard to the past. Ancient literature is per-
meated with this myth. The influence of it on the religions of the
world has been potent. Admitting that the world has become worse, a
necessity is felt to account for the supposed fact by assuming the exist-
ence of a personal evil agency, to whom was due the introduction of
evil. There is in the religions, accordingly, a marked note of pessimism.

The natural world is entirely filled with cruelty, roughness. It is
the theater of the wildest selfishness, in which the balance between the
beings who people it is preserved only by their devouring and destroying
one another. In it only the battle for existence, so well described by
Darwin, rules. Man is the sole being we know in nature which makes
himself more and more free from the tyranny of this conflict and pro-
vides for existence by peaceable work. He alone seeks to heal the sick
and to aid the feeble. The results of the good which he does are not
restricted to himself and to the recipient, since, as a result of a known
biological law, every time such conduct is practised the easier it becomes,
not to the individual only, but to all his descendants. That man is most
man who most consistently practises love and kindness in a world of
egoism.

In early times, when mere existence was so hard a task that progress
could scarcely be thought of, religion with its fundamental principle of
stability was the most advantageous form of culture. Later, when the

A NEW PHASE OF AN OLD CONFLICT 545

more primitive substructure of civilization had been secured by the
fixative power of religion, conflict arose between the practical require-
ment of self-preservation, on the one hand, and, on the other, the dis-
tinctively human thirst for betterment and progress. Furthermore,
those classes or individuals which enjoy special privileges or advantages
turn to the church as the preserver of the status quo. In fact, the
church can so act, but only temporarily, until the disproportion between
reward and merit has become so glaring that the unprivileged classes will
endure it no longer. Eetardation of progress leads to revolution. To
that extent the church is as naturally the source of revolutions as sci-
ence is of peaceful development. The church is unable to prevent prog-
ress, but can and does suppress the symptoms of progress. This is
tantamount to screwing down the safety valve on a steam engine and
hiding the steam gauge.

Eecent history affords many instances in Eoman catholic lands. It
is noteworthy that in the protestant countries of northern Europe, the
monarchy remains unthreatened, whereas in most of the catholic lands
republics have, by revolutionary methods, supplanted the monarchs,
Eecently in Norway, as the free choice between monarchy and republic
was presented to the people, they chose the former.

The foregoing considerations make clear a certain relation between
science and religion. The further we go back in civilization, the more
valuable we find religion to be. The further we rise in it, the more
does religion retire into the background, giving place to science.

Can religion ever become superfluous ?

Ostwald's answer to this query is, that one stratum of the people after
another raises itself out of the ocean of religious conceptions, and that
the movement toward the superfluity of religions is a gradual one, of
which it is impossible to predict the date of completion, inasmuch as
considerable portions of the human race are on so low a level of cultural
capacity as to make it doubtful whether they will ever reach the highest
plane. These will surely have a need for religions and will cherish them.
In this sense are to be understood the words of Goethe:

He who has science and art
Has religion also,
He who has neither of these,
Let him have religion.

All religions maintain that the contents of their scripts and tenets
constitute the truth, and that no mere human or mundane knowledge
can claim this designation, since it is, at best, artificial and confessedly
imperfect. On the other hand, the various religions contradict one an-
other, each claiming for itself absolute truth as its exclusive possession
in many and important points. Hence follows the conclusion that the
claims of the several religions to the possession of the absolute truth
neutralize one another and become invalid.

546 TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

Again, we must turn to human knowledge, and ask whether it can
lead us to the truth or near to it. Here we find the picture reversed.
Whereas, the religious conceptions claiming the truth for their own,
separate in course of time further and further from one another (wit-
ness the splitting of the christian church into three great branches,
catholic, Roman catholic and protestant, and the further schism into
innumerable sects) so, on the other side, the laws and concepts which
science accepts as true come, in course of time, ever closer together.
The rotation of the earth about the sun, stigmatized as false by the
dominant religion, was not on that account abandoned by science as a
truth. Historically speaking, science has always maintained its stand,
while it has ever been the church which yielded to the decision of sci-
ence, sometimes after long waiting. The most orthodox priest would not
now venture to deny the Copernican theory, and would not be seriously
taken by his followers if he did.

It can not be otherwise than that science should gradually supersede
the religions, when it comes to investigating the truth, for it lies in the
nature of the influence exerted by science on the aspect of life. The
religions must drop their old concepts in proportion to the measure in
which the spirit of science permeates the people.

When man made his first attempt at comprehension of the chaos
of the world, the sum of such thoughts, constituting the germs of that
which we now call poetry, science, religion, technology, was all put in
one basket. The early bearers of the torch of culture were priests,
doctors, rulers, judges, all in one. That was quite possible, since the
sum total of intellectual possessions was not very great and might find
commodious lodgment in a single head. With growing specialization,
some of these functions were of necessity delegated to certain classes.
The position of first comer and the prestige of tradition long enabled
the priesthood to still reserve to itself the functions of government.

The source of the conflict between science and religion lies in the
fact that science takes part in the development of the human speciea
and is, herself, the most distinctive and purest expression of this devel-
opment, while the religions seek to remain as unchanged as possible,
although in doing so they condemn themselves to destruction. In
consequence of the illusion which always located the golden age in the
past, the priesthood never surmised that their attitude was equivalent to
suicide, and emphasized just that which must ultimately make their
position untenable. When the contrast between the old, cherished by the
priesthood, and the new, which life brings, becomes too obvious, the
phenomenon known as a " Reformation " follows, as, for example, the
reformation of Judaism by Jesus and of Christendom by Luther and
Calvin. The only reason why no similar reformation has occured in
protestantism is that science has gained such an influence, even within

A NEW PHASE OF AN OLD CONFLICT 547

the church, that the latter has accepted progress as a practical principle.
So, protestantism advances along the path where science has led the
way — at a variable distance. At present, in the whole protestant church,
science is recognized as the court of last resort. The church no longer
undertakes to say what shall be valid in science, i. e., what shall be true,
but, on the contrary, endeavors to keep its doctrines in harmony with
the established results of science, or, at least, seeks to show that no
disharmony exists.

The root of the irresistible power of science lies therein, that she is,
in fact, in possession of the truth. Certainly not of all truth, and still
less of the absolute truth: but, all the truth which exists in our world
is in the possession of science. This possession can never grow less, but
is bound to increase.

What is truth ? To this question Ostwald replies : Truth is that
which makes possible prediction of the future. If a man says he fell
down yesterday while alone, it is impossible to determine the truth of the
statement, and his story must forever remain in that uncertain limbo
where the distinction between true and false is lacking. If, however, he
says : " To-morrow I shall go to Chicago," it is perfectly feasible to test
the truth of the affirmation by observing the man on the following day.

The lesson taught by the illustration is a general one. In strict-
ness, truth exists only as regards the future, since only in the future
can we exercise trustworthy control. Although as to the past we have
many witnesses and traces, nevertheless, our conclusion from them has
only the character of a probability, and floats somewhere between truth
and falsehood, although at times very near the former. The truth of
an allegation with regard to the future can, in general, be positively
settled. Moreover, we have no interest in the past as such, since we
can not change it for better or worse. We can change the future, and it
only. Hence, we call that truth which enables us to have a sure influence
on the future. Many cases indeed exist where we wish to know the truth
about the past, but such truth interests us only in so far as it enables us
to exert a defined influence on the future. Whether snow fell on Feb-
ruary 3, 1325, on the spot where my house now stands has for me no im-
portance, because for me nothing depends upon it. But if I had infor-
mation of the qualities of my ancestors for several generations back, it
would interest me, for the reason that it would give me knowledge of my
own mental and moral make-up and assist my self-culture. Self-culture
is, however, equivalent to a regulation of my conduct in the future.

All our fellow-men are able to predict the future more or less, in the
measure that they possess science. When the domestic lights a fire in
the stove of a winter morning she goes through a series of manipula-
tions, which of themselves produce no heat, on the sure prediction that
her labors in carrying coal, chopping kindling and striking a match will

548 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

result in a warm room. When an ocean steamer is to be built at a cost
of $15,000,000, the capitalists risk that sum on the prediction of the
engineers that if such and such be done, a steamer of well-defined capac-
ities will be the outcome.

We are already in possession of so great a body of truth that no man
can know one-hundredth part of that which mankind as a whole has. On
looking over the field of what science has accomplished for the ameliora-
tion of human life, we are impelled to ask: "How has science solved
such problems and conferred such benefits?" Science is the syste-
matized knowledge of the human race. The science which deserves the
name is a knowledge of the future. How do we arrive at this knowledge
of the future ? The answer is familiar.

Science has at her disposal a great number of so-called " laws," that
is, knowledge of the interdependence of occurrences. If we know that
whenever A happens, B will follow, we have gained two things. If A
occurs without act of ours, we can predict the coming of B and so
arrange our lives that B will be as advantageous as possible for us, or
as little injurious. On the other hand, if we can influence the coming
of A, we will avoid A when B is undesirable, or produce A in the
reverse case. Science, then, works in two ways. By its help we can
prepare ourselves for the future or we can prepare the future for
ourselves. Neither of these things is done by man exclusively. All
living things have the rudiments of the capacity to see into the future,
and even to adapt it to their needs, as, for example, in the case of a cer-
tain wasp, which buries along with each egg hidden in the soil, a freshly
killed insect, so that the larva may find food at hand. Such primitive
forms of conduct directed toward the future do not constitute science;
in so much as they are not purposive nor conscious. It is necessary
merely to allude to these instinctive acts upon which the existence of a
species depends, in order to bring clearly to the understanding the vital
importance of science to mankind.

In ancient times work was looked upon as highly undesirable. As a
heavy punishment for disobedience regarding the tree of knowledge, the
primal curse was imposed : In the sweat of thy brow shalt thou earn thy
daily bread. Civilized man has arrived at an attitude toward work quite
different from this. To him, a life devoid of labor appears empty and
shallow. Those who would wish such a life he regards as contemporaries
of minor worth. His high aspirations turn, not toward a state free
from labor, but, rather to one in which he may enjoy the happiness of
choosing the object of his work and its kind.

Even modern conquerors and despots, that is, those collectors and
possessors of giant capital, who in our time are the greatest world-power,
are infected with the modern need and impulse to work and, however
questionable (or unquestionable) their morals may in other respects be,

A NEW PHASE OF AN OLD CONFLICT 549

most of them wear themselves out more in acquiring the source of their
dominion than the humblest of their dependents, and for the most part
do not cease to strain their mental capacities to the limit in this exacting
labor, long after they have amassed fortunes far beyond the most exag-
gerated possible requirements of the individual.

We perceive that for the man of to-day work has become an instinc-
tive need. We find it difficult to understand the biblical presentation of
it as a curse. Herein we have an illustration of a phenomenon of
moment to living beings which can be summarized thus : In the course
of evolution the necessities of life develop into the happiness of life.

Those beings in whom pleasurable sensations attend the tasks neces-
sary to life will carry on these tasks better and more completely than
will others, who are brought to labor only by force of necessity. Hence,
in the competition for existence, or in the course of adaptation, such
beings are at an advantage, in comparison with the discontented, and
have a better chance to transmit their characteristics. Thereby is estab-
lished a progressive confirmation and intensification of this vitalizing
tendency, which gradually becomes a fixed peculiarity of the species.
The case is similar with regard to the taking of food. Eating and
drinking came to be ranked among the chief ceremonials of men, as a
result of uncertainties and irregularities in the food supply. In highly
civilized environments the custom survived, along with the sentiments
that prompted it, as a consequence of the law of biological inertia, for
long generations after the conditions which created it had passed away.
Thus, we still punctuate our festivities of various kinds with banquets,
during which the festive spirit usually reaches a maximum. Again, the
decisive function for the continued existence of a species, reproduction,
is safeguarded by a strong development of the corresponding emotions.
The mode of life and the character of most of the higher animals
undergo marked changes at the time of mating, and we see such animals
instinctively make the greatest sacrifices for the preservation of their
young. If we ask how it is with man in this regard, we have only to
consider the content of art. Ninety per cent, of all poetry relates to
love, and the personal experiences of most individuals further go to show
that the emotions aroused in connection therewith and the feelings of
happiness and misery are keener than any other emotions that affect
mankind. In this, some men have a different experience, or express
themselves doubtfully. These are the creative geniuses. They often de-
clare that in hours of greatest productivity they have a sense of pro-
found or even of inexpressible happiness.

Labor, being a necessity imposed on life, has developed till it has
become one of the joys of life. The completeness of this change of
feeling varies with the stage of culture of the particular group. Desire
for work has become instinctive, more especially among those peoples

55o THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

who have longest been subjected to the urgent necessity to labor. It
is, accordingly, largely a matter of climate; and we find that, in gen-
eral, the instinct to work diminishes from high latitudes to the tropics.
This aspect of work appears as a substantially modern conception. In
order to appreciate the full significance of the point of view, it will be
helpful to turn our attention for a while to an entirely different field;
that of physical science. There, the idea of work (and of its correlate,
energy) has begun to play a role so prominent as to be in fact the
center and point of departure of our apprehension of life and of the
universe.

In the narrowest physical sense, "work" is exclusively mechanical
work, such as that required to move an object. Such work is performed
when a locomotive pulls a train or when a man lifts a load. In these
cases the work is made up of two factors, first, power or force ; second,
path or distance. The science of physics teaches us that the work is
equal to the power (or force) multiplied by the path (or distance), be-
cause the product has the peculiarity that it is equally influenced by a
change in either component. If either the force or the distance be
doubled, the work will also be doubled. In virtue of measuring work
in this precise manner, a very important law of nature is arrived at,
called the law of the conservation of work, or energy. The essence of
the law is, that by no means is it possible to obtain work out of nothing,
but only to obtain one kind of work out of another kind of work, under
the limitation that the total work obtained can never be greater than
that used to start with.

According to a familiar anecdote, Archimedes declared that if he had
a lever long enough and a place to rest it on, he could move the world.
He figured that he could increase the force of his effort indefinitely by
indefinitely increasing the length of the lever. Every laborer who uses
a crow-bar has experimental knowledge of the effect, which, at first
glance, seems incompatible with the conservation law. The apparent
discrepancy vanishes when we remember that the short arm of the
lever moves less than the actuating hand, so that just in proportion as
we increase the force do we diminish the distance through which the
force is applied; the work done at the short end of the lever remaining
the same as that performed by the hand at the long end. Hence, while
Archimedes might indeed move the world as he imagined, yet the dis-
tance through which it moved would be so infinitesimal as to transcend
observation.

In a word, we may say that work is not creatable. We must be con-
tent with that which is in the world accessible to us. Still, our whole
existence depends on work, in the broader sense. Whenever anything
whatever happens, work is consumed, to be transformed into that which
distinguishes the new from the old condition. The significance of

A NEW PHASE OF AN OLD CONFLICT 551

work, then, is this; it is the bottom principle of everything that
happens. In a universe in which there were no work, nothing would
happen. Work alone conquers death.

When Faust, saturated with the pseudo-science of scholasticism,
cries out in despair:

Geheimnissvol am liehten Tag

Laesst sieh Natur des Schleiers nicht berauben;
Und was sie Dir nicht offenbaren mag,

Das zwingst du ihr nicht ab mit Hebeln und mit Sehrauben.

(Nature, secretive in the bright day,

Suffers no man to snatch her veil aside;

And what she does not care to tell thee,

Thou canst not force from her by rack nor screw.)

His utterance, in the light of natural knowledge, shows itself to be
false. Nature tells man all he asks; only he must have learned to
question her intelligently. How can he learn to do that ? There is but
one answer, through science. Not in ancient parchments, but in the
fresh well of experience shall we find the knowledge that we need,
which is fruitful and a sure guide.

We have seen that work can not be produced from nothing. But
how does it stand with the reverse proposition? Can work be annihil-
ated ? The fact is, of course, familiar that in mechanisms of every sort
there are seeming losses of work, or of "power" as we sometimes in-
correctly call it. This is true, doubtless, but not the whole truth. It
is all we knew of the truth till an original thinker, Eobert Mayer by
name, came upon the scene early in the forties of the last century,
who was not satisfied with this meager information. The young physi-
cian, on the occasion of a journey by sea to the tropics, was assured by
an old ship's officer that the sea-water is always warmer after a severe
storm than it was before. This suggestion was enough to arouse in the
mind of Mayer a series of questions. Might not the heat be produced
by the large amount of work which had been done in raising the waves
which had disappeared ? The thought looked like an absurdity to the
scientific men of the day, but, luckily, there were none of these for
Mayer to question, as his ship lay off the coast of Java, and he fol-
lowed out the line of thought, undisturbed by prejudices. In the
steam-engine work is undoubtedly produced. Whence comes it? May
not the work it does spring directly from the heat which it must re-
ceive in order to run? Work gives heat when it vanishes and, con-
versely, heat generates work in the engine. Are, then, heat and work
things which can be transformed into one another, like two chemical
compounds, or are they merely different forms of one and the same
thing?

Filled with these reflections and with the conviction that he had at-
tained a deep insight into the nature of things, Mayer returned home,

552 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

communicated his ideas to friends, and sought to convince them. The
mathematicians among them were so affected by the faulty form in
which Mayer put his theory, that they would not listen and paid him
no attention, even after he had corrected the error. The professors
proved no more amenable. One of them remarked, sarcastically, that
if that were so, a bottle of water violently shaken ought to become
warmer. Mayer, undeterred by the sarcasm, tried the experiment, the
result of which is now so familiar to us as to seem almost axiomatic.

We see clearly that in doing mechanical work the losses of work,
due to friction, result in heat. In a word, friction is a means of con-
verting work into heat, just as a steam engine is a means of converting
heat into work. Incomplete machines are those that transmute part
of the work into heat, and the smaller this part is, the more perfect we
call the machine.

Heat is, however, not the only thing into which work may be con-
verted. It may reappear in the form of electricity, or of light, or of
chemical change. All these tilings, out of which work may arise or into
which it may be changed, we now call energy. While the law of the
conservation of work has only a limited and ideal application, that of
the conservation of energy is a natural law of universal application,
without any limitation or exception. If we call those amounts of
energy equal which arise from one another, we can, as the result of all
experience, express the conservation law in the following terms:

Within a closed system, through whose walls no energy can pass in
or go out, the total amount of energy remains the same, regardless of
what happens inside the system.

In what light are we to consider this energy? Is it an actuality
or a mere figment of thought? The reply can scarcely be doubtful.
That which can not be created by any power in the universe, which
maintains itself unaltered in amount in spite of all the unnumbered
and protean changes to which it is subjected through all the ages, must
be the most real thing we can conceive of. All efforts of the adherents
of the older view to discredit the reality of energy have been fruitless,
so that it is now thought of not merely as a formal thing, but as an
essential entity, as a commodity which can be measured, stored, bought
and sold. When you have the storage battery of your electric car
charged up, and pay for it, what are you getting for your money ? The
battery is not heavier by the smallest fraction of an ounce. You have
not purchased a figment of the mind, nor any mere abstraction, but an
absolutely real thing, so many units of energy. You may think of it
perhaps as electricity, but this is erroneous, since the charged battery
contains its energy in chemical, not in electrical form.

Energy is more than a reality. It is the reality. No phenomenon,
no effect, is anything but a (more or less transitory) manifestation of
energy and, as such, is subject to the energy law.

A NEW PHASE OF AN OLD CONFLICT 553

Only ideal machines convert one form of energy exclusively into
one other, desired, form. A plant is a machine that uses the rays of the
sun directly for building up its body, a thing man can not do ; but it is
not a perfect machine, since it does not convert all the solar energy it
receives to its own uses. From the human standpoint, a plant is a ma-
chine for storing up energy of solar radiation in the form of food for
man. We have the data for comparing the energy available to the plant
with that stored up. The result of the comparison is striking. The
plant stores up, in fact, less than one-hundredth part of the energy it
receives. The relation between the total energy received by a machine
and that which it utilizes we call the figure of merit of the machine.
This technical expression is but an extension of a colloquial figure of
speech: thus, we call an electric generator "good" if it converts 97
per cent, of energy received into electric current, and " bad " if it only
converts 85 per cent. In the final summing up, the moral concept of
"good" and "bad" must unavoidably rest on the same basis, inasmuch
as all things that happen are but energy manifestations.

Every change in the form of energy is accompanied by a dissipation
of part of it in the form of heat. This loss may be compared with the
material losses, in the way of saw-dust, chips, etc., which accompany
the work of carpenter or stone cutter. We may look on the heat dissi-
pated by machines as an undesirable by-product. Actual machines
fall far short of ideal ones in their figure of merit, that is in their effi-
ciency, but those made by human hands are relatively much less waste-
ful of energy than those furnished by nature.

The inefficiency of our practical mechanisms, compared with their
theoretical efficiency, is a measure of our stupidity or unskillfulness.
In this respect improvement is constantly taking place. All technology
is devoted to the conversion of crude energy into forms useful to man.
The " figure of merit " in the transformation is a gauge of our culture
in this field. Let us consider what is the scope, upward, of technology
in the sense referred to. We have not yet quite got rid of the ancient
view of work, and hence of technical operations, as being something
low. It is interesting to recall that Aristotle held the institution of
slavery, on which the civilization of Greece and Eome rested, to be
inevitably necessary for all time, since he could not picture to himself
how the crude labor of grinding corn, pumping water and the like
could be done at all, if not by slaves. Later times have taught us to
solve the slave problem by the inanimate agencies of wind, water and
coal, which make superfluous the lowest forms of human labor. In
this illustration we see to what a high degree technical progress has
had a humanizing influence by reducing the amount of de-humanizing
work. Without technical advances, we would have to have slaves to-day,
and would still be, in the development of social conscience, ages behind

vol. lxxxv. — 38.

554 TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

what we are. All the ethics and morals ever thought of never could
have effected this. We must eat before we can philosophize !

Of yore, figures of men and women in the sweat of their brows,
digging, were a symbol of humanity. The symbol of modern mankind
is the man who, by switch-board, steering wheel, or dictograph, expends
enormous amounts of mental energy with but trifling muscular effort
for the attainment of his ends. This elevation of man from the level
of the ox to that of a higher being, who controls absolutely amounts of
energy thousands of times greater than that represented by the muscles
of his body; this is a great ethical gain which we owe exclusively to
technology.

We may also find ethical applications of the idea of " figure of
merit," or the efficiency relation. Jesus said of Himself that He came
to bring peace into the world. Unfortunately, in the outcome, the
sword was more prominent than the dove, and the church, as such, did
but little for the realization of the idea. However, the perception that
warfare involves an immense waste of energy, both in actual war and
in armed peace, is a view destined to be of decisive effect.

To be delivered from waste of energy is to be delivered from evil.
Take the most abstract of the sciences, philosophy, and the most ab-
stract branch of it, logic. What can that have to do with transmuta-
tion of energy or with improvement of efficiency? Logic has for its
subject the laws of thought, and for its object the avoidance of de-
fective thinking. Let us suppose its object so far attained that only
very few individuals are any longer guilty of drawing incorrect con-
clusions. Who can estimate how colossal is the waste of energy which
would be spared if men almost invariably thought correctly, and were
accordingly noble and virtuous in their dealings? In that happy state,
all those energies now expended for judiciary, for punishment, for
police and for government, would be set free to use for higher ends.

Ostwald emphasizes the ethical side of all these considerations and
condenses the whole into a principle, called by him the energetic im-
perative, valid in all phases of our lives, technical, intellectual, ethical ;
as follows: "Waste no energy, use it!"

We know energy in two states or conditions. In one it is free to do
work, or to be transmuted. In the other, it is in a dissipated state, like
a cup of water poured in the sand, and is not available for use. It we
call " bound energy." We are, then, expressing the facts of observation
in saying, " any given amount of energy consists of two parts, free and
bound."

Now, in every process of any kind, a portion of the free energy be-
comes bound, but never does any part of the bound energy become free.
Everything of which we have knowledge as happening is subject to this
law. Hence, the utmost limit of human achievement is, that we should

A NEW PHASE OF AN OLD CONFLICT 555

seize a part of this ceaseless river of free energy (mainly from the sun)
flowing by us to the sea of dissipation, and divert it to human uses.
We can never increase its amount, but by ignorance or maladroitness
we may waste or destroy some of that part which is available to man,
by facilitating instead of reducing its dissipation. Each of us is, then,
made a trustee of that single working capital, that foundation of our
collective possibility of living, and his value to mankind is measured
by the proportion of total free energy that he takes from the general
stream and applies to the benefit of the race. If, however, by careless-
ness or misuse he allows the free energy which is under his control to
become dissipated, he is guilty of a crime against the general welfare
which can never be made good; because dissipated energy can never
again be converted into free energy. It is the sin against the energetic
imperative and has the qualities of unforgivability and irrevocability
that have been ascribed to the sin against the Holy Ghost.

The rule of natural law is much more "humane " than that of man-
made law, although infraction of the former is indeed punishable, in
so much as the life of each individual is rendered more arduous and un-
pleasant in proportion to his aberration from the natural laws of vital
phenomena. But these laws are not something imposed from without.
They form part of the very texture of his being. He only needs to see
himself rightly, to be impressed, not only with the inevitableness of nat-
ural laws, but with their desirability. The law that a straight line is
the shortest distance between two points does not trouble us, since we
do not have to go that way unless we prefer it. But we have every
ground for satisfaction that we know this law and have since early
childhood learned its practical application, for this knowledge enables
us to reach our destination by the shortest path and so puts us in a
position to act in harmony with the energetic imperative and to visit
our friends without undue waste of energy !

Ostwald states that he learned not to force himself to work when he
did not feel inclined toward it, and so accomplished much more in the
end, because there was no waste of energy in overcoming the resistance
of disinclination ; and argues that the aim of our practical social ideals
should be, so to arrange all labor as to conduct it in like manner. This
would conduce to the greatest happiness of the greatest number, and
all would be working to the greatest advantage, since working volun-
tarily.

The energetic imperative requires, in fact, that we should remove
out of our lives and those of our fellow men every compulsion, every
opposition to individual preference so far as is compatible in any way
with living together.

To the scientific man, natural laws are not commands, but guide-
posts, whose purpose and use is to show him the way to a truer and

556 TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

fuller life and to inner content ; and he can not fail to desire to see the
social order conform to this type so far as possible.

The ethics of the New Testament is generally and rightly thought
to attain its climax in the injunction: "Love thy neighbor as thyself."
One is nevertheless compelled to ask whether love can, in fact, be the
subject of a command or an injunction. Love, is it not the freest and
most personal thing there is? The natural philosopher must recognize
the existence of an incompatibility here and change the content of this
conception as science has changed the concept of law. A natural law
is not a prescript, but a transcript, a simple statement of how things
actually are. So, in the ethics of science, the doctrine of the conduct of
man toward man must have, not the character of a juridical law, but of
a natural one, one which shall inform us, which shall instruct us, as
men among men, how we can live a peaceable, efficient and happy life.
And if, perchance, on this path we meet love, it will come to us not as
a thing prescribed, but as an incident and as the most natural, inevitable
thing in the world. The road that leads from an insight to a senti-
ment is often long, but education helps, self-education in case of the
more competent; for the rest, education of the children's school type.
But by opening our eyes we can find love already present without either
command or education. First of all, self-love, in every living being.
Not by the most exacting ethics will self-love be objected to, so long as
each individual is isolated from the others. But under these conditions
there can be no ethics, in the widest sense. When the life lines of two
beings cross one another, conflict begins. It is the conflict for existence,
in which there is no ethical content whatever. On the contrary, it is the
direct source of that which we call evil in the world. Simultaneously
therewith good also begins to appear.

Deep is the riddle that comes with life, for with life comes the
function of reproduction, so that through the activity of each indi-
vidual a second enters the field, which is to the first a competitor and
an enemy. To ensure perpetuation of the species, each being of the
species must, through its offspring, contribute to the keenness of the
competition which he himself must contend against. A strange situ-
ation !

Further, the functions involved in the perpetuation of the kind are
bound up with a complex of instincts and feelings that exceed in power
all others, even the love of life. In the simplest organism, consisting
of a single cell, reproduction takes place by division of the cell. There
are now two beings where there was one before, but it is impossible to
say which is parent and which the offspring. If they were self-con-
scious, we may well imagine that they would learn only by experience
that they had become two. Something of this sentiment of identity is
to be seen in the feelings of the mother toward the young, in the higher

A NEW PHASE OF AN OLD CONFLICT 557

animals and in man. The most elementary form of love is that of the
mother toward the child, and it is a direct development from self-love.
The cat-mother who defends her kitten with her life, later shows toward
it an increasingly unfriendly attitude. With decreasing dependence of
the young lifa there is a diminution of parental love. Among gregari-
ous animals that find an advantage in living in groups, the affectionate
relation lasts much longer, but the change finally comes.

Here the sources of love lie open before us. Parental love is an ele-
mentary phenomenon, resulting in the passing of the instinct of self-
preservation from the individual to the species. From the same source
arises sexual love and also the bond between members of a family, which
makes each ready for a measure of self-sacrifice for the protection of
the others. From the family to the tribe, from the tribe to the race,
from the race to mankind, the same process extends and develops, and
this development is equipollent to and largely identical with the growth
of ethics.

The energetic imperative enters again here. If we ask why a family
or a group of animals or, specially, of men, hang together, the answer
is that it is to their mutual advantage, because it brings in numerous
ways an economy of energy in the securing of shelter, food and defense.
As soon as the group is formed, the conduct of each member must adapt
itself to the requirements of the group. Those whose behavior is most
beneficial to the group are highly esteemed and their demeanor becomes
a pattern for others. Those who have not modified their individualistic
instincts to harmonize with the standards of the group are treated worse*,
or may even be punished or turned adrift. Often one member of pro-
nounced individualistic instincts appears, who combines therewith great
abilities and personal force. He may subordinate the others and com-
pel them to serve his personal interests. The condition thus created, if
it continues long enough, gives rise to an ethics in which obedience to
the ruler appears as the greatest virtue, and opposition to his will as the
most heinous offense. Out of this condition, according to our author,
grows the type of morals presented by the higher religions and summed
up in the injunction, love God above all and thy neighbor as thy self.
This is the moral system of an oppressed folk, who give to Caesar what is
Caesar's and who contrast their joyless lives on earth with the higher
existence hoped for early in the future, for which they seek to prepare
by the exercise of love toward those who are to be their fellows for all
eternity. Ostwald lays stress upon the point that the foundation of this
morality has been shaken by the fact that the kingdom of Heaven,
expected so soon, has not as yet put in an appearance.

The demands of the present will, however, not be denied, and under
their pressure a new, unacknowledged morality has arisen, containing
the living elements of the old, adapted to the changed environment of
to-day.

558 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

As for love, it is an instinct which has grown to be a moral neces-
sity— a social compulsion that has been so fully absorbed into the indi-
vidual consciousness as to assume the character of love. Kephrasing
the old injunction, to meet modern needs, we find the new form of the
ethical ideal to be :

Love thy neighbor in proportion to his social worth.
Love thy people and mankind more than thyself.

The crux and point of departure of Ostwald's ethical views, as may be
perceived from the foregoing exposition, is to be found in the tacit
assumption that the activities of mind are but variants of energy, in the
sense in which this term is used in physics. It is, then, strictly com-
parable with the phenomena of electricity, of heat, of matter in motion,
and must be intertransmutable with them, as they are with one another.
If the assumption is valid ; the principles of thermodynamics are appli-
cable in the domain of Mind and Ostwald's philosophical edifice rests
on a solid foundation. If it is not valid, his entire line of argument is
reduced to a reasoning by analogy.

Let us then ask, whether the deductions from experience that we call
" laws of thermodynamics " are such as to necessarily include all forms
of energy or only those which we have learned to measure, as chemical,
electrical, mechanical or thermal energy. The latter we can, and do,
quantitatively determine. When a phenomenon involving them occurs,
we can measure the exact number of units of each energy-form present
both before and after the phenomenon and, by doing so, we know that
the sum of these units previous to the phenomenon is equal to the sum
of the units after, although the relative amounts of the different kinds
may have greatly changed. This is the essence and substance of the
positive knowledge from which the theory of thermodynamics has, by
logical methods, been deduced.

If we use the term " energy " for powers that are not quantitatively
determinable, that we can not measure in so and so many heat units,
we should make it clear to ourselves that we are applying it to something
that may, or may not, be identical with the " energy " known to physics.
Its identity remains to be demonstrated.

At present, it is difficult to conceive by what experiments the
"energy" represented by any logical process or by an emotion of love,
hate or fear, could be measured in units of heat or electricity. It is,
in fact, so difficult as to arouse a strong suspicion that intellectual and
emotional manifestations of mind are something else than forms of
physical energy. But, whether or no this suspicion corresponds to a
"truth," it is certain that no one has yet affirmatively shown that such
phenomena are subject to thermodynamical laws and, until this is shown,
the reasoning of Ostwald, highly interesting and suggestive as it is, can
not be held to be without logical flaw.

TEE NORMAL CHILD 559

THE NORMAL CHILD: ITS PHYSICAL GEOWTH AND
MENTAL DEVELOPMENT

By Professor BIRD T. BALDWIN

SWARTHMORE COLLEGE

FOE purposes of psycho-educational analysis it should be recognized
that a child has five parallel or interrelated ages : a chronological
age in years, months and days, denotive of the temporal span of life; a
physiological age denotive of stages of physical growth and maturity; a
■mental age denotive of the ripening of certain instincts, capacities and
mental traits; a 'pedagogical age denotive of the rate and position in
school progress; and a moral age denotive of fairly well-defined nodes
of development in moral judgment and religious awakenings. In a
normal child these ages balance each other.

This paper presents the results of a study of the physical growth
(physiological age) and the pedagogical age (school standing) of a
group of boys and girls from six to eighteen years of age when observed
consecutively. The chief value of the study lies in the fact that it is the
first attempt to follow for any considerable length of time the same
group of individuals through the elementary and high schools, either in
physical growth, school standing or the relation of the two.

The scope of the investigation includes, first, a series of norms based
on the height, weight and age distributions : the average and average
deviations of individual yearly and half-yearly increments of growth in
height, weight and lung capacity; and individual curves in height,
weight and lung capacity with health notes, and weight, height
and vital indices. The second part of the paper deals with the school
standing of the same individuals in marks, grades and ages; the third
with the relation or correlation of physical growth to mental develop-
ment as shown in school progress. The data comprise 43,840 measure-
ments on approximately 1,000 boys and 1,000 girls, and 21,683 final
quarterly term marks for 135 of these same boys and girls from the
Horace Mann School at Teachers' College, New York, the University of
Chicago Elementary and High Schools and the Francis W. Parker
School in Chicago.

That these boys and girls form a select group and that school-med-
ical inspection, directed play and physical training are important edu-
cational agencies are shown by the fact that on the average these chil-
dren are taller, heavier and have better lung capacity than any other
group in a series of 112 groups extending from Quetelet's first study in
1836 to 1914, and comprising over one million individuals.

560

TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

Height and Weight Curves. Boys.

The base line divisions represent periods of one year ; the vertical divisions rep-
resent 5 centimeters in height and 10 pounds in weight. The degree of pitch of the
line shows the relative amounts of increase of absolute increments for the same in-
dividual. The broken line shows Boas's norm.

In reply to the question how tall or how heavy is the normal child
within this group, and how much lung capacity has this child, the dis-
tribution tables give the following medians in inches, pounds and cubic
centimeters, respectively.

8 yrs.

10 yrs.

12 yrs.

14 yrs.

16 yrs.

50.3
49.2

57.2
51.3

85.6
81.8

53.5
53.0

67.2
65.5

110 6
100.9

57.1

57. 4

76.8
75.4

134.0
128.9

60.9
61.8

96.1
102.6

1625
150.2

65.7

62.9

111.8

Girls

108.8

Girls

212.6
176.2

For the boys and girls below the median or normal height, the
period for accelerated growth in height, weight and lung capacity is
later than for those above and the growth continues longer. This is true
of the schools individually and collectively for yearly and half yearly
increments, and for the per cent, of gain over the initial measurements.
In conclusion the nodes of acceleration or cessation are different for tall
children and heavy children than for short and light children.

In answer to the question, " What relation does the growth of any
one age or period have to subsequent ones ? " it can be said that the per
cent, of gain from year to year shows that each child remains practically

THE NORMAL CHILD

56i

Height and Weight Curves. Gibls.

within its percentile group. Aside from the height and weight curves in
1890 for Dr. Weiner's four boys, no long series of curves have been
available in scientific literature. Taking at random 170 individuals and
plotting their curves for height, weight and lung capacity, we have 510
such curves for comparison.

In carrying out comparisons graphically among forms so dissimilar
in absolute size as those of height, body weight and lung capacity, it was
thought best to use the following units. In the height and weight
curves the same base line division of 20 millimeters equals 12 months
in age, while for the ordinates or vertical lines 40 millimeters equal
20 centimeters in height and 10 millimeters represent 20 pounds in
weight. In the lung capacity charts a base line division of 15 milli-
meters is used for 12 months in age, and in the vertical or ordinates 10
millimeters represent 20 cubic inches in lung capacity. The original
charts have been reduced in size and the millimeter lines taken out.
The black lines represent distances of 20 millimeters on the height and
weight charts and 15 and 10 millimeters on the lung capacity charts.
The same Arabic numerals in a chart refer to the same individual.

Short children do not become tall, neither do tall children become
short, under normal conditions. The per cent, of increase in height
increments over the initial heights for a given chronological age from
6 to 18 is so comparatively uniform for each normal individual that the
growth curves enable us to prophesy with considerable accuracy how tall
a child of normal growth should be at any subsequent age within the

562

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

Lung Capacity Corves. Boys.

The base line divisions represent periods of one year ; the vertical divisions repre-
sent 20 cubic inches in lung capacity. The degree of pitch of the line shows the
relative amounts of increase of absolute increments for the same individual.

interim, provided his relation to any given median or norm be known.

The second significant point to notice is the relative shifting of the
period of adolescent acceleration from 12^ for the tallest boy (No. 2) to
16 years for a short boy. For the tallest girl maximum height was at-
tained at 14^ and for the shortest girl at 17 years, 3 months.

A period of marked retardation before adolescence is usually marked
by a period of rapid acceleration during adolescence. If the increment
of growth before adolescence is uniform, this uniformity tends to persist
throughout adolescence. Where there is unusually rapid growth from 7
to the beginning of adolescence, there is frequently a decrease during
adolescence. Marked arrests with these children usually occur during
adolescence and persist throughout the period.

As a rule the weight and height are relatively proportionate to each
other. Aside from irregular periodic fluctuations in height, each child
retains relatively its position throughout childhood in regard to weight.

THE NORMAL CHILD

563

Lung Capacity Curves. Girls.

One of the most useful and practical indices of growth is the weight-
height coefficient, which expresses the comparative solidity or robustness
of the individual, and therefore, other things being equal, his general
nutrition.

The lowest ratio in this group of boys is .15 at six years, and the
highest .40 at 17^ years of age. There is little or no apparent difference,
as a rule, between the tall boys and the short boys, except that the ac-
celeration begins earlier for tall individuals. For example, if we take
0.23 as representing a given physiological stage of development, it will
be noted that the time shifts chronologically in a fairly uniform man-
ner between 7 and 8 years of age with No. 1, to 14^ years for No. 14.

It will be noted in the boys' lung capacity curves that No. 9 in the
first chart, who is relatively heavier than the others for his height, also
has more lung capacity. This is significant since the other boys hold
approximately their relative places for height, weight and lung ca-
pacity.

The boys have greater lung capacity than the girls, on an average,
for all periods except at about 13 and 13^ years of age. The develop-

564 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

ment in lung capacity for girls about comes to a standstill or decreases
after 15 years of age; for boys the period is some time after 17 or 18.
Marked arrests in height and weight are uniformly accompanied by
arrest in growth of lung capacity. The boys and girls above and below
median height differ in their periods of accelerated growth in lung ca-
pacity in a manner similar to the differences in height and weight.

In general it may be stated that there is more marked relationship
between disease or physical defects and growth in weight than growth
in height. Diseases seem to inhibit growth more during the late period
of childhood than earlier. Accelerated growth and resistance to disease
go hand in hand. The inception and removal of adenoid growth mate-
rially affect physical development.

Selecting the individual growth curves of the girls whose physiolog-
ical changes have been recorded day by day during the periods of matu-
ration, it is evident that the taller girls mature early.

Height and weight, therefore, offer excellent objective criteria for
teachers and parents for determining the advent of menstruation as a
factor in pubescent development and the onset of maturity. If the girl
is tall, healthy and well nourished, this physical stage may be reached
as early as 11 years in a normal girl; if tall, but underweight, it may
be delayed; if very short and markedly light, it may be delayed until 16
years of age.

These conditions have wide educational application both in physical
training and school work. They emphasize the fact that the smaller
child should be treated as a younger individual, who has not the phys-
ical development and the accompanying mental disturbances and ex-
periences which would seem to be indicated by her chronological age in
years, and which, too often, has been used as a basis of classification,
training and social activities.

It must be recognized, since we are investigating the school standing
or pedagogical age, and since promotions are based on marks, school
records must be taken at their face value, because they represent school
practise and because they offer tangible criteria of the efficiency of the
individual and of the school.

If we accept progress through school when measured by marks, age
and grade distribution in highly specialized schools, as criteria of mental
development or at least indicative of nodes of mental maturation, we
have in this section of our discussion 135 individual pedagogical curves
based on 21,682 final term marks in the common school subjects, music
and deportment. The average school mark for the Horace Mann boys
is 81.9 per cent., for the girls 85.9 per cent., for the Francis W. Parker
boys it is 77.7 per cent., and for the girls, 80.9 per cent.

Some of the main facts are : Girls maintain a higher school standing
than boys; there are also more repeaters among the boys; and fewer

THE NORMAL CHILD 565

cases of skipping a grade. In the fourth and fifth grades the hoys and
girls are approximately the same age, but in the last year in high school
the boys are older on the average.

Expressing these tables in school standing in graphic form where 20
millimeters in the horizontal equals one year in age and 30 millimeters
in the vertical equals one school grade, the two variables, age and
school grade, may be expressed in the form of a continuous line. A
third variable, or the average mark for each grade, may also be ex-
pressed, assuming the first 6 millimeters in the vertical within a grade
to represent a standing between 50 and 60 per cent., the second 6 milli-
meters, between 60 and 70 per cent. ; the third, between 70 and 80 per
cent. ; the fourth, between 80 and 90 per cent. ; and the fifth, between
90 and 100 per cent. Thus it will be noted in the chart that the upper-
most curve represents the most precocious child and the lowest curve
the most retarded from standpoint of age and grade. No. 6 is the most
precocious from the standpoint of age until he reaches 16J years, and
No. 11 the most retarded throughout his school life. On the contrary,
comparing the average marks within the grade, No. 11 has higher
marks than No. 6, as may be seen by noting the height of the circles in
each grade.

Pupils who are relatively poor in the first few grades are relatively
poor in the upper grades ; that is, poor marks in the early school course
are indicative of low standing throughout the school course. Boys and
girls of normal school age or under maintain a better school standing,
both as to grades and marks, than those over age for grade. The age
of entrance after six or seven years determines the age for completing
the elementary and high school. With very few exceptions these chil-
dren progress through the elementary school at the rate of one grade
per year, regardless of the chronological age at entrance.

What is the relationship between these two? Accepting the peda-
gogical age as a fair equivalent of mental development, the first note-
worthy fact of general significance is that among these children those of
normal school age or younger maintain a better school standing both
as to grade and mark than those age for grade. These are the physiolog-
ically accelerated or normal pupils. Those above median weight com-
plete the last grade of the elementary school at 12 years, 9% months of
age with an average of 84.35, and those below average or of retarded
physiological development complete the elementary school work at 13
years, 7%2 months of age with an average of 81.72 per cent. Check-
ing the individuals whose curves have been plotted for age, height,
weight, lung capacity, school grade and school mark, and giving the re-
sults graphically, it may be seen that the majority of children above
median height are in or above normal grade and above the average in
marks. Of those below median height the majority of children are be-
low or in normal grade and below average mark.

566

TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

School Standing Corves. Boys.

The base line divisions represent one year in age, while five of the vertical di-
visions equal one school grade. The average mark for each grade may be determined
by assuming that the first division of the grade represents a standing between 50
and 60 per cent., 2d between 60 and 70 per cent., 3d between 70 and 80 per cent., 4th
between 80 and 90 per cent, and 5th between 90 and 100 per cent. The degree of
pitch of the line shows the relative amounts of increase of absolute increments for
the same individual.

The main educational corollaries which logically follow from this
study would require that our school systems, public and private, be
graded on the physiological age and the accompanying stage of mental
maturity of boys and girls in place of the chronological age, as is now

TEE NORMAL CHILD

567

School Standing Curves. Girls.

done. This would require that tall healthy children of accelerated
physiological age be encouraged to proceed through school as rapidly
as possible within the limits of thoroughness, and that the small light
children of retarded physiological development be kept below or in the
normal grade doing supplementary work, since these short light pupils
are immature in mental development, although in many instances pre-
cocious in brightness. It also follows from the study that rapid healthy
growth favors good mental development, and therefore the healthy grow-
ing child should have plenty of physical and mental exercise.

568 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

COMMON FACTOKS IN MENTAL HEALTH AND ILLNESS

Br Dr. P. LYMAN WELLS

MCLEAN HOSPITAL

Denn sie hatte, — wie die meisten Menschen, — nur die Wahl zwisehen Tobsucht
und Ergebenheit. — Simplicissimus, 18, 661.

AM asked to deal in these remarks with variations in different
J- human traits which are produced by pathological conditions.
For example, although in health John's eyesight is sometimes better or
worse than at others, yet John's eyesight is so consistently better than
James's that we speak of John as having better eyesight than James.
But John's eyesight might become much worse as the result of a central
lesion, and, if it remained fairly stationary at its new level, John would
have much worse eyesight than James as the result of the pathological
condition, and a new individual difference would be produced. The
psychoses of which we shall speak, however, do not act in altogether this
way. The differences associated with them are not sufficiently stable
at any one level to make it just to say, e. g., that a general paralytic has
on the average one half the memory capacity of the normal. We can
therefore speak of the kind, direction and limits of such changes, but
not of their amount as representative of any clinical group.

It is one of the gentle ironies of scientific history that the concept of
individual differences should have originated with one of its least sig-
nificant functions. One must needs be the assistant of a pre-Galtonian
astronomer to suffer for his simple reaction time. This fact, together
with the necessary technical complications, has not encouraged the ac-
cumulation of pathological data on the " personal equation." The most
important determinations are those of Diefendorf and Dodge, on the
reaction time of the eye-movements. They found lengthened time in
all the psychoses tested, slightest in the manic-depressive excitements
and in dementia prcecox, most marked, as would be expected, in manic-
depressive depression. The angular velocity of eye-movements was
found by these authors to be somewhat more rapid than normal in
dementia prcecox, general paralysis, and slightly also in manic-depress-
ive excitement, while the slowest movements were seen in the depressions
and in epilepsy. The generally quick movements of manic cases and
the slowness of depressed ones are a clinical commonplace.

The rapidity with which some small movements can be repeated has
a special neurological meaning, and many observations have been made
with the psychoses. The rate is probably a little faster than the normal

FACTORS IN MENTAL HEALTH AND ILLNESS 569

in manic cases, but if anything more fatigable. It is much slower in
the depressed phase of the psychosis, and increases somewhat as it is
kept up, and the retardation is partially overcome by the continued
work* E. K. Strong has recently followed this and other functions
through different clinical stages of the disorder. Nothing particular
has appeared in the other psychoses, save that in terminal cases of
dementia precox a disorganization of control is sometimes seen, similar
to what appears, and would be expected, in coarse nervous lesions. W.
G. Smith found a rate averaging a little above the normal in epileptic
cases, owing to a notable persistence of speed.

The most psychologically interesting observation of choice reactions
is that of Franz, in which the psychomotor retardation produces a longer
simple than choice reaction time, owing, apparently, to a greater over-
coming of retardation in the more complex process. A similar finding
is reported by Marie and Vaschide.

The tremors of the " steadiness test " play no part in mental pathol-
ogy outside of the coarse nervous lesions. Defectiveness in the speech
movements, where it is a real defect and not a mannerism, is usually
also produced in this way. For the same considerations as apply with
the eye-movements, accurate registration should enhance their diag-
nostic significance. Something of the sort has already been reported
by Scripture in reference to epilepsy.

A number of fairly definite motor phenomena of the psychoses ought
to be mentioned, though they have not been brought under experimental
control. Eetention of the limbs in positions where placed is most com-
mon in dementia prcecox states, but is also seen in extremely retarded
cases of the manic-depressive type, where it has been psychologically
interpreted as an extreme ideomotor perseveration. Closely allied to
this is the type of motor disorder in dementia proecox known as
" waxy," or flexibilitas cerea, in which the limbs are movable from one
position to another like those of a wax figure. On the other hand, the
resistiveness may be of the spring type, the member strongly resisting
displacement, and at once returning to its original position. Extreme
motor stupor combined with mental alertness is also met with in this
psychosis ; while the stereotypy and mannerisms of normal life are often
tremendously exaggerated in it.

There is a good deal of ground for suspicion that these phenomena
are far from motor in the sense that they originate at the same levels
with tremors or reflexes. Thus in some cases the resistance to pressure
is begun in anticipation of the pressure, and, if, for example, a finger
nearly but not quite touching the forehead be slowly drawn away, the
patient, resisting the suggested pressure, may bend forward until equi-
librium is lost. There is more likely an ideational element in such
phenomena, and like their counterparts that we shall see among the

vol. lxxxv.— 39.

57o TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

higher mental processes, they are obscurely purposeful. So also are the
impulsive acts of dementia prcecox as compared with those of general
paralysis.

The psychology of feeling is one in which the standpoint of indi-
vidual differences has played very little part. The field is both tempt-
ing and difficult, and there has been the least progress in proportion to
the experimental work done in mood and emotional reaction. Common
observation shows that there are true individual differences, and for the
adaptation to life, these differences are of paramount significance.

In many of the psychoses, the mood and emotional reactions are
markedly and fundamentally altered. Heightened emotional sensitive-
ness, or lability of mood, is especially characteristic of exophthalmic
goiter or Graves' disease. The source of intoxication here being internal
secretion, it is a noteworthy illustration of the interdependence between
mental activity and various extraneural processes. Functional atrophy
of the thyroid gland is accompanied by a converse picture showing
dulness and stupor, and with generally opposite symptoms, both physical
and mental, to Graves' disease.

Still other psychoses are characterized by feelings of exaggerated
well-being. The manic excitement shows a typically active exhilara-
tion, often with no apparent diminution of intellect, manifesting itself
as we should expect to see it manifested in an exaggeratedly happy
normal person, with dancing, singing, jibing, half-jocular overestima-
tions of one's powers and the like. Another phase of the manic-depress-
ive psychosis shows a sort of mute transport, or silent ecstasy, in which
it is very difficult to get at the mental content at all ; it is termed the
manic stupor. The most genuinely beatific state of mind that is main-
tained in terrestrial relations is probably seen in general paralysis; a
state of easy-going, beaming euphoria, which the patient himself has
no words to describe, but which finds some expression in grandiose but
feeble delusions, scarcely if at all reacted to, as that he possesses count-
less millions, is king of the world, the super-god. It is interesting to
note that this unitary disease process is associated with a great variety
of mental pictures, sometimes with melancholic symptoms instead of
the euphoria.

Simple, persistent depression of spirits is not a normal mental
reaction to any external cause, but it is a most common reaction of the
psychoses, where it is classified with the depressed phase of the manic-
depressive group. This is the correlate of the manic condition above
mentioned, sometimes alternating with it; though alone, it represents
much the more benign process of the two. As in exhilaration, a number
of delusions may arise secondarily to the emotional condition, which
here favors depressive or persecutory interpretations of the events about
one. These ideas are generally superficial and changeable; there is

FACTORS IN MENTAL HEALTH AND ILLNESS 57 1

quite another origin for more fixed and elaborated delusions, as we
shall see.

As in normal life we notice that some people are quiet when they
are depressed, and others agitated, so here we have very agitated as well
as retarded or even stuporous melancholias; the latter especially in
younger people. All forms tend towards suicide, and as the condition
is not necessarily accompanied by any of the features popularly asso-
ciated with mental derangement, it happens that many, perhaps the
great majority of suicides are allowed to occur in this way.

The underlying mood regularly influences the emotional reaction
to the environment. So while we contemplate with gladness the signs
of returning spring, the melancholia is more depressed by them. It is
also a law of normal emotion that a mental process with strong emo-
tional reaction tends to endow with similar emotional value any mental
process with which it stands in close association. Thus if we witness
a very harrowing accident on a certain street, it is not pleasant for us
to pass down that street next time — we may even pass down another
street, though it is no safer to do so — and what is most important, the
unpleasantness of passing down this street can exist whether the
memory of the accident comes into consciousness or not. Such trans-
fers of emotional reaction are worse than useless in life, and the per-
sonality much subject to them soon ceases to be " normal." In psycho-
pathology it has long been observed that incoordinate emotional reac-
tion— the "intrapsychic ataxia" of Stransky — particularly character-
izes the mental pictures of certain neuroses and of dementia prcecox.
The psychogenic origin of these "ataxias" in normal life is clear enough,
and in these disorders it can be traced sufficiently well to make it im-
probable that any new process is involved. The connection is often
bizarre, especially in dementia pmcox.

Although it is far from the most difficult of psychopathological ques-
tions, but little knowledge exists on the subject of the speed of the
higher mental processes beyond that afforded by clinical observation.
Many of its basic problems are scarcely touched. Thus we do not know
whether mental time in manic excitement is quicker than normal, and
if it is, at what level of the nervous system the difference lies. The
elementary process of addition has been found to be somewhat more
rapid, at least at first, in manic than in normal individuals, but how
far this is gained at a sacrifice of accuracy, or whether staying power
would be as good as normal, does not appear. There is no question
however, of a specific slowing in the case of the corresponding depressed
phase of the psychosis. We have spoken of it before at the motor level,
and it can pervade the entire mental system. Clinically it is here
known as " thinking difficulty," and is shown by general delay or loss
in responses that require mental effort. It may simulate a memory

572 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

defect. The normal range of about 2 : 1 in such processes is thus
indefinitely extended.

In other mental diseases these questions scarcely apply. Thus we
do not speak of a characteristic psychomotor retardation or acceleration
in general paralysis, arteriosclerosis, or dementia prwcox. Only in the
case of immediate drug intoxication has a stimulating effect been at-
tributed to such poisons as alcohol, morphine and cocaine. Experi-
mentally, the effect of alcohol seems to be to remove inhibitions, so that
there is greater freedom of motor response. Many premature and false
reactions occur. Morphine and cocaine are too dangerous for experi-
ment, though both may be taken with the idea of temporarily stimula-
ting the mental powers. The former does appear to bring about a cer-
tain facilitation of the thought processes, its effects being in some ways
opposite to those of alcohol.

The range of normal variation is so great that few abnormalities
in the association experiment can be attributed to pathological condi-
tions except with knowledge of the subject's normal reaction. The
rather stable character of the association type through normal life
makes its fluctuations through the psychoses of considerable signifi-
cance ; but the individual differences there are of very doubtful interpre-
tation. It is scarcely evident that there are features of themselves
characteristic for different psychoses except in dementia precox, where
irrelevancies, neologisms and stereotypies are frequent in the presence
of good appreciation of the experiment. " Narrowing of mental hori-
zon," according to Kent and Eosanoff, is prominent in grave neural
disorders such as epilepsy or general paralysis. Nothing approaching
specific alterations has been observed in other psychoses. It is certain
that normal performance is not incompatible with severe manic-de-
pressive states; and the marked tendency to unusual associations — the
prime feature of the psychoses in general — occurs also in personalities
that are distinctly better than the normal average.

There is no clinical entity among the psychoses in which memory is
improved, though the hysterical liy per amnesias furnish particular in-
stances of it, as the corresponding amnesias do of memory gaps.
Memory defect is a special characteristic of mental disease accompany-
ing the coarser brain lesions, as general paralysis, arteriosclerosis, or
senile dementia. It is most prominent in the last named, and also
more especially associated with recent experiences. The loss in general
paralysis is rather generalized over the entire memory field, and in
arteriosclerosis it tends to be " patchy," so to speak, losing and retain-
ing here and there, though not with systematic amnesia in the hysterical
sense. The most prodigious memory defects are seen in a psychosis
of usually alcoholic origin, the Korsakoff syndrome, where, in spite of
good understanding, all impressions are immediately lost; indefinite

FACTORS IN MENTAL HEALTH AND ILLNESS 573

practise does not suffice to learn what a normal person gets with one or
two repetitions. Memory seems essentially unaffected in dementia
prcBcox and in the manic-depressive psychoses, though it may be masked
by confusion, apathy or stupor. These factors are mainly responsible
for the poorer performance in memory tests that most other pathological
cases show.

Various attempts have been made to experiment with the suggesti-
bility of mental life, as by measuring the extent to which judgments
could be influenced by suggestion. Scott's ingenious experiments showed
that this could be different in different functions, so that we mi^ht not
speak of general suggestibility any more than we should speak of gen-
eral sensory acuity. But as an acute sense of sight would be much
more important for our behavior than an acute sense of smell, a rela-
tively great importance doubtless attaches to suggestibility in the higher
levels of conduct, though the level of human activity where suggestibility
really counts be not represented in experiments on the simpler sensory
and motor processes. In a sense, the distractible manic case might be
called over-suggestible because he catches up the examiner's interjected
phrases and weaves them into his talk, or is easily diverted from one
thing to another. But it is in the hysterical and in some dementia
pmcox mechanisms that suggestibility is increased to the point of giving
real control over conduct. The Lata of the East Indies, and the
Jumpers of the lumber camps are the most conspicuous examples of the
former. Here we see an automatic, positive response to the idea sug-
gested. In dementia pracox this occurs, but is not so very common.
The striking feature of heightened suggestibility in dementia precox
is that it is negative to the suggestion. Not only may the individual be
"blocked," as we say, making no response whatever, but so far as pos-
sible the opposite response may be made. It represents the extreme of
the "contrariness" that is met with in normal life. It even may be-
come possible to direct the individual's actions through asking the
opposite of what one wishes; but the negativism is strictly to the idea
conveyed. These cases know what they are about, and when it is clear
that the thing wished is the opposite of the thing suggested, it is no
longer obtained in this way. Bleuler has given a unified formulation
of how this symptom is related to the underlying psychosis to which
latter I shall subsequently allude.

Individual differences occur in a number of mental processes more
involved than the above, which are but slightly subject to experiment.
There is no reason to suppose any specific alteration of sense imagery
as a result of mental disease. But those hyperfunctionings of it that
we call hallucinations are quite different in various mental disorders.
There is a delirious type of hallucination produced by poisons, like
alcohol, morphine and cocaine, generally visual, and not especially sys-

574 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

tematized. It has rather the appearance of a selective action of the
drug upon particular nervous elements. The hallucinations of delirium
tremens are typical of this. Epilepsy is said to favor hallucinations of
blood, fire, and catastrophe ; cocaine, images of a microscopic character.
Detailed analyses are apt to be unsatisfactory, owing to the unclear
condition of the patient; when the alcoholic reads from or describes in
detail the picture on a blank page, he confabulates rather than hallu-
cinates. A number of curious clinical observations, such as illusory
completion of lost fields in hemianopsia, doubled hallucinations to
prisms or pressure, made greater or smaller by opera-glasses, hallucina-
tions in one eye or ear only, need be no more than mentioned.

Hallucinations are reported in all the major psychoses, but for the
understanding of the clinical picture, they, and the delusional ideas
which supplement them, play the most important role in those types of
mental disorder which have been termed biogenetic; that is, where the
personality as such fails to meet the normal mental demands of the
environment, and reacts to it along certain fairly definite pathological
lines. These types of reaction may be for us summed up in the manic-
depressive and dementia prcecox groups. A most significant develop-
ment in the conception of these conditions is that their basic hallucina-
tions and the delusions, whether or not involved with them, are the
expressions, not of the selective action of some fortuitous intoxication,
but of instinct trends, detached from, or not controlled by, the main
personality, and lived out through fantasy. Both Tuttle from the
pathological and Cattell from the normal side have indicated how ideas
can develop into hallucinations through abnormal reaction to them.
These hallucinations and delusions are thus absolutely continuous with
normal imagery and imagination, and the minor satisfactions which
these latter supply to the normal individual are here magnified to take
the place of reality, in response to coercive instincts and desires for
whose adjustment reality must be escaped. Are some patients beset
by unrecognized erotic longings? The voices horrify them with accu-
sations of immorality. Is there some obscure maladaptation in the
patient's marriage? The response may be a tragic imagination of the
partner's death. The husband who visits his wife is then not her hus-
band, but an impostor. Or there may be a fancied alteration of per-
sonality, as when under similar circumstances a young man calls him-
self at different times " Harry Thaw," " Clarence Richeson," the " king
of the fairies."

Following Cattell's formulation of those higher mental qualities not
directly measurable, we should say that defects, particularly of judg-
ment,lead to the most serious consequences in general paralysis, arterio-
sclerosis, and sometimes in manic excitement. Refinement deteriorates
especially in dementia precox and in general paralysis, being, however,

FACTORS IN MENTAL HEALTH AND ILLNESS 575

curiously preserved in cerebral syphilis; also comparatively well in the
depressions. The preservation of clearness as opposed to clouding of
consciousness is especially noteworthy in dementia precox, confusion
is most prominent in infective, exhaustive and toxic conditions. Many
cases of dementia precox have all the originality of Alice's White
Knight; and the catatonic with his floor-polisher surpasses in perse-
verance. The most striking abnomalies with Aussage experiments
would probably be met in the Korsakoff psychosis.

It is obvious that, in any social sense, leadership and independent
efficiency are practically wiped out in the mental diseases we have dis-
cussed. The fact that as a group they must be removed from society
sufficiently attests this, though in many cases a diminished capacity for
work under direction is preserved. But to this rule there are important
exceptions, which fall into three classes. In spite of real suffering from
neurosis or psychosis, special aptitudes enable some persons to main-
tain themselves independently, and even to perform valuable service in
a highly organized society. Most neurologists number such individuals
among their patients. In a second group of cases there is a clearer
connection between the greater efficiency and the immediate symptoms
of the psychosis. There are two types of these. Mild cases of manic
excitement derive therefrom an energy which, if only the judgment be
enough preserved, enables them to do tremendous amounts of work,
bear troubles, and carry off situations that would be impossible to them
in their normal states. I have often quoted a case of alternating ex-
citements and depressions who used his excitements to earn enough
money to tide over his depressions in private hospitals. This hypo-
manic state may be constitutional, giving energy and capacity far sur-
passing that of normal men, but complicated with pathological features.
The personality of Alexander the Great, with its stupendous accomplish-
ment, its egotism and its excesses, is a distinct historical example.
The other of these types of effectiveness results through paranoic rather
than manic traits. Paranoia carries with it a faith, singleness of pur-
pose, persistence and self-confidence greatly in advance of normal per-
sonality, but these regularly attach to ideas whose working out throws
that individual permanently out of adjustment with the social order.
But if the ideas are such as to arouse social response, great leaders are
produced. In the religious sphere it is evident that strong personalities
may found systems of belief which, not to mention the occasional
amassing of worldly goods, attract many followers, and are genuine
moral forces, with no other support than their autistic convictions and
indomitable zeal. The inspiring power of such characters in secular
history is fitly represented by Joan of Arc.

Lastly, we may take up the question of the general cohesion in the
different elements of the personality. As one may gather from the late

576 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

Professor Pierce's thoughtful contribution to the Garman Commemo-
rative Volume, the extreme cases of splitting that attract so much for-
ensic attention under the names of double or alternating personality,
are psychologically continuous with divisions of personality that are
quite usual and normal. We sometimes think of systematic amnesia as
the criterion of a real alternation of personality. The lives of many
normal persons, however, are so ordered that they at various times make
a total change of environment to another to which they are equally
accustomed, but with practically no associative links between them. In
such cases the abandoned mode of life may be lost sight of with truly
hysterical completeness, and its most common passages require distinct
effort for recall. The differences between these normal alternations of
personality and those of hysteria are simply that the latter are more
independent of environmental change, less subject to voluntary control,
and in that the associations from the other personality or association
system are more difficult of recall, they are more complete alternations.
The pathological condition simply brings about the fuller working out
of a tendency that in some degree is common to all of us, though never
quantitatively measured.

The same is true of those splittings of personality where we do not
have two or more associative systems alternating, but running side by
side, and contending for expression in action; as in some reported hys-
terical automatisms, where the patient is said to write answers to one set
of questions, and answer another by mouth. It has been remarked that
all of us are a little hysterical, and it is again true that all of us are a
little schizophrenic. Every one carries about with him numerous sys-
tems of likes and dislikes, attractions and counter-attractions, impulses
and counter-impulses. Some of these favor the social adaptations of the
personality, and others are in truly Mephistophelian opposition to it.
The discipline of the former and the control of the latter are the balance
of the personality. The lack of these qualities, with the conspicuous
preservation of other mental functions, gives us some of the most
striking features of dementia precox. Here we observe that certain
egocentric, sometimes formulated as autoerotic, tendencies, that all
persons have in some degree, acquired a markedly independent organiza-
tion, and crush the objective, social instincts of normal personality;
covering it with hallucinatory insult, picturing to the mind's eye offen-
sive scenes, preventing the personality from doing as it would, forcing
it to think and do things which are hateful. The acutest mental suffer-
ing that occurs seems to ensue when the main personality attempts the
unequal contest against them ; sentiment can paint a lurid picture of its
tortures in the death-grip of the destroying " complex." But as a rule
these trends gain the mastery without the struggle; and we see simply
the general failure of reaction to external things that gives us the ap-
parent apathy of these cases.

FACTORS IN MENTAL HEALTH AND ILLNESS 577

It is quite probable, too, that there is a mere disintegration of the
personality without its destruction by an organized trend ; such a one is
certainly impossible to demonstrate in many cases.

Here, too, it is easier to observe than to measure, and there is no
telling now if the degree of personal integration for very complicated
reactions will ever be brought under experimental control ; for the lower
psychomotor levels of reaction, however, there is considerably better
hope.

I will quote two instances of the way in which this disintegration of
personality is spoken of by the cases themselves. It is not often clearly
expressed, dementia precox cases being commonly inaccessible. First
in the case of a young woman of twenty-five, with nothing very definite
appearing in the previous history. At various times in the psychosis
she makes such utterances as these:

My mind seems to be in layers like strata in geology. . . . Something seems
to push my mind into channels I don't want it to be in. ... I don't know why
I think of these things. I seem to be bound to find out a lot of things I am not
interested in, as if some one was teasing me. It makes me feel frightened, as if
I was changing to something else. It is like the difference between a good and
a bad person. All at once I seem to wish somebody would die. I don 't mean it,
of course, but I can't keep it down. ... If I could gather up a good will it
would be all right. Instead these vague ideas seem to be wandering all around
as if you were going through a sort of labyrinth. ... I can't say anything I
want to. It is like going through a river where there are a lot of weeds and they
get in your way and you can't get through. ... I seem to be imagining a lot
of things. I can 't get my mind together. ... I seem all of a sudden to sink
right down into deep thoughts as though I were covered up in a snow-bank.
Whether it is a loss of the train of thought or of the spirit I don't know — it
seemed as if my mind had been crushed back and I had lost control. ... I try
to use my mind but there is no thought there; it is empty. Somebody takes my
mind away every two seconds. ... If they want something to experiment on
let them take a rabbit. I want my intellect.

And a young man of about thirty, of shut-in personality, and of
somewhat coarser mental fiber than the previous case, expresses him-
self in this way, with more delusional coloring, the disconnected frag-
ments of his own personality being rationalized as "spirits."

My life is apparently in the hands of others the way I am now situated. . . .
It seems as though the air about me were made thicker; it is condensed about me
so that it gives the spirits some support, foundation, to act and carry on. . . .
It is a peculiar trick for strangers to use other strangers in that light. ... I
feel as if I was supporting this column of spirit realm, as you might say, and I
was wondering whether if hundreds of other spirits came into it if I could stand
the tension. . . . The more persons that enter, the greater the tension, and in the
last analysis I don 't like any such existence. I am a human being the same as
any one else, and I want my freedom and independence. . . . The spirits show
themselves through voices, forms and various practises; they are very clever
about some of their practises and cover them up. Any spirit that enters this
realm can gauge the clearness and distinctness of the form — they can make them-

578 TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

selves plain or just give you a faint idea of what they are doing, but you or
any one else can imagine that they would be practises of sexual intercourse; of
the spirits having intercourse with each other. It seems to me right now that
this room is all filled with miles and miles of them all doing anything they can
think of. . . . Now I am sort of carrying the load, as you might say, and any one
who uses this (spirit) realm ought to be fair enough to keep out of my sight; I
don't want to see all this business. Another thing, these people are total
strangers to me, and if this business is going to keep me from engaging in re-
munerative employment there is going to be some remuneration, because I'm
not running a free lunch counter!

We have reviewed the major exaggerations and distortions of per-
sonal traits which characterize the psychoses — individual differences due
to pathological conditions. But there has been mentioned a group of
disorders, the biogenetic, that arise upon constitutional incapacity for
mental adaptation to life, and in this aspect do the psychoses represent
pathological conditions due to individual differences. Here we see
individuals, who, though in early years presenting no such abnormalities
as would bring them into the group of feeble-minded, and adapting
themselves at least passably well to the situations of childhood, yet,
when they meet situations of a certain character in later life, are not able
to cope with them as normal individuals, but are precipitated into
psychosis.

The fact that these situations are common ones in every-day experi-
ence has been held to refute the supposition that they could be the
precipitating factor in psychosis. Thus, if a girl, such as I have in
mind, develops a brief, dementia-prcecox-like episode on the death of an
old lover, this would not be an occasion for the psychosis, because
thousands of people live through the situation with no abnormal
reaction. But this fairly obvious reasoning that the shock could not
occasion the psychosis has to yield before the very obvious fact that it
does. The truth is rather that in these individuals certain particular
shocks would tend to be followed by psychotic reactions, and this girl
developed her psychosis because, as further observation indicated, the
death of that old lover meant to her something very different from what
the corresponding event means to the average person.

Just what mental events will in any given individual be of the
character to precipitate a psychosis is a psychogenetic matter, and
varies as people's life-histories do. But that they have the property of
precipitating one at all, and what kind of psychosis they will precipi-
tate, depends on individual differences of constitution.

The most definite conception has been reached in regard to those
mental constitutions on which dementia prcecox reactions develop. It
has been found by Adolf Meyer, August Hoch, and others who have
repeated their observations, that individuals who develop these psychoses
tend to be distinguished by a combination of traits which they sum

FACTORS IN MENTAL HEALTH AND ILLNESS 579

up as the shut-in personality. In the time at my disposal the concep-
tion can not be fully discussed. The characteristic picture, however,
is one of repression, seclusiveness, secretiveness, failure of normal
"participation in cares, pleasures and pursuits" of others, self-centered
stubbornness as contrasted with aggressive persistence, special oddities
of conduct, the so-called "in-growing conscience," strong religious or
mystical trends, with relative emphasis of passive virtues. A concrete
example is described in the following words :

As a child he was precocious but in school had to study hard. He lacked
confidence, was pessimistic, brooding and egotistical in disposition. He pre-
ferred reading to athletic sports, and gave religious scruples as a reason for not
attending the theater. He did not use alcohol, tobacco, tea or coffee, and it was
also noted that he did not care to associate with the opposite sex. At the age of
17 he began work as a clerk and was steady, honest and exact. . . .

The manic-depressive group shows a larger number of cases where
abnormal traits are not seen before the psychosis, and the shut-in traits
are nearly absent. But as an elementary point here it is brought out
in some recent figures of Hoch's that persons who develop manic-
depressive psychoses have also shown special tendency to exaggerated
emotional reactions in their normal lives. These may be of either a
euphoric or a depressive nature ; when they are euphoric the individuals
are more likely to have manic attacks, when they are depressive to have
depressive attacks; and the melancholic personalities, manic ones. The
apparent influence of the personality on the form of the attack dimin-
ishes to zero as the difference between the cheerfulness and depression
of spirits in health becomes less marked.

In dementia precox the psychotic mode of adjustment is regularly
adhered to; in other words, the psychosis is not recoverable. The
manic-depressive states, whose picture is as a whole much less detached
from reality, represent rather a temporary mode of adjustment; that is,
the psychosis is recoverable. The manic-depressive psychosis makes for
any port in a storm ; dementia prcecox scuttles the ship.

Both conditions, however, with paranoia, and in a more circum-
scribed way the neuroses, show definite and systematic effort of adapta-
tion to the patient's life-circumstances. The final understanding of
these cases is given in the questions, " Why did you have to have this
thing ? " what made this adjustment a necessary one for the patient? and
what needs must now be met in a more normal way, what particular
danger points must be guarded, what false views of life corrected ?

It is now apparent, I hope, that the mental criterion of psychosis is
essentially one of mental maladjustment to the surroundings, and often
it is the only criterion, mental or physical. The individual differences
that distinguish psychotic and normal personalities are not so much
differences in motor power, sensory acuity, affectivity or intellect, but

S8o THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

depend on the way in which this complex enables the individual to make
appropriate reactions to his environment. An individual becomes psy-
chotic when he fails to behave with a certain more or less arbitrary
degree of appropriateness. Where the mental malfunctioning follows
a sufficiently definite line, we may formulate a definite psychotic entity,
as the manic-depressive or the hysterical states. The experimental side
of the dynamic psychopathology is therefore distinct from the academic
psychology in that it is essentially grounded in the measurement of the
reaction's adequacy or fitness. It involves a fundamental recasting of
psychological methods, more along the lines of comparative psychology,
whose details have only begun to be worked out.

These things shall enable us to observe certain mechanisms of adap-
tation, from which we must learn about the individual's fundamental
adaptability. There are very few adaptations which every individual
must make, but life places very many persons in situations which they
can not meet. Some can not meet them within themselves; they react
with the " flight into the psychosis." Some can not meet them as
members of society; they react along criminal lines. Others can do
neither, and they have led us into the absurdness of a dividing line of
responsibility for action where not the shadow of a line exists. We
have seen how continuous all normal human traits are with the patho-
logical. The value of all attempts at controlling the actions of men, as
with automobiles or waterfalls, depends upon taking account of the
mechanical principles upon which they act. A chief legislator of my
native state lately remarked, " Men do not make laws, they discover
them." The problems of the jurist, even more than those of the
psychiatrist, are failures of mental adaptation; and as we discover ite
laws we shall discover the best laws to regulate human conduct for
both the happiness of the individual and the order of society.

GERMAN MILITARISM 581

GERMAN MILITARISM AND ITS INFLUENCE UPON THE

INDUSTRIES

By Dr. HUGO SCHWEITZER

NEW YORK

MILITARISM in its true sense is the defense of home and family
which has heen forced upon the continental nations for the rea-
son that they live in such propinquity to one another. Germany, for
instance, is surrounded on all sides by potential enemies. Its frontiers
are contiguous to Austria, Russia, France, Swtizerland, Belgium, Hol-
land, Denmark, and it is separated by narrow bodies of water from
Sweden, Norway and England. What such surroundings mean is evi-
dent in our own case. We have only two neighbors, Canada and Mexico,
and with each of them we have had wars and frequent disputes, such
as the Alaskan boundary question, the sealing and fishing controversies,
etc. Inasmuch as our comparative isolation has not saved us from trou-
ble, it is most remarkable that Germany, bordering on ten countries,
has had so few wars.

German militarism is the application of arts and science as well as
the most perfect organization and administration to the defense of the
hearth. The prominent features of German militarism are conscription
and the standing army.

Conscription has made the defense of house and family everybody's
business and not the affair of a few hired men. It has caused the upris-
ing of this wonderfully united nation as one man during this war, and
it is the reason for the boundless self-sacrifice of the people — men,
women and children — who all feel that everything must be given up
for the fatherland and that individual wants and necessities, worries
and pain do not count until victory and peace have been achieved.

The standing army has been pronounced by an American author to
be the greatest democratic university of the world. Conscription and
compulsory military service combine to make it the army of the German
people, and not that of the Emperor, and therefore, German militarism
is not the militarism of the Kaiser but of the German nation. Every
one from the highest to the lowest is proud to be a member of the army
and to be able to contribute to the defense of home and family. Here
men of all types of education, the university man and the artist, mix
with the laborer and the farmer. During the period of service they
learn order and discipline. They are taught the value of punctuality,
of exactness, of cleanliness and of obedience. They become aware of

582 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

the fact that the individual is only a cog in the wheel of the big ma-
chinery. The few illiterate recruits from the most easterly parts of the
country receive instruction in reading and writing; those recruits who
have neglected to develop their bodies owing to lack of exercise improve
in physique during their time of service, and in this respect the time
spent in the army is of as much benefit as membership in an athletic
club. The lessons learned are not forgotten by the soldier after his
return to civil life, and order, discipline and the necessity of physical
exercise become indelibly impressed on his mind.

It thus follows that the workingman who has had the advantage of
a training in the standing army must be of especial value in the indus-
tries. An artisan who is cleanly, orderly, punctual, exact and dis-
ciplined, cannot fail to be an invaluable acquisition to a factory of any
kind, and undoubtedly the success of the German industries in every
branch of human endeavor is due to this class of well-trained laborers.
This is a well-recognized fact in Germany, and similar views were ex-
pressed as early as 1893 by Dr. Caro, one of the greatest technical chem-
ists of all times, who, in his classical description of the development of
the German coaltar industry, published in the Berichte der Berliner
Cliemischen Gesellschaft, ascribed German superiority to the character
of the workingmen who had served in the army.

German militarism early recognized the fact that the life and health
of the laboring class are an important factor in the resources of the
country, and consequently legislation for the protection of industrial
workers has been evolved, which has become the pattern for all nations
of the world. Even our own country which we think so free from mili-
tarism, has benefited by this German legislation, and when Governor
Glynn of the state of New York, in becoming a candidate for reelection,
reviewed what he had accomplished for the people during his term of
office, he considered the Workingmen's Compensation Law as the most
important of the measures passed during his incumbency. These com-
pensation laws, together with the old age, accident, sick and death insur-
ance laws, safeguarding and improving the economic conditions of the
workers, are directly due to German militarism in its endeavor to hus-
band the strength and earning power of the individual members of the
industrial army. Even Lloyd-George, the arch enemy of Germany,
copied these legislative measures of German militarism for the benefit
of the laborers of England. To this constant care for the individual
health and betterment of the working class are also due the establish-
ment all over the Empire of government and provincial homes for con-
valescents, of homes in which persons suffering from incipient tubercu-
losis are treated, and of many other institutions with the object in view
of promoting the recovery of those stricken with sickness.

These in a general way are the benefits which the industries of the

GERMAN MILITARISM 583

country have derived from German militarism. Specifically, we note
its greatest influence in the agricultural conditions of the country, an
influence which is perhaps best expressed by the phrase " the balancing
of the interests of agriculture and industry."

German militarism soon realized that in time of war the nation cut
off from all supplies will have to feed not only its army but also its
population. For this reason, special efforts were made to foster agri-
culture. On general principles, industry and agriculture are sworn
enemies. Industry wants cheap food for its workers ; agriculture wants
high pay for its products — meat and cereals. It is one of the greatest
achievements of modern Germany — and this is especially due to Em-
peror William II. — that these ever clashing interests were reconciled,
and that they were made to see that for the common good compromises
concerning taxes, duties, etc., must be adopted, under which both indus-
try and agriculture could prosper. Hence, a give-and-take policy re-
sulted, which has accomplished the greatest good for the greatest number,
and has elevated agriculture to such a flourishing state that the feeding
of the German people to-day is independent of foreign produce — quite
different from England, where agriculture was sacrificed at the altar
of the industry and where the soil was so outrageously neglected that
the nation depends for its food supply almost wholly upon the impor-
tation of meat, flour, eggs, cereals, etc.

To bring about this magnificent result in Germany, agriculture was
forced to produce as much as the soil could possibly bear, and conse-
quently farming became intense. Cultivation of the soil, the feeding of
animals, etc., became a science. Other sciences, especially chemistry
and botany, contributed to the culture of plants adapted for the varied
conditions of the climate and soil of the empire. Seeds were developed
and improved to a marvelous extent. While the sugar beet at the begin-
ning of the last century, when the manufacture of beet sugar was started,
contained only about 4 per cent, of sugar, the quality of the seed was
gradually so highly improved that they now produce beets with over 22
per cent, of saccharine contents. This seed is exported all over the
world from Germany, and during the present war one of our greatest
worries is that we may not obtain this excellent material from Germany
in time to prepare our next year's crop.

The cultivation of potatoes, which were originally introduced into
Germany from the United States, has been brought to such a wonderful
stage of development that two distinct classes of potatoes are raised,
the one rich in carbohydrates but poor in nitrogenous matter for the
fermentation industry, and the other rich in nitrogenous matter for
eating purposes. Curiously enough, seed potatoes are now imported
into the United States from Germany because our farmers allowed this
vegetable to degenerate to such a degree that it has substantially lost
all value for seeding.

584 TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

The science of fertilizing achieved the amazing result that Germany's
soil, although cultivated for almost two thousand years, is to-day more
productive than the virgin soil of the United States and Canada. De-
serted farms like those of the New England States and the state of
New York are unknown in the Empire. Chemistry is not only educat-
ing the farmer in scientific fertilizing but producing the requisite arti-
ficial fertilizers, and here again German militarism in its farsightedness
has brought about most astonishing revolutions.

Of greatest importance in agriculture are nitrogenous fertilizers,
that is, artificial manure which introduces nitrogen into the soil. The
chief material for this purpose is nitrate of soda, which, as saltpeter, is
imported in large quantities from South America. Unfortunately, this
substance is also the sole raw material for the manufacture of nitric
acid, and nitric acid is the chief material for the manufacture of all
kinds of explosives. The French and English employ picric acid, which
is trinitrophenol (lyddite, melinit) and is made by the action of nitric
acid on carbolic acid. The Germans are using as their chief explosive
trinitrotoluol (tritolyl), which is produced from toluol, a coaltar hydro-
carbon, and nitric acid.

German militarism realized that two great dangers might arise from
these applications of saltpeter. In time of war the importation of salt-
peter might be stopped by the navy of a foreign nation, and it might
therefore become impossible to manufacture nitric acid and explosives.
The feeding of the nation might be interfered with, inasmuch as the
soil could not be properly fertilized, and hence could not produce suffi-
cient food-stuff's. Therefore, it became imperative that the nation must
become independent of the importation of saltpeter.

The problem was solved by the utilization of nitrogen from the air,
and in this way nitric acid was produced without saltpeter as a starting
material. Unfortunately, however, the available processes can be car-
ried out economically only in localities where cheap power is available,
which to-day means countries where water power is abundant. Since
Germany has hardly any waterfalls, and therefore is very poor in power
created in this manner, the plants for the manufacture of nitric acid
by utilizing the nitrogen from air were mostly established in Norway — a
foreign country. The problem was therefore only half solved. But
soon by the direct union of nitrogen and hydrogen, as accomplished by
the ingenious synthesis of Haber, an absolutely independent source for
nitrogenous fertilizers and nitric acid was created within the German
Empire. The raw materials for the Haber synthesis — nitrogen from
the atmospheric air and hydrogen from water gas — are obtainable in
unlimited quantities in the country. In the Haber synthesis ammonia
is first produced which, in the form of the sulphate of ammonium, is as
efficient a fertilizing material as saltpeter. This method, however, has

GERMAN MILITARISM 585

the disadvantage that the ammonia must be converted into nitric acid
by processes which are not yet completely worked out. Undoubtedly,
however, the economical manufacture of nitric acid from ammonia will
soon become an accomplished fact, as recent publications seem to indi-
cate that the problem is almost solved. During the present war all the
saltpeter in the German Empire has been requisitioned by the govern-
ment for the manufacture of nitric acid and the production of ammu-
nition, while sulphate of ammonium obtained by the Haber synthesis
and that recovered from the by-product of the coking industries takes
its place for fertilizing purposes. The output of the existing Haber
plant was doubled at the beginning of the war in order to provide suffi-
cient sulphate of ammonium for the coming crops, and it is said that
since that time another unit is in course of construction which will defi-
nitely secure Germany's requirements for nitrogenous fertilizers.

Another great benefit which, while the war lasts, will accrue to
German agriculture from scientific farming is that the large acreage
devoted to the cultivation of the sugar beet — usually the most fertile
soil — will be directly available, without the use of additional fertilizers,
for the raising of rye, oats, potatoes, etc. During the war Germany
will not be able to export beet sugar which she does at other times on an
extremely large scale, and will, therefore, not raise so many sugar beets.
Utilizing this fertile soil for cereals, potatoes, etc., means an additional
supply of food stuffs for the nation.

The industry for the recovery of the by-products from the coking
process, which we already mentioned as a source for sulphate of ammo-
nium, has also been highly developed because German militarism needed
some of the resulting coaltar products for the manufacture of explosives.
Benzol, toluol, carbolic acid, metacresol and diphenylamine are starting
materials used in the manufacture of ammunition. Formerly, most of
these substances were imported from England, where they were pro-
duced from coaltar obtained in the manufacture of illuminating gas by
the distillation of coal, while in most other countries, for example, in
the United States, illuminating gas is made from water gas. By devel-
oping the coking industry, that is, by suitably and economically heating
coal, Germany has made herself independent of England, and now pro-
duces all the materials required for explosives and ammunition within
her own borders.

Germany is also the only country which has made itself independent
of England as far as its consumption of carbolic acid, one of the most
important coaltar products, is concerned. This substance, employed
both for explosives and as a disinfectant in general hygiene and sur-
gery, is a material of war of the highest value. It was not considered
wise nor profitable to remain dependent on foreign sources for such an
indispensable article. Soon the ever watchful and resourceful chemist

VOL* LXXXV.- 40.

586 TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

found artificial methods for its manufacture, employing domestic raw
materials. To-day several German factories have installed plants to
produce carbolic acid by the action of sulphuric acid on benzol and sub-
sequent treatment with alkali. Whenever the price of coaltar carbolic
acid rises beyond a point at which synthetic carbolic can be profitably
manufactured, these plants are put into operation. They are promptly
shut down when the price decreases.

German militarism, by initiating and promoting the everlasting
battle between armor plates and armor piercing projectiles, also con-
ferred great benefits on the industry and on mankind in general. We
all know that as soon as an improvement in the manufacture of steel
was made which allowed the production of armor plate of great resist-
ance, the chemists and engineers evolved a projectile driven by powder,
which would pierce such an armor. This fight is still on !

Instead of carbon, which originally was added to iron to produce
the iron-alloy called steel, we now use nickel, chromium, tungsten,
molybdenum, vanadium, manganese and silicon, which enable us to
manufacture refined steel possessing varied properties. Most of these
additions in order to give the desired results must be in the state of
highest purity. These substances which at first seemed of no use in
any other industry were produced primarily to fill the requirements of
the manufacturers of cannon, projectiles and armor plate, and the
largest maker of these elements in the pure state is the firm of Th.
Goldschmidt, located in Essen, where it is able to work in close union
with the Krupp Works.

By these modern improvements wonderful materials were placed at
the disposal of the industries. The hardness of steel has been so in-
creased that for safety vaults and safes an alloy is made which can
neither be drilled nor exploded nor cut by the oxy-hydrogen flame. The
chemical industries have been supplied with refined steel which is not
attacked by acids, not even by boiling " aqua regia," while other modi-
fications are not affected by hot caustic soda. Some of them are non-
magnetic, others are unaffected by atmospheric influences, or exhibit
great resistance to electricity, while some possess high tensile strength.
They are thus of specific value in the manufacture of automobiles, of
steam turbines, of electric appliances, of rails for electric tramways, of
dynamos, motors and transformers.

Vanadium steel furnishes our modern tools, which are distinguished
by extreme hardness, and here a war on a small scale is going on be-
tween structural steel and steel for tools with which to work the former.
Every improvement in the hardness of structural steel must of necessity
bring about the manufacture of a still harder steel for tools, exactly as
in the case of armor plates and armor piercing projectiles.

German militarism has also benefited the industries in a field where

GERMAN MILITARISM 5*7

its activities could hardly have been expected. We refer to the manu-
facture of hydrogen and oxygen. Strange to say, these two gases which
had never found any industrial application, although known since the
birth of chemistry, have lately become of the greatest technical im-
portance and are to-day manufactured on a tremendous scale. Hydro-
gen is used for military purposes in immense quantities for all lighter-
than-air flying machines — the filling of Zeppelin ballonettes, the filling
of captive balloons, which have become of such great importance in
modern warfare, being constantly employed by the staffs of the armies
for observation of the battlefield. By telephone and photography they
are in constant communication with headquarters.

The cheap and practical methods which were evolved by the military
authorities for the generation of hydrogen are now utilized in one of
the industries which has recently become of the highest importance,
namely, the manufacture of what is called "hardened oils and fats."
By treatment with hydrogen, oils and fats in the liquid state are con-
verted into solid materials, which usually command a higher price for
technical purposes, such as the manufacture of soap, etc. ; and low class
fatty substances, which are not fit to be eaten on account of their appear-
ance or odor may be transformed into valuable food materials. By the
economical manufacture of hydrogen, which makes it possible to utilize
such inferior goods for alimentation, German militarism again deserves
well of the nation. It must also be noted that the cheap production of
hydrogen is one of the prominent features in the above mentioned manu-
facture of sulphate of ammonium according to the Haber process.
Thus the manufacture of hydrogen, while originated for military pur-
poses, is helping to feed the nation by providing new edible substances,
on the one hand, and a new source for fertilizers, on the other.

The manufacture of oxygen likewise assumed gigantic proportions,
after it was found that armor plates could be cut almost like butter by
the heat of the flame from a burner fed with a mixture of hydrogen and
oxygen, or oxygen and acetylene gas. At present, not only the cutting
but also the welding of iron and steel is accomplished by means of such
a flame; every machine shop is provided with an oxygen apparatus, and
soon every garage will be similarly equipped, as it has been observed that
the carbon collected in the cylinders of gas engines for automobiles, ete.,
can be easily removed by burning it out with the oxygen-flame.

The oxygen problem also plays an important part in the running
of submarine boats where it is necessary to provide the crew with oxygen
for breathing under particularly difficult circumstances. It is stated
that nitrogentetroxide, a gas which can be easily compressed to a liquid,
and which, when appropriately heated, decomposes with the liberation
of oxygen, has been employed for this purpose with great success. But
for the necessity of supplying oxygen to the submarine boats, this sub-

5 88 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

stanCe — until now largely a chemical curiosity — would perhaps never
have been thought of for any technical purpose. Undoubtedly many
other industries will avail themselves of this new source of oxygen under
conditions similar to those on submarines, for example, for diving opera-
tions, in mines, for caisson work, etc.

Militarism in the search for new explosives discovered guncotton
and thereby started the "nitrocellulose" industry. While guncotton
made by the treatment of cotton with nitric acid proved to be an almost
uncontrollable explosive, it was soon found that by a less energetic
action of nitric acid on cotton, substances could be produced which were
practically free from any danger of explosion. These lesser nitrated
cotton products became the starting material for the celluloid industry
in all its interesting and important branches. Besides furnishing vari-
ous well-known household articles, billiard balls, etc., and substitutes
for ivory and tortoise shell, celluloid became the base for a class of very
valuable varnishes. It made amateur photography possible by the sub-
stitution of sensitized celluloid films for the breakable and heavy glass
plates, and it provided humanity with its greatest agent of amusement
and instruction — the moving picture show. But as the lesser nitrated
cotton substances in celluloid, like all nitro derivatives, were not yet
absolutely free from explosive risk under certain conditions, persistent
efforts were made to find safe substitutes for them. Lately these ex-
periments were carried to a successful termination, and acetylcellulose
obtained by the action of acetic acid on cotton has replaced the dan-
gerous nitro products, especially in the manufacture of non-inflammable
films for moving pictures — a material in which the absence of danger
from fire is obviously of the highest importance.

This acetylcellulose is also of distinct value in the manufacture of
a varnish which finds its largest application in the construction of flying
machines where its particular properties are of signal service. What a
brilliant record of achievement in the search of militarism for a new
■.explosive !

Militarism has also solved the problem for the textile industry as
to which colors are most conspicuous and which least visible. Exhaus-
tive tests showed that uniforms of a peculiar grayish-green shade ren-
dered the soldier practically invisible in the field. How correct these
observations were, was demonstrated at the start of the war when it was
reported that the presence of the German troops was not noticed by the
enemy at distances greater than two hundred to two hundred and fifty
yards.

The most conspicuous color in all kinds of light was found to be red
on white or white on red. This fact was made use of by the German
advertising men who now paint their posters, etc., mostly in red and
white, and also by the municipalities of German cities which are using

GERMAN MILITARISM 589

red and white surfaces for sign-posts in their street. How peculiarly
unfortunate for the French soldiers with their red trousers that they
could not avail themselves of the result of these tests !

These few instances, which could be multiplied indefinitely, will
suffice to demonstrate the correctness of my contention as to the mani-
fold benefits conferred upon industrial development by militarism.

Evidently, therefore, German militarism is not the horrible insti-
tution which the English try to make us believe it is. It suits the
German people, and it has made Germany one of the most powerful
and prosperous nations, and enabled her to compete successfully in com-
merce and industry with the richest countries in spite of the lack of
almost all crude materials, the natural resources consisting only of
coal, iron and potash salts. Compare this with our country, which
abounds in gold, silver, copper and practically all other metals, besides
furnishing cotton and petroleum to the whole world. Yet as the result
of wise legislation, incredible thrift and economy, the cooperation of
science and technique, and thanks to its militarism, the standing army
and general conscription, Germany has reached a most enviable position
among all industrial and commercial nations.

German militarism is not the arrogance of a military caste whose
intrigues lead to war. To its salient features — compulsory service and
the standing army — Germany owes its organized industrialism, which
has made possible not only the efficient defense of home and family, but
the mighty victories gained by the nation in manufacture, commerce,
the arts and sciences. German militarism ultimately means progress
along the whole line — law, order and justice.

59o THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

HOPE FOR THE RUSSIAN" PEASANTRY

By LUCY ELIZABETH TEXTOR

VASSAR COLLEGE

IT was in the district of Kineshma on the Volga that I first saw that
suggestively pitiful sight, thin-growing grain cut by hand. A toil-
worn peasant woman, her head covered with a scarlet kerchief, her body
bent, grasped the stalks in one hand and cut them with the sickle held
in the other. She seemed the embodiment of that patient acceptance
of a hard destiny so characteristic of the Russian peasant. It was
evening, and the meager results of the day's work lay heaped up in less
than half a hundred bundles lying in a line down the narrow field.
The ribbon of stubble, only a few yards wide and hundreds of yards
long was one of many that lay parallel and stretched almost as far as the
eye could see, separated from each other by shallow ditches or rudely
heaped-up earth. There were other strips of light yellow rye, of darker
yellow barley, of reddish-brown buckwheat, of green hemp.

Further on lay a second set of narrow strips almost at right angles
to the first. Searching the landscape I discovered that except for the
low-lying meadows, patches of woods, and the village on the high bank
overlooking the river, the surface of the country was divided into
innumerable bands all long and very narrow, grouped together evidently
according to some principle as yet unknown to me. Later I learned the
meaning of these minute divisions and found its roots in the past.

Previous to 1861 the Russian peasants were serfs. Except for those
who did duty as household servants, they were bound to land which
belonged to their masters. Those thus bound, by far the greater num-
ber, spent a part of each week in cultivating the estates to which they
belonged, and the remnant in working their own fields upon which they
were dependent for bread. When these serfs were liberated each
village or group of villages was given a certain amount of land in com-
munal ownership, the price to be paid in forty-nine annual installments
called redemption taxes. The community was held responsible by the
state for all dues. It could cultivate the fields in common, using what
was necessary of the harvest for these payments and dividing the rest
among its members ; or it could parcel out the fields and demand from
each family a part of the total sum due the state proportionate to the
value of the land allotted to the family. In the latter case the amount
of land given to a family was ordinarily determined by its working
strength, by the number of grown sons, for instance, able to help their
father till his fields. The essential thing in the eyes of the community

HOPE FOR THE RUSSIAN PEASANTRY 59*

was that strict justice should prevail, that the ratio between the value
of the land held and the annual payment made by the family should be
the same in every case. The nadiel, the land acquired by the community
when emancipated, was, therefore, divided into units of equal value,
one or more of these units being assigned to each family.

There were three principle methods of division and all of these
resulted in cutting the land up into minute parcels. It may be inter-
esting, by way of illustration, to consider in detail the method which
was followed, for the most part in central Eussia. The nadiel, leaving
out of account pastures and woods which were ordinarily held in com-
mon, was first divided into three fields to provide for a rotation of two
different kinds of grain and fallow. Each one of these fields was then
divided with reference to quality. Areas of good black loam, of sandy,
clayey and other kinds of soil were carefully delimited. Each one of
these areas was then divided into a fixed number of strips equal to the
number of units needed at the time by the community. Each unit con-
tained one strip of every kind of soil in each of the three fields. The
number of strips in a unit was comparatively few in lands of uniform
quality and many, fifty, eighty, one hundred or even more, in lands that
varied much. In any case it was certain that each unit possessed exactly
the value of every other unit. Here was justice but at what a price?
Land cut up into such bits that it could be tilled only with the simplest
implements, endless time lost in going from one parcel to another,
sameness of crops necessitated by the fact that all must sow and all
must reap at the same time. More often than otherwise the only ap-
proach to a strip was across other strips. Once these had been seeded
they barred the way. The absence of fences made it impossible to plant
anything that would mature after the neighboring fields had been cut.
The cattle having been turned into the stubble of these fields would eat
the adjoining not yet ripened harvest. And what soil rendered utterly
fruitless in boundary lines, the furrow used to separate the strips being
sometimes one fourth as wide as the strips themselves.

For long years the Eussian mujilc was slow to grasp these disadvan-
tages. He was used to community life. He liked doing what his neigh-
bors did. Why not all plant rye and buckwheat? Did they not all
eat black bread and kasha? What better than hemp and flax for the
weaving of household stuffs ? The fields were a long way off — yes, but it
was God's will, and one must be willing to harness the horse to the
telega and begin the five mile journey at break of day. And when one
grew hungry and thirsty there was the loaf brought along and the keg
of water hung on the hooks at the back of the wagon. True the fields
were sometimes so far away that it was necessary to spend nights there,
but the earth was a good place upon which to sleep, the baby's crib could
be suspended from two poles fastened in the ground and the mother
and children could help gather the precious kernels. Such sights are

592 TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTELY

not uncommon in Russia to-day and are true to the past in nearly every
detail. The Eussian peasant accepts with scarcely a murmur what he
believes can not be changed. He is not likely even to question cir-
cumstances if he has bread enough.

And during the period immediately following the emancipation it
would seem that there was for the most part bread enough. There were
hungry years even then, when the crops were poor or failed altogether,
but they were taken as a matter of course. No one was held to blame.
The peasants complained, it is true, at the necessity of paying for the
land which they firmly believed had always been theirs, but the pres-
sure of poverty was not yet such as to drive them to seek a remedy.

Time, however, brought changes. Sons and daughters grew up and
married. Whether they remained in the home of their parents or built
izbas for themselves land must be provided for them. How else could
they live? But new units could be created only by dividing the fields
anew and every parcel was thereby made smaller. Now and then,
indeed, the community leased private land, but the rent was a difficult
problem. Occasionally, also, alas ! it was obliged to lease out some of
its own land for money paid in advance and imperatively needed for the
annual dues. Ordinarily this was a tract worked in common, not par-
celled out into lots, but its alienation decreased none the less the food
supply of the village. Thus the time came when the nadiel did not
yield enough to support those who cultivated it. They were obliged to
eke out a livelihood by earning money during the winter. Sometimes
a whole village made nails, or carved wooden spoons or painted icons.
Often the men sought work away from home. Some of them wandered
from place to place, accepting any employment that offered itself, living
most meagerly, saving every kopec and bringing back with them in the
spring perhaps forty rubles apiece, little more than twenty dollars.
Some went to the city and became cab-drivers, household servants of one
kind or another, porters in railway stations. It often happened that
all the men of one village who left home to earn money went to the
same city and engaged in the same employment. Those whose services
were not required to cultivate the land apportioned to their families
frequently stayed throughout the year, sending their earnings back to
help pay the dues to the state, comforting themselves in their exile with
the thought that in old age they could return to the land and depend
upon it for a livelihood. To return to it and share its fruits was
certainly their privilege. Every mujik family recognizes the right of
its own to come back, but the amount to be shared grew ever smaller.

As the years passed and the Eussian peasantry increased in numbers
by leap and bounds, doubling itself in less than half a century, its lot
became constantly worse. The loaf scarcely large enough for four is
scanty food for eight. Small wonder that very many of the communities
were quite unable to make their annual payments to the state. Others

HOPE FOR THE RUSSIAN PEASANTRY 593

managed to do so only by selling their entire harvest and even their
horses and cattle. The misery into which they were plunged may be
easily imagined. Nearly every year in some one region or another
thousands perished from slow starvation.

The government of Russia has been many times arraigned, and justly,
for its apathy in the face of such conditions. Doubtless it did not
wholly understand the situation. The country was vast, roads poor, and
communication slow and difficult. There was, moreover, a great gulf
between the world of officials and the peasants bridged over only by the
zemstva, councils of the district and province. One circumstance, how-
ever, certainly known to the government since it touched its purse,
should have prompted an investigation — the ever-increasing inability
of the peasants to pay the redemption money. The government did offer
some slight relief. In 1881 it lessened the taxes, particularly in the
provinces whose arrears were greatest, in 1882 it established the Peas-
ants' Bank, the chief business of which was to assist the mujik to buy
land from those willing to sell, generally owners of large estates. The
activity of this institution, however, was not great during the first
thirteen years of its existence. The conditions on which the bank was
permitted to lend money were such that the peasants could not for the
most part profit by them. Some transference of land to peasants did
take place but not enough to better the situation appreciably. The
zemstva made laudable efforts to spread information concerning rota-
tion of crops and enrichment of soil, but the results were merely pallia-
tive. The end of the century found matters even worse than before
and in the southern part of Russia the misery and unrest among the
peasants assumed a threatening aspect.

The fear of revolution is a powerful stimulus. In this case it led
to the creation in 1902 of a special Council of Rural Industry to study
the agrarian situation in its various aspects. Some members of this
council were placed in every district of every province and there joining
to themselves representatives of the gentry and the peasants of the
district inquired carefully into conditions in the immediate vicinity.
This investigation resulted in a mass of valuable data and some recom-
mendations, which, be it said, those highest in authority did not wholly
relish and which were not adopted. Then in 1904 came the Russo-
Japanese war, which distracted the attention of the government from
home difficulties while it increased the misery of the people and their
ire against the state. The result was great and wide-spread peasant dis-
turbances. Private estates were laid waste and the rioters made ready
to seize the soil which they firmly believed to be their own. It was
imperative that something be done at once.

In these circumstances it is not at all strange that the government
should have read the situation as most people in Russia read it. The

594 TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

peasants saw no remedy for their plight but more acres, and the various
political parties differed chiefly as to ways and means of providing them
with this desideratum. The first Duma had advocated the forced expro-
priation of all crown, church and private lands, and its steadfast adher-
ence to this demand had brought about its dissolution. But while the
government disapproved of this method of supplying the need of the
peasants, it felt the need to be a real one. It therefore increased the
powers and privileges of the Peasants' Bank so that through its medium
the poor could add to their holdings on surprisingly easy terms.
Appanage lands were offered for sale. Large areas of private estates
whose owners had suffered in 1905 and who feared further disturbances
were placed on the market. During the five years from 1905 to 1910
inclusive, more than 14,000,000 acres were sold to the people through
the agency of the bank. These figures sound large. They are, however,
relatively small. Moreover, it must be remembered that in those very
districts where the cry for land was loudest there was in the nature of
the case least to be had.

Meanwhile, however, the government attacked the agrarian problem
from another side. The uhase of November, 1906, was meant to induce
the peasants to change from communal to private ownership. This had
been their privilege on certain conditions according to the laws govern-
ing the emancipation but in 1893 the privilege had been made subject
to the consent of the mir, the village community, because at that time
the government did not wish the strength of the mir to be impaired.
The uhase restored the privilege, but whereas in the past the peasant
had seldom been able to avail himself of it because he had not the money
to buy out his land from the community now he had no need of money
since the government cancelled all arrears and all redemption install-
ments payable in the future. Any member of a mir could step out
whether the mir were willing or not, receiving his due amount of land
in private ownership. How much the individual received depended
upon circumstances. . If he had held the same parcels for twenty-four
year's, in other words, if there had been no redistribution of the nadiel
during that time, he received these parcels or their equivalent, the
assumption being that in that particular community the principle of
parcelling out the land was dead. If on the contrary there had been
a redistribution of land within the last twenty-four years, the assump-
tion was that this principle was still operative. In that case the with-
drawing peasant could claim only as much land as would be allotted him
if a redistribution were made at the moment of his withdrawal. He
must be allowed, however, to purchase the difference between what he
actually held and what he would receive in the event of a redivision.

This law definitely announced the break-up of the mir, it looked
toward the end of community ownership. It had, in all probability, as

HOPE FOR THE RUSSIAN PEASANTRY 595

its immediate object the formation of a class of small proprietors who
would be loyal to the state, moved by gratitude for the property rights
granted them and the desire to retain those rights. Even small prop-
erty owners are in general on the side of law and order and against that
anarchy which destroys real wealth. Doubtless, also, the government
felt that so long as the peasants held land in community ownership they
would act as communities in other matters; and when it came to an
expression of grievances it could more easily deal with individuals
than groups.

It may be questioned whether the mere transition from communal
to private ownership held in itself any salvation for the starving
peasantry. If the land remained split up into tiny parcels, it was a
matter of little moment whether the title lay with a group or with an
individual. About 18 per cent, of the mujiJcs already owned their land
in perpetuity. Exact statistics dealing with the subject are lacking, but
it would seem that these were for the most part no more prosperous
than their communistic neighbors. Some of them had so little land
that they were of necessity very poor. Having been offered in 1861
their choice between a certain number of dessiatines at a fixed price and
one fourth of this amount as a gift they had chosen the latter alternative.
Others had bought their shares from the community but received them
for the most part in such small parcels that they could not be worked
to advantage. Private ownership, therefore, where known, did not
always wear an alluring garb. In many places it was wholly unknown.
Communal ownership, on the other hand, was an old institution, gen-
erally prevalent and deeply ingrained in the people. They saw in it
safety for themselves and for their posterity. So long as the village
continued to own the soil there was a bit for every man and for his sons
and grandsons.

In the light of these considerations it is not strange that the great
bulk of peasants were not inclined to take advantage of the new law. There
were, however, two classes to whom it appealed. One was captured by
the clause which provided that the family whose holding was larger than
it would be, were a redistribution made now, might buy, at the price
attached to this land in 1861, the difference between what it held and
what it would receive in the event of a redistribution. Land having
trebled in value during the last half century, such a family would of
course profit greatly by a purchase on these terms. The other class was
made up of those peasants who held parcels of land as members of a
community but who had taken up their abode in some city or industrial
center. Such were glad to receive their parcels in private ownership
because they could then sell them. Aside from these two classes, there
were of course some mujil's who seized this opportunity of getting com-
pact farms, which, being their own, they could work as they pleased in

596 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

a scientific way. These were comparatively few in number. It must
be confessed, then, that the ukase of November, 1906, did not in itself
provide a salvation for the economic difficulties of the people.

A solution was, however, bound up in a way with the working out of
the law. Its execution lay with the provincial and district commissions
created in 1906 primarily to assist the Peasants' Bank in smoothing the
way for those who wished to purchase land. Now the bank had been
definitely instructed to sell its land as far as possible in well-rounded
pieces which in the hands of individual owners might serve as models to
the neighboring communities. The commissions were therefore, while
assisting the bank, engaged in the creation of compact farms. Their
other activities were along this same line. They were instructed by the
government to do everything in their power to persuade the peasants
to give up irrational methods of cultivation, particularly the division
of the fields into minute parcels.

The ukase of 1906 gave these commissions a great opportunity. The
law did not state that every peasant who wished to withdraw from the
community and receive his share of land in perpetuity must be given
that land in a single piece but it permitted and even encouraged this
procedure and it was quite natural that the commissions should have
striven toward this end in the surveys which they were called upon to
make. During the five years from 1907 to 1911 inclusive 503,408
families withdrawing from the community received their land, through
the agency of the government surveys, in compact units. This was
certainly not a large number, considering the population of Russia — but
it was a decided step in the direction of agricultural progress.

The ukase of November, 1906, then, although primarily political in
its spirit and purpose, resulted in a certain limited economic good.
From the very beginning there were some who defended this effort to
transform community into private property on the ground that it paved
the way for scientific farming. Gradually the emphasis shifted from the
question of tenure to the question of husbandry. It was plain to those
who studied the subject that the diminution of crops in Russia was due
to obsolete and wasteful methods of cultivating the soil. There were
whole areas that were exhausted, there were fields that lay so far away
from the village that owned them that they could not be tilled, the
weed-grown furrows which served as boundary lines between the parcels
aggregated a vast territory lost to cultivation. The essential thing
was to map out the land anew so that it could be worked in larger
tracts and with better methods.

It might have been possible, as some contend, to legislate toward
this end without disturbing the mir. The separate parcels could have
been consolidated into large areas and still have remained communal
property. This was done by some villages in central Russia during the

HOPE FOR THE RUSSIAN PEASANTRY 597

last decade. They cultivated these large tracts to advantage, using im-
proved machinery. There is, however, much to be said on the side of
those who insist that technical advance in agriculture can be furthered
best in connection with private property. This is the assumption on
which the law of June 1911 rests. There is in this law definite evi-
dence of the change of emphasis in the land policy of Russia. The
government still wishes to encourage the transformation of communal
property into private property, but it brings less pressure to bear in this
direction. On the other hand, it lays tremendous stress upon uniting
the various parcels of land belonging to one owner, whether that owner
be an individual or a community. The law makes the most elaborate
provision for the settlement of every imaginable difficulty arising from
the lack of clear demarcation of boundary lines and the confusion of
tenures. There are areas in Eussia which wear the aspect of a veritable
puzzle — fields of different villages intermingled, church, state and
private property enclosed in one piece of communal property, holdings
partly communal and partly private and so on almost without end.
Out of this chaos the government proposes to bring order — but only upon
request. When a family, or a number of families, or a village, or a group
of villages forming a community, desire to have their land surveyed and
rearranged, they appeal to the district commission whose members repre-
sent the central government, the local government and the peasants
themselves. This commission appoints one of its number, or a surveyor,
to examine the locality in question and to confer with the petitioners as
to their wishes. The entire matter having been explained to it, the com-
mission decides whether the project is in harmony with the principles
laid down by law to govern all the new land arrangements, and, ac-
cording to its decision, either refers the project back to the peasants
for changes, or orders that it be worked out in detail. When this has
been done, those whose lands are concerned are requested to pass upon
the plan in its final form. It is their privilege to accept or reject it, but
every effort is made by the members of the district commission to over-
come objections by persuasion or by practicable modifications. When
accepted the plan is sent to the commission of the province. Upon the
approval of this commission the work is put under way as soon as sur-
veyors can be spared for it.

The character of the work done by these surveyors depends upon
circumstances. A few illustrations will serve to make it clear. When
the peasants were emancipated it often happened that a group of vil-
lages, being the property of one and the same lord, received their nadiel
as one community. This land was not a single piece but was made up of
many irregular pieces. Certain ones belonged to each village, had been
cultivated by it in the days of serfdom. These were rarely continuous
and were mixed with the pieces belonging to the other villages of the

598 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

group. Furthermore the nadiel often enclosed in its boundaries lands
owned by the state, the church or private individuals. Suppose these
villages request what is known in German as Verhoppelung und Ausein-
andersetzung — consolidation by means of exchange of land belong-
ing to each village. It then becomes the task of the government sur-
veyor to measure off the land belonging to the entire community and
to give to each village in one piece, if possible, the equivalent of the
many parcels belonging to it heretofore. The difficulties of such a task
are apparent at first sight. The quality of soil may be anything from
very good to very bad. It is necessary to fix a standard and then deter-
mine the value of each particular quality with reference to that stand-
ard. If the best soil is taken as the standard then it will require let us
say 1| dessiatines to equal one dessiatine of the best, 1£ dessiatines of
the next poorest to equal the best and so on down to the worst. The prob-
lem attaching itself to the division of the arable land among the villages
being solved, there remain the questions of the meadows, the pastures
and the woods. Each village will wish to have some grazing ground in
its immediate vicinity even though its arable land should be far away.
The group of villages may desire to continue to hold the meadows and
woods in common. This arrangement was often made in the surveys
of several years ago, but the government now distinctly discourages it.
When the private lands strewn among the parcels of the community
hinders the giving of a compact area to each village, then efforts are
made to buy the offending pieces or to exchange them for outlying por-
tions of the community land.

It must be understood that each village, being now provided with
the equivalent in one tract of its many parcels, is still at liberty to re-
gard the tract as communal property. It is under no obligation to di-
vide it into individual holdings. But any family in the village may de-
mand that its just share be given it in perpetuity, in which case the
matter is either amicably arranged in the village, or is settled by gov-
ernment authorities. It frequently happens that a number of families,
alert, ambitious and enterprising, make this request and transport their
little homes from the village to their new farms which are then known
as houtors. Curious it is to see, but not at all uncommon in Eussia,
four such families whose lands form approximately the four quarters
of a square, building their izbas in the angles that meet at the center so
that a few steps will cover the distance from the door of one house to
the next. Even these pioneers dread living alone. The mujiks are gre-
garious. The opportunity for companionship is a prime requisite with
them. And, indeed, quite aside from the matter of temperament, a
family might well wish to avoid complete isolation during the long
weeks when the melting of the snow and the spring rains render the
roads impassable.

HOPE FOR TEE RUSSIAN PEASANTRY 599

The government may be called upon to survey the nadiel of a single
very large village. Take Borma as an example. It owned 6,250 dessia-
tines or approximately 16,625 acres cut up, so that each household
tilled eighteen widely scattered parcels. The pasturage was divided
anew each year and the ravines were held in common. One hundred
and ninety-one families desired to have their holdings given them in pri-
vate ownership, the rest wished to retain theirs in communal ownership.
It was decided to divide the nadiel, so that the northern part might be
given to those who wished to withdraw from the mir. Of the latter
class ninety-nine families settled upon the tracts assigned them, ninety-
two settled in eight groups upon sites purposely chosen at some distance
from each other for villages. This arrangement was made for the bene-
fit of those who felt it necessary for the sake of social intercourse to live
in the near vicinity of neighbors yet who wished also to be relatively
near their fields. Farms whose owners live in the village are known as
otroubs. This arrangement is at present very common in Eussia. Often
it is doubtless an intermediate stage. In the course of time many fam-
ilies living in villages will move to their farms, provided they are able
to find good drinking water there or in the near vicinity. The mujih
does not mind carting his water in barrels over long distances but there
is a limit to the time he can spend in this occupation. A single well
frequently serves an entire village.

Here is another example of the kind of task the government may be
called upon to perform. A village that has worked its nadiel in com-
mon since the time of the emancipation or that, while holding it in
common, has parcelled it out periodically among its families, decides
at a meeting of the adult men to go over to private ownership. The
proper request is laid before the district commission and the surveys
begin. The first question has to do with the roads. In central Eussia
particularly the old ones are meandering and very broad. Why take the
trouble to fill in wagon ruts that have become hopelessly deep when it is
possible to drive alongside of them? And when new ruts have been
formed these, too, can be left to care for themselves. Thus the old
roads lost whatever straightness they may originally have had and
stretched to a great width. New ones must be carefully laid out.
Next comes the question of water. It is the ideal of the government to
persuade each family to live on the tract allotted it and with this end
in view the commission frequently offers to assist the mujih with the
money necessary to transport his old dwelling or to put up a new one,
the sum to be paid back in fifteen years without interest, although oc-
casionally in extraordinary circumstances it is an outright gift. Often,
however, the absence of water or the expense involved in sinking deep
wells makes it necessary for the peasants to live in groups. In this case
sites must be selected for these so-called daughter-villages. Then comes

600 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

the differentiation of the different qualities of land. After that the
tracts are laid out, each one as nearly as possible approaching a square,
some perhaps entirely of plough land, some combining plough land with
pasture and woods. The peasants who are to receive tracts of exactly
equal value often draw lots for them. The assignment of other tracts is
ordinarily made by mutual agreement.

It is difficult to comprehend what a vast amount of labor is involved
in these surveys. In the single year of 1912 nearly 9,000,000 acres
passed under the measuring-chain. More than five thousand surveyors
are employed and paid by the government. The commissioners in
charge of the so-called new land arrangements number seven thousand.

Well laid-out tracts of land are not, however, an end in themselves.
They are simply the requisite for scientific farming that will yield the
largest returns. The peasants of Eussia must be taught how to manage
their soil to the best advantage. This instruction is being given them.
Agricultural experts have been stationed throughout the country to teach
the mujil's by counsel and example how to dress and till their fields, what
crop to plant. The number of these experts in the employment of both
the government and the zemstva increased from 2,541 in 1909 to 5,185
in 1911. Many model farms and testing-fields have been established to
make plainly evident the concrete results of better agricultural meth-
ods. The experimental stations increased from seventy in 1907 to two
hundred and ten in 1911. I can speak from personal observation of one
in the province of Samara. It is in charge of a gentleman who studied
agronomy for two years in the United States and is excellently man-
aged. Much should be said in praise of the work done by the zemstva.
That at Kineshma is engaged in a great variety of admirable activities
all looking toward the welfare of the peasant. I need only mention as
apropos of agricultural progress the placing of stallions where they will
help toward breeding finer horses and the furnishing at little more than
cost price of excellent seed and farm machinery of every kind practica-
ble and desirable in that part of Eussia. Many other zemstva are en-
gaged in the same work. Indeed these district and provincial councils
were the first to conceive the idea of teaching the peasants how to im-
prove their methods of cultivating the soil. That was twenty years ago,
more or less; now the government is co-operating with them and added
stimulus and strength have brought corresponding results.

The new land policy of Eussia is scarcely known to the world at
large. Considering its magnitude and importance very little in the
way of a careful exposition of it has been written. Yet it has to do with
more than 100,000,000 people and with an area almost equal to the rest
of Europe. It endeavors to change in a decade or two the habits, cus-
toms, ideas and ideals of centuries. While the reforms of Peter the
Great were limited almost entirely to the upper classes, this concerns

HOPE FOR TEE RUSSIAN PEASANTRY 60 1

itself with the masses. It seeks to lift them from poverty into compara-
tive well-being. It is theirs to seize the opportunities offered them. As
they do so they will enter upon a new life.

There are those in Russia who point to the many mistakes made by
officials and surveyors in the execution of this land reform. It is true
that in the beginning the work was pushed so rapidly that it was not
always well done. There was a dearth of good surveyors and the gov-
ernment was often obliged to make use of those inadequately prepared.
Roads were not always well placed, possibilities of obtaining good drink-
ing water were not everywhere thoroughly investigated and peasants
withdrawing from the mir were allowed to retain meadow and pasture
land in common. The mistakes of the first years are certainly to be
deplored, but it must be recognized that they were almost inevitable in
so vast an enterprise. Now, however, the various district and provincial
commissions have profited by their experiences and are directing opera-
tions more wisely. Certainly there is in the higher commission to which
they are responsible one man fitted in every possible way to inspire and
direct the great undertaking. I refer to Mr. A. A. Koefoed. He was
connected for many years with the Peasants' Bank. He traveled widely
in Eussia studying at first hand the question of land tenure and the
prevalent methods of cultivation and has become the most eminent au-
thority on this subject. Moreover, he understands the mujiks and
knows how to meet them and is heartily desirous of furthering their
best interests.

Again there are those who say that this policy of the government
will bring only temporary well-being. In less than a century the peas-
antry will be as badly off as ever. The family provided with land
enough to yield it a livelihood now will divide this land among its chil-
dren and so rapidly do the mujiks increase in numbers that it will not
be long before their farms will be so small as to throw them back into
indigence. This assumes that the children of all those now tilling the
Boil will also till the soil, a supposition which is scarcely tenable con-
sidering the ever-increasing demand for laborers in industry. It would
be well, however, to take some precautionary measures against the con-
tingency of redividing the land into small parcels. Denmark has enacted
an inheritance law which fixes a minimum size for farms. If Russia
were to do the same no peasant could divide his freehold between two
heirs unless it were at least twice the size of the minimum. The farm
incapable of division could be left to one of the children, this one to
make good the shares of the others by money payments, a practise which
prevails in Norway and in certain parts of Germany. There is, how-
ever, very little occasion to fear that the sizable freeholds of to-day will
in the future be divided into minute parcels. Rather it may be confi-
dently expected that the number of small freeholds will steadily de-
void lixxv. — 41.

6o2 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

crease. Many peasants have been obliged to mortgage the land which
they had in order to purchase more. Some of these will find themselves
unable to meet their obligations and will sell or lose that land. This
may happen as the result of incompetence, inexperience in the manage-
ment of private property, poor harvests or other calamities. On the
other hand those peasants who are shrewd, thrifty, hardworking, fortu-
nate, will prosper and will add to their dessiatines. The march of time,
then, bids fair to divide the rural population of Eussia into two classes,
the one landless, dependent upon wages for a livelihood, the other made
up of small, well-to-do landowners.

This probability, not to say certainty, has raised other voices against
the new land policy. These maintain that the increase of a landless
class, a proletariate, is always a bad thing. It is not proposed to dis-
cuss here the general question of the right of each man to a bit of soil
large enough to yield him a livelihood. It need only be pointed out
that this ideal can not be realized in Eussia. Even if every dessiatine
in that vast country were given to the peasants, in much less than a
century the holdings would again be too small. Poverty would once
more reign over the people. On the other hand it is possible for the
proletariate to be self-respecting, intelligent and prosperous. The op-
portunity for wage-work is not lacking in Eussia. There is to-day a
demand for laborers on the large estates which can not be satisfied.
Great losses are annually sustained by them because there are not
hands to gather in the harvest at the proper time. Factories, too, suffer
from the lack of operatives who will keep at their tasks the year around.
They are too often dependent upon those who leave their farms in the
fall to return to them again in the spring. This demand is steadily
growing since manufacturing is greatly on the increase.

Certainly the augmentation of the proletariate is not an unmixed
good either for those who constitute the class or for society at large.
Work is not always to be had for the asking and returns are often inade-
quate and uncertain. Then, too, there are the dangers inherent in leav-
ing an environment that has exercised a restraint and set up standards
and entering another in which one has at first no fixed place and no
social responsibility. In time, however, the new environment will be-
come an old one with a conscience and with rulings of its own. More-
over in the long run much good may be expected from separating the
individual from the community and obliging him to stand alone. Un-
supported by the props to which he is accustomed he will stumble, he
may fall, but when he rises it will be with a new strength all his own.
And what of the other class whose numbers whether through su-
perior intelligence or industry, fortunate circumstances or a combina-
tion of all these are able to add substantially to their lands. Certainly
it has not yet come into existence as a body conscious of its solidarity,

HOPE FOR THE RUSSIAN PEASANTRY 603

able as a whole to work definitely toward chosen ends. Time and ex-
perience and education are necessary for that. But individual well-to-
do mujik families grow steadily more numerous. I remember in par-
ticular one such in the province of Samara. Its past, its present, its
future were, so to speak, plainly in view. I drove up the hillside through
fields of golden grain, past the tiny orchard not yet old enough to bear
fruit, to the brand-new home, each one of the four good-sized rooms
fully furnished and so orderly and immaculate as to show conclusively
that they were not being used. Scarcely ten feet back stood an old izba
bearing every evidence that the family lived its life there. The back
part of the stove and a low platform served as beds. Sheep-skin coats
and long felt boots lay heaped in one corner. Hens walked placidly in
and out of the door and the horses and cattle were stabled only a few
feet away. Our host displayed his possessions with the greatest pride
and pointing significantly* to a field adjoining his own said, "It will
soon be mine. I am buying it." It is probable that this man will not
be content to have his children attend only the parish school. Some one
of them may be sent away if only to study how better to till the soil and
make it yield larger profits. Here is the new agricultural Eussia from
which great things may be hoped. These well-to-do farmers, sobered
by the possession of property, no longer obliged to labor for bread to the
exclusion of everything else, able to educate their children, will rapidly
rise to the position of a powerful middle class to whose united voice
even autocracy will listen. If this class is able to preserve the remem-
brance of its kinship with the poor, if it deals as justly with all strata
of society as the communes from which it has sprung sought to deal in
the distribution of their land the future of Eussia is assured.

6o4 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

THE WAR AND THE WEATHER DURING THE FIRST THREE
MONTHS OF THE FIGHTING

By Pkofessob ROBERT DeC. WARD

HABVAED UNIVERSITY

W'AR and the weather seem, at first sight, to have no relation to
one another. Set in motion by human forces apparently far
beyond the control of our ordinary physical surroundings, military
campaigns seem likely to go on unaffected by such more or less "acci-
dental" conditions as cold or heat; rain or snow; wind or cloud. Yet
all through human history, as far back as we can secure accounts of
wars and of military campaigns, the weather element stands out as one
of the great controls, a control to be reckoned with by every commander,
and one which, when powerful enough, has had consequences of far-
reaching historical importance. The weather factor in war is not a
joke. It is a perfectly serious subject for study on the part of military
and naval strategists. It must be taken into account in laying out a
campaign or in organizing troops for a battle. To disregard the
weather factor in warfare is almost, if not sometimes quite as serious
an omission as to forget to provide food, or clothing, or ammunition.
The weather has, time and again, turned the scale, for victory or for
defeat. Written large in history, as events of the greatest significance,
we have the retreat of the Turks from Vienna in 1529, their siege
artillery having been left behind in Hungary on account of heavy
rains which made the roads impassable, and the besieging army being
hampered by inclement weather and by the scarcity of provisions,
which were both difficult to secure, and almost impossible to transport.
All three of the Spanish Armadas (1588, 1597, 1719) suffered from
hostile winds and storms. In 1719 the Spanish fleet was scattered off
Cape Finisterre by a violent storm which raged for twelve days. Only
two ships succeeded in reaching the coast of Scotland. To take an il-
lustration from our own early history, the closing chapter in the evac-
uation of Boston by the British would probably have been quite differ-
ent if a severe storm had not frustrated General Howe's plans. The
Americans had begun the fortification of Dorchester Heights during
the night of March 4, 1776. The morning of the 5th dawned clear
and mild, with a bright sun and a warm southerly wind. General
Howe and Admiral Shuldham, realizing that their own positions were
insecure as long as the Americans remained on the heights, sent be-
tween 2,000 and 3,000 men in transports across the Bay, the plan being
to have them land and attack the enemy in the rear. But a violent

WAR AND THE WEATHER 605

storm, which began during the afternoon, drove three of the transports
ashore on Governor's Island. The rain fell in torrents. There was no
abatement of the storm on the following morning (March 6), there
being a furious gale from the southeast which caused such a surf on the
Dorchester shore that "an attempt to land (on the part of the British)
must have proved fatal." The Americans continued to fortify in spite
of the storm, and when the weather had improved sufficiently for the
British to attack, they realized that the American position was too
strong. By night of March 6 the evacuation had been decided on.
General Washington wrote on March 14 : "A very heavy storm of wind
and rain frustrated their design." The terrible winter retreat of Na-
poleon's Grand Army from Moscow furnishes a tragic but wonderfully
vivid illustration of the strength of Eussia's two invincible generals,
January and February, who, if the scene of the present war should be
transferred into Eussia during the winter, would again be found fight-
ing on the side of the Czar. We may note, in passing, that the French
Eevolution was precipitated by a severe winter, and that the " Boxer "
outbreak in China, in 1900, was brought on by a scarcity of rain in the
preceding autumn, leading to famine and destitution, and driving the
people to robbery and pillage.

History is full of examples of individual engagements in which
weather played an important, if not actually decisive part. Heavy rains,
making the roads muddy and the movements of troops and of guns
difficult, had a marked effect upon the plans of the commanding officers
in the battle of Waterloo (1815), the battle itself being postponed for
this reason. In our own civil war the list of weather controls is a long
one. Of one of General Grant's campaigns in Virginia it is reported
that the country was densely wooded and the ground swampy — the
troops waded in mud above their ankles, horses sank to their bellies and
wagons threatened to disappear altogether. The men began to feel
that if any one in after years should ask them if they had been through
Virginia, they could say, "Yes, in a number of places." Dense fog
favored the northern forces in the battle of the Wilderness. Deep mud
and impassable roads were, at least in part, responsible for General
McClellan's delays, which caused so much anxiety and indignation in
Washington. During the fighting around Tientsin in 1900 the situa-
tion of the allied troops was very critical, when a torrential rainfall
compelled the Chinese to retire. Cold and snows have time and time
again been potent factors in warfare. In the last Eusso-Turkish war
thousands of men died of the cold, and the sufferings of the troops at
Plevna were terrible. The siege of Sebastopol furnishes another illus-
tration of the sufferings which a severe winter inevitably produces. In
the Eusso-Japanese war fighting continued in the severe cold of the
Manchurian winter. Frozen rivers or lakes may make it very easy for

6o6 TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

an army to proceed on its plan of advance, and, on the other hand, the
ice may help a pursuing army to follow its retreating enemy without the
delay needed for building bridges. In 1780, troops were led on the ice
from New Jersey to Staten Island, to attack the British, and provisions
were sent across on sleighs. In 1809, the Eussians were led to Sweden
across the frozen Gulf of Bothnia. Sudden thaws after severe cold are
often serious handicaps in a campaign. Boads and fields are suddenly
turned from hard ground into deep mud or swamp, and the movement
of troops, and especially of guns and supplies, may be stopped. Heat
has caused as great suffering as has the cold, but less often, in our
latitudes. The sufferings of the French army under General Kleber in
Egypt in 1798 are well known to students of history. Officers threw
themselves on the sand and gave way to despair.

If we look over the foregoing, and many other cases of weather
controls in war, it is easy to see that these examples may be grouped in
two classes. In one of these, the particular weather condition or phe-
nomenon was so to speak accidental ; it was sudden ; unexpected at that
special time ; and therefore hardly to be guarded against. Cases of this
sort are the sudden storms which have so often been decisive facton in
military undertakings. In the second class the weather conditions
were perfectly normal and natural for the particular region and sea-
son in which they occurred, but the army was not prepared for them
because of the ignorance, or lack of foresight, or over-confidence, or
haste, on the part of the commanding officers. Thus, the terrible dis-
aster which befell the French army in Russia was largely due to Na-
poleon's own recklessness in rushing unprepared troops into the teeth
of a northern winter. Cold and snow contributed towards making a dis-
aster complete which would probably have been a serious one under any
meteorological conditions. Again, during the British expedition into
Tibet, a few years ago, great difficulty was experienced at the higher
altitudes owing to the hardening of the oil in the guns, on account of
the cold, and the low boiling point at those great altitudes made it
difficult to cook food properly in the absence of special cooking utensils
adapted for use at low pressures. These handicaps could have been
provided against if proper care had been taken beforehand.

It is clear that weather, although not always, or ultimately, is a
factor which must be reckoned with in warfare. It is one of a large
number of factors, among which topography, soil, hydrography, vegeta-
tion, and so on, must also be included. To know, in advance, the gen-
eral climate of the war zone; to be prepared for the special weather
conditions which are reasonably to be expected at this or that season;
to have as accurate a knowledge as possible of the probability of occur-
rence of severe cold; of sudden thaws; of heavy rains; of great heat;
of high winds ; of deep snows — this is a very essential element in plan-

WAR AND THE WEATHER 607

ning a campaign or in organizing a single engagement. This is to make
our knowledge of climate and of weather of immediate practical use,
however much we may deplore the occasion which necessitates such use.
Heavy rains make roads muddy and often impassable; delay the move-
ments of troops, and of supplies; necessitate the abandonment of heavy
guns and of ammunition; flood trenches and camps; cause discomfort
and suffering, and bring on illness. Deep snows have many similar
effects, but in addition are often accompanied by severe cold. Unless
proper clothing, protection and fires can be provided, and often in spite
of such precautions, severe cold almost inevitably increases the suffer-
ings of the men, especially of the sick and wounded, causing an in-
crease in the sick and mortality rates; disabling men through frost-
bites ; making them unfit to march or to use their hands ; freezing up
water supplies, etc. Hot spells necessitate shorter marches, and may
disable hundreds of men through sunstroke or heat prostration.
Droughts make it difficult to secure water and food; cause dust which
hampers the movements of troops, and may make their presence known
to the enemy, and interferes with the accuracy of cannon and rifle
firing. It does make a difference whether an army marches on dry,
hard roads, or through deep and slippery mud ; whether it suffers from
frozen feet or is warm and comfortable; whether snow is falling or the
sky is clear and the sun is shining; whether the wounded on the
battlefield are soaked with rain, and beaten by hail, and covered with
ice, or can be cared for under favorable conditions. As Sir John
French put it, a few years ago : " The darker the night, the more in-
clement the weather, the more disagreeable the surroundings, the more
valuable the training will be, and our young soldiers will gain some
glimmering of what they must expect to meet in war."

Picked troops; discipline; a well-organized system of transport;
proper clothing — in short, all that goes to make up the most efficient
military organization, is of vastly more importance than the weather.
But we fail to read history aright if we do not recognize that the
weather element is by no means the least important of the many external
factors which have affected military campaigns.

The present war gives us an immediate opportunity to study the
influence of weather upon military operations. Although the war has
lasted but three months, there are already many cases which may be
cited in illustration.

During the first six weeks of the war the despatches made practically
no mention whatever of the weather. Only incidentally was reference
made to the oppressive heat. We may, therefore, conclude that there was
nothing in the meteorological conditions in August and early Septem-
ber which had any noticeable effect upon the campaign. The mild and
pleasant weather of the European late summer apparently ran its ac-

6o8 TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

customed peaceful course. Suddenly, beginning with mid- September,
we come upon constant reference to the difficulties caused by heavy
rains. Autumnal rains, usually especially marked in October, are char-
acteristic of the northern coasts of Europe. They come in connection
with storms that drift in from the Atlantic Ocean, and pass eastward,
across the Channel and the North Sea. It was to be expected that there
would be many difficulties on account of the wet weather during the
latter part of September and in October. The despatches from the
front clearly show that the expected happened. Heavy rains during the
long battle of the Aisne caused the rivers to swell; filled the trenches,
and often drove the troops out to fight with their bayonets, thus chang-
ing the plan of operations. The difficulty, even the impossibility in
some cases, of moving the heavy guns through the deep mud, was a
serious handicap to both armies. During the general retreat of the Ger-
mans from their advanced position in France many guns and much am-
munition had to be abandoned. On September 19 a despatch to a Lon-
don paper said that the heavy rains had flooded such large areas that it
was unlikely that the Germans could move their heavy siege guns
towards Antwerp, but that these " would probably end in destruction in
the mud." Subsequent events, however, proved this prediction a mis-
taken one. Nevertheless, the bad weather for a time threatened disaster
to the Germans in that it delayed the arrival of reinforcements, and of
provisions, and helped to demoralize the tired troops. The Allies, also,
were prevented from advancing rapidly for similar reasons, and an extra
time allowance was necessary in order that the various divisions could
reach the ground assigned to them. The flooded rivers made the work
of the " heroic engineers a veritable task of Hercules."

During the later fighting along the Franco-Belgian line, and near
the Channel coast, the heavy rains continued to cause incessant trouble.
" Torrential rains," producing " seas of mud " ; " quagmires " ; " mo-
rasses"; "bogs" — these are the expressions used to describe the condi-
tion of the region. Both sides were severely handicapped by the
difficulty of moving the heavy artillery and motor trucks, but the
Germans seem, on the whole, to have suffered most, with their heavy
guns and motor trains. When the roads became impassable, the
guns and trucks were driven through the fields, and in many cases
became hopelessly stalled. The misty, rainy weather, making observa-
tion at a distance almost impossible, led to less artillery action.
Autumnal fogs several times afforded a protecting cover which made
a sudden assault on the enemy's trenches possible. At times, when the
weather was especially stormy, the fighting ceased entirely. We read
that " General Eain " helped the Allies. The discomfort of all the
troops was very greatly increased because of the growing cold as au-
tumn came on, the cool, damp nights and early mornings proving espe-

WAR AND THE WEATHER 609

cially trying. It is interesting to note that the Belgian troops who were
interned in Holland after the fall of Antwerp accidentally crossed the
Dutch frontier in the dark, rainy night of their march.

These autumn rains were not limited to the Franco-Belgian war
zone. In the eastern campaign, in late September, we read that the
roads were quagmires and that the German troops who were advancing
against the Russians were greatly hampered by the difficulty of moving
the heavy guns and armored motor cars. In early October the rain and
mud in this district interfered with the movements of both armies, but
the Russians had the advantage because their field guns and wagons are
especially designed for going through mud and soft ground, as a result
of their development in districts where there are few good roads. The
German artillery and automobile trucks, on the other hand, built low
for service on hard ground, were moved with great difficulty or not at all.
Hence the rain and the mud fought on the side of the Russians. The
troops of the Czar got more of their artillery into action, and used it
sooner. The Germans even found it impossible to protect themselves in
the customary roofed-over trenches, because the soil was so saturated
with water.

Late in October, in the campaign around Warsaw, heavy rains seem
largely to have defeated the German plan of operations. The deficiency
in railroads was to be made good by means of long trains of fast motor
cars, but the mud was so deep that whole roads are reported to have been
blocked with abandoned German transports and guns. In the advance
towards Warsaw, the German artillery was so much delayed by the mud
that it could not be brought up to strengthen the advance guard. The
Russians captured many guns which had been abandoned in the mud.
The big Krupp siege guns, which proved so effective in the west, where
the roads are good, were a serious handicap in the east. Up to the end
of October no important fortress had been taken by bombardment by
the Germans in the east. In the west, fortress after fortress fell under
the heavy gun fire. In such a region, of lowlands and swamps, winter
cold, by freezing the ground, will make campaigning easier.

It is clear from these few illustrations that modern warfare has in
no way become independent of the handicaps imposed by rain. Motors
instead of horses are used to pull artillery and supply trains, but the
guns have become heavier, and deep sticky mud is just as serious an
obstacle as it ever was.

The grim specter of winter began to rise above the horizon as far
back as the middle of September, and almost every day since then has
brought some new evidence of the nearer approach of the cold, and the
snow, and the suffering which are sure to come with the shortening days
and the lowering sun. Modern wars are intense. They do not come to
a dead stop in winter. The armies do not go into winter quarters as

6io THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

they did in the old days. The soldiers in the present war will suffer
from the cold; the icy roads will make it difficult for horses to keep
their footing; the snow will block roads and delay marching and trans-
portation, just as has happened in the wars of the past under similar
weather conditions. Modern methods of transportation are so well-
organized that winter storms and cold do not interfere as much as was
formerly the case, yet the movements. of the heavy guns, the automo-
biles and the motor trucks of the present-day army are likely to be
blocked by deep snows at least as effectively as was once the case when
horses were exclusively used.

From Galicia, with its high ground and its exposure northwards,
towards the great Russian lowland, came, in mid-September, the first
mention of the suffering of troops from the cold. Early in October we
read that the soldiers there were marching and camping in the snow.
The Russians, well protected by their heavy overcoats, suffered little
discomfort, but the Austrians whose winter clothing had been captured
by the Russians in Lemberg were less fortunate. Whatever may have
been the other reasons for the Russian advance into Austrian Poland, it
is clear that this southern route into Austrian and perhaps later into
German territory would naturally give the longest open season for the
prosecution of the campaign. In the northeast, the Germans seem to
have been surprised by the setting in of cold weather in the first half
of October, and, not having heavy clothing, they are reported to have
suffered severely. The Russians, on the other hand, were well pro-
tected, having fur caps covering both their heads and necks and being
otherwise well equipped with requisites for a fall and winter campaign.
It is not unlikely that the Germans, even if they were distinctly vic-
torious in this zone, would think of penetrating far into Russia, to face,
as did Napoleon, the might of Generals January and February.
Heavy rains and sleet made speedy movements of troops difficult in
early October. Toward the latter part of October snow was interfering
with the offensive of the Russian army in Poland, because delaying the
movement of their transport. The German and Austrian troops, there-
fore, retreated less rapidly, and made a more determined resistance.
They were, however, themselves greatly hampered by a breakdown of
their own supply trains. It is probable that the German activity against
Russia in the east has been at least in part due to the desire to gain a
distinct advantage before the setting in of the rigorous Russian winter.
The capture of Warsaw before winter would have greatly strengthened
the German line in East Prussia, would have endangered the Russian
frontier in Galicia and would have had a distinct moral effect on the
Poles. Further, if a large body of German troops could then be trans-
ferred to France, a new campaign against Paris might perhaps be at-
tempted during the milder French winter. The Russians are more ac-

WAR AND THE WEATHER 6n

customed to severe cold than are the men from the west and south of
Europe, and will probably prosecute the war with little diminution of
energy. The Germans have evidently been preparing for the winter
fighting in Poland, for the troops which went to the front early in Oc-
tober were equipped with fur gloves and sheepskin coats.

In the French and Belgian war zone the September rains are noted
as having brought lower temperatures, "with a distinct feeling of au-
tumn in the air, especially in the early mornings." This warning chill,
with cold winds, seemed to arouse all the commanders to a sudden real-
ization of the unpreparedness of their troops for a winter campaign.
The terrors of the winter suddenly loomed up on the horizon of warring
Europe. Living outdoors and in trenches is bad enough when the
weather is favorable, but the sufferings of the men, especially of the
sick and wounded, when the weather is cold are immeasurably greater.
The lowered vitality of the wounded leads to many deaths from the
cold, even if none of the men are actually frozen to death, as has so often
happened in previous winter campaigns in Europe. On all sides we
hear of preparations for winter. The German Crown Prince, some
weeks ago, telegraphed to the Emperor for winter socks and under-
clothing for his men. Germany has ordered sheepskin clothing from
Rotterdam; fur coats to the number of 150,000, presumably for the use
of German officers, have already been delivered, and 2,000,000 sheep and
lambskins have been bought for the use of the men. People ordinarily
employed in glove-making are now engaged in providing the troops with
clothing made from the skins usually taken for gloves. For the Ger-
man cavalry, special leather leg protectors are being made. The French
minister of war some time ago sent a circular to all the prefects, re-
questing them to obtain as rapidly as possible supplies of woolen under-
clothes, socks, gloves and blankets for the use of the French soldiers
during the winter. England has made special provision for her Indian
troops in the way of mufflers and warm underwear; has commandeered
large quantities of woolen goods, and is importing from this country at
the present time immense numbers of rubber boots and cardigan jack-
ets. The difficulty of digging trenches, and of living in them, is greatly
increased when the weather is wet and cold. Under date of October 16,
we read that the allied troops are protecting themselves in the trenches
with blankets and waterproof sheets, and are guarding against the cold
by wearing " sheets of parchment " under their uniforms. Dug-outs
are being cut under the sides of the trenches for the men to sleep and
take shelter in. These refuges are raised somewhat above the bottom of
the trenches, so that they are dry in wet weather. Some of the trenches
are now provided with cover overhead, for protection against the
weather as well as against the shrapnel fire. In the last week of Oc-
tober snow fell in the Vosges, in considerable amounts, and also at sev-

6i2 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

eral points along the French frontier. The nights were reported as
becoming steadily colder. The French colonial troops, especially those
from Africa, were stated to be " benumbed by the cold."

There are many respects in which the weather is of more importance
in warfare to-day than it ever was in the past. The use of searchlights
and aeroplanes in directing ordnance fire, and the greatly increased
mortality caused by modern artillery, make the protection of troops, in
trenches or otherwise, of essential importance. A low cloud, a fog, a
snowstorm, a heavy rain, may give just the protection needed, and yet
not interfere with the free movement of the troops. In this very war,
the surrender of Namur was hastened by a heavy fog, which enabled
the Germans to plant their siege guns in a good position and without
danger to themselves.

It is hardly necessary to point out that in the matter of aeroplanes
and airships modern warfare is far more dependent upon weather con-
ditions than it ever was. Since the great war began we have had many
illustrations of this fact. It seems to be a fairly well established point
that in order to have his reconnaissance of real value the observer in
an aeroplane must, unless the weather is unusually clear, come down
low enough to be in danger of gun and rifle fire. Fogs and low clouds
obscure the surface from an aerial observer. Wind may wholly interfere
with his work at a time when his report is most needed. The increas-
ing numbers of London fogs with the coming on of autumn led to great
anxiety in London on account of possible Zeppelin attacks. Tests were
made at the end of September to ascertain whether searchlights can
detect a Zeppelin even through a fog. A warning has been issued by
aviation experts to the effect that an attack on London is most likely on
a clear calm night. Foggy and misty weather hampered aerial recon-
naissance in northeastern France during the October storms. In a
despatch dated October 24, from Paris, we read that the aviators who
were protecting the region over Paris suffered severely in " terrible hail
and snowstorms." The German aviators, it is noted, set out according
to schedule, in spite of unfavorable weather. It is not difficult to realize
how serious the lack of a daily European weather map must now be to
the whole aerial campaign. Germany, in particular, if she plans a
Zeppelin raid on England, will find the lack of observations from the
British Isles most serious. Possibly some of the secret wireless stations
which are reported to have been discovered in Great Britain were used
for sending daily weather reports to Germany. So far as the naval side
of the war is concerned, there has thus far been little or nothing to
note on the meteorological aspects. With the approach of winter, and
the increase of stormy weather over the northern seas, we may not un-
reasonably look for losses due to gales, and thick weather, and fogs,
and to suffering from the cold. Bough water and fog make the ap-

WAR AND THE WEATHER 613

proach of a submarine difficult or impossible to see, and therefore help
the attacking vessel. We note that the weather was "bitterly cold"
at the time when the British cruiser Hawhe was torpedoed, so that the
chances of saving the men who were struggling in the water were greatly
lessened. Special precautions should be taken to guard against collision,
shipwreck and submarine attack, as the winter comes on. The German
fleet is doubtless waiting for a winter gale to scatter the British ships.
At the end of October a severe storm was raging in the North Sea — a
sure sign of the approach of winter — and was making life on board of the
smaller vessels, the torpedo boats and submarines, most uncomfortable.
Archangel, which evidently served as a very important port for the
Allies during the summer, is now frozen, and will remain so until next
summer.

Thus, throughout the area of the Great "War, the weather from day
to day is playing its part in the campaign. Modern military tactics;
modern armament ; modern methods of all kinds, have not in any way
eliminated the weather element as a factor of the greatest importance.
The story of the present war does not, thus far, read so very differently
from that of the stories of previous wars in the same countries. In
1586, the Spanish, as related by Motley, encountered such terrible rains
on the Meuse that they retreated. A previous fall of ISTamur, in 1692,
was largely due to heavy rains which prevented the English from cross-
ing the river and meeting the besieging French army. The English in
Flanders in 1708-09 endured great hardships on account of deep snows,
which blocked the roads. The cold was intense and the troops, who were
short of firewood, suffered severely. The Duke of Marlborough wrote
(1708) : "Till this frost yields we can neither break ground for our
batteries nor open our trenches." The French, in Poland, in 1806-07,
found mud 3 feet deep; drenching rains; driving sleet; melting snow
and icy streams. In the Franco-Prussian War of 1870-71, over the
same historic ground in France, we read of torrential rains; floods;
icy roads ; muddy fields, and of sufferings on account of cold.

So the story goes on, from age to age, from one war to the next.
War and the weather: they are related to-day, as they were in the past,
physically, physiologically, psychologically, and as they will be until
wars shall cease.

Dropping the Pilot :
Tenniel's cartoon, printed in Punch in 1890.

THE PROGRESS OF SCIENCE

615

THE PROGRESS OF SCIENCE

WAR AND PUBLIC OPINION

It is difficult to write, speak or think
about anything except the war now dev-
asting Europe and the earth. Al-
though social and economic questions
can not be treated with the same ob-
jectivity as the natural and exact sci-
ences, The Popular Science Monthly
has always included them in its scope,
the immediate ground of its establish-
ment in 1872 having indeed been the
need of a journal in which to publish
Herbert Spencer 's ' ' Principles of Soci-
ology. ' ' That work takes an attitude
strongly opposed to militarism and dis-
cusses the difficulties of obtaining
scientific points of view in sociology
owing to national interests and preju-
dices.

The events of forty-two years have
enforced the arguments of Herbert
Spencer and to-day their truth is con-
vincingly exhibited, at least in the sight
of most of us. But it must be ad-
mitted that the two arguments are not
on the same scientific plane. When it
is claimed that armaments and war are
not only inevitable, but may be desir-
able for a nation and for the world,
there is no scientific disproof, only con-
viction against prejudice or prejudice
against conviction, as the case may be.
The extent to which belief may be
determined by emotion is demonstrated
by the fact that the people of each of
the nations now involved hold that they
are engaged in a war of defense
against the selfish and wanton aggres-
sion of their opponents. We have been
requested to print a manifesto, ad-
dressed " To the Civilized World " by
ninety-three leading representatives of
German science and art, including Pro-
fessors von Baer, von Behring, Ehrlich,
Fischer, Haeckel, Klein, Nernst, Ost-
wald, Rontgen, Waldeyer and Wundt.
They say:

It is not true that Germany is guilty
of having caused this war. Neither the
people, the government, nor the
"Kaiser" wanted war. Germany did
her utmost to prevent it; for this as-
sertion the world has documental proof.
. . . It is not true that we trespassed
in neutral Belgium. . . . It is not true
that the life and property of a single
Belgian citizen was injured by our sol-
diers without the bitterest self-defence
having made it necessary. . . . It is not
true that our troops treated Louvain
brutally. . . . We can not wrest the
poisonous weapon — the lie— out of the
hands of our enemies. All we can do
is to proclaim to all the world, that
our enemies are giving false witness
against us. You^ who know us, who
with us have protected the most holy
possessions of man, we call to you:
Have faith in us! Believe, that we
shall carry on this war to the end as a
civilized nation, to whom the legacy of
a Goethe, a Beethoven and a Kant, is
just as sacred as its own hearths and
homes. For this we pledge you our
names and our honor.

A reply alleging the exact contrary
has been signed by one hundred and
thirty leading British professors, au-
thors, artists and men of science, in-
cluding Lord Rayleigh, Sir William
Ramsey, Sir William Crookes, Sir Wil-
liam Osier, Sir Ronald Ross, Sir Wil-
liam Turner, Professor Sherrington and
Professor Schuster. They say:

We grieve profoundly that under the
baleful influence of a military system
and its lawless dreams of conquest she
whom we once honored now stands re-
vealed as the common enemv of Eu-
rope and of all peoples which respect
the laws of nations. We must carry on
the war on which we have entered.
For us, as for Belgium, it is a war of
defense waged for liberty and peace.

The workings of the psychology of
the crowd may be illustrated by a minor
incident. German scientific men have
renounced the honorary degrees con-
ferred on them by British universities,
and German scientific men who had at-
tended as invited guests the Australian

6i6

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

meeting of the British Association are
being held as prisoners of war in Eng-
land. But at the meeting of the as-
sociation after the outbreak of war
these same scientific men received hon-
orary degrees from a British university
with special applause.

When public opinion in regard to
war is so subject to emotional control,
the way of wisdom is to avoid war and
the conditions leading to war, even to
the extent of holding that there never is
a good war or a bad peace. The only
gleam of hope in the present situation
is that public sentiment in this country
is against war and against the nations
which, rightly or wrongly, are supposed
to be the aggressors, and that each na-
tion is anxious to disclaim responsibil-
ity for the existing chaos. In its incep-
tion the war was an affair of militarists
and diplomatists, and Germany was un-
fortunate in combining these two
classes in the same clique. All would
have been different if there had been a
Bismarck to whom the military machine
was subordinated; there might have
been war between Bussia and Germany,
but there would have been no Euro-
pean war. Conditions were better in
Great Britain, and diplomacy tried to
prevent war, but when war came then
diplomacy had involved the people in
its tricks.

Suddenly out of its stale and drowsy

lair, the lair of slaves,
Like lightning it leo't forth half

startled at itself,
Its feet upon the ashes and the rags,

its hands tight to the throats of

kings.

But none of us can see clearly in the
storm and in the darkness. It is our
helplessness, the horror of it all, the
pity of it all, that overwhelm us. The
only safe conclusion is that the work of
the world for science and for civiliza-
tion must be maintained. We may well
honor the Paris Academy of Sciences
for continuing its meetings when the
enemy were at the gates of Paris and
the government had fled; the scientific
men and scholars of Strassburg for
opening the sessions of the university
at the usual time. And most of all it

is our business to carry forward the
flickering torch. The f„ct that the
greatest nations of Europe will be pre-
vented, not only this year but for some
years to come, from doing their share
of scientific work, makes it all the more
necessary that the scientific men, the
scientific institutions and the scientific
journals of this country should main-
tain and increase their efforts.

CBYSTALS AND X-RAYS

As part of the celebration of the one
hundred and fiftieth anniversary of the
founding of Brown University a series
of meetings and courses of lectures
have been arranged. One of the most
interesting of these was a series of four
lectures by Professor William Henry
Bragg, E.R.S., of the University of
Leeds, discussing the important work
that has recently been done on the phe-
nomena resulting from the passage of
X-rays through crystals.

Two years ago an experiment of great
beauty and extreme scientific impor-
tance was successfully carried out in
the physical laboratories at Munich by
Friedrich and Knipping, acting on a
brilliant suggestion made by Laue, a
member of the staff of the university at
Zurich. To put it very briefly the ex-
periment consisted in the exposition of
the interference effects accompanying
the passage of X-rays through crystals,
and it proved that X-rays consist of
extremely short waves in the ether. It
is now clear that X-rays are exactly the
same thing as light rays, except that
the wave length is roughly ten thousand
times smaller. The significance of this
discovery can not be compressed into
a single sentence because it points in
several independent directions.

In the first place, the result is of the
greatest importance in connection with
the general theories of radiation. The
undulatory theory of light has been ex-
traordinarily successful in correlating
experimental facts. Towards the end
of the last century it seemed as if it
had conquered all the great problems of
physical optics. More recently it has

TEE PROGRESS OF SCIENCE

617

shown signs of inefficiency. For ex-
ample, it seems unable to account for
the so-called photo-electric phenomena.
Incapacity has been still more obvious
in connection with the properties of X-
rays. At one time it seemed, at least to
some, easier to deny the identity of
light- and X-rays than to force the
orthodox theory to yield an explanation
of X-ray effects. When therefore the
identity is established by the new ex-
periment, a very interesting position re-
sults. The orthodox theory is to be
supplemented in some way not yet
clear. It will then be, surely, far more
effective than it ever has been before.
From our new point of view our diffi-
culties are more clearly defined, but, at
the same time, we shall probably re-
ceive new help to their solution.

In the second place a method of
analyzing X-rays has been evolved from
tne original experiment. The wave
lengths of X-rays can now be meas-
ured exactly, and other characteristics
of X-rays can be expressed in terms of
these. Remarkable relations have al-
ready been found to exist, for instance,
between the wave lengths of the X-rays
emitted by various atoms under proper
stimulus and the positions of those
atoms in the table of Mendelejeff.
Much light is thereby thrown upon the
meaning of the table, and a limit is set
to the number of its vacant places, that
is to say of elements not yet discovered.

Again, the new experiments provide a
means of investigating the structure of
crystals. We are able to determine
the arrangement of the atoms in a crys-
tal and to measure the distance from
atom to atom. The science of crystal-
lography can be built on a firmer basis
than before, for it can now take ac-
count of the internal structure of the
crystals whereas it has hitherto relied
on observations of the external form.

Finally, the motions of the atoms
about their average positions are made
manifest. Little experimental work
has yet been done in this direction,
but it does not seem unlikely that
we shall presently measure with exact-
ness the extent of the atomic move-

VOL. LXXXV. — 41.

ments which contribute to the heat con-
tent of a body.

Professor Bragg 's lectures were de-
voted to an attempt to explain more
fully the statements outlined above.
In the first lecture the general question
was considered. Laue's experiment
was described and interpreted and its
meaning discussed. The subject of the
second was W. L. Bragg 's restatement
of Laue's theory, together with its im-
portant consequence, viz., the X-ray
spectrometer and its powers. The
third was devoted to the consideration
of crystal structure in the light of the
new discovery, and the fourth to X-ray
spectra, the relation of X-ray proper-
ties to wave length, and the thermal
movement of the atoms in the crystal.

NATURAL SCENERY FOR MUSEUM
EXHIBITS

In connection with the rearranging
of the scenic effect of one of the Roose-
velt animal groups in the National Mu-
seum, actual African plants and grasses,
are to be filled with plaster and pre-
served in their natural state to give the-
animal specimens local color. In the-
art of modern taxidermy the old systenti
of simply "stuffing" the skins of ani-
mals has been done away with, and at
standard method of accurate life-size
modeling established. Over a carefully
made plaster cast of this model the skin
is stretched, glued and sewed, so that
it is difficult to see how it was accom-
plished; for the moment it is easy to
believe that the animal itself has been
preserved intact in some marvelous-
manner.

For many years past the National
Museum has been employing natural
scenery — real grass, foliage and soil —
in its biologic and ethnographic groups,
much as in theatrical effects, to create
a natural atmosphere. Now-a-days,
museums do not simply mount individ-
ual animals on a platform and place
them in a case. They are mounted in
natural attitudes, and ground work,
suitable to both the environment and
the posture of the figures, is prepared.

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THE PROGRESS OF SCIENCE

619

The animals are often arranged in fam-
ily or social groups that the student or
spectator can gleam something more
than an impression of how an isolated
specimen looks. Physical geography,
geology, botany and other studies now
enter the field of taxidermy.

In preparing a new setting for the
African buffalo group, built in the Na-
tional Museum about a year ago, the
three animals are to be left in their
original positions, which indicate
alarm, just as they were first discov-
ered by the hunters, but in addition
they are to be represented as standing
on the edge of an African papyrus
swamp. The ground-work of the group
will present the effect of the marsh-
land where the buffalo live, the grasses
and plants being added, that a com-
plete picture of the African swamp
may be effected.

Since nearly all grasses and foliage
are subject to decay and shrinkage,
with constant loss of original form and
color, they, like the skins of the ani-
mals, are especially prepared. Few
grasses, as a rule, can be dyed or pre-
served in anything like their natural
form, but, fortunately, to this end the
papyrus lends itself very well. The
plants having thick stems are opened,
and the pithy inner removed; they are
then bent or curved and secured in the
position desired, wired and filled with
plaster. When the plaster is set, the
plants are painted to represent their
colors in life, and grouped together
with other grasses to form a setting
for the animals.

When the African buffalo group was
first assembled) as no African material
was yet at hand, it was decided to use
temporarily cosmopolitan foliage which
was to be found here as well as in
Africa. Although the artistic effect
proved very satisfactory, the museum
officials determined to have this group
as technically correct in every detail as
the lion, the hartebeest, and the rhinoc-
eros groups already on exhibition, and
finally arrangements were made whereby
the native African material was ob-
tained. Several cases of papyrus plants

and arundo grass were secured from
the natural habitat of these buffalo,
and the animals, set in their true en-
vironment, will soon be Dlaced on ex-
hibition again.

SCIENTIFIC ITEMS

We record with regret the death of
Professor August Weismann, the dis-
tinguished German zoologist; of Dr.
Henry Gannett, geographer of the U. S.
Geological Survey; of Bernard Rich-
ardson Green, civil engineer and super-
intendent of the Congressional Library,
and of Mr. G. R. Mines, professor of
physiology in McGill University, who
died while making experiments in his
laboratory on the action of the heart,
apparently as the result of some fail-
ure in the apparatus.

Professors Eoentgen, Lenard and
Behring have each recently been re-
ported to have repudiated the gold med-
als conferred on them by scientific as-
sociations in Great Britain, and have
donated them to the Bed Cross or other
relief work, and now it is said that the
Hanbury medal has likewise been do-
nated for relief work by its recipient,
Dr. E. Schmidt, professor of pharma-
cology at Marburg.

The past and present members of the
scientific staff of the Rockefeller Insti-
tute for Medical Research gave a din-
ner at Delmonico 's to Dr. Simon Flex-
ner on October 16, in celebration of the
tenth anniversary of the opening of the
laboratories of the institute under his
direction. — At the celebration of the
twenty-fifth anniversary of the Johns
Hopkins Hospital a portrait of Sir Wil-
liam Osier, by Mr. Sargeant, was pre-
sented.

The National Academy of Sciences
will hold its autumn meeting at the
University of Chicago on December 7,
8 and 9. — The American Association
for the Advancement of Science and the
national scientific societies affiliated
with it will hold their convocation week
meetings at the University of Pennsyl-
vania, Philadelphia, during the week
beginning on January 3.

INDEX

621

INDEX

NAMES OF CONTRIBUTORS ARE PRINTED IN SMALL CAPITALS

American, G mius, The Geographical

Distribution of, Scott Nearing, 189;

Whaling Industry, Graphics of the,

J. Arthur Harris, 83
Americans, Foreign-born, The Political

Mind of, A -am Lipsky, 397
Andrews, Launcelot W., A New

Phase of an Old Conflict, 541
Apiculture in the Time of Virgil,

Georgia Willis Bead, 167
Arabian and Medieval Surgery, John

Foote, 467

Bad Habit of having Law Makers and
Lawyers, John Cotton Dana, 87

Baldwin, Bird T., The Normal Child,
its Physical Growth and Mental De-
velopment, 559

Botanical Station, The Chinchona, Dun- I
can S. Johnson, 521

British x\ssociation for the Advance-
ment of Science, Address of the Pres- i
ident, 412

Cannon, W. A., Tree Distribution in
Central California, 417

Carlton, Frank T., Ephemeral Labor
Movements, 1866-1889, 487

Carnegie, Andrew, A League of Peace,
296

Cattell, J. McKeen, Science and In-
ternational Good Will, 304

Cellular Basis of Heredity and Develop-
ment, Edwin Grant Conklin, 105,
232

Child, The Normal, its Physical Growth
and Mental Development, Bird T.
Baldwin, 559

Chinchona Botanical Station, Duncan
S. Johnson, 521

Cincinnati New General Hospital, 101

Civilization as a Selective Agency,
Roland Hugins, 476

College, The Small, and Its Faculty,
One of the Presidents, 184

Common Factors in Mental Health and
Illness, F. Lyman Wells, 569

Conflict, Old, A New Phase of an,
Launcelot W. Andrews, 541

Coniferous Forests of Eastern North
America, Roland M. Harper, 338

Conklin, Edwin Grant, Facts and
Factors of Development, 21 ; The
Cellular Basis of Heredity and De-
velopment, 105, 232; Phenomena of
Inheritance, 313, 425

Conservation and Exchange, Union and
Cooperation, The Evolution of Serv-
ice by, William Patten, 404

Coral Reefs of Torres Straits, An Ex-
pedition to the, Alfred Goldsbor-
ough Mayer, 209

Crystals and X-rays, 131

Cultivation of Waste Land, The, A. D.
Hall, 377

Dana, John Cotton, The Bad Habit of
having Law Makers and Lawyers, 87

Darwin, Major Leonard, Address before
the Eugenics Education Society, 205

Darwinism, Organic Evolution and the
Churches, 103

Decreasing Population of France,
James W. Garner, 247

Democracy, Municipal, Home Rule, the
Hope of, Oswald Ryan, 392

Desert Basin, A Comprehensive Study
of a, 413

Determining Educational Values, M. V.
O'Shea, 284

Development, Facts and Factors of, Ed-
win Grant Conklin, 21; and He-
redity, the Cellular Basis of, Edwin
Grant Conklin, 105, 232

Distribution of Scientific Men among
the different nations, 516

Ductless Glands, Internal Secretions
and Hormonic Equilibrium, Fielding
H. Garrison, 531

East Wind, The Paradox of the, Alex-
ander McAdie, 292

Education, Elementary and Secondary,
Waste in, Franklin W. Johnson,
40; Work of General Board, 101;
The Science of, John Perry, 504

Educational Values, Determining, M. V.
O'Shea, 2S4

Elementary and Secondary Education,
Waste in, Franklin W. Johnson, 40

Emmerick, Charles F., The Struggle
for Equality in the United States, 56

Ephemera] Labor Movements, 1866-
1889, Frank T. Carlton, 487

Equality, The Struggle for, in the
United States, Charles F. Emerick,
56

Equilibrium, Hormonic, Internal Secre-
tions and Ductless Glands, Fielding
H. Garrison, 531

Ethnic Factors in International Rela-
tions, Maurice Parmelee, 146

622

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

Eugenics Education Society, Major
Leonard Darwin's Address, 205

Evolution, Organic. Darwinism and the
Churches, 103; of Mind, The Role of
Sex in, S. J. Holmes, 200 ; of Service
by Union and Cooperation, Conserva-
tion and Exchange, William Pat-
ten, 404

Expedition to the Coral Reefs of Torres
Straits, Alfred Goldsborough
Mayer, 209

Factors, Common, in Mental Health and
Illness, F. Lyman Wells, 569

Facts and Factors of Development, Ed-
win Grant Conklin, 21

Foes, How We defend Ourselves from
Our, Fraser Harris, 93

Food Supplies, Available, J. F. Lyman,
180

Foote, John, Arabian and Medieval
Surgery, 467

Foreign-born Americans, The Political
Mind of, Abram Lipsky, 397

Forests, Coniferous, of Eastern North
America, Roland M. Harper, 338

France,- The Decreasing Population of,
James W. Garner, 247

French, Harold, Genesis and Revela-
tions of the Yosemite Valley, 69

Garner, James W., The Decreasing
Population of France, 247

Garrison, Fielding H., Ductless Glands,
Internal Secretions and Hormonic
Equilibrium, 531

Genesis and Revelations of the Yosem-
ite Valley, Harold French, 69

Genius, American, The Geographical
Distribution of, Scott Nearing, 189

German Militarism, its Influence upon
the Industries, Hugo Schweitzer,
582

Glands, Ductless, Internal Secretions
and Hormonic Equilibrium, Fielding
H. Garrison, 531

Graphics of the American Whaling In-
dustry, J. Arthur Harris, 83

Growth, Physical, and Mental Develop-
ment of the Normal Child, Bird T
Baldwin, 559

Hall, A. D., The Cultivation of Waste
Land, 377

Harper, Roland M., The Coniferous
Forests of Eastern North America,
338

Harris, Fraser, How We defend Our-
selves from Our Foes. 93

Harris, J. Arthur, Graphics of the
American Whaling Industry, 83

Health, National, The Value of Re-
search in the Development of, Ben-
jamin Moore, 362; Mental, and Ill-
ness, Common Factors in, F. Lyman
Wells, 569

Heredity and Development, Edwin
Grant Conklin, 21, 105, 232, 313,
425

Holmes, S. J., The Role of Sex in the
Evolution of Mind, 200

Home Rule, The Hope of Municipal
Democracy. Oswald Ryan, 392

Hope for the Russian Peasantry, Lucy
Elizabeth Textor, 590

Hormonic Equilibrium, Ductless Glands
and Internal Secretions, Fielding H.
Garrison, 531

Horowitz, B., The Ultra-Scientific
School, 463

Howard, Rossiter, Pleasure in Pic-
tures, 155

Hugins, Roland, Civilization as a Se-
lective Agency, 476

Illness, Mental, and Health, Common
Factors in, F. Lyman Wells, 569

Increase, Natural, of Races of Euro-
pean Nations, 309

Industries, German Militarism, its In-
fluence upon the, Hugo Schweitzer,
582

Inheritance, Phenomena of, Edwin
Grant Conklin, 21, 105, 232, 313,
425

International Relations, Ethnic Factors
in, Maurice Parmelee, 146

Internal Secretions, Hormonic Equilib-
rium and Ductless Glands, Fielding
H. Garrison, 531

James, William, The Moral Equiva-
lent of War, 298

Johnson, Duncan S., The Chinchona
Botanical Station, 521

Johnson, Franklin W., Waste in Ele-
mentary and Secondary Education,
40

Jones, Edward D., The Rise of a New
Profession, 260

Jordan, David Starr, War and Man-
hood, 301

Labor Movements, Ephemeral, 1866-
1889, Frank T. Carlton, 487

Lawyers, and Law Makers, The Bad
Habit of having, John Cotton
Dana, 87

Lipsky, Abram, The Political Mind of
Foreign-born Americans, 397

Lyman, J. F., Available Food Sup-
plies, 180

MoAdte, Alexander, The Paradox of
the East Wind, 292

MacDougall, Robert, The Picture and
the Text, 270

Man and the Microbe, C.-E. A. Wins-
low, 5

Manhood, and War, David Starr Jor-
dan, 301

INDEX

623

Biological
203

Laboratory, Woods

Marine
Hole,

Mathematical Activities, Eecent, G. A.
Millee, 457

Mayer, Alfred Goldsborotjgh, An Ex-
pedition to the Coral Eeefs of Torres
Straits, 209

Medieval and Arabian, Surgery, John
Foote, 467

Mental, Development, The Normal
Child, its Physical Growth and, Bird
T. Baldwin, 559; Health and Illness,
Common Factors in, F. Lyman
Wells, 569

Microbe and Man, C.-E. A. Winslow, 5

Militarism, German, its Influence upon
the Industries, Hugo Schweitzer,
582

Miller, G. A., Eecent Mathematical Ac-
tivities, 457

Mind, Evolution of, The Bole of Sex in,
S. J. Holmes, 200

Moore, Benjamin, The Value of Ee-
search in the Development of Na-
tional Health, 362

Moral Equivalent of War, William
James, 298

Municipal Democracy, Home Eule, The
Hope of, Oswald Eyan, 392

National, Educational Association, St.
Paul Meeting, 204; Health, The
Value of Eesearch in the Development
of, Benjamin Moore, 362

Nearing, Scott, The Geographical Dis-
tribution of American Genius, 189

New Phase of an Old Conflict, Launce-
lot W. Andrews, 541

Nitrate Deposits, The Origin of, Wil-
liam H. Eoss, 134

Normal Child, its Physical Growth and
Mental Development, Bird T. Bald-
win, 559

One of the Presidents, The Small
College and its Faculty, 184

Opinion, Public and the War, 615

Origin of Nitrate Deposits, William
H. Eoss, 134

O'Shea, M. V., Determining Educa-
tional Values, 284

Paradox of the East Wind, Alexander
McAdie, 292

Parmelee, Maurice, Ethnic Factors La
International Eelations, 146

Patten, William, The Evolution of
Service by Union and Cooperation,
Conservation and Exchange, 404

Peace, A League of, Andrew Carnegie,
296

Peasantry, the Eussian, Hope for, Lucy
Elizabeth Textor, 590

Perry, John, The Science of Educa-
tion, 504

Phenomena of Inheritance, Edwin
Grant Conklin, 313, 425-

Physical Growth and Mental Develop-
ment of the Normal Child, Bird T.
Baldwin, 559

Picture, and the Text, Eobert Mac-
Dougall, 270

Pictures, Pleasure in, Eossiter How-
ard, 155

Political Mind of Foreign-born Amer-
icans, Abram Lipsky, 397

Population, The Decreasing, of France,
James W. Garner, 247

Progress of Science, 101, 203, 308, 412,
516, 615

Profession, New, The Eise of a, Ed-
ward D. Jones, 260

Public Opinion and the War, 615

Eaces of the European Nations and
their Natural Increase, The, 309

Bead, Georgia Willis. Apiculture in
the Time of Virgil, 167

Eecent Mathematical Activities, G. A.
Miller, 457

Eeefs, Coral, of Torres Straits, An Ex-
pedition to the, Alfred Goldsbor-
ough Mayer, 209

Eesearch, The Value of, in the Develop-
ment of National Health, Benjamin
Moore, 362

Eevelations, and Genesis, of the Yo-
semite Valley, Harold French, 69

Eise of a New Profession, Edward D.
Jones, 260

Eole of Sex in the Evolution of Mind,
S. J. Holmes, 200

Eoss, William H., The Origin of Ni-
trate Deposits, 134

Eubber: Wild, Plantation and Syn-
thetic, John Waddell, 443

Eussian Peasantry, Hope for the, Lucy
Elizabeth Textor, 590

Eyan, Oswald, Home Eule, the Hope
of Municipal Democracy, 392

Schweitzer, Hugo, German Militarism,
its Influence upon the Industries, 582

Science, The Progress of, 101, 203,
308, 412, 516, 615; and International
Good Will, J. McKeen Cattell, 305;
of Education, John Perry, 504; and
the War, 516

Scientific, Items, 104, 208, 311, 415,
519, Men, The Distribution of,
among the Different Nations, 516

Secondary Education, and Elementary,
Waste in, Franklin W. Johnson, 40

Secretions, Internal, Hormonic Equi-
librium and Ductless Glands, Field-
ing H. Garrison, 531

Selective Agency, Civilization as c,
Eoland Hugins, 476

Service, The Evolution of, by Union
and Cooperation, Conservation and
Exchange, William Patten, 404

624

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

Sex, The Role of, in the Evolution >£
Mind, S. J. Holmes, 200

Small College and Its Faculty, One op
the Presidents, 184

Struggle for Equality in the United
States, Charles F. Emerick, 56

Surgery, Arabian and Medieval, John
Foote, 467

Synthetic Rubber, Wild and Planta-
tion, John Waddell, 443

Textor, LxrcY Elizabeth, Hope for the

Russian Peasantry, 590
Torres Straits, An Expedition to the

Coral Reefs of, Alfred Goldsbor-

otjgh Mayer, 209
Tree Distribution in Central California,

W. A. Cannon, 417

Ultra Scientific School, B. Horowitz,
463

Union and Cooperation, Conservation
and Exchange, The Evolution of
Service by, William Patten, 404

United States, The Struggle for Equal-
ity in the, Charles F. Emerick, 56

Value of Research in the Development
of National Health, Benjamin
Moore, 362

Values, Educational, Determining, M.
V. O'Shea, 284

Virgil, Apiculture in the Time of,
Georgia Willis Read, 167

Waddell, John, Rubber: Wild, Plan-
tation and Synthetic, 443

War, and Peace, Andrew Carnegie,
296; The Moral Equivalent of, Wil-
liam James, 298; and Manhood,
David Starr Jordan, 301; The Mad,
308; public opinion and the, 615

Ward, Robert DeC, The War and the
Weather during the First Three
Months of the War, 604

Waste, in Elementary and Secondary
Education, Franklin W. Johnson,
40; Land, The Cultivation of, A. D.
Hall, 377

Weather, The War and the, during the
First Three Months of the War,
Robert DeC. Ward, 604

Wells, F. Lyman, Common Factors in
Mental Health and Illness, 569

Whaling Industry, American, Graphics
of the, J. Arthur Harris, 83

Wind, East, The Paradox of the, Alex-
ander McAdie, 292

Winslow, C.-E. A., Man and the Mi-
crobe, 5

X-rays and crystals, 131
Yosemite Valley, Genesis and Revela-
tions of the, Harold French, 69

MBL WHO! LIBRARY

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