|
THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY VOLUME LXXXVI JULY TO SEPTEMBER,
1915
THE SCIENTIFIC MONTHLY VOLUME I OCTOBER TO DECEMBER, 1915
EDITED BY J. McKEEN CATTELL
THE SCIENTIFIC MONTHLY ------ OCTOBER, 1915 -------------
THE EVOLUTION OF THE STARS AND THE FORMATION OF THE EARTH. II
BY DR. WILLIAM WALLACE CAMPBELL
DIRECTOR OF THE LICK OBSERVATORY, UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA
THE PRINCIPLES OF SPECTROSCOPY
THUS far our description of the stellar universe has been
confined to its geometrical properties. A serious study of the
evolution of the stars must seek to determine, first of all,
what the stars really are, what their chemical constitutions
and physical conditions are; and how they are related to each
other as to their physical properties. The application of the
spectroscope has advanced our knowledge of the subject by leaps
and bounds. This wonderful instrument, assisted by the
photographic plate, enables every visible celestial body to
write its own record of the conditions existing in itself,
within limits set principally by the brightness of the body.
Such records physicists have succeeded to some extent in
duplicating in their laboratories; and the known conditions
under which the laboratory experiments have been conducted are
the Rosetta Stones which are enabling us to interpret, with
more or less success, the records written by the stars.
It is well known that the ordinary image of a star, whether
formed by the eye alone, or by the achromatic telescope and the
eye combined, contains light of an infinite variety of colors
corresponding, speaking according to the mechanical theory of
light, to waves of energy of an infinite variety of lengths
which have traveled to us from the star. In the point image of
a star, these radiations fall in a confused heap. and the
observer is unable to say that radiations corresponding to any
given wave-lengths are present or absent. When the star's light
has been passed through the prism, or diffracted from the
grating of a spectroscope, these rays are separated one from
another and arranged side by side in perfect order, ready for
the observer to survey them and to determine which ones are
present in superabundance and which other ones are lacking
wholly or in part. The following comparison is a fair one: the
ordinary point image of a star is as if all the books in the
university library were thrown together in a disorderly but
compact pile in the center of the reading room: we could say
little concerning the contents and characteristics of that
library; whether it is strong in certain fields of human
endeavor, or weak in other fields. The spectrum of a star is as
the same library when the books are arranged on the shelves in
complete perfection and simplicity, so that he who looks may
appraise its contents at any or all points. Let us consider the
fundamental principles of spectroscopy.
1. When a solid body, a liquid, or a highly-condensed gas is
heated to incandescence, its light when passed through a
spectroscope forms a continuous spectrum: that is, a band of
light, red at one end and violet at the other, uninterrupted by
either dark or bright lines.
2. The light from the incandescent gas or vapor of a chemical
element, passed through a spectroscope, forms a bright-line
spectrum; that is, one consisting entirely of isolated bright
lines, distributed differently throughout the spectrum for the
different elements, or of bright lines superimposed upon a
relatively faint continuous spectrum.
3. If radiations from a continuous-spectrum source pass through
cooler gases or vapors before entering the spectroscope, a
dark-line spectrum results: that is, the positions which the
bright lines in the spectra of the vapors and gases would have
are occupied by dark or absorption lines. These are frequently
spoken of as Fraunhofer lines.
To illustrate: the gases and vapors forming the outer strata of
the Sun's atmosphere would in themselves produce bright-line
spectra of the elements involved. If these gases and vapors
could in effect be removed, without changing underlying
conditions, the remaining condensed body of the Sun should have
a continuous spectrum. The cooler overlying gases and vapors
absorb those radiations from the deeper and hotter sources
which the gases and vapors would themselves emit, and thus form
the dark-line spectrum of the Sun. The stretches of spectrum
between the dark lines are of course continuous-spectrum
radiations.
These principles are illustrated in Fig. 12. The essential
parts of a spectroscope are the slit--an opening perhaps
1/100th of an inch wide and 1/10th of an inch long--to admit
the light properly; a lens to render the light rays parallel
before they fall upon the prism or grating; a prism or grating;
a lens to receive the rays after they have been dispersed by
the prism or grating and to form an image of the spectrum a
short distance in front of the eye, where the eye will see the
spectrum or a sensitive dry-plate will photograph it. If we
place an alcohol lamp immediately in front of the slit and
sprinkle some common salt in the flame the two orange bright
lines of sodium will be seen in the eyepiece, close together,
as in the upper of the two spectra in the illustration. If we
sprinkle thallium salt in the flame the green line of that
element will be visible in the spectrum. If we take the lamp
away and place a lime light or a piece of white-hot iron in
front of the slit we shall get a brilliant continuous spectrum
not crossed by any lines, either bright or dark. Insert now the
alcohol-sodium-thallium lamp between the lime light and the
slit, and the observer will see the two sodium lines and one
thallium line in the same places as before, but as dark lines
on a background of bright continuous spectrum, as: illustrated
in the lower of the two spectra. Let us insert a screen between
the lamp and the lime light so as to cut out the latter, and we
shall see the bright lines of sodium and thallium reappear as
in the upper of the two spectra. These simple facts illustrate
Kirchhoff's immortal discovery of certain fundamental
principles of spectroscopy, in 1859. The gases and vapors in
the lamp flame are at a lower temperature than the lime source.
The cooler vapors of sodium and thallium have the power of
absorbing exactly those rays from the hotter lime or other
similar source which the vapors by themselves would emit to
form bright lines.
When we apply the spectroscope to celestial objects we find
apparently an endless variety of spectra. We shall illustrate
some of the leading characteristics of these spectra as in
Figs. 13 to 18, inclusive, and Figs. 21, 22, 23 and 24. The
spectra of some nebulae consist almost exclusively of isolated
bright lines, indicating that these bodies consist of luminous
gases, as Huggins determined in 1864; but a very faint
continuous band of light frequently forms a background for the
brilliant bright lines. Many of the nebular lines are due to
hydrogen, others are due to helium; but the majority, including
the two on the extreme right in Fig. 13, which we attribute to
the hypothetical element nebulium, and the close pair on the
extreme left, have not been matched in our laboratories and,
therefore, are of unknown origin. Most of the irregular nebulae
whose spectra have been observed, the ring nebulae, the
planetary and stellar nebulae, have very similar spectra,
though with many differences in the details.[1]
[1] My colleague, Wright, who has been making a study of the
nebular spectra, has determined the accurate positions of about
67 bright nebular lines.
The great spiral nebula in Andromeda has a continuous spectrum
crossed by a multitude of absorption lines. The spectrum is a
very close approach to the spectrum of our Sun. It is clear
that this spiral nebula is widely different from the
bright-line or gaseous nebulae in physical condition. The
spiral may be a great cluster of stars which are approximate
duplicates of our Sun, or there is a chance that it consists,
as Slipher has suggested, of a great central sun, or group of
suns, and of a multitude of small bodies or particles, such as
meteoric matter, revolving around the nucleus; this finely
divided matter being visible by reflected light which
originates in the center of the system.
There is an occasional star, like chi Carinae, whose spectrum
consists almost wholly of bright lines, in general bearing no
apparent relationship to the bright lines in the spectra of the
gaseous nebulae except that the hydrogen lines are there, as
they are almost everywhere. There is reason to believe that
such a spectrum indicates the existence of a very extensive and
very hot atmosphere surrounding the main body, or core, of the
star in question. This particular star is remarkable in that it
has undergone great changes in brilliancy and is located upon a
background of nebulosity. The chances are strong that the star
has rushed through the nebulosity with high rate of speed and
that the resulting bombardment of the star has expanded and
intensely heated its atmosphere.
There are the Wolf-Rayet stars, named from the French
astronomers who discovered the first three of this class, whose
spectra show a great variety of combinations of continuous
spectrum and bright bands. We believe that the continuous
spectrum in such a star comes from the more condensed central
part, or core, and that the bright-line light proceeds from a
hot atmosphere extending far out from the core.
The great majority of the stars have spectra which are
continuous, except for the presence of dark or absorption
lines: a few lines in the very blue stars, and an increasing
number of lines as we pass from the blue through the yellow and
red stars to those which are extremely red.
Secchi in the late 60's classified the spectra of the brighter
stars, according to the absorption lines in their spectra, into
Types I, II III and IV, which correspond: Type I, to the very
blue stars, such as Spica and Sirius; Type II, to the yellow
stars similar to our Sun; Type III, to the red stars such as
Aldebaran; and Type IV, to the extremely red stars, of which
the brightest representatives are near the limit of naked-eye
vision. Secchi knew little or nothing concerning stars whose
spectra contain bright lines, except as to the isolated
bright-line spectra of a few nebulae, and as to the bright
hydrogen lines in gamma Cassiopeia, and his system did not
include these.
One of the most comprehensive investigations ever undertaken by
a single institution was that of classifying the stars as to
their spectra, over the entire sky, substantially down to and
including the stars of eighth magnitude, by the Harvard College
Observatory, as a memorial to the lamented Henry Draper.
Professor Pickering and his associates have formulated a
classification system which is now in universal use. It starts
with the bright-line nebulae, passes to the bright-line stars,
and then to the stars in which the helium absorption lines are
prominent. The latter are called the helium stars, or
technically the Class B stars. The next main division includes
the stars in which hydrogen absorption is prominent, called
Class A. Classes B and A are blue stars. Then follows in
succession Class F, composed of bluish-yellow stars, which is
in a sense a transition class between the hydrogen stars and
those resembling our Sun, the latter called Class G. The Class
G stars are yellow. Class K stars are the yellowish-red; Class
M, the red; and Class N, the extremely red. Each of these
classes has several subdivisions which make the transition from
one main class to the next main class fairly gradual, and not
per saltum; though it should be said that the relationship of
Class N to Class M spectra is not clear. The illustration, Fig.
17, brings out the principal features of the spectra of Classes
B to M. The spectrum becomes more complicated as we pass from
Class B to the Class M, and the color changes from blue to
extreme red, because the violet and blue radiations become
rapidly weaker as we pass through the various classes.
GENERAL COURSE OF EVOLUTIONARY PROCESS
The general course of the evolutionary processes as applied to
the principal classes of celestial bodies is thought to be
fairly well known. With very few exceptions astronomers are
agreed as to the main trend of this order, but this must not be
interpreted to mean that there are no outstanding differences
of opinion. There are, in fact, some items of knowledge which
seem to run counter to every order of evolution that has been
proposed.
The large irregular nebulae, such as the great nebula in Orion,
the Trifid nebula, and the background of nebulosity which
embraces a large part of the constellation of Orion, are
thought to represent the earliest form of inorganic life known
to us. The material appears to be in a chaotic state. There is
no suggestion of order or system. The spectroscope shows that
in many cases the substance consists of glowing gases or
vapors; but whether they are glowing from the incandescence
resulting from high temperature, or electrical condition, or
otherwise, is unknown, though heat origin of their light is the
simplest hypothesis now available. Whether such nebulae are
originally hot or cold, we must believe that they are endowed
with gravitational power, and that their molecules or particles
are, or will ultimately be, in motion. It will happen that
there are regions of greater density, or nuclei, here and there
throughout the structure which will act as centers of
condensation, drawing surrounding materials into combination
with them. The processes of growth from nuclei originally small
to volumes and masses ultimately stupendous must be slow at
first, relatively more rapid after the masses have grown to
moderate dimensions and the supplies of outlying materials are
still plentiful, and again slow after the supplies shall have
been largely exhausted. By virtue of motions prevailing within
the original nebular structure, or because of inrushing
materials which strike the central masses, not centrally but
obliquely, low rotations of the condensed nebulous masses will
occur. Stupendous quantities of heat will be generated in the
building-up process. This heat will radiate rapidly into space
because the gaseous masses are highly rarefied and their
radiating surfaces are large in proportion to the masses. With
loss of heat the nebulous masses will contract in volume and
gradually assume forms more and more spherical. When the forms
become approximately spherical, the first stage of stellar life
may be said to have been reached.
It was Herschel's belief that by processes of condensation,
following the loss of heat by radiation into surrounding space,
formless nebulae gravitated into nebula of smaller and smaller
volumes until finally the planetary form was reached, and that
planetaries were the ancestors of stars in general. That the
planetaries do develop into stars, we have every reason to
believe; but that all nebulae, or relatively many nebulae, pass
through the planetary stage, or that many of our stars have
developed from planetaries, we shall later find good reason for
doubting. The probabilities are immensely stronger that the
stars in general have been formed directly from the irregular
nebulae, without the intervention of the planetaries. The
planetary nebula seem to be exceptional cases, but to this
point we shall return later.
It is quite possible, and even probable, that gaseous masses
have not in all cases passed directly to the stellar state. The
materials in a gaseous nebula may be so highly attenuated, or
be distributed so irregularly throughout a vast volume of
space, that they will condense into solids, small meteoric
particles for example, before they combine to form stars. Such
masses or clouds of non-shining or invisible matter are thought
to exist in considerable profusion within the stellar system.
The nebulosity connected more or less closely with the brighter
Pleiades stars may be a case in illustration. Slipher has
recently found that the spectra of two small regions observed
in this nebula are continuous, with absorption lines of
hydrogen and helium. This spectrum is apparently the same as
that of the bright Pleiades stars. Slipher's interpretation is
that the nebula is not shining by its own light, but is
reflecting to us the light of the Pleiades stars. That this
material will eventually be drawn into the stars already
existing in the neighborhood, or be condensed into new centers
and form other stars, we can scarcely doubt. The condensation
of such materials to form stars large enough to be seen from
the great distance of the Pleiades cluster must generate heat
in the process, and cause these stars in their earliest youth
to be substantially as hot as other stars formed directly from
gaseous materials. It is possible, also, that the spiral
nebulae will develop into stars, perhaps each such object into
many, or some of the larger ones into multitudes, of stars.
Let us attempt to visualize the conditions which we think exist
in a newly-formed star of average mass. It should be
essentially spherical, with surface fairly sharply defined. Our
Sun has average specific gravity of 1.4, as compared with that
of water. The average density of the very young star must
certainly be vastly lower; perhaps no greater than the density
of our atmosphere at the Earth's surface; it may even be
considerably lower than this estimate. The diameter of our Sun
is 1,400,000 kilometers. The diameter of the average young star
may be ten or twenty or forty times as great. The central
volume or core of the star is undoubtedly a great deal denser
than the surface strata, on account of pressure due to the
star's own gravitational forces. The conditions in the outer
strata should bear some resemblance to those existing in the
gaseous nebula. The star may or may not have a corona closely
or remotely similar to our Sun's corona. The deep interior of
the star must be very hot, though not nearly so hot as the
interiors of older stars; but the surface strata of the young
star should be remarkably hot; for, being composed of highly
attenuated gases, any lowering of the temperature by radiation
into surrounding space will be compensated promptly through the
medium of highly-heated convection currents which can travel
more rapidly from the interior to the surface than in the case
of stars in middle or old age. Even though the star, as
observed in our most powerful telescopes, is a point of light,
without apparent diameter, its outer strata should supply some
bright lines in the spectrum, because these strata project out
beyond what we may call the core of the star and themselves act
as sources of light. The spectrum should, therefore, consist of
some of the bright lines which were observed in the nebular
spectrum, these proceeding from the outer strata of the star;
and of a continuous spectrum made up of radiations proceeding
from the deeper strata or core of the star, in which a few dark
lines may be introduced by the absorption from those parts of
the outer gaseous strata which lie between us and the core.
A few hundred stellar spectra resembling this description are
well known, discovered mostly at the Harvard Observatory. Their
details differ greatly, but they have certain features in
common. The bright lines of helium are extremely rare in stars,
but they have been observed in a few stellar spectra. The
bright lines of nebulium have never been observed in a true
star: they and the radiations in the ultra-violet known as at
3726A, seem to be confined to the nebular state; and the
absorption lines of nebulium have never been observed in any
spectrum. As soon as the stellar state is reached nebulium is
no longer in evidence. Stellar spectra containing bright lines
seem always to include hydrogen bright lines. This is as we
should expect; hydrogen is the lightest known gas, and it is
probably the substance which can best exist in the outer strata
of stars in general. The extensive outer strata of very young
stars seem to be composed largely of hydrogen, though other
elements are in some cases present, as indicated by the weaker
bright lines in a few cases. This preference of hydrogen for
the outermost strata is illustrated by several very interesting
observations of the nebulae. The nebulium lines are relatively
strong in the central denser parts of the Orion and Trifid
nebulae, but the hydrogen bright-lines are relatively very
strong in the faint outlying parts of these nebulae. The
planetary nebula B.D.--12 degrees.1172 is seen in the ordinary
telescope to consist of a circular disc (probably a sphere or
spheroid) of light and a faint star in its center. When this
nebula is observed with a slitless spectrograph the hydrogen
and nebulium components are seen as circular discs, but the
hydrogen discs are larger than the nebulium discs. In other
words, the hydrogen forms an atmosphere about the central star
which extends out into space in all directions a great deal
farther than the nebulium discs extend. The Wolf-Rayet
star-planetary nebula D. M. + 30 degrees.3639 looks hazy in a
powerful telescope, and when examined in a spectroscope the
haziness is seen to be due to a sharply defined globe of
hydrogen 5 seconds of arc in diameter surrounding the star in
its center. Wolf and Burns have shown that in the Ring Nebula
in Lyra the 3726A and the hydrogen images are larger as to
outer diameter than the nebulium images, but that the latter
are the more condensed on the inner edge of the ring. Wright
has in the present year examined these and other nebulae with
special reference to the distribution of the principal
ingredients. He finds in general that the radiations at 4363A
and 4686A, of unknown or possibly helium origin, are most
closely compressed around the central nuclei of nebulae; that
the matter definitely known to be helium is more extended in
size; that the nebulium structure is still larger; and that the
hydrogen uniformly extends out farther than the nebulium; and
that the ultra violet radiation at 3726A seems to proceed from
the largest volume of all. The 37726A line, like the nebulium
line, is unknown in stellar spectra; it seems also to be
confined to true nebulosity. Neglecting the elements which have
never been observed in true stars, we may say that all these
observations are in harmony with the view that hydrogen should
be and is the principal element in the outer stratum of the
very young star. A few of the stars whose spectra contain
bright hydrogen lines have also a number of bright lines whose
chemical origin is not known. They appear to exist exactly at
this state of stellar life: several of them have not been found
in the spectra of the gaseous nebulae, and they are not
represented in the later types of stellar spectra. The strata
which produce these bright lines are thought to be a little
deeper in the stars than the outer hydrogen stratum.
A slightly older stage of stellar existence is indicated by the
type of spectrum in which some of the lines of hydrogen, always
those at the violet end, are dark, and the remaining hydrogen
lines, always those toward the red end, are bright. The
brightest star in the Pleiades group, Alcyone, presents
apparently the last of this series, for all of the hydrogen
lines are dark except H alpha, in the red. In some of the
bright-line stars which we have described, technically known as
Oe5, Harvard College Observatory found that the dark helium and
hydrogen lines exist, and apparently increase in intensity, on
the average, as the bright lines become fainter. Wright has
observed the absorption lines of helium and hydrogen in the
spectra of the nuclei of some planetary nebulae, although the
helium and hydrogen lines are bright in the nebulosity
surrounding the nuclei. We may say that when all of the bright
lines have disappeared from the spectra of stars, the helium
lines, and likewise the hydrogen lines, have in general become
fairly conspicuous. These stars are known as the helium stars,
or stars of Class B. Proceeding through the subdivisions of
Class B, the helium lines increase to a maximum of intensity
and then decrease. The dark hydrogen lines are more and more in
evidence, with intensities increasing slowly. In the middle and
later subdivisions of the helium stars silicon, oxygen and
nitrogen are usually represented by a few absorption lines.
Just as the gaseous nebulae radiate heat into space and
condense, so must the stars, with this difference: the nebulae
are highly rarified bodies, with surfaces enormously large in
proportion to the heat contents; and the radiation from them
must be relatively rapid. In fact, some of the nebulae seem to
be so highly rarified that radiation may take place from their
interiors almost as well as from their surfaces. The radiation
from a star just formed must occur at a much slower rate. The
continued condensation of the star, following the loss of heat,
must lead to a change of physical condition, which will be
apparent in the spectrum. It should pass from the so-called
helium group, to the hydrogen, or Class A group, not suddenly
but by insensible gradations of spectrum. In the Class A stars
the hydrogen lines are the most prominent features. The helium
lines have disappeared, except in a few stars where faint
helium remnants are in evidence. The magnesium lines have
become prominent and the calcium lines are growing rapidly in
strength. The so-called metallic lines, usually beginning with
iron and titanium lines, which have a few extremely faint
representatives in the last of the helium stars, become visible
here and there in the Class A spectra, but they are not
conspicuous.
In the next main division, the Class F spectra, the metallic
lines increase rapidly in prominence, and the hydrogen lines
decrease slightly in strength. These stars are not so blue as
the helium and hydrogen stars. They are intermediate between
the blue stars and the yellow stars, which begin with the next
class, G, of which our Sun is a representative.
The metallic lines are in Class G spectra in great number and
intensity, and the hydrogen lines are greatly reduced in
prominence. The calcium bands are very wide and intense.
Another step brings us to the very yellow and the
slightly-reddish stars, known as Class K. These stars are weak
in violet light, the hydrogen lines are substantially of the
same intensity as the most prominent metallic lines, and the
metallic lines are more and more in evidence.
Stars in the last subdivisions of the Class K and all of the
Class M stars are decidedly red. In these the hydrogen lines
are still further weakened and the metallic lines are even more
prominent. Their spectra are further marked by absorption bands
of titanium oxide, which reach their maximum strength in the
later subdivisions of Class M.
The extremely red stars compose Class N on the Harvard scale.
Their spectra are almost totally lacking in violet light, the
metallic absorption is very strong, and there are conspicuous
absorption bands of carbon.
Deep absorbing strata of titanium and carbon oxides seem to
exist in the atmospheres of the Class M and N stars,
respectively. The presence of these oxides indicates a
relatively low temperature, and this is what we should expect
from stars so far advanced in life.
The period of existence succeeding the very red stars has
illustrations near at hand, we think, in Jupiter, Saturn,
Uranus and Neptune, and in the Earth and the other small
planets and the Moon: bodies which still contain much heat, but
which are invisible save by means of reflected light.
The progression of stellar development, which we have
described, has been based upon the radiation of heat. This is
necessarily gradual, and the corresponding changes of spectrum
should likewise be gradual and continuous. It is not intended
to give the impression that only a few types of spectra are in
evidence: the variety is very great. The labels, Class B, Class
A, and so on to Class N, are intended to mark the miles in the
evolutionary journey. The Harvard experts have put up other
labels to mark the tenths of miles, so to speak, and some day
we shall expect to see the hundredths labeled. Further, it is
not here proposed that heat radiation is the only vital factor
in the processes of evolution. The mass of a star may be an
important item, and the electrical conditions may be concerned.
A very small star and a very massive star may develop
differently, and it is conceivable that there may be actual
differences of composition. But heat-radiation is doubtless the
most important factor.
The evolutionary processes must proceed with extreme
deliberation. The radiation of the heat actually present at any
moment in a large helium star would probably not require many
tens of thousands of years, but this quantity of heat is
negligible in comparison with the quantity generated within the
star during and by the processes of condensation from the
helium age down to the Class M state. We know that the
compression of any body against resistance generates or
releases heat. Now a gaseous star at any instant is in a state
of equilibrium. Its internal heat and the centrifugal force due
to its rotation about an axis are trying to expand it. Its own
gravitational power is trying to draw all of its materials to
the center. Until there is a loss of heat no contraction can
occur; but just as soon as there is such a loss gravity
proceeds to diminish the stellar volume. Contraction will
proceed more slowly than we should at first thought expect,
because in the process of contraction additional heat is
generated and this becomes a factor in resisting further
compression. Contraction is resisted vastly more by the heat
generated in the process of contraction than it is by the store
of heat already in evidence. The quantity of heat in our Sun,
now existing as heat, would suffice to maintain its present
rate of outflow only a few thousands of years. The heat
generated in the process of the Sun's shrinkage under gravity,
however, is so extensive as to maintain the supply during
millions of years to come. Helmholtz has shown that the
reduction of the Sun's radius at the rate of 45 meters per year
would generate as much heat within the Sun as is now radiated.
This rate of shrinkage is so slow that our most refined
instruments could not detect a change in the solar diameter
until after the lapse of 4,000 or 5,000 years. Again, there are
reasons for suspecting that the processes of evolution in our
Sun, and in other stars as well, may be enormously prolonged
through the influence of energy within the atoms or molecules
of matter composing them. The subatomic forces residing in the
radioactive elements represent the most condensed form of
energy of which we have any conception. It is believed that the
subatomic energy in a mass of radium is at least a million-fold
greater than the energy represented in the combustion or other
chemical transformation of any ordinary substance having the
same mass. These radioactive forces are released with extreme
slowness, in the form of heat or the equivalent; and if these
substances exist moderately in the Sun and stars, as they do in
the Earth, they may well be important factors in prolonging the
lives of these bodies.
Speaking somewhat loosely, I think we may say that the
processes of evolution from an extended nebula to a condensed
nebula and from the latter to a spherical star, are
comparatively rapid, perhaps normally confined to a few tens of
millions of years; but that the further we proceed in the
development process, from the blue star to the yellow, and
possibly but not certainly on to the red star, the slower is
the progress made, for the radiating surface through which all
the energy from the interior must pass becomes smaller and
smaller in proportion to the mass, and the convection currents
which carry heat from the interior to the surface must slow
down in speed.
A HISTORY OF FIJI.
BY DR. ALFRED GOLDSBOROUGH MAYER
IV
THE Fijians had a well-organized social system which recognized
six classes of society. (1) Kings and queens (Tuis and Andis).
(2) Chiefs of districts (Rokos). (3) Chiefs of villages,
priests (Betes), and land owners (Mata-ni-vanuas). (4)
Distinguished warriors of low birth, chiefs of the carpenter
caste (Rokolas), and chiefs of the turtle fishermen. (5) Common
people (Kai-si). (6) Slaves taken in battle.
The high chiefs still inspire great respect, and indeed it has
been the policy of the British government to maintain a large
measure of their former authority. Thus of the 17 provinces
into which the group was divided, 11 are governed by high
chiefs entitled Roko Tui, and there are about 176 inferior
chiefs who are the head men of districts, and 31 native
magistrates. In so far as may be consistent with order and
civilization these chiefs are permitted to govern in the old
paternal manner, and they are veritably patriarchs of their
people. The district chiefs are still elected by the land
owners, mata-ni-vanuas, by a showing of hands as of old.
Independent of respect paid to those in authority, rank is
still reverenced in Fiji. Once acting under the kind permission
and advice of our generous friend Mr. Allardyce, the colonial
secretary, and accompanied by my ship-mates Drs. Charles H.
Townsend, and H. F. Moore, I went upon a journey of some days
into the interior of Viti Levu, our guide and companion being
Ratu Pope Seniloli, a grandson of king Thakombau, and one of
the high chiefs of Mbau. Upon meeting Ratu Pope every native
dropped his burdens, stepped to the side of the wood-path and
crouched down, softly chanting the words of the tame, muduo!
wo! No one ever stepped upon his shadow, and if desirous of
crossing his path they passed in front, never behind him. Clubs
were lowered in his presence, and no man stood fully erect when
he was near. The very language addressed to high chiefs is
different from that used in conversation between ordinary men,
these customs being such that the inferior places himself in a
defenceless position with respect to his superior.
It is a chief's privilege to demand service from his subjects;
which was fortunate for us, for when we started down the
Waidina River from Nabukaluka our canoes were so small and
overloaded that the ripples were constantly lapping in over the
gunwale, threatening momentarily to swamp us. Soon, however, we
came upon a party of natives in a fine large canoe, and after
receiving their tama Ratu Pope demanded: "Where are you going"?
The men, who seemed somewhat awestricken, answered that it had
been their intention to travel up the river. Whereupon Ratu
Pope told them that this they might do, but we would take their
canoe and permit them to continue in ours. To this they acceded
with the utmost cheerfulness, although our noble guide would
neither heed our protests nor permit us to reward them for
their service, saying simply, "I am a chief. You may if you
choose pay me." In this manner we continued to improve our
situation by "exchanging" with every canoe we met which
happened to be better than our own, until finally our princely
friend ordered a gay party of merry-makers out of a fine large
skiff, which they cheerfully "exchanged" for our leaky canoes
and departed singing happily, feeling honored indeed that this
opportunity had come to them to serve the great chief Ratu Pope
Seniloli; and thus suffering qualms of conscience, we sailed to
our destination leaving a wake of confusion behind us. Moreover
I forgot to mention that many natives had by Ratu Pope's orders
been diverted from their intended paths and sent forward to
announce the coming of himself and the "American chiefs." Thus
does one of the Royal house of Mbau proceed through Fiji.
At first sight such behavior must appear autocratic, to say the
least, but it should be remembered that a high chief has it in
his power fully to recompense those about him, and this without
the payment of a penny. Indeed, many intelligent natives still
regret the introduction of money into their land, saying that
all the white man's selfishness had been developed through its
omnipotence. In Fiji to-day there are no poor, for such would
be fed and given a house by those who lived beside them. The
white man's callous brutality in ignoring the appeal of misery
is incomprehensible to the natives of Fiji. "Progress" they
have not in the sense that one man possesses vast wealth and
many around him struggle helplessly, doomed to life-long
poverty; nor have they ambition to toil beyond that occasional
employment required to satisfy immediate wants. Yet if life be
happy in proportion as the summation of its moments be
contented, the Fijians are far happier than we. Old men and
women rest beneath the shade of cocoa-palms and sing with the
youths and maidens, and the care-worn faces and bent bodies of
"civilization" are still unknown in Fiji. They still have
something we have lost and never can regain.
It is impossible to draw a line between personal service such
as was rendered to Ratu Pope and a regular tax (lala) for the
benefit of the entire community or the support of the communal
government; and the recognition of this fact actuated the
English to preserve much of the old system and to command the
payment of taxes in produce, rather than in money.
Land tenure in Fiji is a subject so complex that heavy volumes
might be written upon it. In general it may be said that the
chief can sell no land without the consent of his tribe.
Cultivated land belonged to the man who originally farmed it,
and is passed undivided to all his heirs. Waste land is held in
common. Native settlers who have been taken into the tribes
from time to time have been permitted to farm some of the waste
land, and for this privilege they and their heirs must pay a
yearly tribute to the chief either in produce or in service.
Thus this form of personal lala is simply rent. The whole
subject of land-ownership has given the poor English a world of
trouble, as one may see who cares to read the official reports
of the numerous intricate cases that have come before the
courts.
For example, one party based their claims to land on the
historic fact that their ancestors had eaten the chief of the
original owners, and the solemn British court allowed the
claim.
Basil Thomson in his interesting work upon "The Fijians; a
Study of the Decline of Custom," has given an authoritative
summary of the present status of taxation and land tenure, land
being registered under a modification of the Australian Torrens
system.
In order to protect these child-like people from the avarice of
our own race they are not permitted to sell their lands, and
the greater portion of the area of Fiji is still held by the
natives. The Hawaiian Islands now under our own rule furnish a
sad contrast, for here the natives are reduced by poverty to a
degraded state but little above that of peonage. The Fijians.
on the other hand, may not sell, but may with the consent of
the commissioner of native affairs lease their lands for a
period of not more than twenty years.
The Fijians appear never to have been wholly without a medium
of exchange, for sperm-whale's teeth have always had a
recognized purchasing power, but are more especially regarded
as a means of expressing good will and honesty of purpose. A
whale's tooth is as effective to secure compliance with the
terms of a bargain as an elaborately engraved bond would be
with us. More commonly, however, exchanges are direct, each man
bringing to the village green his taro, yaqona, yams or fish
and exchanging with his neighbors; the rare disputes being
settled by the village chief.
In traveling you will discover no hotels, but will be
entertained in the stranger's houses, and in return for your
host's hospitality you should make presents to the chief.
Indeed to journey in good fashion you should be accompanied by
a train of bearers carrying heavy bags full of purposed gifts,
and nowhere in the world is the "rate per mile" higher than in
Polynesia.
As in all communities, including our own world of finance, a
man's wealth consists not only in what he possesses but even
more so in the number of people from whom he can beg or borrow.
Wilkes records an interesting example of this, for he found
that the rifle and other costly presents he had presented to
King Tanoa were being seized upon by his (Tanoa's) nephew who
as his vasu had a right to take whatever he might select from
the king's possessions. Indeed, in order to keep his property
in sight, Tanoa was forced to give it to his own sons, thus
escaping the rapacity of his nephew. The construction of the
British law is such that a vasu who thus appropriates property
to himself could be sued and forced to restore it, but not a
single Fijian has yet been so mean as to bring such a matter
into court.
An individual as such can hardly be said to own property, for
nearly all things belong to his family or clan, and are shared
among cousins. This condition is responsible for that absence
of personal ambition and that fatal contentment with existing
conditions, which strikes the white man as so illogical, but
which is nevertheless the dominant feature of the social fabric
of the Polynesians, and which has hitherto prevented the
introduction of "ideals of modern progress." The natives are
happy; why work when every reasonable want is already supplied?
None are rich in material things, but none are beggars
excepting in the sense that all are such. No one can be a
miser, a capitalist, a banker, or a "promoter" in such a
community, and thieves are almost unknown. Indeed, the honesty
of the Fijians is one of those virtues which has excited the
comment of travelers. Wilkes, who loathed them as "condor-eyed
savages," admits that the only thing which any native attempted
to steal from the Peacock was a hatchet, and upon being
detected the chief requested the privilege of taking the man
ashore in order that he might be roasted and eaten. Theft was
always severely punished by the chief; Maafu beating a thief
with the stout stalk of a cocoanut leaf until the culprit's
life was despaired of, and Tui Thakau wrapping one in a tightly
wound rope so that not a muscle could move while the wretch
remained exposed for an entire day to the heat of the sun.
During Professor Alexander Agassiz's cruises in which he
visited nearly every island of the Fijis, and the natives came
on board by hundreds, not a single object was stolen, although
things almost priceless in native estimation lay loosely upon
the deck. Once, indeed, when the deck was deserted by both
officers and crew and fully a hundred natives were on board, we
found a man who had been gazing wistfully for half an hour at a
bottle which lay upon the laboratory table. Somehow he had
managed to acquire a shilling, a large coin in Fiji, and this
he offered in exchange for the coveted bottle. One can never
forget his shout of joy and the radiance of his honest face as
he leaped into his canoe after having received it as a gift.
Even the great chief Ratu Epele of Mbau beamed with joy when
presented with a screw-capped glass tobacco jar, and Tui Thakau
of Somo somo had a veritable weakness for bottles and possessed
a large collection of these treasures.
Intelligent and well-educated natives who know whereof they
speak have told me that they desire not the white man's system,
entailing as it does untold privation and heart-burnings to the
many that the few may enjoy a surfeit of mere material things.
As the natives say, "The white man possesses more than we, but
his life is full of toil and sorrow, while our days are happy
as they pass."
Thus in the Pacific life is of to-day; the past is dead, and
the future when it comes will pass as to-day is passing. Life
is a dream, an evanescent thing, all but meaningless, and real
only as is the murmur of the surf when the sea-breeze comes in
the morning, and man awakens from the oblivion of night.
Hoarded wealth inspires no respect in the Pacific, and indeed,
were it discovered, its possession would justify immediate
confiscation. Yet man must raise idols to satisfy his instinct
to worship things above his acquisition, and thus rank is the
more reverenced because respect for property is low. Even
to-day there is something god-like in the presence of the high
chiefs, and none will cross the shadow of the king's house.
Even in war did a common man kill a chief he himself was killed
by men of his own tribe.
As it is with property so with relationships. The family ties
seem loosened; every child has two sets of parents, the adopted
and the real, and relationships founded upon adoption are more
respected than the real. Rank descends mainly through the
mother. The son of a high chief by a common woman is a low
chief, or even a commoner, but the son of a chieftainess by a
common man is a chief. Curiously, there are no words in Fijian
which are the exact equivalent of widow and widower. In the
Marshall group the chief is actually the husband of all the
women of his tribe, and as Lorimer Fison has said in his "Tales
from Old Fiji," their designation and understanding of
relationships suggests that there was once a time when "all the
women were the wives of every man, and all the men were the
husbands of every woman," as indeed was almost the case in
Tahiti at the time of Captain Cook's visit to this island.
The social customs of Fiji are rarely peculiar to Fiji itself,
but commonly show their relationship or identity with those of
the Polynesians or Papuans. Curiously indeed, while the
original stock of the Fijians was probably pure Papuan, their
social and economic systems are now dominated by Polynesian
ideas, and only among the mountain tribes do we find a clear
expression of the crude Papuan systems of life and thought.
This in itself shows that under stimulation the Fijians are
capable of advancement in cultural ideals.
This superposition of a Polynesian admixture upon a barbarous
negroid stock may account for the anomalous character of the
Fijians, for in the arts they equalled or in some things
excelled the other island peoples of the Pacific, and some of
their customs approached closely to the cultural level of the
Polynesians, but in certain fundamental things they remained
the most fiendish savages upon earth. Indeed we should expect
that contact with a somewhat high culture would introduce new
wants, and thus affect their arts more profoundly than their
customs.
In common with all primitive peoples, their names of men and
women are descriptive of some peculiarity or circumstance
associated with the person named. Indeed, names were often
changed after important events in a person's life, thus our old
friend Thakombau began life as Seru, then after the coup d'etat
in which he slaughtered his father's enemies and reestablished
Tanoa's rule in Mbau he was called Thakombau (evil to Mbau). At
the time he also received another name Thikinovu (centipede) in
allusion to his stealthiness in approaching to bite his enemy,
but this designation, together with his "missionary" name
"Ebenezer," did not survive the test of usage. Miss Gordon
Cumming gives an interesting list of Fijian names translated
into English. For women they were such as Spray of the Coral
Reef, Queen of Parrot's Land, Queen of Strangers, Smooth Water,
Wife of the Morning Star, Mother of Her Grandchildren, Ten
Whale's Teeth, Mother of Cockroaches, Lady Nettle, Drinker of
Blood, Waited For, Rose of Rewa, Lady Thakombau, Lady Flag,
etc. The men's names were such as The Stone (eternal) God,
Great Shark, Bad Earth, Bad Stranger, New Child, More Dead
Man's Flesh, Abode of Treachery, Not Quite Cooked, Die Out of
Doors, Empty Fire, Fire in the Bush, Eats Like a God, King of
Gluttony, Ill Cooked, Dead Man, Revenge, etc.
In the religion of a people we have the most reliable clue to
the history of their progress in culture and intelligence, for
religions even when unwritten are potent to conserve old
conceptions, and thus their followers advance beyond them, as
does the intelligence of the twentieth century look pityingly
upon the conception of the cruel and jealous God of the Old
Testament, whose praises are nevertheless still sung in every
Christian church. Thus in Tahiti the people were not cannibals,
but the gods still appeared in the forms of birds that fed upon
the bodies of the sacrificed. The eye of the victim was,
indeed, offered to the chief, who raised it to his lips but did
not eat it. In Samoa also where the practice of cannabalism was
very rare and indulged in only under great provocation, some of
the gods remained cannibals, and the surest way of appeasing
any god was to be laid upon the stones of a cold oven. In
Tahiti and Samoa, while most of the gods were malevolent, a few
were kindly disposed towards mortals; in Fiji, however, they
were all dreaded as the most powerful, sordid, cruel and
vicious cannibal ghosts that have ever been conjured into being
in the realm of thought.
All over the Pacific from New Zealand to Japan, and from New
Guinea to Hawaii, ancestor-worship forms the backbone of every
religion as clearly as it did in Greece or Rome. There are
everywhere one or more very ancient gods who may always have
existed and from whom all others are descended. Next in order
of reverence, although not always in power, come their
children, and finally the much more numerous grandchildren and
remote descendants of these oldest and highest gods. Finally,
after many generations, men of chieftain's rank were born to
the gods. Thus a common man could never attain the rank of a
high chief, for such were the descendants of the gods, while
commoners were created out of other clay and designed to be
servants to the chiefs.
But the process of god-making did not end with the appearance
of men, for great chiefs and warriors after death became kalou
yalo, or spirits, and often remained upon earth a menace to the
unwary who might offend them. Curiously, these deified mortals
might suffer a second death which would result in their utter
annihilation, and while in Fiji we heard a tale of an old chief
who had met with the ghost of his dead enemy and had killed him
for the second and last time; the club which served in this
miraculous victory having been hung up in the Mbure as an
object of veneration.
Of a still lower order were the ghosts of common men or of
animals, and most dreaded of all was the vengeful spirit of the
man who had been devoured. The ghosts of savage Fiji appear all
to have been malevolent and fearful beings, whereas those of
the more cultured Polynesians were some of them benevolent. As
Ellis says of the Tahitian mythology:
Each lovely island was made a sort of fairyland and the spells
of enchantment were thrown over its varied scenes. The
sentiment of the poet that
"Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth,
Unseen, both when we wake, and when we sleep"
was one familiar to their minds, and it is impossible not to
feel interested in a people who were accustomed to consider
themselves surrounded by invisible intelligences, anti who
recognized in the rising sun, the mild and silver moon, the
shooting star, the meteor's transient flame, the ocean's roar,
the tempest's blast, or the evening breeze the movements of
mighty spirits.
The gods and ghosts of Fiji often entered into the bodies of
animals or men, especially idiots.
Thus when the Carnegie Institution Expedition arrived at the
Murray Islands in Torres Straits, the scientific staff were
much pleased at the decided evidences of respect shown by the
natives until it came out that the Islanders considered their
white guests to be semi-idiots, and hence powerful sorcerers to
be placated. Fijian religion had developed into the oracular
stage, and the priest after receiving prayers and offerings
would on occasions be entered into by the god. Tremors would
overspread his body, the flesh of which would creep horribly.
His veins would swell, his eyeballs protrude with excitement
and his voice, becoming quavering and unnatural, would whine
out strange words, words spoken by the god himself and unknown
to the priest who as his unconscious agent was overcome by
violent convulsions. Slowly the contortions grew less and with
a start the priest would awaken, dash his club upon the ground
and the god would leave him. It may well be imagined that the
priests were the most powerful agents of the chiefs in
forwarding the interests of their masters, for, as in ancient
Greece or Rome, nothing of importance was undertaken without
first consulting the oracle.
Surrounded by multitudes of demons, ghosts, and genii who were
personified in everything about him, religion was the most
powerful factor in controlling Fijian life and politics. In
fact, it entered deeply into every act the native performed.
The gods were more monstrous in every way than man, but in all
attributes only the exaggerated counterparts of Fijian chiefs.
War was constantly occurring among these gods and spirits, and
even high gods could die by accident or be killed by those of
equal rank so that at least one god, Samu, was thus dropped out
of the mythology in 1847.
Ndengei was the oldest and greatest, but not the most
universally reverenced god. He lived in a cavern in the
northeastern end of Viti Levu, and usually appeared as a snake,
or as a snake's head with a body of stone symbolizing eternal
life. Among the sons and grandsons of Ndengei were Roko
Mbati-ndua, the one-toothed lord; a fiend with a huge tooth
projecting from his lower jaw and curving over the top of his
head. He had bat's wings armed with claws and was usually
regarded as a harbinger of pestilence. The mechanic's god was
eight-handed, gluttony had eighty stomachs, wisdom possessed
eight eyes. Other gods were the adulterer, the abductor of
women of rank and beauty, the rioter, the brain-eater, the
killer of men, the slaughter god, the god of leprosy, the
giant, the spitter of miracles, the gods of fishermen and of
carpenters, etc. One god hated mosquitoes and drove them away
from the place where he lived. The names and stations of the
gods are described by Thomas Williams, who has given the most
detailed account of the old religion.
As with all peoples whose religion is barbarous, there were
ways of obtaining sanctuary and many a man has saved his life
by taking advantage of the tabus which secured their operation.
No matter how desirous your host might be of murdering you, as
long as you remained a guest under his roof you were safe,
although were you only a few yards away from his door he would
eagerly attack you.
But not only did the Fijians live in a world peopled by
witches, wizards, prophets, seers and fortune-tellers, but
there was a perfect army of fairies which overran the whole
land, and the myths concerning which would have filled volumes
could they ever have been gathered. The gnome-like spirits of
the mountains had peaked heads, and were of a vicious, impish
disposition, but were powerless to injure any one who carried a
fern leaf in his hand.
Sacred relics such as famous clubs, stones possessing
miraculous powers, etc., were sometimes kept in Fijian temples,
but there were no idols such as were prayed to by the
Polynesians.
The fearful alternatives of heaven and hell were unknown to the
Fijians. They believed in an eternal existence for men,
animals, and even canoes and other inanimate things, but the
future life held forth no prospect either of reward for virtues
or punishment for evil acts committed while alive. So certain
were they of a future life that they always referred to the
dead as "the absent ones," and their land of shades (Mbulu) was
not essentially different from the world they lived in. Indeed,
their chief idea of death was that of rest, for as William's
states, they have an adage: "Death is easy: Of what use is
life? To die is rest."
There were, however, certain precautions the Fijian felt it
advisable to take before entering the world to come. If he had
been so unfortunate as not to have killed a man, woman or
child, his duty would be the dismal one of pounding filth
throughout eternity, and disgraceful careers awaited those
whose ears were not bored or women who were not tatooed upon
parts covered by the liku. Moreover, should a wife not
accompany him (be strangled at the time of his death) his
condition would be the dismal one of a spirit without a cook.
Thirdly, as one was at the time of death so would the spirit be
in the next world. It was therefore an advantage to die young,
and people often preferred to be buried alive, or strangled,
than to survive into old age. Lastly and most important, one
must not die a bachelor, for such are invariably dashed to
pieces by Nangganangga, even if they should succeed in elud-
ing the grasp of the Great Woman, Lewa-levu, who flaunts the
path of the departed spirits and searches for the ghosts of
good-looking men. Let us imagine, however, that our shade
departs this life in the best of form, young, married, with the
lobes of his ears pierced, not dangerously handsome and a
slayer of at least one human being. He starts upon the long
journey to the Valhalla of Fiji. Soon he comes to a spiritual
Pandanus at which he must throw the ghost of the whale's tooth
which was placed in his hand at time of burial. If he succeeds
in hitting the Pandanus, he may then wait until the spirit of
his strangled wife comes to join him, after which he boards the
canoe of the Fijian Charon and proceeds to Nambanggatai, where
until 1847 there dwelt the god Samu, and after his death
Samuyalo "the killer of souls."
This god remains in ambush in some spiritual mangrove bushes
and thrusts a reed within the ground upon the path of the ghost
as a warning not to pass the spot. Should the ghost be brave he
raises his club in defiance, whereupon Samuyalo appears, club
in hand, and gives battle. If killed in this combat, the ghost
is cooked and eaten by the soul killer, and if wounded he must
wander forever among the mountains, but if the ghost be
victorious over the god he may pass on to be questioned by
Ndengei, who may consign him either to Mburotu, the highest
heaven, or drop him over a precipice into a somewhat inferior
but still tolerable abode, Murimuria. This Ndengei does in
accordance with the caprice of the moment and without reference
either to the virtues or the faults of the deceased. Thus of
those who die only a few can enter the higher heaven for the
Great Woman and the Soul destroyer overcome the greater number
of those who dare to face them. As for the victims of cannibal
feasts, their souls are devoured by the gods when their bodies
are eaten by man.
In temperament and ambitions the spirits of the dead remained
as they were upon earth, but of more monstrous growth in all
respects, resembling giants greater and more vicious than man.
War and cannibalism still prevailed in heaven, and the
character of the inhabitants seems to have been fiendish or
contemptible as on earth; for the spirits of women who were not
tattooed were unceasingly pursued by their more fortunate
sisters, who tore their bodies with sharp shells, often making
mince-meat of them for the gods to eat. Also the shade of any
one whose ears had not been pierced was condemned to carry a
masi log over his shoulder and submit to the eternal ridicule
of his fellow spirits.
Altogether, this religion seems to have been as sordid, brutal
and vicious as was the ancestral negroid stock of the Fijians.
Connected with it there was, however, a rude mythology, clumsy
but romantic, too much of which has been lost; for the natives
of to-day have largely forgotten its stories or are ashamed to
repeat it to the whites. In recent times the natives have
tended to make their folk-lore conform to Biblical stories, or
to adapt them to conditions of the present day. The interesting
subject of the lingering influence of old beliefs upon the life
of the natives of to-day has engaged the attention of Basil
Thomson in "The Fijians, a Study of the Decay of Custom."
As in every British colony, the people are taught to respect
the law. Sentences of imprisonment are meted out to natives for
personal offences which if committed by white men would be
punished by small fines, but the reason for this is that in the
old native days such acts were avenged by murder, and it is to
prevent crime that a prison term has been ordained. The natives
take their imprisonment precisely as boys in boarding school
regard a flogging, the victim commonly becoming quite a hero
and losing no caste among his fellows. Indeed it is a common
sight to see bands of from four to eight stalwart "convicts" a
mile or more from the prison marching unguarded through the
woods as they sing merrily on their way "home" to the jail.
Once I recall seeing two hundred prisoners, all armed with long
knives, engaged in cutting weeds along the roadside, chanting
happily as they slashed, while a solitary native dressed only
in a waist-cloth and armed only with a club stood guard at one
end of the line, and this not near the prison, but in a lonely
wood fully a mile from the nearest house.
In 1874, the British undertook the unique task of civilizing
without exploiting a barbarous and degraded race which was
drifting hopelessly into ruin. They began the solution of this
complex problem by arresting the entire race and immuring them
within the protecting walls of a system which recognized as its
cardinal principle that the natives were unfit to think or act
for themselves. For a generation the Fijians have been in a
prison wherein they have become the happiest and best behaved
captives upon earth. During this time they have become
reconciled to a life of peace, and have forgotten the taste of
human flesh; and while they cherish no love for the white man,
they feel the might of his law and know that his decrees are as
finalities of fate. All are serving life sentences to the white
man's will, and the fire of their old ambition has cooled into
the dull embers of resignation and then died into the apathy of
contentment with things that are. Worse still, they have grown
fond of their prison world, and the most pessimistic feature in
the Fijian situation of to-day is the evident fact that there
is almost no discontent among the natives. Old things have
withered and decayed, but new ambition has not been born.
It is in no spirit of criticism of British policy that I have
written the above paragraph for it was absolutely necessary
that the race should "calm down" for a generation at least
before it could be trusted to arise. Now, however, there are no
more old chiefs whose memories hark back to days of savagery,
and now for the first and only time has come the critical
period in the unique governmental experiment the British have
undertaken to perform, for now is the time when the child must
learn to walk alone and the support of guardian arms must in
kindness be withdrawn, else there must be nurtured but a
cripple, not a man.
Among the generation of to-day the light of a new ambition must
appear in Fiji or the race shall dwindle to its death. No real
progress has been made by the Fijians; they have received much
from their teachers, but have given nothing in return. They are
in the position of a youth whose schooling has just been
finished, life and action lie before him; will he awaken to his
responsibility, develop his latent talent, character and power,
and recompense his teachers by achievement, or will he sink
into the apathy of a vile content?
The situation in Fiji is one of peculiar delicacy for the
desire for better things must arise among the Fijians
themselves, and should it once appear, the paternalism of the
present government must be wisely withdrawn to permit of more
and more freedom in proportion as the natives may become
competent to think and act rightly for themselves. A cardinal
difficulty is the unfortunate fact that the natives DESIRE no
change, and even if individually discontented and ambitious,
they know of no profession, arts or trades to which they might
turn with hope of fortune. The establishment of manual training
schools wherein money-making trades should be taught, if
possible BY NATIVE teachers, is sorely needed in Fiji.
At present there is too little freedom of thought in Fiji; fear
of the chief and of Samuyalo's club has been replaced by fear
of the European and his hell. Free, fearless thought is the
father of high action, and while their minds remain steeped in
an apathy of dread there can be no soil in which the seed of
independence can germinate.
Yet it is still possible that the Fijians may attain
civilization. Of all the archipelagoes of Polynesia, Fiji alone
may still be called the "Isles of Hope." As one who has known
and grown to love these honest, hospitable, simple people, I
can only hope that the day is not far distant when a leader may
arise among them who will turn their faces toward the light of
a brighter sky, and their hands to a worthier task than has
ever yet been performed in Polynesia.
Yet why civilize them? Often does one ask oneself this
question, but the answer comes as the voice of fate, "they must
attain civilization or they must die." Should the population
continue to decline at its present rate, the time is imminent
when the dark-skinned men of Fiji will be not the natives, but
the swarming progeny of the coolies of Calcutta.
Nowhere over all the wide Pacific have the natives been more
wisely or unselfishly ruled than in Fiji, yet even here native
life seems to be growing less and less purposeful year by year.
In time it is hoped a reaction may set in and that with the
decline of communism new ambitions may replace the old, but
then will come the problem of the rich and the poor--a thing
unknown in Fijian life to-day.
Hardly the first lessons in civilization have been taught in
Polynesia, yet who can predict the noon day, should even the
faintest glow appear in native hope. In former ages the
Japanese were a barbarous insular people, and as in our own
civilization the traditions and habits of rude Aryan ancestors
still color our fundamental thoughts so in Japan we find
evidences of a culture essentially similar to that of the
Pacific Islands of to-day. The ancient ancestor worship of
Japan is strangely like that of the tropical Pacific with its
gods, the ghosts of long departed chiefs, and its high chief a
living god to-day. Moreover in the Pacific Islands the house
consists of but a single room, and such to-day is essentially
the case in Japan, save only that delicate paper screens divide
its originally unitary floor-space into temporary compartments.
As in the South Seas, matting still covers the floor of the
Japanese house, its roof is thatched, and is constructed before
the sides are made, there is no chimney, the fire-place is an
earthen space upon the floor or is sustained within an
artistically molded bronze brazier, the refined descendant of
the cruder hearth. In Polynesia as in Japan one seats oneself
anywhere in tailor-fashion upon the floor, and upon this floor
the meals are served, and here one sleeps at night, nor will
the women partake of food in the presence of the men. In
essential fundamental things of life the Japanese show their
kinship in custom and tradition to the insular peoples of
Asiatic origin now occupying the Pacific, and if Japan has
attained to so great a height in culture and civilization, why
may we not hope for better days for the South Sea Islanders?
WAR SELECTION IN THE ANCIENT WORLD
BY CHANCELLOR DAVID STARR JORDAN
LELAND STANFORD JUNIOR UNIVERSITY
"The human harvest was bad!" Thus the historian sums up the
conditions in Rome in the days of the good emperor, Marcus
Aurelius. By this he meant that while population and wealth
were increasing, manhood had failed. There were men enough in
the streets, men enough in the camps, menial laborers enough
and idlers enough, but of good soldiers there were too few. For
the business of the state, which in those days was mainly war,
its men were inadequate.
In recognition of this condition we touch again the
overshadowing fact in the history of Europe, the effect of
"military selection" on the human breed.
In rapid survey of the evidence brought from history one must
paint the picture, such as it is, with a broad brush, not
attempting to treat exceptions and qualifications, for which
this article has no space and concerning which records yield no
data. Such exceptions, if fully understood, would only prove
the rule. The evil effects of military selection and its
associated influences have long been recognized in theory by
certain students of social evolution. But the ideas derived
from the sane application of our knowledge of Darwinism to
history are even now just beginning to penetrate the current
literature of war and peace. In public affairs most nations
have followed the principle of opportunism, "striking while the
iron is hot," without regard to future results, whether of
financial exhaustion or of race impoverishment.
The recorded history of Rome begins with small and vigorous
tribes inhabiting the flanks of the Apennines and the valleys
down to the sea, and blending together to form the Roman
republic. They were men of courage and men of action, virile,
austere, severe and dominant.[1] They were men who "looked on
none as their superior and none as their inferior." For this
reason, Rome was long a republic. Free-born men control their
own destinies. "The fault," says Cassius, "is not in our stars,
but in ourselves that we are underlings." Thus in freedom, when
Rome was small without glory, without riches, without colonies
and without slaves, she laid the foundations of greatness.
[1] Virilis, austerus, severus, dominous, good old words
applied by Romans to themselves.
But little by little the spirit of freedom gave way to that of
domination. Conscious of power, men sought to exercise it, not
on themselves but on one another. Little by little this meant
aggression, suppression, plunder, struggle, glory and all that
goes with the pomp and circumstance of war. So the
individuality in the mass was lost in the aggrandizement of the
few. Independence was swallowed up in ambition and patriotism
came to have a new meaning, being transferred from hearth and
home to the camp and the army.
In the subsequent history of Rome, we have now to consider only
a single factor, the reversal of selection." In Rome's
conquests, Vir, the real man, went forth to battle and foreign
invasion; Homo, the human being, remained on the farm and in
the workshop and begat the new generations. "Vir gave place to
Homo," says the Latin author. Men of good stock were replaced
by the sons of slaves and camp-followers, the riff-raff of
those the army sucked in but could not use.
The Fall of Rome was due not to luxury, effeminacy or
corruption, not to Nero's or Caligula's wickedness, nor to the
futility of Constantine's descendants. It began at Philippi,
where the spirit of domination overcame the spirit of freedom.
It was forecast still earlier in the rise of consuls and
triumvirs incident to the thinning out of the sturdy and
self-sufficient strains who brooked no arbitrary rule. While
the best men were falling in war, civil or foreign, or remained
behind in faraway colonies, the stock at home went on repeating
its weakling parentage. A condition significant in Roman
history is marked by the gradual swelling of the mob, with the
rise in authority of the Emperor who was the mob's exponent.
Increase of arbitrary power went with the growing weakness of
the Romans themselves. Always the "Emperor" serves as a sort of
historical barometer by which to measure the abasement of the
people. The concentrated power of Julius Caesar, resting on his
own tremendous personality, showed that the days of Cincinnatus
and of Junius Brutus were past. The strength of Augustus rested
likewise in personality. The rising authority of later emperors
had its roots in the ineffectiveness of the mob, until it came
to pass that "the little finger of Constantine was thicker than
the loins of Augustus." This was due not to Constantine's
force, but to the continued reversal of selection among the
people over whom he ruled. The emperor, no longer the strong
man holding in check all lesser men and organizations, became
the creature of the mob; and "the mob, intoxicated with its own
work, worshipped him as divine." Doubtless the last emperor,
Augustulus Romulus, before the Goths threw him into the
scrap-heap of history, was regarded by the mob and himself as
the most god-like of the whole succession.
The Romans of the Republic might perhaps have made a history
very different. Had they held aloof from world-conquering
schemes Rome might have remained a republic, enduring even down
to our day. The seeds of Rome's fall lay not in race nor in
form of government, nor in wealth nor in senility, but in the
influences by which the best men were cut off from parenthood,
leaving its own weaker strains and strains of lower races to be
fathers of coming generations.
"The Roman Empire," says Professor Seely, "perished for want of
men." Even Julius Caesar notes the dire scarcity of men, while
at the same time there were people enough. The population
steadily grew; Rome was filling up like an overflowing marsh.
Men of a certain type were plenty, but self-reliant farmers,
"the hardy dwellers on the flanks of the Apennines," men of the
early Roman days, these were fast going, and with the change in
type of population came the turn in Roman history.
The mainspring of the Roman army for centuries has been the
patient strength and courage, capacity for enduring hardships,
instinctive submission to military discipline of the population
that lined the Apennines.
"The effect of the wars was that the ranks of the small farmers
were decimated, while the number of slaves who did not serve in
the army multiplied," says Professor Bury. Thus "Vir gave place
to Homo," thus the mob filled Rome and the mob-hero rose to the
imperial throne. No wonder that Constantine seemed greater than
Augustus. No wonder that "if Tiberius chastised his subjects
with whips, Valentinian chastised them with scorpions."[2]
[2] The point of this is that the cruel Tiberius was less
severe on the Romans of his day than was the relatively
benevolent Valentinian on his decadent people.
With Marcus Aurelius and the Antonines came a "period of
sterility and barrenness in human beings." Bounties were
offered for marriage. Penalties were devised against
race-suicide. "Marriage," says Metellus, "is a duty which,
however painful, every citizen ought manfully to discharge."
Wars were conducted in the face of a declining birth-rate, and
the decline in quality and quantity in the human breed engaged
very early the attention of Roman statesmen. Deficiencies of
numbers were made up by immigration, willing or enforced.
Failure in quality was beyond remedy.
Says Professor Zumpt:
'Government having assumed godhead, took at the same time the
appurtenances of it. Officials multiplied. Subjects lost their
rights. Abject fear paralyzed the people and those that ruled
were intoxicated with insolence and cruelty.... The worst
government is that which is most worshipped as divine. . . .
The emperor possessed in the army an overwhelming force over
which citizens had no influence, which was totally deaf to
reason or eloquence, which had no patriotism because it had no
country, which had no humanity because it had no domestic ties.
. . . There runs through Roman literature a brigand's and
barbarian's contempt for honest industry. . . . Roman
civilization was not a creative kind, it was military, that is,
destructive.'
What was the end of it all? The nation bred Romans no more. To
cultivate the Roman fields "whole tribes were borrowed." The
man with quick eye and strong arm gave place to the slave, the
scullion, the pariah, whose lot is fixed because in him there
lies no power to alter it. So at last the Roman world, devoid
of power to resist, was overwhelmed by the swarming Ostrogoths.
The barbarian settled and peopled the empire rather than
conquered it. It was the weakness of war-worn Rome that gave
the Germanic races their first opportunity.
"The nation is like a bee," wisely observes Bernard Shaw, "as
it stings it dies."
In his monumental history of the "Downfall of the Ancient
World" (Der Untergang der Antikenwelt) Dr. Otto Seeck of the
University of Munster in Westphalia, treats in detail the
causes of such decline. He first calls attention to the
intellectual stagnation which came over the Roman Empire about
the beginning of the Christian Era. This manifested itself in
all fields of intellectual activity. No new idea of any
importance was advanced in science nor in technical and
political studies. In the realm of literature and art also one
finds a complete lack of originality and a tendency to imitate
older models. All this Seeck asserts, was brought about by the
continuous "rooting out (Ausrottung) of the best"[3] through
war.
[3] "Die Ausrottung der Besten, die jenen schwacheren Volken
die Vernichtung brachte, hat die starken Germanen erst
befahigt, auf den Trummern der antiken Welt neue dauerende
Gemeinschaften zu errichten." Seeck.
Such extermination which took place in Greece as well as in
Rome, was due to persistent internal conflicts, the constant
murderous struggle going on between political parties, in
which, in rapid succession, first one and then the other was
victorious. The custom of the victors being to kill and banish
the leaders and all prominent men in the defeated party, often
destroying their children as well, it is evident that in time
every strain distinguished for moral courage, initiative or
intellectual strength was exterminated. By such a systematic
killing off of men of initiative and brains, the intellectual
level of a nation must necessarily be lowered more and more. In
Rome as in Greece observes Seeck:
'A wealth of force of spirit went down in the suicidal wars. .
. . In Rome, Marius and Cinna slew the aristocrats by hundreds
and thousands. Sulla destroyed the democrats, and not less
thoroughly. Whatever of strong blood survived, fell as an
offering to the proscription of the Triumvirate. . . . The
Romans had less of spontaneous force to lose than the Greeks.
Thus desolation came sooner to them. Whoever was bold enough to
rise politically in Rome was almost without exception thrown to
the ground. ONLY COWARDS REMAINED, AND FROM THEIR BLOOD CAME
FORWARD THE NEW GENERATIONS.[4] Cowardice showed itself in lack
of originality and in slavish following of masters and
traditions.'
[4] Author's italics.
Certain authors, following Varro, have maintained that Rome
died a "natural death," the normal result of old age. It is
mere fancy to suppose that nations have their birth, their
maturity and their decline under an inexorable law like that
which determines the life history of the individual. A nation
is a body of living men. It may be broken up if wrongly led or
attacked by a superior force. When its proportion of men of
initiative or character is reduced, its future will necessarily
be a resultant of the forces that are left.
Dr. Seeck speaks with especial scorn of the idea that Rome died
of "old age." He also repudiates the theory that her fall was
due to the corruption of luxury, neglect of military tactics or
over-diffusion of culture.
'It is inconceivable that the mass of Romans suffered from
over-culture.[5] In condemning the sinful luxury of wealthy
Romans we forget that the trade-lords of the fifteenth and
sixteenth centuries were scarcely inferior in this regard to
Lucullus and Apicius, their waste and luxury not constituting
the slightest check to the advance of the nations to which
these men belonged. The people who lived in luxury in Rome were
scattered more thinly than in any modern state of Europe. The
masses lived at all times more poorly and frugally because they
could do nothing else. Can we conceive that a war force of
untold millions of people is rendered effeminate by the luxury
of a few hundreds? . . . Too long have historians looked on the
rich and noble as marking the fate of the world. Half the Roman
Empire was made up of rough barbarians untouched by Greek or
Roman culture.
Whatever the remote and ultimate cause may have been, the
immediate cause to which the fall of the empire can be traced
is a physical, not a moral decay. In valor, discipline and
science the Roman armies remained what they had always been,
and the peasant emperors of Illyricum were worthy successors of
Cincinnatus and Calus Marius. But the problem was, how to
replenish those armies. Men were wanting. The empire perished
for want of men.'
[5] "Damitsprechend hat man das Wort `Ueberkultur' uberhaupt
erfunden, als wenn ein zu grosses Maass von Kultur uberhaupt
denkbar ware."
In a volume entitled "Race or Mongrel" published as I write
these pages, Dr. Alfred P. Schultz of New York, author of "The
End of Darwinism," takes essentially the same series of facts
as to the fall of Rome and draws from them a somewhat different
conclusion. In his judgment the cause was due to "bastardy," to
the mixing of Roman blood with that of neighboring and
subjective races. To my mind, bastardy was the result and not
the cause of Rome's decline, inferior and subject races having
been sucked into Rome to fill the vacuum left as the Romans
themselves perished in war. The continuous killing of the best
left room for the "post-Roman herd," who once sold the imperial
throne at auction to the highest bidder. As the Romans vanished
through warfare at home and abroad, came an inrush of foreign
blood from all regions roundabout. As Schultz graphically
states:
'The degeneration and depravity of the mongrels was so great
that they deified the emperors. And many of the emperors were
of a character so vile that their deification proves that the
post-Roman soul must have been more depraved than that of the
Egyptian mongrel, who deified nothing lower than dogs, cats,
crocodiles, bugs and vegetables.'
It must not be overlooked, however, that the Roman race was
never a pure race. It was a union of strong elements of
frontier democratic peoples, Sabines, Umbrians, Sicilians,
Etruscans, Greeks, being blended in republican Rome. Whatever
the origins, the worst outlived the best, mingling at last with
the odds and ends of Imperial slavery, the "Sewage of Races"
("cloaca gentium") left at the Fall.
Gibbon says:
'This diminutive stature of mankind was daily sinking below the
old standard and the Roman world was indeed peopled by a race
of pygmies when the fierce giants of the north broke in and
mended the puny breed. They restored the manly spirit of
freedom and after the revolutions of ten centuries, freedom
became the parent of taste and science.'
But again, the redeemed Italian was of no purer blood than the
post-Roman-Ostrogoth ancestry from which he sprang. The "puny
Roman" of the days of Theodoric owed his inheritance to the
cross of Roman weaklings with Roman slaves. He was not weak
because he was "mongrel" but because he sprang from bad stock
on both sides. The Ostrogoth and the Lombard who tyrannized
over him brought in a great strain of sterner stuff, followed
by crosses with captive and slave such as always accompany
conquest. To understand the fall of Rome one must consider the
disastrous effects of crossings of this sort. Neither can one
overlook the waste of war which made them inevitable through
the wholesale influx of inferior tribes. Neither can one speak
of the Roman, the Italian, the Spaniard, the French, the
Roumanian, nor of any of the so-called "Latin" peoples as
representing a simple pure stock, or as being, except in
language, direct descendants of those ancient Latins who
constituted the Roman Republic. The failure of Rome arose not
from hybridization, but from the wretched quality on both sides
of its mongrel stock, descendants of Romans unfit for war and
of base immigrants that had filled the vacancies.
Greece.--Once Greece led the world in intellectual pursuits, in
art, in poetry, in philosophy. A large and vital part of
European culture is rooted directly in the language and thought
of Athens. The most beautiful edifice in the world was the
Peace Palace of the Parthenon, erected by Pericles, to
celebrate the end of Greece's suicidal wars. This endured 2,187
years, to be wrecked at last (1687) in Turkish hands by the
Christian bombs of the Venetian Republic.
But the glory of Greece had passed away long before the fall of
the Parthenon. Its cause was the one cause of all such
downfalls--the extinction of strong men by war. At the best,
the civilization of Greece was built on slavery, one freeman to
ten slaves. And when the freemen were destroyed, the slaves, an
original Mediterranean stock, overspread the territory of
Hellas along with the Bulgarians, Albanians and Vlachs,
barbarians crowding down from the north.
The Grecian language still lives, the tongue of a spirited and
rising modern people. But the Greeks of the classic period--the
Hellenes of literature, art and philosophy--will never be known
again. Says Mr. W. H. Ireland:
'Most of the old Greek race has been swept away, and the
country is now inhabited by persons of Slavonic descent.
Indeed, there is a strong ground for the statement that there
was more of the old heroic blood of Hellas in the Turkish army
of Edhem Pasha than in the soldiers of King George.'
The modern Greek has been called a "Byzantinized Slav." King
George himself and Constantine his son are only aliens placed
on the Grecian throne to suit the convenience of outer powers,
being in fact descendants of tribes which to the ancient Greeks
were merely barbarians.
It is maintained that the modern Greeks are in the main the
descendants of the population that inhabited Greece in the
earlier centuries of Byzantine rule. Owing to the operation of
various causes, historical, social and economic, that
population was composed of many heterogeneous elements and
represented in very limited degree the race which repulsed the
Persians and built the Parthenon. The internecine conflicts of
the Greek communities, wars with foreign powers, and the deadly
struggles of factions in the various cities had to a large
extent obliterated the old race of free citizens by the
beginning of Roman period. The extermination of the Plataeans
by the Spartans and of the Melians by the Athenians during the
Peloponnesian war, the proscription of the Athenian citizens
after the war, the massacre of the Coreyrean oligarchs by the
democratic party, the slaughter of the Thebans by Alexander and
of the Corinthians by Mummius are among the more familiar
instances of the catastrophes which overtook the civic element
in the Greek cities. The void can only have been filled from
the ranks of the metics or resident aliens and of the
descendants of the far more numerous slave population. In the
classic period four fifths of the population of Attica were
slaves; of the remainder, half were meties In A.D. 100 only
three thousand free arm-bearing men were in Greece. (James D.
Bourchier.)
The constant little struggles of the Greeks among themselves
made no great showing as to numbers compared to other wars, but
they wiped out the most valuable people, the best blood, the
most promising heredity on earth. This cost the world more than
the killing of millions of barbarians. In two centuries there
were born under the shadow of the Parthenon more men of genius
than the Roman Empire had in its whole existence. Yet this
empire included all the civilized world, even Greece herself.
(La Pouge.)
The downfall of Greece,[6] like that of Rome, has been ascribed
by Schultz to the crossing of the Greeks with the barbaric
races which flocked into Hellas from every side. These resident
aliens, or metics, steadily increased in number as the free
Greeks disappeared. Selected slaves or helots were then made
free in order to furnish fighting men, and again as these fell
their places were taken by immigrants.
[6] Certain recent writers who find in environment the causes
of the rise and fall of nations, ascribe the failure of Greece
to the introduction in Athens and Sparta of the malaria-bearing
mosquito. As to the facts in question, we have little evidence.
But while the prevalence of malaria may have affected the
general activity of the people, it could in no way have
obliterated the mental leadership which made the strength of
classic Hellas, nor could it have injected its poison into the
stream of Greek heredity.
It is doubtless true at this day that "no race inhabits
Greece," and the main difference between Greeks and other
Balkan peoples is that, inhabiting the mountains and valleys of
Hellas, they speak in dialects of the ancient tongue.
Environment, except through selection and segregation, can not
alter race inheritance and the modern "Greeks" have not been
changed by it. Schultz observes:
'We are told that the Hellenes owed their greatness largely to
the country it was their fortune to dwell in. To that same
country, with the same wonderful coast line and harbors,
mountains and brooks, and the same sun of Homer, the modern
Greeks owe their nothingness.'
In other words, it is quite true that the Greece of Pericles
owed its strength to Greek blood, not to Hellenic scenery. When
all the good Greek blood was spent in suicidal wars, only
slaves and foreign-born were left. " 'Tis Greece, but living
Greece no more."[7]
[7] In contrasting a new race with the old--as the modern
Greeks with the incomparable Hellenes--we must not be unjust to
the men of to-day whose limitations are evident, contrasted
with a race we know mainly by its finest examples. In spite of
poverty, touchiness and vanity characteristic of the modern
Greek, there is good stuff in him. He is frank, hopeful,
enthusiastic. The mountain Greek, at least, knows the value of
freedom, and has more than once put up a brave fight for it.
The valleys breed subserviency, and the Greeks of Thessaly are
said to be less independent than the mountain-born.
Furthermore, we do not know that even the first Hellenes of
Mycenae were an unmixed race, or that any unmixed races ever
rose to such prominence as to command the world's attention. We
do know that when war depletes a nation slaves and foreigners
come in to fill the vacuum, and that the decline of a great
race in history has always been accompanied by a debasing of
its blood.
Yet out of this decadence natural selection may in time bring
forward better strains, and with normal conditions of security
and peace nature may begin again her work of recuperation.
In the fall of Greece we have another count against war,
scarcely realized until the facts of Louvain and Malines, of
Rheims and Ypres, have brought it again so vividly before us.
War respects nothing, while the human soul increasingly demands
veneration for its own noble and beautiful achievements. As I
write this, there rise before me the paintings in the "Neue
Pinakothek" at Munich, representing the twenty-one Cities of
Ancient Greece, from Sparta to Salamis, from Eleusis to
Corinth, not as they were, "in the glory which was Greece," not
as they are now, largely fishing hamlets by the blue Aegean
Sea, but as ruined arches and broken columns half hid in the
ashes of war, wars which blotted out Greece from world history.
ANTI-SUFFRAGISTS AND WAR
BY ELSIE CLEWS PARSONS
NEW YORK CITY
ONE of the most curious of those misstatements of fact and
confusions of thought the conservative seems even more prone to
make than the radical has to do with a certain suppositiously
historical relation between women and war. It is assumed[1]
that early society is ever militant and that because of its
militarism it excludes women, women not being fighters, not
only from its government, but from all its privileges, even
making of them its drudges and its beasts of burden. And so,
argues the conservative, women are for the same reasons
disfranchised, and properly disfranchised, to-day. Whether more
or less militant than it was, society is still founded on
force, and because women are not as strong as men, men will not
give them the vote. Besides it is only right, since they can
not fight, they should not vote. It has always been so, and so
it should continue to be, at any rate until war becomes a thing
of the past, and that will never be, you can't change human
nature, etc., etc.
[1] And, let us admit, not merely by the conservative
anti-feminist. As radical and discerning a feminist as Thomas
Wentworth Higginson, after asserting that physical strength was
once "sole ruler," cites in agreement Walter Bagehot's
reference to "the contempt for physical weakness and for women
which marks early society." ("Women and the Alphabet," p. 49.
Boston and New York, 1900.)
There are of course various answers to this militarist
anti-suffrage argument, answers which in spite of the logic of
current events are still likely to be satisfactory or not
according to previous convictions, but the only point I wish to
challenge is the appeal in this connection to the past. Let the
militarist anti-suffragist assert his belief in government by
force if he likes, but let him not try to justify it by the
precedents of primitive life. Nor may he--or she--explain the
exclusion of women to-day as a survival of their subjection in
primitive society to brute force. The government of primitive
society is not based on physical prowess, and although modern
woman is excluded from men's activities for the same reason as
primitive woman was excluded, the reason is not muscular
inferiority.
It is a pity in the feminist controversies of the last hundred
years or so that the "exclusion of women" did not become a more
popular phrase than the "subjection of women." That term gave a
fallacious twist both to observation and analysis. Primitive
and modern men alike commonly EXCLUDE women, they seldom
subject them. Similarly, in some societies, children and young
people, all in fact but the elderly, are treated to methods of
exclusion rather than of subjection.
Early society is dominated by the elders; its practices and
customs have been determined by them and, in the most primitive
society, government is nothing but a gerontocracy, a government
of old men. Even with chieftaincy the council of the elders is
weighty and the heads of households have considerable
influence. Are the elders the fighters or raiders of the tribe?
No, they are its judges, its legislators and, most important of
all, its magicians. Nor is the chief or king the fighter par
excellence of the tribe. But he too may be and often is the
tribal magician. Through their powers of magic elders and
chiefs are responsible for the weather, for the reproduction of
plants and animals, for the success of the crops, of hunts and
catches, for the health and general welfare of the people. And
in war? In war they are the most important personages too.
Because they fight? No, because in war too they make magic;
they charm the approaches to the village, they "doctor" the
trails or the weapons or the canoes, they make war medicine,
they invoke and propitiate the war gods. The warriors are the
younger men, men whose efforts would be vain without the
backing of their magic-working seniors or chiefs. The elders
make peace and declare war. And it is at their dictate that the
young men take to head-hunting or to raiding or even to
stealing women.
As to the subjection of women, what exists of it the elders are
responsible for. It is they who scare a girl or shame her into
being docile. It is they who marry her off against her will, it
is they who set her unending tasks or shut her up in idleness.
It is they who make her undergo the discomforts or miseries of
what we call conventional life or bully her into exile or
death.
With this control of girls or women the warriors, the "standing
army," have little or nothing to do, even less in primitive
life than in modern. It is the old people, the old women at
times as well as the old men. Again it is the old men who are
leaders in the exclusion of the women. In control of the
initiation of the youths, they separate them from their mothers
or sisters and often decree for the initiates a ceremonial
avoidance of all women for a set time. The penalties they
threaten--sickness, decrepitude, effeminacy--are too dire to
pass unheeded. This "avoidance" has been explained as due to
the monopolistic spirit of the elders. With their women they
want no interference by the youths. But a far more plausible
explanation, I think, takes the avoidance as a concentration
rite, so to speak, a symbol, if you like, of the life ahead,
the life in which the boys, "made" men, are going to have
little to do in public with women. For even after the special
avoidance of the initiation period ends, the segregation of the
sexes continues. Men keep together and away from women in their
club-houses, and in all the places of assembly which are
differentiated from the primitive club-house--the church, the
council, the workshop, the gymnasium, the university, the
play-house. And from all the interests which center in these
places men have from time to time excluded women, they have
excluded them from magic and religion, from arts and letters,
from games, from politics and, let me add, from war.
Why are men so exclusive? Because--the reason will seem almost
too simple, I fear, for acceptance--because now and always men
do not want to be bothered by women. Women get in our way, they
say, women are a nuisance. Almost anywhere away from home women
are a nuisance--in church organization, in the university, in
business, etc. Of course if women can be kept apart from us in
these activities and will stay in their place, if they join an
order of nuns or deaconesses, if they go to a separate college
in the university, if they will become good stenographers, we
don't mind having their cooperation, we welcome it. Women may
even go to war--as an absolutely separate division of the army,
said the men of Dahomi, as non-combatant pahia women or workers
of magic, said the Roro-speaking tribesmen of New Guinea, or as
Red (dross nurses, say the men of Europe and America. If we men
can be sure women will not interfere with us, we really do not
mind. Women have only to give us that assurance of
non-interference to make us doubt the assertion we sometimes
make that in going to war they are interfering with the order
of nature.
AN INTERPRETATION OF SLAVOPHILISM
BY ARTHUR D. REES
PHILADELPHIA, PA.
THERE are good reasons for believing that the Russians are
practically the greatest peace people in Christendom. They are
the least commercial in the competitive sense, the least
capitalistic also, and as a people, the least combative in
Europe, despite the wrecks of warring dynasties that ten
centuries have left upon their plains and the miscellaneous
strifes and calamities of all kinds that have beset them.
Always expanding along lines of least resistance; absorbing by
comparatively petty conquests, decaying or scanty peoples;
reaching Kamchatka in the Far East with more ease than she
reached the shores of the Baltic; never flinging her legions
far and wide victoriously as did Rome, Spain, France or Great
Britain--Russia remains to-day, for the most part, humble, and,
in reality, a conquered people, living, dreaming and preaching
a morality born both of this humility and of the physical
environment that has helped to foster it. All Muscovy can not
be judged by those few who live in the saddle--the Cossack
population, men and women, numbers only about two million--nor
by the pitiable pageant of despotism the observer beholds in
their land: pogroms, poverty, disease, distress, militarism,
orthodoxy and Pan-Slavism. Russia has a soul in spite of these;
a gentle and beautiful soul, only half revealed, and too much
concealed by her dilapidation and her dilemma; a peaceful soul,
abnormally humble and devout, and in respect to these qualities
unequalled in Christendom.
Since the age of Vladimir the Holy, "The Beautiful Sun of
Kief," in the tenth century, Russia has had the tradition of
international peace. Vladimir wandered over the country, sword
and battle ax in hand, like a reincarnation of Thor, armed with
his mighty and wondrous hammer. Then came his yearning for a
new religion--something to inspire his life better than
Perun--Russia's old god of thunder--and the other idols, and a
little later, the picturesque investigation of his peripatetic
commissioners having been completed, he became a Christian of
the Greek church, was baptized with many fine and grand
ceremonies, compelled his docile people to do likewise, and,
like a true Northman that he was--the great grandson of Rurik
of the Baltic wilds--he so impressed his frowsy hordes, half
Scythian and half Slav, that now in the hearts of their
descendants, in their popular songs and legends, in those
concerning Kief especially--a beautiful and pathetic strain of
music eight centuries old--he, Vladimir, is still the central
heroic figure; once a man, but now a kind of god, sent from
Heaven to rule, enlighten and bring peace to his people and be
known in story and song as "Vladimir the Holy, the Beautiful
Sun of Kief."
An old chronicle describes for us how his hordes drank their
cup of trembling at his hands. There, around about the low
hills of the southern Dnieper River, probably on the crumbling
sandstone cliffs of Kief--the city, studded with jewel-like
legends and famed for its "golden palaces," stood his
candidates for baptism; near by were priests from
Constantinople, gorgeously arrayed, chanting, in strains
unknown to the populace, the Greek church baptismal service.
Then the democratic immersion!--rich man, poor man and all, at
Vladimir's command, wade into the baptismal waters, some up to
their knees, some to their waists, some to their necks, and,
thus finding a new faith from Heaven, they crossed themselves
for the first time as the thunder rolled on high! Here is
Russia remembering her Creator in the days of her youth--and
forgetting Him ever since; from then on, Holy Russia! Possibly
Holy Vladimir, at any rate, for becoming, with that ceremony,
peaceable, except for self-defence, he gave up all of his idols
and his aggressive sword. The former he scourged and cast into
the river, the latter he sheathed in its scabbard. And all this
about 988--the first peace movement of Holy Russia. The faith
of it, and its vision and dream came early in her history and
have not yet gone out or been extinguished.
Before the next such movement, time enough passed by to give
the seasons and the winds and rains full opportunity to whittle
down old Kief's storied sandstone hills. In 1815, the
much-expanded realm of Muscovy, then a partner in the holy
alliance, proclaimed under Alexander the First, the ideal of
peace. This Czar declared he would rule as a father over his
children and in the interest of "justice, charity and peace,"
and, in so doing, created the leading precedent for the peace
program of Nicolas the Second.
Alexander, who in the first half of his reign ruled liberally
for the days of Napoleonic supremacy, no doubt was sincere in
his desire to govern in the "spirit of brotherhood," but in the
latter years of his power, he fell sadly short of this
standard.
Alexander the Second, the emancipator of forty-six million
serfs, may have had some world peace ideal in mind when he in
1874 promoted a conference in Brussels to codify the usages of
war, but the reaction from his earlier liberalism was setting
in about this time and, growing worse, led to his assassination
in 1881.
The next move in the direction of peace came, as the world
rather well knows, through the present Czar, Nicolas the
Second, who on ascending the throne in 1894, proclaimed that
Russia would rule in the interests of peace and would cultivate
the arts of it. In 1898 followed the first call for a World
Peace Conference, and in 1899 came another circular with a
similar object.
But it is out of the kind heart of Muscovy, and from the
troubled, humble and penitent soul of Russia that the real
peace movement of her land has arisen. For many centuries
calamities have been pouring upon her plains, profusely
pouring--drought, famine and invasions without number; now
Rurik and his Northmen to start the empire out of its
prehistoric lethargy; their dynasty of conquering blood still
sharing in the rulership of the land to-day; now the Tartars,
remnants of whom with their high cheek bones are still visible
in the Baltic provinces; particularly and always and ever
poverty beyond description; poverty, disaster and conquest,
like triple demons to humiliate the soul of Russia and keep her
dumb for many centuries, except for the beauty of her unending
song.
And out of these conditions of life has grown the peace
morality that is native to the Russian people; out of their
sorrows and their conquered plains, out of their broken hearts
too, although the economic genesis of it all is very apparent.
The Russian people's Russia has ever been under the overlords
heel, downtrodden years without number, and yet it is a land
which has never produced a system of military tactics and
training--forever dependent for these creations upon her
neighbors; a land which has produced scarcely one great naval
or military commander who to-day holds a place in history as do
those of other nations; a land whose people have been usually
led to slaughter like sheep by Northman or Teutonic or Polish
generals; whose armies have never been noted for their great
campaigns, and always have been poorly drilled, managed and
fed, and never yet successful in any foreign wars. Surely from
such a land as this, no widespread war-morality or
world-conquering legions could come.
In fact the very reverse has come to pass: the philosophy of
Slavophilism has arisen in Muscovy, yet not so much arisen as
it has developed with the Russian soul, not as a thing apart,
but as a quality thereof, blossoming somehow with all other
Russian things, out of the primitive Scythian darkness. The
rebellious spirit having been crushed out of the generations
since, what is left but non-resistance? Yet in these latter
years a resisting spirit, nursed and suckled largely in western
Europe, has falsely made it appear that all Russia was in arms,
storming with chaotic unity at the church, the state and the
army, deluging their ancient customs with the destructive and
re-creative might of radicalism. Far and wide of the truth is
this! Let no one think the vast heart of Russia has changed!
Only the few have cast away the ancient quiet; only the few
have the modern consciousness instead of the medieval,
theocratic one; only the few are not at heart Slavophiles in
feeling and in morality.
This philosophy existed long in the national or social mind
before it was crystallized into public doctrines, and exists
even yet largely in its more primitive unworded or instinctive
form, although it was Peter the Great who unconsciously awoke
the latent and then unexpressed Slavophilic feelings and
moralities when he, like a civilizing Pied Piper, charmed the
chieftains of industry of Western Europe to follow his trail
into Muscovy, his "Empire of Little Villages," and there
regenerate them.
Therefore at about the end of the seventeenth century in
Russia, the "dumb silent centuries" gradually became articulate
in expressing their opposition to all things western. This is
the heart of Slavophilism, and no one can truly fathom the
Russian soul before understanding its philosophy. It is the
Muscovite theory of the simple life, still crying out against
the Great Peter's work and recalling the devotees of western
culture to its idealization of medieval, theocratic, autocratic
Russia.
Despite this reaction, however, it has a great meaning, a
tender beauty, and a message of depth and power for our western
world. Primarily Russia is a peasant and an agricultural land,
and there is a colorless monotony in her vast plains. Indeed
land and people are alike; as in the average peasant there is
patience, resignation and submission, so there is in the very
land itself. Open and prostrate it lies beneath the torrid sun
of the south, and the arctic winds of the north; subdued and
downtrodden for centuries, it and its people have always been
at the mercy of ruthless men and rainless winds.
Thus passive endurance has become one of the saving qualities
of the Russian's soul. The peasant's nature is one that has few
wants and little rebellious power. The Greek church of the
simple gospel is his and a government of the Czar's will. His
power of self renunciation is one which in Slavophilic thought
gives him true liberty. Therefore ask the followers of this
doctrine, what need is there of the constitutional liberties of
the west, or its republics or limited monarchies, or its
differences in ecclesiastical faith and structure? Slavophilism
declares that Russia has the only true freedom, faith and
brotherhood, which other lands sadly lack. In addition she has
the ancient and splendid heritage of the communal land system,
wherein the inherent justice of the Russian peasant's heart is
shown by his voluntary division and re-division of the land
among his brothers at stated times.
What need therefore, Slavophilism asks, for the degenerate
justice of the west? None! Away with Europe then!--the Europe
of competition and gruesome factories! The Europe of
destructive forces, of greedy land grabbers, of capital and
labor wars, where society is held together, not as in Russia by
the ties of affection, brotherhood and communal interest, but
only by money and greed, and where free thinkers, atheists and
materialists abound, whose lives and thoughts would unsettle
the holy, orthodox feelings of Russia, disturb her ancient
conscience and poison her humility with murmurings of
discontent and rebellion.
Away with the books of the west, too! And its agricultural
implements! Wooden ploughs instead of chilled steel! Outdoor
work and not indoor prisons called factories! Peasants working
for centuries beneath the uncanopied sun, and on the floors
without walls, will not let doors and brickwork thumbscrew
their souls in confinement thus! Indoors awhile in winter will
they labor, but spring airs shatter the moralities of the
time-clock and away to the fields they rush; in the spring to
sow and sing, in the summer to sing again and at the harvest
time too, and then to plait the bearded stalks into wreaths and
crown the maidens with sheaths of corn; the hymns for the
"death of winter" and the "birth of spring," marriage songs and
funeral dirges and chants of olden times well intermingled with
the labor of their hands.
Herein the poetry of agricultural, peaceable Russia clashes
with the prosaic efficiency of the west, the efficiency of
commercial wars, strikes and class struggles which peasant
Muscovy has known so little.
And again, Slavophilism, with its theory of successive
civilizations, culled perhaps from the philosophy of Hegel,
each civilization superior to its forerunner, comes to show us
a vision: the gradual displacement of one type of society by
another, but continuing what is best in the preceding until
nothing except what is good remains and universal peace
results, thus portraying the displacement of national
civilizations by universal ones, from which ultimately an
idealistic world policy will result, and the federation and
peace of men.
Some Slavophiles saw even in Peter's work a process of
progressing from nationality to universality. In his time there
was the same yearning toward its peaceful ideal. The "Old
Russia" party wanted Peter to renounce war and conquest.
Alexis, his own murdered son, worked with this element which
was very largely representative of the nation. To them, St.
Petersburg, then a new and growing capitol, was typical of
change, unrest and falsity; Moscow was in their hearts the only
capital, typical of Russia's old comfort and quiet. Many nobles
antagonized Peter, but he swept them aside, imprisoning them or
sending them to the gallows. Like Russia's slight resistance to
Rurik and others, and to the Tartars, so was her feebleness
before Peter the Great, who was himself, however, by no means
an accomplished military leader, but an enlightened barbarian,
dealing with a people whom writers and observers declare to be
endowed with conspicuous traits of humility, scarcely found in
the Christian nations of the western world.
Russian fiction represents its people in the same way.
Unaggressive characters, who talk and think but do not act,
fill its novels; they dream of the great age of the "Universal
Idea" that shall come for all and regenerate the "rotten west,"
where "rationalism is the original sin"; the typical west that
Slavophilism condemns--the west of the struggles between the
rulers and the ruled; between Scripture and tradition and the
upper and lower classes. The Slavophile idea, in theory at
least, leaves no room for this. Christian love and humility and
peasant communes, where rationalism, strife and rebellion are
unknown, must be instituted in the west; then the "Universal
Idea" of Russia will create Millennial times. This was the
"Messianic hope of Slavophilism," and perhaps is yet to a great
degree destined in the minds of its devotees to give the last
feature to the development of the world, so that the love and
feeling of the east would appease the discord of the west,
diluting its discipline and its logic with true religious
intuition and humility, and eventually the idealized
relationship of autocracy for the Czar and self-government for
the people--the old system so rudely strained by Peter the
Great--would permeate the ruled and rulers of the world.
Here then is Slavophilism! And pacific Russia--the heart and
soul of her, claiming this to be the true ethical and spiritual
ideal for her people, and censoring her upper class, with its
foreign culture, materialism, and infidelity, as being the only
real traitor to this saving morality of the ancient regime.
Among the prominent advocates of this philosophy might be
mentioned, first, Constantine Aksakoff, Russia's Rousseau, who
in the middle of the nineteenth century, was a virtuous
propagandist of the doctrine. He earnestly, even religiously,
preached the return of Russia from the allurements of western
Europe, unto her own theory of national salvation, declaring
that "the social order of the west is on a false foundation"
and that Slavophilism would offset its degeneracy, if only
Russia would free herself from the false class leadership for
whose origin the Great Peter stands the convicted sponsor! Thus
Slavophilism, under the leadership of Aksakoff, instead of
leading forward with the great liberal movement that came after
the Crimean War, resulting finally in the emancipation of the
serfs, would lead backward to the stagnant hours of medieval
Russia. Then there were no German words to disfigure the
Russian language! Then there were no German divisions of rank
among the officials to strangle life by their formality. No,
none of these, nor the disturbing importations of Peter; in
Aksakoff's variation of the gospel, the Russians are the
"beyond men" and need them not. Thus before Peter's reign all
was Slavophilic!--a religion of the simple Christian gospel, a
church considering itself the only true ecclesia, a government
of the Czar's will, a life of passive humility; creating
freedom of conscience and speech for the peasants, and freedom
of activity and legislation for the rulers, unknown in modern
corrupted Russia!
And thus was old peaceable-hearted Muscovy of the past
centuries pictured as the metropolis of true political and
individual morality.
Herzen, too, an able pamphleteer in revolutionary things,
preached something similar, crying from his pulpit at home or
in exile, that Russia would solve all her problems and lead the
human race by the simplicity of the Slavophile ideal. His early
and rabid westernism was greatly tempered on contact with the
west. Disillusion and disgust overcame him. The mercantilism of
the bourgeoisie there drove him into Aksakoff's fold, and he
too thereafter found faith alone in the "regenerative power of
Russia," and her system of the mir, the central sun of the
Slavophilic state, the village commune, self-governing and
self-contained. And then from that, this was to ensue: the
whole world made of village communes as in Russia, perhaps even
their log cabins too, and fresh mud to go with them on their
walls! But this did not deter the vision of these evangelists.
The commune was to be indefinitely extended; national and
international ones were to be organized, all self- governing,
and then would follow as the night the day, universal peace
wherever these communes were found.
This is the Utopia Russia has given to the world to stand
beside Plato's, or Sir Thomas More's or Morris's or Bellamy's.
This was the dream of pacific Pan-Slavism.
Dostoievsky himself is of it, and is luminous not with a mere
facet flash of its philosophy but with the whole orb of it. To
him the Russians "are more than human, they are pan-human."
Count Tolstoi too must be listed with these preachers. He,
making his own shoes and cutting his own and the peasants'
grain, lived it, showing how he thought the world's work ought
to be done. What were factories or the culture of the west to
him in later years--Shakespeare or no Shakespeare? Destructive
ideals of life. Competition, money and land greed,
self-assertion--all things that are the anthitheses of
Slavophilism--he shunned; mocking the palsied heart and
poisoned ideals of the west, and indeed of the "upper class"
section of his own land as no other Slavophile did. And
following its teaching, he journeyed through self-renunciation
to freedom and communal life, after repentance for his
wanderings, expiation and regeneration.
Dostoievsky, on the other hand, reached this philosophy largely
by being born to it among the humble people who lived it.
Melancholy-minded by nature--a sort of a Russian Dante but
living in actual infernos and purgatorios, Siberia and prison
cells, he came at last to worship his fellow countrymen and
their ideals as almost nothing else in heaven or earth, and
bowed down before them "as the only remnant left of Christian
humility, destined by Providence to regenerate the world." Here
is Slavophilism in a fervid extreme. "The Down-trodden and
Offended," "Memoirs of a Dead House," "Crime and Punishment,"
"Poor People,"--these, the titles of his novels, show the
predilections of his own soul. He died in the mystic frenzy of
this enthusiasm.
Here then, in this philosophy and in the lives of these men, is
something of the soul of Russia, beautiful in its humility, yet
not so humble that it is not ambitious to embrace the world in
the folding arms of its peace, its communal government and its
morality. Pan-Slavism of this nature is the only kind that in
truth can ever come from Russia. Pan-Slavism of the military
sort, with musketry, bribery and all other diabolic black arts,
miscalled government, rests on such a slim foundation that it
need be but little apprehended.
It was this brotherly humble soul of Russia that greatly helped
to put an end to the Russo-Japanese war: not merely failing
finances and lack of transportation. The feeling of a kindly
people for their own and a neighboring race caused widespread
mismanagement, opposition and wholesale desertions from the
army, among both the officers and the men. The Romanoff family
and official Russia caused the conflict, but human Russia,
humble and poor, was a great factor in its conclusion.
There is no doubt, however, that a certain number of
Slavophiles are addicted to the military mania, and this form
of their belief is more dangerously reactionary than its
ordinary phase. Many of these belong to the bureaucratic caste.
Official Russia holds aloft the eagle; human Russia the dove.
Official Russia leads the anti-Jewish massacres; human Russia
is very little responsible for pogroms. Ignatieff, "Father of
Lies," a bureaucrat of the military Pan-Slavic breed, about
1882, began the worst persecutions against the Jews in the last
generation, and possibly Pobiedonosteff, the late procurator of
the Holy Synod, was the worst offender in this one. The
peaceful feelings of the masses of the people, however, do not
sanction these outbreaks, and Slavophilism of such a sort is
not the philosophy of the Russian heart, no matter how many
pogroms may be enumerated.
It is therefore to human Russia that one must look for the true
feelings of the people; to their faith and deeds, to the
humility of their devotions, and prostrations before their
numberless shrines and ikons, to their religious ceremonies in
the open fields for huge detachments of the army, to the
thousands of their yearly pilgrims to Jerusalem, to their
superstitions, their poverty and long-suffering, all of which
attest innate passive endurance and non-resistance, and show
their kind of Slavophilism, which all in all, is much more than
"mere reverence for barbarism."
The war-time excitement in their cities seemed characteristic
of this national soul: "Russia is the Mother of Servia" was the
street cry of the marching throngs. It might be added that the
word mother, "matushka," is a prevalent one in expressing their
feelings. They call their greatest river the "Mother Volga."
Conquering Rome said "Father Tiber" and the native warriors of
this continent called the Mississippi the "Father of Waters."
The difference in these appellations shows the tender quality
of the Russian soul, whose ardent sympathies in July, 1914,
were greatly aroused by the spectacle of a large nation
attacking a small one, notwithstanding whatever may be said to
justify that deed.
Finally, however, let it be added, that the one thing that will
recreate Russia in the image of the west, is capital. Once let
the vast sums that have invaded Muscovy be put, not to the
autocratic purpose of the official rulers, but into factories,
mines, city subways and transportation of all kinds,
irrigation, canals, agricultural implements and to other
productive uses, then capitalistic Russia will stand forth
shorn of the Slavophilic simplicities of non-resistance and
humility. Labor wars, practically unknown hitherto, yet now
beginning, will occur in much greater number and the peasant
class, still unified, will be torn asunder by differences in
wealth and interests; the middle class, now very small, will
grow to large proportions, and many destructive forces will
come upon the land which has hitherto mocked western Europe
because of their presence there.
The many centuries of peasant unity, with its beauty of
brotherhood, affection and communal interests, will come to an
end under such a new regime. Already competitive forces are
dissolving communism in land, and many of the old beauties of
Russia are disappearing. Capitalism will bring with it much
turmoil and strife, unhappiness and death, but also the dawn of
brighter hours; newer and better cities, cleaner water, better
food, houses and clothes, and after the stress of its first
attack is over, and Russia has evolved laws and means to
control and socialize the invader, it may be that the old
simplicities and beauties of life will return, and a greater
and holier Russia will arise, still able to teach and aid in
the regeneration of the rest of the world.
PHYSICAL TRAINING AS MENTAL TRAINING
BY DR. J. H. McBRIDE
PASADENA, CALIFORNIA
THE first duty of a people is to provide for the health of its
children. The possible human value of any country fifty years
ahead depends chiefly upon what is done by and for its
children. They are the future in the making.
History seems to justify the statement of Professor Tyler[1]
that conquering races have been physically strong races, and
that nations have failed when they became degenerate.
[1] Growth and Education," J. M. Tyler.
Dionysius, speaking of the advantage of virility in a nation,
said,
It is a law of Nature common to all mankind, which no time
shall annul or destroy, that those who have more strength and
excellence shall bear rule over those who have less.
This law applies equally to individuals. Skill, cunning and
reason play their part, but the animal quality of endurance is
always back of these and is often decisive in a contest.
Darwin said he had difficulty in applying the law of the
survival of the fittest to the facts of the destruction of
Greece until it occurred to him that in this instance the
strongest was the fittest. Civilized people's have been
destroyed by ruder races that were physically superior.
The children that are now in our schools will take to adult
life such foundation as heredity has furnished, with the
equipment that society may care to add. We of this day have no
greater obligation than to prepare these children mentally and
physically for the duties that maturity may bring. Man did not
escape the physical necessities of the body when he became
civilized; the advantages of health are as great to-day as when
our forebears lived in tents. Very few of the primitive man's
activities are left; what he did regularly and from necessity
we do incidentally, and usually for sport, and yet the demands
upon the energies of man have not been lessened, they have only
been changed in form.
Our educational authorities, though in many instances
interested in physical development of the young, have not given
the subject the important place in their program that it
deserves. This is not wholly due to indifference, but largely
to their ideals that were derived from classical-ascetic
standards.
In the medieval ideal the human body was animal and sinful, to
be despised and repressed. The mind was said to be the
spiritual element in man, representing the immortal part of his
nature, and therefore was the only part worthy of attention in
an educational system. From the fall of the Roman empire to the
later nineteenth century this ideal dominated education.
The medieval universities, including Oxford and Cambridge,
provided only for mental training. Their education was intended
for those who were to follow the professions or to become
scholars or gentlemen of leisure. Education was not intended to
prepare the great mass of men for the every-day work of life.
While only indirectly related to my subject, it is interesting
to recall that there was in this country in the early
nineteenth century much opposition to the establishment of
common schools for the masses. It was claimed that those who
belonged to the working classes did not need to be educated.
Our own colleges and universities were originally founded on
the old classical-ascetic model, so that the spirit of the
medieval period survived in the educational plan of this
country. It is only in recent decades that these institutions
have begun to depart from the older, formal, classical methods
that made education a privilege of the few, the average man
being deprived of the advantages of the training that he
needed. Because of this the humble millions of men and women
who wove and spun, and fed and housed the world were left out
of the educational scheme.
Some years ago a London weekly paper, which speaks for the
conservative class of England, in discussing certain suggested
innovations in English higher education, said that the great
merit of education at Oxford and Cambridge was that it was
"absolutely useless." By this it was probably meant that the
education was for a chosen few, was not intended to prepare men
for the practical work of life and was essentially and only an
intellectual and cultural training.
The change of attitude that is seen in our day is due chiefly
to two great discoveries: the re-discovery of the human body
and its relation to our mentality and the discovery of the mind
of the child and youth. We have found that man is an animal who
graduated from caves and dugouts and to whom even barbarism was
a lade and great achievement. That the human body was made by
the experiences of that rude life, and that since then we have
made no change in it except to stand on two feet. Neither have
we added one nerve cell or fiber to our brains since the day
when the cave was home and uncooked food the daily diet.
The conception of man as an animal has led to a study of him as
such. Educators as a class now concede that the physical man
must be considered as an essential part of their scheme, that
the brain is an organ of the body among other organs, and is
subject to the same laws and influenced by similar conditions.
The influence of the mind upon the body is a commonplace of
psychology, but the influence of the body upon the mind is of
equal importance, though less frequently emphasized.
Whatever one's theory of the nature of mind, it must be
considered in relation to the brain as the organ of its
expression. The mind has, too, a broader base than the brain,
for every organ of the body has some share in the mental
functions. Every physician knows that physical disease lowers
the quality of the thinking and, with the exception of a few
geniuses like Darwin and Leopardi, it makes impossible
intellectual work of a high order. Disorders of the internal
organs rob the brain of nourishment and weaken it, and by
obtruding their morbidness upon it they batter down its
resistances and lower the thinking power.
Though we can never know the history of man's origin, the lives
of the child and of the wild man help us to understand
something of the order of racial development. All the higher
mental faculties grow in the child as they grew in the
race--out of impulse, instinct, feeling; and from infancy to
maturity we recapitulate mentally and physically the early
human-making stages, short circuiting in twenty years the
race-process.
The life of physical activity that the child leads develops and
coordinates the brain and the muscular system. In this way the
great motor functions are organized in the brain and become
part of the physical basis of mind.
The older education that trained the intellect exclusively,
without reference to the practical demands of life or the needs
of the body, was inadequate in that it ignored the law of
thinking and doing. It is true that there is much to its
credit, as many fine spirits have testified. They at least
survived it.
Stanley Hall says "we think in terms of muscular movement," and
this expresses the most important single fact in the mature
mentality. That the mind is largely constituted of memories of
muscular movements is basic in development.
The muscles are the special organs of volition, the one part of
the body that the mind can directly command and act on. The
muscles are preeminently the mind's instruments, the visible
and moving part of its machinery. They are thought carriers,
and during the growth period their functional activities are
organized into the mental life. This is why "we think in terms
of muscular movement," and why muscular training supplies a
natural need of the developing mind.
The normal boy says little or nothing of what he thinks, but
much of what he is doing or intends to do. He has the motor
mind, the instinct for doing things by which he builds the
brain and body. It is nature's way of laying the foundation in
the individual as by the more tedious process of evolution she
laid it in the race. The mental development of the normal
infant is indicated by the increasing accuracy and delicacy of
muscular coordination. The feeble-minded child very early shows
its mental defect in the clumsy use of its muscles. Because of
the functional relation of the voluntary muscles and the
mentality, physical training is in a large degree mental
training. When by such training we give dexterity to muscles of
the growing person we are making possible better mental
development; that is, because of this relation of the mind to
action there is a direct mental discipline in the thought-out
processes of physical activity. If, then, we make physical
development a part of our educational process, we are taking
advantage of race tendencies, we are starting the individual as
nature started the race; we are laying the foundation in the
individual as it was originally laid in the race; we are
building as the race built.
Exclusively intellectual training may be sufficient for the
genius or for the few who have great initiative and
intellectual self-confidence, but for the great mass of boys
and girls this training is not sufficient. It does not prepare
the young for the kind of work that three fourths of them will
have to do. We are now beginning to recognize this and through
manual training, vocational guidance, etc., we are teaching
boys and girls how to do things, and this, too, has the
additional merit of being, in a measure, physical training.
Educators, until recently, have, in emphasizing the paramount
importance of mental training, lost sight of the needs of the
body. Their classical ideals and formal methods made dead
languages, mathematics, philosophy etc., the school diet of
boys whose normal hunger was for action, and for learning by
doing.
Sir William Hamilton, who wrote fairy tales in metaphysics for
a generation of Scotchmen, placed these lines over the doorway
of his lecture room.
In earth there 's nothing great but Man;
In Man there 's nothing great but Mind.
This sounds well, but it is poor philosophy. There is much in
earth that is great besides man and much in man that is great
besides his mind. The older type of metaphysician with his
staggering vocabulary and his bag of "categories" has now
chiefly a historic interest. In the modern view the
interdependence of mind and body is a fundamental fact of life.
As science reveals the physiologic marvels of the once despised
body, the latter grows in our respect, for we find that its
seeming humble functions are intimately related to our highest
powers. Sir William's couplet gives a hint of the dominance of
the classical method of his day. It overemphasized the
importance of reason and too often converted the youthful mind
into a rag bag of useless information. The educators of that
time and since have thought more highly of human reason than
experience justifies. With their medieval bias for a world of
will and reason, they drove the young with the whip and spur of
emulation toward what to them seemed the one possible goal,
intellectual achievement.
We exaggerate the share that reason has in conduct. In the
history of the race, which is epitomized in the life of every
individual, reason was a late outgrowth of feeling, passion,
impulse, instinct. It was these older faculties that ruled the
life of the primitive man who made the race, and it was through
them that the race gradually rose to reason by what Emerson
would call the "spiral stairway of development."
These functions of impulse and instinct dominate the life of
the child and they are only a little less potent in the conduct
of us grownups. Much of what we call reason is feeling, and
much of our life activities are due to desire, sentiment,
instinct and habit, which, under the illusion of reason,
determine our decisions and conduct. Some one has said that
reason is the light that nature has placed at the tip of
instinct, and it is certainly true that without these earlier,
basal faculties reason would be a feeble light. During the
growing period these are specially strong, and the important
thing is that they be guided and organized in relation to the
needs of maturity. In combining mental and physical training we
are in some measure furnishing this guidance, doing
intentionally what nature did originally without design.
In the uncivilized state the stress of life was chiefly
physical. The civilized man has to a large degree reversed this
old order, in that the use of the body is incidental in his
work, the stress being placed upon the brain. He piles his life
high with complexities and in place of life being for
necessities, and they few and simple, it is largely for
comforts which we call necessities, and Professor Huxley has
said that the struggle for comforts is more cruel than the
struggle for existence.
This stress which is put upon conscious effort in civilization
places a new and severe tax upon the brain. It intensifies and
narrows the range of man's activities; it causes him to
specialize and localize the strain to a degree that may be
dangerous. It is certainly true that every man has his breaking
strain, and there is nothing that will raise the limit of
endurance like a strong and well-developed body.
The Italian physiologist, Mosso, showed by an ingenious device
that when a person lying quite still was required to add a
column of figures, blood left the extremities and flowed toward
the brain. Any emotional state or effort of thought produces
the same result. This demonstration that we think to our
fingers' ends suggests the importance of a strong body as a
prompt support in mental work.
All our work, mental as well as physical, is a test of
endurance, not a test that is spiritual and non-material, but
even in the sphere of the mind it is plainly animal and
physical. Thinking is primarily a physical process and draws
upon the vital stores of every organ. The energy that makes
clear thinking possible depends largely upon the vigor of the
body, and to the extent that this fails, the brain functions
suffer. Therefore, any work, mental or physical, will be better
done and more easily done if the body is strong. Other things
being equal, the intellectual work of the strong man will be
better done than similar work by one of equal talent, but who
is not strong.
Big muscles are not necessary in physical development. Many
people are not designed for big muscles, and any attempt by
them to produce a heavy, massive development may do harm. What
is wanted is vigor, skill, muscular readiness and a reawakening
of the old associations of thought and action. Such training
goes further than thought and action, for it reaches all the
organs and adds immensely to the vital capacity and working
power of the individual.
The play instinct of the child is as old as the race, or older,
and is a vitally important factor, not only in physical
development, but also in mental development. In its destructive
and disorderly activities the child shows the later adult
forces in the formative stage. Old instincts and movements that
were once self-preservative and of serious meaning to a wild
ancestor reappear in the play of children, and, utilized
wisely, may under new form become a valuable possession of the
adult. There is a great big man, in fact, several possible men,
inside every boy. Through his running, jumping, fighting,
swimming, through impulse, instincts and emotions he is seeking
the man that is in him, and it is by this turbulent and
experimental course that he finally comes to the order of
maturity.
Every boy is a vitally coiled up set of springs pressing to be
released. Race-old energies are struggling in him for
expression, and play is the normal way to satisfy the great
demand. The child may miss some important things and yet get
on, but it can not, without severe and lasting harm miss the
instinctive activities of play.
In play and games the young are re-enacting these old muscular
coordinations and developing mind and body on the old
foundation. The boy's love of outdoor sports and the adventures
of hunting are significant. Those ancestors of ours who hunted
and fished and shaped with care their arrow heads were
developing a manual skill and thinking power that we inherit.
We use our muscles for more varied and possibly more finished
purposes, but it is through the patience and practise of their
rude lives that we possess the delicate uses of the hands and
the finer dexterities of the mind.
The boy who goes whistling to the fields, or hunts, or fishes,
or swims, is unconsciously reaching out toward later life and
is preparing for serious and bigger things.
The growing formative period of life is the time for good
physical development. Whatever is gained and fixed then is
permanent, as it becomes a part of the physiological habits of
the individual. The years before twenty decide the future
energy stores, and the capacity to endure. Every function
enlarged, every gain of power, is additional storage room for
energy, to be drawn upon in the coming days of adult stress.
Good physical development not only gives strength and skill in
the use of the body, but develops a physiological habit of
surplus power that may be called quantity of energy. Life is
not alone in quality, in delicacy of adjustment, in accuracy,
in fineness of feeling; it is also in quantity. The poet who,
with frail physique and feeble pulse, sits in his quiet retreat
and puts his fine fancies into the rhythms of verse has
quality. But in the stress and rivalry of life that awaits the
majority of men, there is a need for quantity of energy, such
as enabled a Washington or a Caesar or a Napoleon or a
Wellington to shoulder his way through difficulties. These men
combined quality with quantity and this combination may make,
and often does make, the life of masterful achievement. The
quantity of energy in us average men may make the difference
between success and failure.
Many men fail in life for lack of staying power, for lack of
that kind of endurance that is furnished by having power in
reserve.
The strong, confident person who has strength to spare,
reserves of energy, does his work easily and without friction.
Half the timidities and indecisions of men are chargeable less
to lack of ability than to lack of the physical vigor, the
QUANTITY of energy, which is the driving power of character. In
all the contests of life an important element in success is the
ability to endure prolonged stress, to have the reserve energy
that can be drawn upon and utilized as a driving force. This
power is not alone necessary in the emergencies, the "short
hauls" of life, but also in the long hauls that spread the
strain through greater periods. Many of the failures of life
are due as much to lack of ability to meet prolonged stress as
to lack of experience or intelligence. Men of moderate ability
but with great powers of endurance often succeed, while men of
greater talent fail for lack of the ability to endure strain.
The man with a weak body and without the self-confidence that
surplus energy gives is liable to be of uncertain judgment.
Such a man in the presence of a problem requiring quick
decision, doubts and hesitates and stands shivering on the
brink of action while hastening opportunities pass him by.
Much of the loose thinking of our time is undoubtedly due to
poor educational drill. In fact the failure of the schools to
teach pupils how to apply the mind and how to think is one of
their common reproaches. Inability to use the mind effectively
is also frequently due to a lack of vigor and physical stamina.
A person with poor digestion, or under-developed body, or weak
circulation has of necessity a badly nourished brain. Such a
brain, unless it belongs to a genius, will do poor thinking.
The mentally trained person who is also physically strong has
the combination that puts his powers at easy command. He can be
joyously busy doing the impossible because the doing of it has
been made easy by training.
How much native power there is in all of us that for want of
proper training or sympathetic encouragement never comes to
maturity! How many of the finer qualities of character that,
for want of a kindlier climate of cheerful companionship and
wise direction, failed to mature and now lie dead in us! Very
many people are only partly alive. A large part, and in some,
the best part, is dead. The capacity they show is probably only
a small share of a fine inheritance which, not knowing how to
use, they allowed to die.
We have an instinctive liking for people who are strong and
healthy. They appeal to us by their robustness and their
confident display of energy. We do not now need the big muscles
that were once necessary in wielding spear and battle-axe. We
need, however, as much as the race ever needed well-developed
bodies and habits of health.
It is not difficult for us to see that sports and games and
play help to physical development, but it is not so plain that
they may be made to develop the best qualities of character.
It is a fact, however, that all the important elements of
character are tried out in games and sports. Enthusiasm,
self-confidence, the adventurous spirit, alertness, promptness,
unselfishness, cooperation, quick judgment--all these have
their training and discipline on the game field. They comprise
those fundamental native qualities that have gone to make
humanity what it is. The young should have this training, and,
if of the right kind, it may be made to contribute to the
making of the best kind of character. The same quickness and
accuracy of judgment that enable a boy to win a point in
football may in later life be used to win a battle or save a
business venture. Beyond this, there is of course gained the
strong body that makes work easy and stress less difficult to
bear.
Hall calls attention to the fact that two generations ago,
Jahn, the great builder of German physique, roused the then
despairing German nation by preaching the gospel of strong
bodies. He created a new spirit in Germany, and the whole
nation was aroused and seized with an enthusiasm for outdoor
games and sports, and there arose a new cult for the body. His
pupils sang of a united fatherland and of a stronger race. The
Germans are in the habit of reminding us that it was about one
generation after Jahn that the German Empire was founded and
Germany became a world power.
Every argument for the physical training of boys applies with
equal force to girls. Women need to be physically as strong as
men. No race will remain virile and progressive unless both the
fathers and mothers have the physical stamina that produces
healthy, vigorous offspring. In this age, when women are going
out into the world to compete with men it is highly important
that they be physically strong if they are to stand the stress
successfully. It was from rough barbarians, the rude war-loving
Teutonic men and women described by Tacitus, that the
Anglo-Saxon race inherited those splendid qualities of mind and
body that have made their descendants masters of seas and
continents.
It has been objected that gymnastics and field sports make
girls coarse and mannish. The exact opposite has been found to
be the case. It has been observed in colleges that when young
women are properly led, their sports, in place of making them
mannish, have a marked refining influence. They care more for
correct posture because this is made one of their tests in
athletic sports. They develop better manners and a new sense of
pride in their appearance. They soon learn to avoid slang, loud
talking and boisterous behavior. In the University of Chicago
where they have excellent training, many of the girls have said
that they came to have a new sense of dignity and to care more
for their personal appearance.
They also develop the finer elements of character, a
cooperative spirit, obedience to commands, patience,
self-confidence, a spirit of comradeship, a democratic attitude
and an appreciation of good qualities in others wherever found.
All of these esthetic, social and moral qualities, woven into
the texture of the growing character, and with the vigorous
health that the physical training brings, are the best
contribution to the making of the most effective type of the
womanly woman. All games and sports and athletics for the young
should therefore make for refinement and esthetic development.
The state needs now, and will always need, men and women who
have sound bodies and abounding energy.
The harsher phases of the human struggle may pass and wars may
cease, but the old contests of races, nations and individuals
will continue under other forms.
As the race grows older life will become more largely mental.
The increasing complexity of human relations and the more
delicate adjustments that these relations require will bring a
new and finer social order that will make higher demands upon
reason.
While there is no evidence that experience or time or training
will ever change the structure of the brain, it is probable
that we have as yet but imperfectly utilized our mental
possibilities. Stratton says:
Out of the depths of the mind new powers are always
emerging.[2]
[2] "Experimental Psychology and Culture," George M. Stratton.
Back of the mental life, and making it possible, are the
energies of the body, the functioning of the animal in man,
which in the brain are changed to the higher uses of the mind.
The ability to execute, to act effectively, to do and keep
doing, to do the work of the professional man, the banker, or
the scientist, all this is primarily physical, and from top to
bottom of man's activities the physical test is applied. With
the mental and emotional strain of civilized life goes the
physical strain which is the other half of the struggle, and
which now and always is both mental and physical. The Greeks
recognized this unity of mind and body twenty-five hundred
years ago and their results remain unmatched by any race.
They saw that the thought-out movements of physical training
resulted in mental training and this law of mental development
through physical training was a fundamental principle in their
educational plan.
The nation that will again make this an ideal will produce a
finer race of men, and other things equal, will excel in all
that makes a people great.
EDWARD JENNER AND VACCINATION
BY PROFESSOR D. FRASER HARRIS, M.D., D.Sc.
DALHOUSIE UNIVERSITY, HALIFAX, N. S.
WE are so exceedingly apt to take our blessings as a matter of
course that at the present time a large number of us have quite
forgotten, and some of us have never known, what a terrible
disease smallpox is and from how much suffering national
vaccination has saved us. But even many of us, who may not be
included amongst those who know nothing of smallpox, do come
within the group of those who know next to nothing of the life
and work of Dr. Edward Jenner. A number of persons think he was
Sir William Jenner, physician to Queen Victoria.
An infectious or communicable disease is one caused by the
admission of some form of living matter into the body of a
human being or of a lower animal. All diseases are clearly not
communicable in the sense that they are due to the presence of
living things. Indigestion, for instance, I can not communicate
to my neighbor, however serious my dietetic indiscretions.
Now, while the actual microorganisms causing many of the
infectious diseases have been discovered in these recent days
through the agency of the microscope--one of science's most
valuable gifts to suffering humanity--a few diseases
undoubtedly infectious have, even up to the present time, not
had their microorganic causes discovered. Smallpox or variola
is one of these. The term variola is from the Latin varus, a
pimple.
The name Small Pox, which first occurs in Holinshead's
"Chronicle" (1571), was given to this disease to distinguish it
from the Great Pox or syphilis, the French disease, or Morbus
Gallicus which attained the proportions of an epidemic in
Europe about 1494. The expression "The Pox" in the older
medical literature always refers to the Lues Venereal The word
"pox" is the plural form of pock; the spelling "pox" is
phonetic; "pocks" is the correct form.[1]
[1] Thus the following expression in Galt's "Annals of the
Parish" is justified--"My son Gilbert was seized with the
smallpox and was blinded by THEM for seventeen days."
Smallpox is unquestionably a highly infectious or communicable
disease, and in the language of a past day, there is a virus or
poison which can pass from the sick to the unaffected; when
this transference occurs on a large scale we speak of an
epidemic of smallpox. As Sir William Osler truly says, "It is
not a little remarkable that in a disease, which is rightly
regarded as the type of all infectious maladies, the specific
virus still remains unknown." The same, however, is true of the
common diseases of scarlatina, measles and chickenpox. Of some
diseases, the virus is a bacillus or coccus, excessively minute
fungi recognizable only under the microscope; but the
bacteriologists are now beginning to speak of viruses so
impalpable that they, unlike ordinary bacteria, can go through
the pores of a clay filter, are filter-passers, that is are of
ultra-microscopic dimensions. Some authorities conjecture that
the virus of variola belongs to the group of filter-passers.
The virus of smallpox, however, is very resistant and can be
carried through the air for considerable distances; it clings
for long periods to clothes, books, furniture, etc.
I shall not now digress to give the clinical details of a case
of smallpox; the eruption may be slight or it may be very
extensive. It occurs in three forms, discrete, confluent and
hemorrhagic. The most dangerous form of smallpox is the
confluent, in which the face and arms particularly are covered
with large pustular areas of a most disfiguring appearance.
The disease called chickenpox, or varicella, has no
relationship to smallpox and does not protect from it, nor does
smallpox protect from chickenpox.
HISTORY OF SMALLPOX
There seems very little doubt that the home of smallpox was
somewhere on the continent of Africa, although it is true that
there are traditions pointing to its existence in Hindustan at
least 1000 B.C. One Hindu account alludes to an ointment for
removing the cicatrices of eruption. Africa has certainly for
long been a prolific source of it: every time a fresh batch of
slaves was brought over to the United States of America there
was a fresh outbreak of smallpox.[2] It seems that the first
outbreak in Europe in the Christian era was in the latter half
of the sixth century, when it traveled from Arabia, visiting
Egypt on the way. The earliest definite statements about it
come from Arabia and are contained in an Arabic manuscript now
in the University of Leyden, which refers to the years A.D. 570
and 571. There is a good deal of evidence that the Arabs
introduced smallpox into Egypt at the sacking of Alexandria in
A.D. 640. Pilgrims and merchants distributed it throughout
Syria and Palestine and along the north of Africa; then,
crossing the Mediterranean, they took it over to Italy. The
Moors introduced it into Spain whence, via Portugal, Navarre,
Languedoc and Guienne it was carried into western and northern
Europe. The earliest physician to describe smallpox is Ahrun, a
Christian Egyptian, who wrote in Greek. He lived in Alexandria
from A.D. 610 to 641. The first independent treatise on the
disease was by the famous Arabian physician, Rhazes, who wrote
in Syriac in 920 A.D., but his book has been translated into
both Greek and Latin. The first allusion to smallpox in English
is in an Anglo-Saxon manuscript of the early part of the tenth
century; the passage is interesting--"Against pockes: very much
shall one let blood and drink a bowl full of melted butter; if
they [pustules] strike out, one should dig each with a thorn
and then drop one-year alder drink in, then they will not be
seen," this was evidently to prevent the pitting dreaded even
at so early a date. Smallpox was first described in Germany in
1493, and appeared in Sweden first in 1578.
[2] Osler thinks the pesta magna of Galen was smallpox; Marcus
Aurelius died of it.
The contributions of Sydenham, the English Hippocrates, to the
knowledge of smallpox, are classical.
Throughout the Middle Ages, owing to the very crowded and
unsanitary state of the cities of Europe, smallpox was one of
the various plagues from which the inhabitants were never free
for any length of time.[3] Leprosy, influenza, smallpox,
cholera, typhus fever and bubonic plague constituted the
dreadful group. In most countries, including England, smallpox
was practically endemic; an attack of it was accepted as a
thing inevitable, in children even more inevitable than
whooping-cough, measles, mumps or chickenpox is regarded at the
present time. There was a common saying--"Few escape love or
smallpox." In the eighteenth century so many faces were pitted
from severe smallpox that it is said any woman who had no
smallpox marks was straightway accounted beautiful. Very few
persons escaped it in either the mild or the severe form in
childhood or in later life.
[3] England was by no means exempt, but it was not infection in
the modern sense that Shakespeare meant when he wrote--
"This England,
This fortress, built by Nature for herself
Against infection and the hand of war."
Now it is characteristic of a microorganic disease that a
person who has recovered from an attack of it is immune from
that disease for a longer or shorter time, in some cases for
the remainder of life. This is, luckily, as true of smallpox as
of any of the other acute infections. We do not now need to
enquire into the theory of how this comes about; it is a
well-recognized natural phenomenon. The modern explanation is
in terms of antigens and anti-bodies and is fast passing from
the stage of pure biochemical hypothesis into that of concrete
realization. Persons who have recovered from smallpox rarely
take it a second time; the few who do, have it in a mild form.
It follows, then, that if smallpox is purposely inoculated into
a human being he will for a long time be resistant to the
subsequent infection of smallpox. The fact of smallpox
protecting from smallpox is by no means without analogy in
other diseases. Thus in Switzerland, in Africa, in Senegambia,
it has been the custom for a long time, in order to protect the
cattle from pleuro-pneumonia, to inoculate them with the fluid
from the lung of an animal recently dead of pleuro-pneumonia.
Of course since the time of Pasteur we have been quite familiar
with the inoculation of attenuated virus to protect from the
natural diseases in their fully virulent form, for instance,
anthrax, rabies, plague and typhoid fever.
As it was, then, known to mankind from a very early period that
a person could be protected from smallpox by being inoculated
with it, inoculation grew up as a practice in widely distant
parts of the globe. The purpose of intentional inoculation was
to go through a mild attack of the disease in order to acquire
protection from the much more serious natural form of the
disease--to have had it so as not to have it. A very high
antiquity is claimed for this smallpox inoculation, some even
asserting that the earliest known Hindu physician (Dhanwantari)
supposed to have lived about 1500 B.C., was the first to
practice it. Bruce in his "Voyages to the Sources of the Nile"
(1790) tells us that he found Nubian and Arabian women
inoculating their children against smallpox, and that the
custom had been observed from time immemorial. Records of it
indeed are found all over the world; in Ashantee, amongst the
Arabs of North Africa, in Tripoli, Tunis and Algeria, in
Senegal, in China, in Persia, in Thibet, in Bengal, in Siam, in
Tartary and in Turkey. In Siam the method of inoculation is
very curious; material from a dried pustule is blown up into
the nostrils; but in most other parts of the world the
inoculation is by the ordinary method of superficial incision
or what is called scarification. By the latter part of the
seventeenth century inoculation for smallpox was an established
practise in several European countries into which it had
traveled by the coasts of the Bosphorus, via Constantinople. In
1701 a medical man, Timoni, described the process as he saw it
in Constantinople. Material was taken from the pustules of a
case on the twelfth or thirteenth day of the illness. As early
as 1673 the practice was a common one in Denmark, Bartholinus
tells us. In France inoculation had been widely practiced; on
June 18, 1774, the young king Louis XVI., was inoculated for
smallpox, and the fashionable ladies of the day wore in their
hair a miniature rising sun and olive tree entwined by a
serpent supporting a club, the "pouf a l'inoculation" of
Mademoiselle Rose Bertin, the court milliner to Marie
Antoinette. In Germany inoculation was in vogue all through the
seventeenth century, as also in Holland, Switzerland, Italy and
Circassia. In England the well-known Dr. Mead, honored, by the
way, with a grave in Westminster Abbey, was a firm believer in
inoculation, as was also Dr. Dimsdale, who was sent for by the
Empress Catherine II. to introduce it into Russia. Dr. Dimsdale
inoculated a number of persons in Petrograd, and finally the
Grand Duke and the Empress herself. The lymph he took from the
arm of a child ill of natural smallpox. For his services to the
Russian court Dr. Dimsdale was made a Baron of the Russian
Empire, a councillor of state and physician to the Empress. He
was presented with the sum of 1,000 pounds and voted an annuity
of 500 pounds a year. At the request of Catherine, Dr. Dimsdale
went to Moscow, where thousands were clamoring for inoculation.
The mortality from smallpox in Russia seems to have been still
higher than in the rest of Europe. The annual average death
rate on the Continent at the end of the eighteenth century was
210 per 1,000 deaths from all causes, while in Russia in one
year two million persons perished from smallpox alone. In
England in 1796, the deaths from smallpox were 18.6 per cent.
of deaths from all causes.
A great impetus was given to inoculation in England by the
letters of Lady Mary Wortley Montague, the wife of our
ambassador to Turkey, Edward Wortley Montague, and daughter of
the Duke of Kingston. In 1717 Lady Mary wrote a letter to her
friend Miss Chiswell, in which she explained the process and
promised to introduce it to the notice of the English
physicians. So convinced was Lady Mary of the safety of
smallpox inoculation and its efficacy in preserving from
subsequent smallpox, that in March, 1717, she had her little
boy inoculated at the English embassy by an old Greek woman in
the presence of Dr. Maitland, surgeon to the embassy. In 1722
some criminals under sentence of death in Newgate were offered
a full pardon if they would undergo inoculation. Six men agreed
to this, and none of them suffered at all severely from the
inoculated smallpox. Towards the close of the same year two
children of the Princess of Wales were successfully inoculated;
and in 1746 an Inoculation Hospital was actually opened in
London, but not without much opposition. As early as 1721 the
Rev. Cotton Mather, of Boston (U. S. A.), introduced
inoculation to the notice of the American physicians, and in
1722 Dr. Boylston, of Brooklyn, inoculated 247 persons, of whom
about 2 per cent. died of the acquired smallpox as compared
with 14 per cent. of deaths amongst 6,000 uninoculated persons
who caught the natural smallpox. There was, however, great
popular opposition to the practice of inoculation, and Dr.
Boylston on one occasion was nearly lynched.
While successful inoculation undoubtedly protected the person
from smallpox, sometimes the inoculated form of the disease was
virulent, and certainly all cases of inoculated variola were as
infectious as the natural variety. Inoculated persons were
therefore a danger to the community; and there is no doubt that
such persons had occasionally introduced smallpox into towns
which had been free from the natural disease. At the end of the
eighteenth century, just about the time of Jenner's discovery,
public opinion was strongly against the continuance of the
practice of inoculation, and as natural smallpox had not at all
abated its epidemic character, the times were ripe for "some
new thing."
Now there is a disease of cows know as cowpox or vaccinia (from
the Latin vacca, a cow) which is communicable to human beings.
It is thought to be due to the same virus which in pigs is
called swinepox and in horses "grease." Jenner believed
vaccinia to be the same pathological entity as human smallpox,
modified, however, by its transmission through the cow. For a
long time this view was stoutly resisted, but it has now been
accepted as probably representing the truth. The identity of
vaccinia and "grease" is certainly much more doubtful.
To many of Jenner's contemporaries the view that vaccinia had
at one time been a disease of human beings seemed unlikely; but
we are now in a far better position to admit its probability
than were those of Jenner's time. We have since then learned
that man shares many diseases with the lower animals,
tuberculosis, plague, rabies, diphtheria and pleuro-pneumonia,
to mention only a few. We have also learned that certain lower
animals, insects for instance, are intermediary hosts in the
life-cycle of many minute parasites which cause serious
diseases in the human being, amongst which malaria, yellow
fever and the sleeping sickness are the most familiar.
It appears to have been understood before Jenner's time that
persons who had acquired cowpox by handling cattle, but
especially by milking cows, were immune from smallpox. In the
reign of Charles II. it is well known that the court beauties
envied the dairy-maids because having had cowpox, they could
not take smallpox which all women so dreaded. Dr. Corlett tells
us that the Duchess of Cleveland, one of the King's mistresses,
on being told that she might lose her place in the royal favor
if she were disfigured by smallpox, replied that she had
nothing to fear as she had had cowpox. In 1769 a German, Bose,
wrote on the subject of cowpox protecting from smallpox. In the
year 1774 a cattle dealer, Benjamin Jesty, at Yetminster, in
Dorset, inoculated his wife and three children with cowpox.
None of them ever took smallpox during the rest of their lives
although frequently exposed to its infection. Jesty died in
1816, and it is recorded on his tombstone that he was the first
person who inoculated cowpox to protect from smallpox. Cowpox,
or vaccinia, though infectious for cows, is not transmissible
among human beings, in other words, as a disease of man it is
not infectious. Edward Jenner, the Englishman of Berkeley in
Gloucestershire, was the first person to think scientifically
on the fact that cowpox protected from smallpox. John Hunter
had said to him, "Jenner, don't think, try." Luckily, however,
he did both. Thinking alone avails little, experimentation
alone avails not much, but the one along with the other has
removed mountains. Just as Newton thought scientifically about
that falling apple and reduced our conceptions of the universe
to order, just as Watt thought scientifically about that
kettle-lid lifted by the steam and so introduced the modern era
of mechanical power brought under man's control, so Jenner
thought about and experimented with cowpox until he had
satisfied himself that he had discovered something which would
rid the human race forever of the incubus of an intolerable
pestilence.
It was in 1780 that Jenner set himself to study cowpox in a way
that had never before been attempted, for he was convinced that
in the having had an attack of the disease lay the secret of
the conquest of that world-scourge. He confided in his fried
Edward Gardner about "a most important matter . . . which I
firmly believe will prove of essential benefit to the human
race . . . should anything untoward turn up in my experiments,
I should be made, particularly by my medical brethren, the
subject of ridicule." Luckily he was quite prepared for both
ridicule and opposition; for has not everything new been
ridiculed and opposed? Galileo was opposed, Bruno was opposed,
Copernicus was opposed, Harvey was opposed, George Stevenson
was opposed, Pasteur was ridiculed and opposed, and so were
Darwin, Simpson and even Lister. The physiological inertia even
of the educated has too often blocked the path of advancement:
but Jenner is in illustrious company, a prince amongst the
hierarchy of the misunderstood.
The facts or surmises before Jenner at this date, then,
were--(a) Cowpox produces an eruption extremely like that of
mild smallpox, it is, therefore, probably a form of smallpox
modified by transmission through the cow; (b) And an attack of
cowpox protects from smallpox. To test these things
experimentally some one must first be inoculated with cowpox,
and, having recovered from the vaccinia, that same person must,
secondly, be inoculated with the virus of smallpox or be
exposed to the infection, and, thirdly, this person ought not
to take the disease.
In 1788 Jenner had a careful drawing made of the hand of a
milkmaid suffering from cowpox to demonstrate to Sir Everard
Home how exceedingly similar were vaccinia and variola. Home
agreed it was "interesting and curious," and the subject began
to attract some attention in medical circles.
In November, 1789, Dr. Jenner inoculated his eldest child
Edward, aged 18 months, with some swinepox virus, and as
nothing untoward happened, he inoculated him again with
swinepox on April 7, 1791. The child had a slight illness, very
like vaccinia, from which he rapidly recovered. The moment for
the crucial experiment was not yet; it came in due time, but
Jenner had to wait five years for it, and five years are a long
time to a man who is yearning to perform his crucial
experiment. Happily for suffering humanity, in the early summer
of 1796 the opportunity came; the hour and the man were there
together.
Cowpox had broken out on a farm near Berkeley and a dairy maid
called Sarah Neames contracted the disease. On May 14, 1796,
Dr. Jenner took some fluid from a sore on this woman's hand and
inoculated it by slight scratching into the arm of a healthy
boy eight years old, by name James Phipps. The boy had the
usual "reaction" or attack of vaccinia, a disorder
indistinguishable from the mildest form of smallpox. After an
interval of six weeks, on July 1, Jenner made the most
momentous but justifiable experiment, for he inoculated James
Phipps with smallpox by lymph taken from a sore on a case of
genuine, well-marked, human smallpox, AND THE BOY DID NOT TAKE
THE DISEASE AT ALL. Jenner waited till the nineteenth of the
month, and finding that the boy had still not developed
variola, he could hardly write for joy. "Listen," he wrote to
Gardner, "to the most delightful part of my story. The boy has
since been inoculated for the smallpox which, aS I VERNTURED TO
PREDICT, produced no effect. I shall now pursue my experiments
with redoubled ardor."
Here we are behind the scenes at a great discovery; "as I
ventured to predict"; prediction is part of scientific
theorizing; there is a place for legitimate prediction as there
is for experimentation. All discoverers have made predictions;
Harvey predicted the existence of the capillaries, Halley
predicted the return of his comet, Adams predicted the place of
the planet Neptune, the missing link in the evolutionary series
of the fossil horses had been predicted long before it was
actually found by Professor Marsh. Pasteur predicted that the
sheep inoculated with the weak anthrax virus would be alive in
the anthrax-infected field, while those not so protected would
all be dead. A prediction verified is a conclusion
corroborated, an investigator encouraged.
Early in 1797, through another outbreak of cowpox, Jenner was
able to inoculate three persons with variola, only to find as
before that they were immune from smallpox. He now felt himself
justified in preparing a paper for the Royal Society, the
highest scientific tribunal in England. The council, however,
returned him his paper with the remark that in their opinion
the amount of evidence was not strong enough to warrant its
publication in the Transactions. Jenner was wise enough not to
be discouraged, and so in June, 1798, he published the paper
himself under the title, "Inquiry into the causes and effects
of the Variolae-Vacciniae, a disease discovered in some of the
western counties of England, particularly Gloucestershire, and
known by the name of cowpox." This historic pamphlet, which
ranks with the great classics of medicine, was dedicated to Dr.
O. H. Parry, of Bath. Later on the Royal Society was sagacious
enough to elect the very man whose paper it had previously
refused.
While in London attending to the publication of his pamphlet,
Dr. Jenner called on the great surgeon Mr. Cline, and left some
cowpox virus with him for trial. Cline inoculated a young
tubercular patient with vaccinia and later with smallpox in no
less than three places. In due time this patient did not show a
sign of smallpox. So impressed was Cline with this remarkable
result that he wrote to Jenner thus: "I think the substitution
of cowpox poison for smallpox one of the greatest improvements
that has ever been made in medicine. The more I think on the
subject, the more I am impressed with its importance."
The word "vaccination" was coined by the French, so remarkable
for the aptness of their descriptive terms, and it has ever
since remained with us as a convenient expression for the
inoculation of vaccinia as protecting from variola.[4]
[4] It is certainly not necessary to point out that the
principle of vaccination has been one of wide application in
modern medicine. Our word "vaccine" testifies to this. A
vaccine is a liquid, the result of bacterial growth, injected
into a patient in order to render him immune from that
particular disease which is caused by sufficient infection with
the microorganisms in question, e. g., of typhoid fever or of
plague.
Dr. Jenner's views were now becoming known, and the critics and
the doubters had appeared: St. Thomas has always had a large
following. The most formidable of the early objectors was Dr.
Igenhouz, who had come to London to study inoculation for
variola, and had already inoculated, among other notable
persons, the Archduchess Theresa Elizabeth of Vienna. The
careless vaccinations of Doctors Pearson and Woodville at the
London Smallpox Hospital brought much apparent discredit on
Jenner's work. In all his early work Jenner used lymph obtained
directly from papules on the cow or calf, but Woodville in 1799
showed that excellent results could be got from arm-to-arm
vaccination. As this latter method is a very convenient one,
the technique was widely adopted. We have to remember that we
are speaking of a period about sixty years before Lister gave
to suffering humanity that other great gift, antisepsis: and so
many arms "went wrong," not because of being vaccinated, but
because the scratches were afterwards infected by the
microorganisms of dirt. Jenner knew well the difference between
the reaction of clean vaccination and that of an infected arm,
but a great many medical men of his time did not, and so he was
constantly plagued with reports of vaccinations "going wrong"
when it was septic infection of uncleansed skin that had
occurred. The explanation of these things by letter consumed a
very great deal of his valuable time. By the end of 1799 a
large number of persons had, however, been successfully
vaccinated. As one Pearson proved troublesome by starting an
institution for public vaccination on principles which Jenner
knew to be wrong, and as Jenner found himself virtually
supplanted and misrepresented, he came up to London in 1800 to
vindicate his position. The King, the Queen and the Prince of
Wales, to whom he was presented, materially helped on the cause
by countenancing the practice of vaccination. Lord Berkeley,
his Lord of the Manor, was in this as in all things a kind and
wise patron. In the United States of America vaccination made
rapid progress, having been introduced there under the good
auspices of Dr. Waterhouse, professor of medicine at Cambridge,
Mass. The discovery was announced with true American
informality as "Something curious in the medical line," on
March 12, 1799.
Things went even better on the continent of Europe; deCarro, of
Vienna, inaugurated vaccination with such zeal and
discrimination that it spread to Switzerland, France, Italy and
Spain. From Spain it passed over to Latin America. In Sicily
and Naples, "the blessed vaccine" was received by religious
processions. Sacco, of Milan, commenced vaccinating in 1801,
and in a few years had vaccinated 20,000. In Paris, a Vaccine
Institute was established; and Napoleon ordered all his
soldiers who had not had smallpox to be vaccinated. On Jenner's
application, the Emperor liberated several English prisoners
remarking--"What that man asks is not to be refused." Napoleon
voted 100,000 francs for the propagation of vaccination. Lord
Elgin introduced it into Turkey and Greece. The Empress of
Russia, Catherine II., was one of the greatest supporters of
Jennerian vaccination. She decreed that the first child
vaccinated in Russia should be called "Vaccinoff," should be
conveyed to Petrograd in an imperial coach, educated at the
expense of the state and receive a pension for life. The
Emperor of Austria and the King of Spain released English
prisoners at Jenner's request. There were statues of Jenner
erected abroad, at Boulogne and at Brunn, in Moravia, before
any in England. Thus the European countries showed their
gratitude to the Englishman whose patience, genius and absence
of self-seeking had rid them of the detestable world-plague of
smallpox. Vaccination was made compulsory by law in no less
than five European countries before it was so in the United
Kingdom in 1853. In eight countries vaccination is provided
free at the expense of the government. The clergy of Geneva and
of Holland from their pulpits recommended their people to be
vaccinated. In Germany, Jenner's birthday (May 17) was
celebrated as a holiday. Within six years, Jenner's gift to
humanity had been accepted with that readiness with which the
drowning clutch at straws. The most diverse climes, races,
tongues and religions were united in blessing vaccination and
its discoverer. The North American Indians forwarded to Dr.
Jenner a quaintly worded address full of the deepest gratitude
for what he had saved them from: "We shall not fail," said
these simple people, "to teach our children to speak the name
of Jenner, and to thank the Great Spirit for bestowing upon him
so much wisdom and so much benevolence."
There are two allusions to smallpox in "Don Juan," which was
published in 1819, showing to what an extent Jennerian
teachings were in the air. The first is:
The doctor paid off an old pox
By borrowing a new one from an ox.
(Canto I., stanza 129.)
The second is:
I said the smallpox has gone out of late,
Perhaps it may be followed by the great.
(Stanza 130.)
Before 1812, Jenner had been made an honorary member of nearly
every scientific society in Europe, and had received the
freedom of the cities of London, Edinburgh, Dublin and Glasgow.
The Medical Society of London presented him with a gold medal
struck in his honor; in Berlin in 1812 there was a Jennerian
festival on the anniversary of Phipps's vaccination. Addresses
and diplomas were showered on him, and in 1813 the University
of Oxford conferred on him the degree of M.D. honoris causa. As
he refused point blank to pass the examination in Latin and
Greek required by the Royal College of Physicians of London,
Jenner never obtained admission into that learned body. When
some one recommended him to revise his classics so that he
might become an F.R.C.P. he replied, "I would not do it for a
diadem"; and then, thinking of a far better reward, added: "I
would not do it for John Hunter's museum."
But while the pure in heart were thus receiving the blessing
offered them by the benovelent man of science, the pests of
society, those discontented and jaundiced ones who are always
to be found in the dark recesses of the cave of Adullam, were
not idle. Many of his medical colleagues did indeed sneer, as
some are always apt to do at any new thing however good. To all
these Jenner replied, and a very great deal of his valuable
time was consumed in arguing with them. But the sect of the
anti-vaccinators had arisen, and was to some extent organized.
Caricatures, lampoons, scurrilities, vulgarities and
misrepresentations, the mean, were scattered on all sides.
Nothing was too absurd to be stated or believed--that
vaccinated persons had their faces grow like oxen, that they
coughed like cows, bellowed like bulls and became hairy on the
body. One omniscient objector declared that, "vaccination was
the most degrading relapse of philosophy that had ever
disgraced the civilized world." A Dr. Rowley, evidently
imagining himself honored by a special participation in the
Divine counsels, declared that "smallpox is a visitation from
God, but cowpox is produced by presumptuous man. The former was
what Heaven had ordained, the latter is a daring violation of
our holy religion." It was rather hard to blame Dr. Jenner for
the origin of cowpox. It took much forbearance to endure this
sort of thing; but Jenner's was a first-class mind and he
evidently dealt leniently even with fools. It was not for the
first time in the world's history that a lover of mankind had
been spurned with the words--"He hath a devil and is mad."
Besides enduring all these mental and physical worries, and the
annoyance that the Royal Jennerian Society established in 1802
was so mismanaged that it collapsed in 1808, Jenner had spent a
very large sum of private money on the introduction of
vaccination. He had been, as he himself expressed it, "Vaccine
clerk to the whole world." Parliament, it is true, in 1801,
voted him a sum of 10,000 pounds which was not paid for three
years afterwards and was diminished by 1,000 pounds deducted
for fees, so that it barely recompensed him for his outlays. By
1806, the immensity of the benefit conferred upon his diseased
fellow-creatures having been recognized more perfectly in every
other country than his own, the British Parliament woke up, and
voted him a sum of 20,000 pounds, only one member representing
the anti-vaccinators opposing the grant. Parliament, which had
previously received from the Colleges of Physicians of London,
Edinburgh and Dublin the most favorable reports of the efficacy
of vaccination, decided to reestablish the Royal Jennerian
Institute. A subscription of 7,383 pounds from grateful India
reached Jenner in 1812. In 1814 he was in London for the last
time, when he was presented to the Emperor of Russia, Alexander
I., who told him that he had very nearly subdued smallpox
throughout that vast Empire. Jenner refused a Russian order on
the ground that he was not a man of independent means.
The management of the Institute caused him much concern in his
later years; he disapproved of the personnel and of many of the
details of its working. One of the last worries of his life was
an article in the November number for 1822 of the famous
Edinburgh Review. Although it contained a good deal of praise,
it was not favorable to Jenner, who said of it, "I put it down
at 100,000 deaths at least." I have ascertained that this
article was not written by the celebrated Francis Jeffrey,
although he was editor of the Review until 1829.
Jenner's life, apart from his great discovery and his
developing the practice of vaccination, has not much incident
in it. He was born on May 17, 1749, the son of the Rev. Stephen
Jenner, vicar of Berkeley, Gloucestershire, England, the same
Berkeley in whose castle, Edward II., the vanquished at
Banockburn, was murdered in 1327. Jenner's mother's name was
Head. Edward went to school at Wotton-under-Edge and at
Cirencester, and began to study medicine with a Mr. Ludlow, a
surgeon at Sodbury near Bristol. In his twenty-first year,
Jenner went to London as a pupil of the great John Hunter, in
whose house, he lived two years, during which time he was
entered as a medical student at St. George's Hospital. It is
interesting to know that while still a student he was asked by
Sir Joseph Banks to arrange and catalogue the zoological
specimens brought home by the circumnavigator Captain Cook in
his first voyage of 1771. Jenner devoted considerable attention
to natural history, to geology and to the study of fossils, on
which topics he kept up correspondence with Hunter long after
he left London. In the year 1788 he married a Miss Kingscote,
and settled down to practice in his native place. Mrs. Jenner
died in 1815, after which date Jenner never left Berkeley
again.
Curiously enough, it was not until 1792 that Jenner obtained
the degree of M.D., and it was not from an English university
at all, but from the University of St. Andrews in Scotland.
This university, the smallest although the oldest of the
Scottish universities, has therefore the honor of being the
Alma Mater to the epoch-making Englishman. I have seen the
entry of the name in the list of graduates for the year 1792;
it has evidently been misspelled, for the name is corrected.
The first foreign university to recognize Jenner's eminence was
Gottingen. In 1794 Jenner had an attack of typhus fever. Jenner
never cared for London or a city life, and although in 1808 he
was persuaded to take a house in town, he soon gave it up and
went back to his beautiful Gloucestershire. For many years he
practiced during the season in the pleasant health-resort of
Cheltenham. He loved the country, he studied lovingly the
living things around him there: many are familiar with a piece
of verse he wrote on "The signs of rain."
The year 1810 was a sad one for Jenner: his eldest son died,
and that noticeably depressed his health. In 1823 he presented
a paper to the Royal Society on the migration of birds, a
subject not even yet fully cleared up. On January 26, in the
same year, he was stricken with paralysis on the right side and
died within twenty-four hours. His body was buried in the
chancel of the parish church of Berkeley, where there is a
memorial window placed by public subscription. In person,
Edward Jenner was short and rather heavily built; his
expression of face was pleasant with a touch of sadness. All
reports agree that in dress he was conspicuously neat, looking
more like a gentleman-farmer than a physician, with his blue
coat, yellow buttons, red waistcoat, buff breeches and
top-boots.[5]
[5] He was painted by Sir Thomas Lawrence, by Northcote and by
Vigneron.
There is no disguising the fact that during his lifetime Dr.
Jenner was much more appreciated in foreign countries than in
England. The medico-social club of Alverton, near where he
lived, would not listen to him when he addressed them on
vaccination. The effort to collect enough money from the
medical men of England in order to place a marble statue to
Jenner in the nave of Gloucester Cathedral, was successful only
after a long delay. An attempt to erect a statue in London died
of apathy; but in 1858, 32 years after he died, a statue was
erected in Trafalgar Square. In 1862 it was removed to a quiet
corner of Kensington gardens; and perhaps its surroundings, the
trees, the flowers and the birds he loved are more suitable
than the effigies of those national heroes who served their
country by taking, not by saving life. No, Nelson the hero is
hardly the suitable companion for Jenner the hero.
There is no doubt that Jenner's medical contemporaries, at
least in England, failed to appreciate the magnitude of the
gift their colleague had presented not merely to his own
country, but to the world at large. The discovery had, of
course, been led up to by several different lines of
indication, but this in no way detracts from the genius of
Jenner in drawing his memorable inductions from the few facts
which others had known before his time. The fame of Newton is
no whit diminished because Copernicus, Kepler and Galileo lived
and worked before him, the credit due to Harvey is none the
less because many before his time had worked on the problem of
the heart and vessels, and because some of them, notably
Cesalpinus, came within a very little of the discovery of the
circulation; the achievements of Darwin are not to be belittled
because Lamarck, Malthus or Monboddo had notions in accordance
with the tenor of his great generalization of evolution among
living beings. Certainly Jenner had precursors; but it was his
genius and his genius alone which, putting together the various
fragments of knowledge already possessed, gave us the grand but
simple induction based on his own experiments that vaccinia
prevents from variola. It was too simple and too new to be
appreciated in all its bearings either by the medical men or
the laity of his own day. Its impressiveness is not inherent in
it, as it is in the mathematical demonstration of universal
gravitation, as it is in the atomic theory or in that of the
survival of the fittest through natural selection. The English
country doctor merely said in essence--"let me give you cowpox
and you will not get smallpox." Unless the fact of this
immunity is regarded as possessed by all the nations of the
world for ever more there is nothing particularly impressive in
it; and so it failed to impress his contemporaries. It is only
when we contrast the loathsomeness and danger of smallpox with
the mildness and safety of vaccinia and varioloid that we grasp
the greatness of the work which Jenner did for mankind. The
very simplicity of vaccination detracts from its impressiveness
unless its results are viewed through the vista of the
centuries. We need the proper historical perspective in this as
in all else. Thus viewed, however, the simplicity of the
procedure and the universality of its application are most
imposing. Vaccination does not, indeed, dazzle the scientific
imagination like some of the other generalizations of biology,
but it is one that has been gloriously vindicated by the
subsequent history of the world's hygiene.
Jenner knew himself to be a benefactor of the human race; he
would have been insincere if he had pretended otherwise; he
finished his first paper with these words: "I shall endeavor
still farther to prosecute this enquiry, an enquiry, I trust,
not merely speculative, but of sufficient moment to inspire the
pleasing hope of its becoming essentially useful to mankind";
and on his death-bed he said, "I do not marvel that men are not
grateful to me, but I am surprised that they do not feel
grateful to God for making me a medium of good."
In private life Dr. Jenner was amiable and kind-hearted. Dibden
said of him: "I never knew a man of simpler mind or of warmer
heart." He was particularly kind to the poor. Dr. Matthew
Baillie said of him: "Jenner might have been immensely rich if
he had not published his discovery."
We may in conclusion examine some of the objections to and
criticisms of vaccination. The objections can be classified as
those entertained (a) by medical men and (b) those by the
public generally.
The objections raised by medical men are now a matter of
ancient history. Each generation of medical men has refused at
first to admit any new teaching promulgated in its time;
physiological inertia is not at once overcome. The most
enlightened of Jenner's critics did really believe that he was
drawing too extensive an induction from insufficient data; this
was the position of the Royal Society in 1788; but the
Edinburgh reviewer of 1822 should have known better. The purely
technical criticisms of Jenner's work have by this time been
fully assessed and replied to. It is true that at one time it
was not clear what were the relationships of chickenpox and
smallpox, of vaccinia and variola, of vaccinia and varioloid,
of the various forms of pox in animals--cowpox, swinepox,
horsepox or grease--either inter se or to human smallpox. But I
do not suppose that in this year of grace 1914 there can be
found one properly trained medical man, acquainted with the
history of Jennerian vaccination, familiar with the ravages of
smallpox and with the protective power of vaccinia, who could
be induced, by no matter how large a bribe, to say that he
disapproved of vaccination or that he believed it did not
protect from smallpox. There are cranks in all walks of life,
but the medical crank who is also an anti-vaccinationist is
happily the rarest of them all.
The lay objectors--the professed anti-vaccinators--are with us
yet in spite of some very serious lessons which have been
taught them. We may pass by the objectors of the class who
believe that vaccinated persons cough like cows and bellow like
bulls; these objections go into the limbo of old wives' fables
or into the category of wilful misrepresentation. Unfortunately
there is a large class of persons who can believe the absurdest
nonsense about any subject which is particularly distasteful to
them.[6] Another class of objection is the sentimental
repugnance to the idea of being given one of the diseases of
"the lower animals." Now the fact is that already we share a
great many diseases with the lower animals, a few of them being
tuberculosis, anthrax, rabies, tetanus, cancer,
pleuro-pneumonia, certain insect-borne diseases, some parasitic
worm diseases and some skin diseases like favus. As the
knowledge of the lowly origin of many of our diseases is more
widespread, this sort of objection will die out.
[6] Antivaccinators constantly allude to calf-lymph as "filth";
if lymph is filth, then I am able to assure them that each one
of them has about three liters of it in his own body.
An objection which is worthy of more consideration is that in
being vaccinated a child is apt to contract some infectious
disease such as tuberculosis or syphilis which are the two most
dreaded. Now so long as arm-to-arm vaccination was the routine
practice, there was a remote probability that this sort of
accident might occur. It appears to be true that a few
accidents of this kind have occurred, just as a few arms have
become septic or had erysipelas develop in them. But when the
few such cases are compared with the millions and millions of
uncomplicated vaccinations, their importance becomes very
insignificant. Now that arm-to-arm vaccination is no longer
practiced, but fresh calf-lymph used for each child, these
accidental inoculations are a thing of the past. The ignorance
of cause and effect is responsible for a great deal of the most
childish objections to vaccination as to much else. One woman
lately told me that she could not have her child vaccinated
because a child in the same street was made a cripple for life
by being vaccinated. Could we have a better example of the
"post hoc sed non propter hoc."[7]
[7] Now and again, however, we have the sad spectacle of some
one really well educated but apparently either ignorant of
logic or desirous of wilfully misrepresenting facts. The Hon.
Stephen Coleridge has an article in the June (1914) number of
the Contemporary Review which is, to say the least of it,
highly immoral in ethics and statistics.
I shall examine only that part of it bearing on vaccination.
The statements are that in the last five recorded years, 58
persons died from smallpox vaccination (he means vaccination
against smallpox), whereas in the same five years, 85 persons
died from smallpox itself. The inference we are intended to
draw from these figures is that to be vaccinated is nearly as
fatal as to have smallpox itself.
Now this kind of argument is a very common one with
statistically immoral persons, and is known as the suppression
of the ratio. Before we can appreciate the fact that in five
years 58 persons died after being vaccinated, we at least need
to know the total number of persons who were vaccinated. If
only 58 persons were vaccinated and they all died, then the
mortality was 100 per cent., but if, as was practically the
case, thousands of infants in Great Britain were vaccinated in
five years, then if only 58 died after vaccination (although
not necessarily in consequence of it) the mortality falls some
thousands of a per cent. The suppression of the ratio, i. e.,
58/many thousands is the deceit that is practiced.
Fifty-eight per year for five years, is 11.6 deaths per year of
persons vaccinated: presumably these were infants: taking the
birth-rate in England as 30 per 1,000 living, we may say that
900,000 infants were born; deduct 100,000 as not vaccinated, we
have 800,000 infants vaccinated, of these 11.6 died after being
vaccinated, which is 0.0014 per cent. This is not much of a
mortality from any cause; but using Mr. Coleridge's own
figures, it is a splendid demonstration of the safety of
infant-vaccination, the opposite of what he pretends it shows.
Mr. Coleridge proceeds to tell us that in five years 85 persons
died of smallpox in Great Britain, i. e., an average of 17
persons per year. In other words 17 persons died of smallpox in
a country with 30 million inhabitants, or 0.000056 per cent. of
persons living, not a high mortality. And we strongly suspect,
may we hope, that those 17 were persons who had not been
vaccinated.
But in Pre-Jennerian days, 17 persons died of smallpox out of
every 100 persons dying from all causes.
Mr. Coleridge's figures, properly and honestly interpreted,
testify loudly to conclusions exactly the opposite of what he
desires to insinuate; he has no doubt taken the statistics of
the Registrar-General, but he has prostituted them.
Mr. Coleridge's paper could not be a better example of the art
of concealing the causes of phenomena.
He exhibits the following table:
Deaths from smallpox per annum per a million living:
1862-1870 ................................. 172.2
1871-1880 ................................. 244.6
1881-1890 ................................. 45.8
1891-1900 ................................. 13.3
1901-1910 ................................. 12.8
So that the table shows that since 1880 in Great Britain the
deaths from smallpox per million per year have declined until
they are only about 1/14th of their original number.
The natural inference from these figures, viewed in the light
of the history of smallpox in Great Britain, is that compulsory
vaccination has been steadily eradicating the disease; but this
is not Mr. Coleridge's conclusion: He says it is due to the
large number of persons who have refused to be vaccinated! This
would be laughable if it were not really serious; it is sad and
serious that a man of Mr. Coleridge's education and social
position should so consistently mislead the uncritical readers
of the Contemporary Review to whose pages he has unfortunately
very free access. If Mr. Coleridge really believes these things
he is either very stupid or very ignorant; if he knows them to
be otherwise, but wilfully deceives the public, he is immoral.
He suffers from the worst form of bias, the anti-scientific.
{the end of long footnote}
There is still that group of persons who object to
everything--anti-vivisection, anti-meat eating, anti-breakfast,
anti-hats and of course also anti-vaccination. They are anti
the usual and the normal that are quite good enough for the
most of people. They generally also believe that the earth is
flat; they are past praying for, all we can do with them is to
look them, like the difficulty of Jonah and the whale, "full in
the face and pass on."
Many people at the present time allow themselves to be
persuaded into being anti-vaccinators because neither they nor
their deluders have ever known what an epidemic of smallpox is,
have never seen with their own eyes the awful spectacle of a
person suffering from smallpox in any of its forms--discrete,
confluent or hemorrhagic. Thanks to this very Jenner, the world
has now for 100 years been almost free from epidemic, virulent
smallpox and most perfectly so in the vaccinated countries, so
that millions, the majority, of Englishmen, have never seen a
case of smallpox at all. Not knowing the awful danger they have
escaped, through Great Britain having had compulsory
vaccination since 1853, they have become lax in their belief in
the necessity for the continuance of that precaution. "They
jest at scars that never felt a wound." Towns such as
Gloucester in England, in which a large number of children have
been allowed to grow up unvaccinated, have always been visited
sooner or later by a serious outbreak of smallpox. It must be
so; the laws of natural phenomena can not be changed to suit
the taste of those persons who are mentally incapable of
understanding them. They can not be evaded; ignorance of the
law is no more an excuse in the realm of natural than of
man-made law.
We now come to that undesirable product of present-day,
grandmotherly legislation, the conscientious objector. As I am
not a politician, I shall not say anything for or against the
policy of inserting in a bill which makes vaccination
compulsory a clause giving to the conscientious objector the
power or right to refuse to have his child vaccinated, but as a
medical man who knows a little of the history of medicine, I
can only describe it as gratuitous folly. I am one of those who
believe that the laity should have no say in the matter of
whether any given procedure is or is not advantageous for the
public health. The efficacy of universal inoculation of
vaccinia as a prophylactic against variola is a question of
scientific medicine to be decided on technical grounds and
ought not to be a matter open to debate by the public at all.
It is perfectly monstrous to suppose that the ordinary person,
quite untrained to weigh evidence for or against the
advisability of the carrying out of a particular form of
national immunization against a horrid disease, is qualified to
form any opinion. He might as well be consulted on the
advisability of making the channel tunnel or on the safest type
of aeroplane or on any other subject involving the technical
training of the engineer. To permit the so-called "man in the
street" to say whether he shall or shall not permit the
carrying out of some important piece of civic hygiene is to
introduce a principle subversive of all system and obstructive
of all progress in the science of public health. It is absurd
that in a case like this the pronouncements of the judges are
to be submitted to the criticisms of the jury. England has
already had one or two pretty severe lessons through allowing
such places as Gloucester and Leicester to exercise their right
of private judgment on the question of vaccination. In
Gloucester where there was at one time a vigorous
anti-vaccination movement, a serious epidemic overtook the city
a few years ago (1896). What science pronounces to be
beneficial, the layman must submit to. What we want in these
days is less superstition and more faith--in science. I am
informed that there are more than 2,000 unvaccinated children
in the schools of this city at the present moment, and all
because a piece of legislation allows any unintelligent,
prejudiced or credulous parent to decide on the momentous
question of the vaccination of his children.
Our quarantine regulations are extremely strict, and rightly
so, on the subject of smallpox; but is it not a farce to take
so much trouble about the health of our immigrants when inside
the city we are all the time encouraging a high degree of
receptivity towards this very disease? I should call this a
very clear case of straining at the international gnat and
swallowing the municipal camel. The community at present is at
the mercy of its least instructed members. A most sensible
suggestion is that if an outbreak of smallpox occurs in
Halifax, the cost of it should be borne by the unvaccinated and
by the anti-vaccinators. The fact is we have forgotten what
smallpox is like. In 1796 before Jennerian vaccination, the
death-rate from smallpox in England was 18.5 per cent. of
deaths from all causes; in London between 1838 and 1869 it was
1.4 per cent., while in 1871--the worst year for smallpox since
vaccination became compulsory--the deaths from smallpox were
barely 4.5 per cent. of deaths from all causes, a proportion
which was exceeded 93 times in the eighteenth century. At the
present moment the deaths from smallpox in London constitute a
little under 0.24 per cent. of deaths from all causes, or 77
times less than in pre-Jennerian times.
According to MacVail, in the pre-vaccination period smallpox
was nine times as fatal as measles and seven and one half times
as fatal as whooping cough. To-day in the vaccinated community
its fatality is negligable, in the unvaccinated it is as high
as it was in the Middle Ages. In the city of Berlin, where
vaccination is absolutely compulsory, there is no smallpox
hospital at all; the cases of smallpox in that city being only
a few unvaccinated foreigners. In 1912 the deaths in New York
City were as follow: 671 from measles, 614 from scarlatina, 500
from typhoid fever, 187 from whooping cough and 2 from
smallpox.
In London there were in 48 years of the seventeenth century no
less than 10 epidemics of smallpox; in the whole of the
eighteenth, 19; and in the nineteenth no epidemic at all during
which smallpox was responsible for more than one tenth of the
deaths from all causes in any one year.
In Sweden, the highest death-rate before vaccination was 7.23
per 1,000 persons, the lowest 0.30; under permissive
vaccination the highest was 2.57, the lowest 0.12; under
compulsory vaccination the highest was 0.94, the lowest 0.0005.
It is so frequently said that the disappearance of smallpox is
due not to vaccination, but to improved general hygiene, that
we must look into this criticism with some care. In the first
place, a large diminution in the mortality from smallpox
occurred before there was any great change in the unsanitary
conditions of the English towns, before there was any enforcing
of the isolation of patients either in hospitals or in their
own homes. Since the introduction of vaccination, measles and
whooping cough still remain in the status quo ante, while
smallpox has been exterminated in all fully vaccinated
communities, these two diseases of children are as prevalent as
ever in England even although the general sanitary conditions
have been immensely improved in that country. Of course the
effects of vaccination wear out in time, and that is why it is
well to be revaccinated once or twice. Now there has been a
remarkable progressive change in the age-incidence of smallpox
"which can only be explained," says Dr. Newsholme, "on the
assumption that vaccination protects children from smallpox and
that the protection diminishes, though it never entirely
disappears, as age advances.
The "conscience clause" should be immediately removed from the
act in which it was inserted on the grounds that it is weak and
reactionary in principle, not in the interests of the
development of the legislative aspect of the science of public
health, and that it permits in certain unintelligent
communities quite a considerable number of unvaccinated
children to grow up as a permanent menace to their town and
district.
When the history of medicine becomes more widely known, when
the principles of prophylactic inoculation are more generally
understood, when respect for science is the rule rather than
the exception, when great achievements in the saving rather
than the destroying of life are objects of national veneration,
then we may hope to see the day when it will be unhesitatingly
admitted that the discovery by Dr. Edward Jenner, the
Englishman, was one of the most momentous in the history of the
human race, and that his life was one of the noblest, most
unselfish and, in its far-reaching effects, most important that
has ever been lived on this planet.
THE VALUE OF INDUSTRIAL RESEARCH
BY W. A. HAMOR
MELLON INSTITUTE OF INDUSTRIAL RESEARCH, UNIVERSITY OF
PITTSBURGH
THE aim of all industrial operations is toward perfection, both
in process and mechanical equipment, and every development in
manufacturing creates new problems. It is only to be expected,
therefore, that the industrial researcher is becoming less and
less regarded as a burden unwarranted by returns.
Industrialists have, in fact, learned to recognize chemistry as
the intelligence department of industry, and manufacturing is
accordingly becoming more and more a system of scientific
processes. The accruement of technical improvements in
particularly the great chemical industry is primarily dependent
upon systematic industrial research, and this is being
increasingly fostered by American manufacturers.
Ten thousand American chemists are at present engaged in
pursuits which affect over 1,000,000 wage-earners and produce
over $5,000,000,000 worth of manufactured products each year.
These trained men have actively and effectively collaborated in
bringing about stupendous results in American industry. There
are, in fact, at least nineteen American industries in which
the chemist has been of great assistance, either in founding
the industry, in developing it, or in refining the methods of
control or of manufacture, thus ensuring profits, lower costs
and uniform outputs.
At the recent symposium on the contributions of the chemist to
American industries, at the fiftieth meeting of the American
Chemical Society in New Orleans, the industrial achievements of
that scientific scout, the chemist, were brought out
clearly.[1]
[1] In this connection, see Hesse, J. Ind. Eng. Chem., 7
(1915), 293.
The chemist has made the wine industry reasonably independent
of climatic conditions; he has enabled it to produce
substantially the same wine, year in and year out, no matter
what the weather; he has reduced the spoilage from 25 per cent.
to 0.46 per cent. of the total; he has increased the shipping
radius of the goods and has made preservatives unnecessary. In
the copper industry he has learned and has taught how to make
operations so constant and so continuous that in the
manufacture of blister copper valuations are less than $1.00
apart on every $10,000 worth of product and in refined copper
the valuations of the product do not differ by more than $1.00
in every $50,000 worth of product. The quality of output is
maintained constant within microscopic differences. Without the
chemist the corn-products industry would never have arisen and
in 1914 this industry consumed as much corn as was grown in
that year by the nine states of Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont,
Massachusetts, Rhode Island, Connecticut, New York, New Jersey
and Delaware combined; this amount is equal to the entire
production of the state of North Carolina and about 80 per
cent. of the production of each of the states of Georgia,
Michigan and Wisconsin; the chemist has produced over 100
useful commercial products from corn, which, without him, would
never have been produced. In the asphalt industry the chemist
has taught how to lay a road surface that will always be good,
and he has learned and taught how to construct a suitable road
surface for different conditions of service. In the cottonseed
oil industry, the chemist standardized methods of production,
reduced losses, increased yields, made new use of wastes and
by-products, and has added somewhere between $10 and $12 to the
value of each bale of cotton grown. In the cement industry, the
chemist has ascertained new ingredients, has utilized
theretofore waste products for this purpose, has reduced the
waste heaps of many industries and made them his starting
material; he has standardized methods of manufacture,
introduced methods of chemical control and has insured
constancy and permanency of quality and quantity of output. In
the sugar industry, the chemist has been active for so long a
time that "the memory of man runneth not to the contrary." The
sugar industry without the chemist is unthinkable. The Welsbach
mantle is distinctly a chemist's invention and its successful
and economical manufacture depends largely upon chemical
methods. It would be difficult to give a just estimate of the
economic effect of this device upon illumination, so great and
valuable is it. In the textile industry, he has substituted
uniform, rational, well-thought out and simple methods of
treatment of all the various textile fabrics and fibers where
mystery, empiricism, "rule-of-thumb" and their accompanying
uncertainties reigned. In the fertilizer industry, it was the
chemist who learned and who taught how to make our immense beds
of phosphate rock useful and serviceable to man in the
enrichment of the soil; he has taught how to make waste
products of other industries useful and available for
fertilization and he has shown how to make the gas works
contribute to the fertility of the soil. In the soda industry,
the chemist can successfully claim that he has founded it,
developed it and brought it to its present state of perfection
and utility, but not without the help of other technical men;
the fundamental ideas were and are chemical. In the leather
industry, the chemist has given us all of the modern methods of
mineral tanning, and without them the modern leather industry
is unthinkable. In the case of vegetable-tanned leather he has
also stepped in, standardized the quality of incoming material
and of outgoing product. In the flour industry the chemist has
learned and taught how to select the proper grain for specific
purposes, to standardize the product, and how to make flour
available for certain specific culinary and food purposes. In
the brewing industry, the chemist has standardized the methods
of determining the quality of incoming material and of outgoing
products, and has assisted in the development of a product of a
quality far beyond that obtaining prior to his entry into that
industry. In the preservation of foods, the chemist made the
fundamental discoveries; up to twenty years ago, however, he
took little or no part in the commercial operations, but now is
almost indispensable to commercial success. In the water supply
of cities, the chemist has put certainty in the place of
uncertainty; he has learned and has shown how, by chemical
methods of treatment and control, raw water of varying quality
can be made to yield potable water of substantially uniform
composition and quality. The celluloid industry and the
nitro-cellulose industry owe their very existence and much of
their development to the chemist. In the glass industry the
chemist has learned and taught how to prepare glasses suitable
for the widest ranges of uses and to control the quality and
quantity of the output. In the pulp and paper industry, the
chemist made the fundamental observations, inventions and
operations and to-day he is in control of all the operations of
the plant itself; to the chemist also is due the cheap
production of many of the materials entering into this
industry, as well as the increased and expanding market for the
product itself.
Sufficient has been presented to show that certain industries
of the United States have been elevated by an infusion of
scientific spirit through the medium of the chemist, and that
manufacturing, at one time entirely a matter of empirical
judgment and individual skill, is more and more becoming a
system of scientific processes. The result is that American
manufacturers are growing increasingly appreciative of
scientific research, and are depending upon industrial
researchers--"those who catalyze raw materials by brains"--as
their pathfinders. It is now appropriate to consider just how
industrialists are taking advantage of the universities and the
products of these.
THE METHODS EMPLOYED IN THE ATTACK OF INDUSTRIAL PROBLEMS[2]
[2] See also Bacon, Science, N. S., 40 (1914), 871.
When an industry has problems requiring solution, these
problems can be attacked either inside or outside of the plant.
If the policy of the industrialist is that all problems are to
be investigated only within the establishment, a research
laboratory must be provided for the plant or for the company.
At present, in the United States, probably not more than one
hundred chemical manufacturing establishments have research
laboratories or employ research chemists, although at least
five companies are spending over $100,000 per year in research.
In Germany, and perhaps also in England, such research
laboratories in connection with chemical industries have been
much more common. The great laboratories of the Badische Anilin
und Soda Fabrik and of the Elberfeld Company are striking
examples of the importance attached to such research work in
Germany, and it would be difficult to adduce any stronger
argument in support of its value than the marvelous
achievements of these great firms.
A frequent difficulty encountered in the employment of
researchers or in the establishment of a research laboratory,
is that many manufacturers have been unable to grasp the
importance of such work, or know how to treat the men in charge
so as to secure the best results. The industrialist may not
even fully understand just what is the cause of his
manufacturing losses or to whom to turn for aid. If he
eventually engages a researcher, he is sometimes likely to
regard him as a sort of master of mysteries who should be able
to accomplish wonders, and, if he can not see definite results
in the course of a few months, is occasionally apt to consider
the investment a bad one and to regard researchers, as a class,
as a useless lot. It has not been unusual for the chemist to be
told to remain in his laboratory, and not to go in or about the
works, and he must also face the natural opposition of workmen
to any innovations, and reckon with the jealousies of foremen
and of various officials.
From the standpoint of the manufacturer, one decided advantage
of the policy of having all problems worked out within the
plant is that the results secured are not divulged, but are
stored away in the laboratory archives and become part of the
assets and working capital of the corporation which has paid
for them; and it is usually not until patent applications are
filed that this knowledge, generally only partially and
imperfectly, becomes publicly known. When it is not deemed
necessary to take out patents, such knowledge is often
permanently buried.
In this matter of the dissemination of knowledge concerning
industrial practice, it must be evident to all that there is
but little cooperation between manufacturers and the
universities. Manufacturers, and especially chemical
manufacturers, have been quite naturally opposed to publishing
any discoveries made in their plants, since "knowledge is
power" in manufacturing as elsewhere, and new knowledge gained
in the laboratories of a company may often very properly be
regarded as among the most valuable assets of the concern. The
universities and the scientific societies, on the other hand,
exist for the diffusion of knowledge, and from their standpoint
the great disadvantage of the above policy is this concealment
of knowledge, for it results in a serious retardation of the
general growth and development of science in its broader
aspects, and renders it much more difficult for the
universities to train men properly for such industries, since
all the text-books and general knowledge available would in all
probability be far behind the actual manufacturing practice.
Fortunately, the policy of industrial secrecy is becoming more
generally regarded in the light of reason, and there is a
growing inclination among manufacturers to disclose the details
of investigations, which, according to tradition, would be
carefully guarded. These manufacturers appreciate the facts
that public interest in chemical achievements is stimulating to
further fruitful research, that helpful suggestions and
information may come from other investigators upon the
publication of any results, and that the exchange of knowledge
prevents many costly repetitions.
INDUSTRIAL FELLOWSHIPS
If the manufacturer elects to refer his problem to the
university or technical school--and because of the facilities
for research to be had in certain institutions, industrialists
are following this plan in constantly increasing numbers--such
reference may take the form of an industrial fellowship and
much has been said and may be said in favor of these
fellowships. They allow the donor to keep secret for three
years the results secured, after which they may be published
with the donor's permission. They also secure to him patent
rights. They give highly specialized training to properly
qualified men, and often secure for them permanent positions
and shares in the profits of their discoveries. It should be
obvious at the outset that a fellowship of this character can
be successful only when there are close confidential relations
obtaining between the manufacturer and the officer in charge of
the research; for no such cooperation can be really effective
unless based upon a thorough mutual familiarity with the
conditions and an abiding faith in the integrity and sincerity
of purpose of each other. It is likely to prove a poor
investment for a manufacturer to seek the aid of an
investigator if he is unwilling to take such expert into his
confidence and to familiarize him with all the local and other
factors which enter into the problem from a manufacturing
standpoint.
THE MELLON INSTITUTE OF INDUSTRIAL RESEARCH[3]
[3] For a detailed description of the Mellon Institute and its
work, see Bacon and Hamor, J. Ind. Eng. Chem., 7 (1915),
326-48.
According to the system of industrial research in operation at
the Mellon Institute of Industrial Research of the University
of Pittsburgh, which is not, in any sense of the word, a
commercial institution, a manufacturer having a problem
requiring solution may become the donor of a fellowship; the
said manufacturer provides the salary of the researcher
selected to conduct the investigation desired, the institute
furnishing such facilities as are necessary for the conduct of
the work.
The money paid in to found a fellowship is paid over by the
institute in salary to the investigator doing the work. In
every case, this researcher is most carefully selected for the
problem in hand. The institute supplies free laboratory space
and the use of all ordinary chemicals and equipment. The
chemist or engineer who is studying the problem works under the
immediate supervision of men who are thoroughly trained and
experienced in conducting industrial research.
At the present time, the Mellon Institute, which, while an
integral part of the University of Pittsburgh, has its own
endowment, is expending over $150,000 annually for salaries and
maintenance. A manufacturer secures for a small
expenditure--just sufficient to pay the salary of the fellow,
as the man engaged on the investigation is called--all the
benefits of an organization of this size, and many have availed
themselves of the advantages, twenty-eight companies
maintaining fellowships at the present time.
Each fellow has the benefit of the institute's very excellent
apparatus, chemical and library equipment--facilities which are
so essential in modern research; and because of these
opportunities and that of being able to pursue post-graduate
work for higher degrees, it has been demonstrated that a higher
type of researcher can be obtained by the institute for a
certain remuneration than can be generally secured by
manufacturers themselves. There is a scarcity of men gifted
with the genius for research, and it requires much experience
in selecting suitable men and in training them to the desirable
degree of efficiency, after having determined the special
qualities required. Important qualifications in industrial
researchers are keenness, inspiration and confidence; these are
often unconsidered by manufacturers, who in endeavoring to
select, say, a research chemist, are likely to regard every
chemist as a qualified scientific scout.
All researches conducted at the Mellon Institute are surrounded
with the necessary secrecy, and any and all discoveries made by
the fellow during the term of his fellowship become the
property of the donor.
When the Mellon Institute moved into its $350,000 home in
February, 1915, the industrial fellowship system in operation
therein passed out of its experimental stage. During the years
of its development no inherent sign of weakness on the part of
any one of its constituent factors appeared; in fact, the
results of the fellowships have been uniformly successful.
While problems have been presented by companies which, upon
preliminary investigation, have proved to be so difficult as to
be practically impossible of solution, there have been so many
other problems confronting these companies that important ones
were found which lent themselves to solution; and often the
companies did not realize, until after investigations were
started, just what the exact nature of their problems was and
just what improvements and savings could be made in their
manufacturing processes.
Fellowships at the Mellon Institute are constantly increasing
in the amounts subscribed by industrialists for their
maintenance and, as well, in their importance. The renewal,
year after year, of such fellowships, as those on baking,
petroleum and ores, goes to show the confidence which
industrialists have in the Mellon Institute. Again, the large
sums of money which are being spent by companies in bringing
small unit plants to develop the processes which have been
worked out in the laboratory, demonstrate that practical
results are being secured.
Where there have been sympathy and hearty cooperation between
the Mellon Institute and the company concerned, the institute
has been able to push through to a successful conclusion large
scale experiments in the factory of the company, which in the
beginning of the fellowship seemed almost impossible: it may be
said that the results of the fellowships at the Mellon
Institute indicate that a form of service to industry has been
established, the possibilities of which no man can say.
A FEW CLASSIC UNKNOWNS IN MATHEMATICS
BY PROFESSOR G. A. MILLER
UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS
KING HIERO is said to have remarked, in view of the marvelous
mechanical devices of Archimedes, that he would henceforth
doubt nothing that had been asserted by Archimedes. This spirit
of unbounded confidence in those who have exhibited unusual
mathematical ability is still extant. Even our large city
papers sometimes speak of a mathematical genius who could solve
every mathematical problem that was proposed to him. The
numerous unexpected and far-reaching results contained in the
elementary mathematical text-books, and the ease with which the
skilful mathematics teachers often cleared away what appeared
to be great difficulties to the students have filled many with
a kind of awe for unusual mathematical ability.
In recent years the unbounded confidence in mathematical
results has been somewhat shaken by a wave of mathematical
skepticism which gained momentum through some of the popular
writings of H. Poincare and Bertrand Russell. As instances of
expressions which might at first tend to diminish such
confidence we may refer to Poincare's contention that
geometrical axioms are conventions guided by experimental facts
and limited by the necessity to avoid all contradictions, and
to Russell's statement that "mathematics may be defined as the
subject in which we never know what we are talking about nor
whether what we are saying is true."
The mathematical skepticism which such statements may awaken is
usually mitigated by reflection, since it soon appears that
philosophical difficulties abound in all domains of knowledge,
and that mathematical results continue to inspire relatively
the highest degrees of confidence. The unknowns in mathematics
to which we aim to direct attention here are not of this
philosophical type but relate to questions of the most simple
nature. It is perhaps unfortunate that in the teaching of
elementary mathematics the unknowns receive so little
attention. In fact, it seems to be customary to direct no
attention whatever to the unsolved mathematical difficulties
until the students begin to specialize in mathematics in the
colleges or universities.
One of the earliest opportunities to impress on the student the
fact that mathematical knowledge is very limited in certain
directions presents itself in connection with the study of
prime numbers. Among the small prime numbers there appear many
which differ only by 2. For instance, 3 and 5, 5 and 7, 11 and
13, 17 and 19, 29 and 31, constitute such pairs of prime
numbers. The question arises whether there is a limit to such
pairs of primes, or whether beyond each such pair of prime
numbers there must exist another such pair.
This question can be understood by all and might at first
appear to be easy to answer, yet no one has succeeded up to the
present time in finding which of the two possible answers is
correct. It is interesting to note that in 1911 E. Poincare
transmitted a note written by M. Merlin to the Paris Academy of
Sciences in which a theorem was announced from which its author
deduced that there actually is an infinite number of such prime
number pairs, but this result has not been accepted because no
definite proof of the theorem in question was produced.
Another unanswered question which can be understood by all is
whether every even number is the sum of two prime numbers. It
is very easy to verify that each one of the small even numbers
is the sum of a pair of prime numbers, if we include unity
among the prime numbers; and, in 1742, C. Goldbach expressed
the theorem, without proof, that every possible even number is
actually the sum of at least one pair of prime numbers. Hence
this theorem is known as Goldbach's theorem, but no one has as
yet succeeded in either proving or disproving it.
Although the proof or the disproof of such theorems may not
appear to be of great consequence, yet the interdependence of
mathematical theorems is most marvelous, and the mathematical
investigator is attracted by such difficulties of long
standing. These particular difficulties are mentioned here
mainly because they seem to be among the simplest illustrations
of the fact that mathematics is teeming with classic unknowns
as well as with knowns. By classic unknowns we mean here those
things which are not yet known to any one, but which have been
objects of study on the part of mathematicians for some time.
As our elementary mathematical text-books usually confine
themselves to an exposition of what has been fully established,
and hence is known, the average educated man is led to believe
too frequently that modern mathematical investigations relate
entirely to things which lie far beyond his training.
It seems very unfortunate that there should be, on the part of
educated people, a feeling of total isolation from the
investigations in any important field of knowledge. The modern
mathematical investigator seems to be in special danger of
isolation, and this may be unavoidable in many cases, but it
can be materially lessened by directing attention to some of
the unsolved mathematical problems which can be most easily
understood. Moreover, these unsolved problems should have an
educational value since they serve to exhibit boundaries of
modern scientific achievements, and hence they throw some light
on the extent of these achievements in certain directions.
Both of the given instances of unanswered classic questions
relate to prime numbers. As an instance of one which does not
relate to prime numbers we may refer to the question whether
there exists an odd perfect number. A perfect number is a
natural number which is equal to the sum of its aliquot parts.
Thus 6 is perfect because it is equal to 1 + 2 + 3, and 28 is
perfect because it is equal to 1 + 2 + 4 + 7 + 14. Euclid
stated a formula which gives all the even perfect numbers, but
no one has ever succeeded in proving either the existence or
the non-existence of an odd perfect number. A considerable
number of properties of odd perfect numbers are known in case
such numbers exist.
In fact, a very noted professor in Berlin University developed
a series of properties of odd perfect numbers in his lectures
on the theory of numbers, and then followed these developments
with the statement that it is not known whether any such
numbers exist. This raises the interesting philosophical
question whether one can know things about what is not known to
exist; but the main interest from our present point of view
relates to the fact that the meaning of odd perfect number is
so very elementary that all can easily grasp it, and yet no one
has ever succeeded in proving either the existence or the
non-existence of such numbers.
It would not be difficult to increase greatly the number of the
given illustrations of unsolved questions relating directly to
the natural numbers. In fact, the well-known greater Fermat
theorem is a question of this type, which does not appear more
important intrinsically than many others but has received
unusual attention in recent years on account of a very large
prize offered for its solution. In view of the fact that those
who have become interested in this theorem often experience
difficulty in finding the desired information in any English
publication, we proceed to give some details about this theorem
and the offered prize. The following is a free translation of a
part of the announcement made in regard to this prize by the
Konigliche Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften, Gottingen, Germany:
On the basis of the bequest left to us by the deceased Dr. Paul
Wolskehl, of Darmstadt, a prize of 100,000 mk., in words, one
hundred thousand marks, is hereby offered to the one who will
first succeed to produce a proof of the great Fermat theorem.
Dr. Wolfskehl remarks in his will that Fermat had maintained
that the equation
x <superscript Greek 1> + y <superscript Greek 1> =
z <superscript Greek 1>
could not be satisfied by integers whenever <Greek l> is an odd
prime number. This Fermat theorem is to be proved either
generally in the sense of Fermat, or, in supplementing the
investigations by Kummer, published in Crelle's Journal, volume
40, it is to be proved for all values of <Grrek 1> for which it
is actually true. For further literature consult Hibert's
report on the theory of algebraic number realms, published in
volume 4 of the Jahreshericht der Deutschen
Mathernatiker-Vereinigung, and volume 1 of the Encyklopadie der
mathematischen Wissenschaften.
The prize is offered under the following more particular
conditions.
The Konigliche Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften in Gottingen
decides independently on the question to whom the prize shall
be awarded. Manuscripts intended to compete for the prize will
not be received, but, in awarding the prize only such
mathematical papers will be considered as have appeared either
in the regular periodicals or have been published in the form
of monographs or books which were for sale in the book-stores.
The Gesellschaft leaves it to the option of the author of such
a paper to send to it about five printed copies.
Among the additional stipulations it may be of interest to note
that the prize will not be awarded before at least two years
have elapsed since the first publication of the paper which is
adjudged as worthy of the prize. In the meantime the
mathematicians of various countries are invited to express
their opinion as regards the correctness of this paper. The
secretary of the Gesellschaft will write to the person to whom
the prize is awarded and will also publish in various places
the fact that the award has been made. If the prize has not
been awarded before September 13, 2007, no further applications
will be considered.
While this prize is open to the people of all countries it has
become especially well known in Germany, and hundreds of
Germans from a very noted university professor of mathematics
to engineers, pastors, teachers, students, bankers, officers,
etc., have published supposed proofs. These publications are
frequently very brief, covering only a few pages, and usually
they disclose the fact that the author had no idea in regard to
the real nature of the problem or the meaning of a mathematical
proof. In a few cases the authors were fully aware of the
requirements but were misled by errors in their work. Although
the prize was formally announced more than seven years ago no
paper has as yet been adjudged as fulfilling the conditions.
It may be of interest to note in this connection that a
mathematical proof implies a marshalling of mathematical
results, or accepted assumptions, in such a manner that the
thing to be proved is a NECESSARY consequence. The
non-mathematician is often inclined to think that if he makes
statements which can not be successfully refuted he has carried
his point. In mathematics such statements have no real
significance in an attempted proof. Unknowns must be labeled as
such and must retain these labels until they become knowns in
view of the conditions which they can be proved to satisfy. The
pure mathematician accepts only necessary conclusions with the
exception that basal postulates have to be assumed by common
agreement.
The mathematical subject in which the student usually has to
contend most frequently with unknowns at the beginning of his
studies is the history of mathematics. The ancient Greeks had
already attempted to trace the development of every known
concept, but the work along this line appears still in its
infancy. Even the development of our common numerals is
surrounded with many perplexing questions, as may be seen by
consulting the little volume entitled "The Hindu-Arabic
Numerals," by D. E. Smith and L. C. Karpinski.
The few mathematical unknowns explicitly noted above may
suffice to illustrate the fact that the path of the
mathematical student often leads around difficulties which are
left behind. Sometimes the later developments have enabled the
mathematicians to overcome some of these difficulties which had
stood in the way for more than a thousand years. This was done,
for instance, by Gauss when he found a necessary and sufficient
condition that a regular polygon of a prime number of sides can
be constructed by elementary methods. It was also done by
Hermite, Lindemann and others by proving that epsilon and rho
are transcendental numbers. While such obstructions are thus
being gradually removed some of the most ancient ones still
remain, and new ones are rising rapidly in view of modern
developments along the lines of least resistance.
These obstructions have different effects on different people.
Some fix their attention almost wholly on them and are thus
impressed by the lack of progress in mathematics, while others
overlook them almost entirely and fix their attention on the
routes into new fields which avoid these difficulties. A
correct view of mathematics seems to be the one which looks at
both, receiving inspiration from the real advances but not
forgetting the desirability of making the developments as
continuous as possible. At any rate the average educated man
ought to know that there is no mathematician who is able to
solve all the mathematical questions which could be proposed
even by those having only slight attainments along this line.
THE ABORIGINAL ROCK-STENCILLINGS OF NEW SOUTH WALES
BY DR. CHAS. B. DAVENPORT
COLD SPRING HARBOR, N. Y.
IN a number of places in eastern Australia curious aboriginal
markings are found on the faces of the sandstone cliffs. A good
idea of them is given by the photographs. These came from
Wolgan Gap near Wallerang in the Blue Mountain region of New
South Wales. They are found on overhanging rocks that have
served as shelters or camping places for the aborigines and
which doubtless have protected their works of art.
These stencillings are made by a sort of spatter work,
something like that in vogue a generation ago in this country,
using leaves, etc., as forms. The rocks at Wolgan Gap are a
coarse sandstone stained almost black by an iron oxide derived
from included bands of ironstone. These black surfaces were
selected by the artists. Nearby in the rock is a band of shale
which had disintegrated at its exposed edge to a white powder.
The native artist put some of this white powder in his mouth,
placed his hand or foot upon the rock, and blew the moistened
powder upon and around his outstretched fingers or toes. When
he removed them they were outlined on the rock. Since the
sandstone is coarse and deeply pitted, the moist powder was
blown into minute cavities where it has remained despite the
erosive activities of some generations. The presence of the
powder is shown on the photographs as a sort of halo around the
object. The hands are either right or left, and, in some cases,
both hands seem to have been stencilled at once. Sometimes the
whole arm and hand are stencilled together, and in one of the
photographs a boomerang is shown. The age of these stencils is
not known. They were first discovered at Wolgan Gap about sixty
years ago, but others have been known for a longer time, for
instance, those at Greenwich, Parametta River, near Sydney.
The significance of these stencillings has been the subject of
some controversy. The natives may have been induced to make
them as boys carve their names on benches or even rocks. The
materials for making the stencillings were present and, the
example once having been set, others would emulate it. It is
interesting that similar stencillings of the hands were made by
cave men on the walls of some of the European caves, as, for
instance, those of Aurignac in southern France. Evidently
spatter work is no modern pastime.
THE PROGRESS OF SCIENCE
SUBSTITUTES FOR WAR
THIS war, beyond measure disastrous to civilization, is a trial
also of our democracy. We may hope that it is an old-world war
and an old-men's war, repugnant to the genius of our newer
life. The statements of some of our public men and the contents
of some of our newspapers can not be read without
discouragement. But it is also true that there has perhaps not
appeared a cartoon in any American newspaper tending to glorify
war, and no legislation has so far been enacted in preparation
for war. There is good reason to believe that the people have
not been infected by the contagion of blood.
As Professor Patrick argued in a recent issue of the Monthly,
man is by genetic inheritance a fighting and a playing animal,
not an animal delighting in steady work. The ape and the tiger
will be exterminated elsewhere in nature before they will be
suppressed in man. It is a slow process, but surely proceeding.
The writer of this note has determined the proportion of each
century in which the leading nations have been engaged in war.
The curve thus found has no great reliability; for it does not
take into account the percentages of the peoples concerned, but
its course clearly indicates that even under circumstances as
they have been, wars will come to an end. And there is good
reason to believe that the newer condition--universal education
and universal suffrage, democratic control, improved economic
conditions of living for the people, the scientific
attitude--will tend to bend the curve more rapidly toward the
base line of permanent "peace on earth and good will to men."
While man has inherited instincts which exhibit themselves in
playing and fighting, the same instincts may by social control
be diverted to playing the games of art or science, to fighting
disease and vice. It is rarely wise or feasible to attempt to
suppress instincts; they should be directed so as to provide
desirable conduct. Loyalty to family, to group, to neighborhood
and to nation can not be lightly cast away for an abstract
cosmopolitanism. But it can be expressed otherwise than by
seizing everything in sight by cunning or by violence.
William James, the great psychologist, in one of his brilliant
essays published in The Popular Science Monthly for October,
1910, tells us that history is a bath of blood; we inherit the
war-like type; our ancestors have bred pugnacity into our bone
and marrow; showing the irrationality and horror of war does
not prevent it; but a moral equivalent can be found by
enlisting an army to toil and suffer pain in doing the hard and
routine work of the world. It is doubtful, however, if the
"gilded youths" to whom James refers would accept
"dish-washing, clothes-washing and window-washing,
road-building and tunnel-making, foundries and stoke-holes," as
a substitute for war, and for the great mass of the people
there is more than enough of these things. It is to escape from
them that we seek excitement and adventure, intoxication by
drugs and war.
Professor Cannon, of Harvard University, proposes international
football and other athletic contests as substitutes for war.
The adrenal glands, whose secretions excite the combative and
martial emotions, must function, and their activity, he argues,
can be directed in this way. Mr. Bryan has just now made the
proposal that we build six great national roads by which armies
might be collected for defence; the secretary of the navy has
founded a Naval Inventions Board; the postmaster general has
suggested that aeroplanes be used to deliver mail in order that
we may have an aerial corps ready for service. There may be an
element of the absurd in some of these proposals, as there
would be in using submarines to catch cod fish, so that there
might be practise in building and managing such crafts for
peaceful pursuits. There is, however, psychological
justification for aiming to direct the emotions so that their
discharge is not destructive, but of benefit to the nation and
to the world. Such would be the development of our national
resources, the construction of railways, roads, waterworks and
the like; social and political reforms; progress in the care of
public health, in education and in scientific research. It is
proposed that the next congress should spend half a billion
dollars on the army and navy. It is possible that on a
plebiscite vote, exactly under existing conditions, a majority
would vote to make the department of war a department of public
works, military defence being only one of its functions, and to
spend the sum proposed on public works useful in case of war,
but not an incitement to war.
NATIONAL WEALTH AND PUBLIC INDEBTEDNESS
WHILE the lives and the wealth of the European nations are
being sacrificed on a scale hitherto unparalleled, it is well
in the interests of those nations, as well as of our own, that
we conserve the lives and wealth of our own people. The
greatest wealth of a nation is its children, its productive
workers, its scientific men and other leaders, its accumulated
knowledge and social traditions. These are immeasurable, but
the Bureau of the Census has recently prepared a report on the
material wealth and indebtedness, according to which it is
estimated that the total value of all classes of property in
the United States, exclusive of Alaska and the insular
possessions, in 1912, was $187,739,000,000, or $1,965 per
capita. This estimate is presented merely as the best
approximation which can be made from the data available and as
being fairly comparable with that published eight years ago.
The increase between 1904 and 1912 was 75 per cent., for the
total amount and 49 per cent. for the per capita. Real estate
and improvements, including public property, alone constituted
$110,677,000,000, or 59 per cent. of the total, in 1912. The
next greatest item, $16,149,000,000, was contributed by the
railroads; and the third, $14,694,000,000, represented the
value of manufactured products, other than clothing and
personal adornments, furniture, vehicles and kindred property.
The net public-indebtedness in 1913 amounted to $4,850,461,000.
This amount was made up as follows: National debt,
$1,028,564,000, or $10.59 per capita; state debt, $345,942,000,
or $3.57 per capita; county debt, $371,528,000, or $4.33 per
capita; and municipal debt, $2,884,883,000, or $54.27 per
capita. Thus the average urban citizen's share of the net
federal, state, county and municipal debt combined was $72.76;
and the average rural citizen's share of the net federal, state
and county debt combined was $18.49.
The total federal debt in 1910 was $2,916,205,000, of which
amount $967,366,000 was represented by bonds, $375,682,000 by
non-interest-bearing debt (principally United States notes or
"greenbacks"), and $1,573,157,000 by certificates and notes
issued on deposits of coin and bullion. Against this
indebtedness there was in the treasury $1,887,641,000 in cash
available for payment of debt, leaving the net national
indebtedness at $1,028,564,000, or $10.59 per capita. The
increase in the net indebtedness between 1902 and 1913 amounted
to 6 per cent., but for the per capita figure there was a
decrease of 13 per cent. The burden due to the national debt is
thus very light in comparison with that imposed by the
indebtedness of other great nations.
The state debt, however, rests still more easily on the
shoulders of the average citizen, being only one third as great
as that of the nation. The total state indebtedness in 1913 was
$422,797,000, and the net debt--that is, the total debt less
sinking-fund assets--was $345,942,000, or $3.57 per capita. The
net debt increased by 44.5 per cent. between 1902 and 1913, and
the per capita net debt by 18 per cent.
The total county debt in 1913 amounted to $393,207,000, of
which amount $371,528,000, or $4.33 per capita, was net debt.
The net indebtedness increased by 89 per cent. between 1902 and
1913, and the per capita net indebtedness by 55 per cent. By
far the greatest item of indebtedness in this country is that
of municipalities. This amounted in 1913 to an aggregate of
$3,460,000,000, of which $2,884,883,000, or $54.27 per capita,
represented net indebtedness. The rate of increase in net
indebtedness between 1902 and 1913 was 114 per cent.
While the nations of Europe are involving themselves in the
toils of debts, we should use our vast surplus wealth to pay
the national, state and municipal debts, even those contracted
for public improvements. We save every year about $100 for each
adult and child of the country and waste about an equal sum. It
would be well if this wealth could be invested for the benefit
of each, and education and scientific research are the most
productive of all investments.
SCIENTIFIC ITEMS
WE record with regret the death of Karl Eugen Guthe, professor
of physics in the University of Michigan and dean of the
Graduate School, in Hanover, Germany; of John Howard Van
Amringe, long dean of Columbia College and professor of
mathematics; of Carlos J. Finlay, known for his advocacy of the
theory that yellow fever is transmitted by mosquitoes; of A. J.
Herbertson, of Wadham College, Oxford, professor of geography
in the university; of Julius von Payer, the distinguished polar
explorer and artist, of Vienna, and of Guido Goldsehmiedt,
professor of chemistry in the University of Vienna.
DR. JACQUES LORE, of the Rockefeller Institute for Medical
Research, has been elected a foreign fellow of the Linnean
Society, London.--Dr. David Bancroft Johnson, president of
Winthrop Normal and Industrial College, of Rockhill, S. C., has
been elected president of the National Education Association,
in succession to Dr. David Starr Jordan, chancellor of Stanford
University.
A MEMORIAL to Johann C. Reil, the anatomist, has been erected
in Halle. It stands in front of the university clinic, the seat
of his labors until called to Berlin in 1810. He died in 1813,
aged fifty-five years.--A bronze bas-relief--the work of Mr. S.
N. Babb--is about to be erected in St. Paul's Cathedral in
memory of Captain Scott and his companions who perished in the
Antarctic. At the request of the committee responsible for the
memorial an inscription has been written by Lord Curzon, which
reads as follows: "In memory of Captain Robert Falcon Scott,
C.V.O., R.N., Dr. Edward Adrian Wilson, Captain Lawrence E. G.
Oates, Lieut. Henry R. Bowers and Petty Officer Edgar Evans,
who died on their return journey from the South Pole in
February and March, 1912. Inflexible of purpose, steadfast in
courage, resolute in endurance in the face of unparalleled
misfortune. Their bodies are lost in the Antarctic ice. But the
memory of their deeds is an everlasting monument."
THE SCIENTIFIC MONTHLY
NOVEMBER, 1915
PAPUA, WHERE THE STONE-AGE LINGERS
BY DR. ALFRED GOLDSBOROUGH MAYER
WITH their undaunted spirit for braving the wilds, the English
entered New Guinea in 1885. For centuries the great island had
remained a mere outline upon the map the fever-haunted glades
of its vast swamps and the broken precipices of its mountain
ranges having defied exploration, more than the morose and
savage character of its inhabitants. Even in the summer of
1913, Massy Baker the explorer, discovered a lake probably 100
miles or more in shore-line, which had remained hidden in the
midst of the dark forests of the Fly and Strickland River
regions, and here savages still in the stone age, who had never
seen a white man, measured the potency of their weapons against
the modern rifle.
To-day there are vast areas upon which the foot of the white
man has not yet trodden, and of all the regions in the tropical
world New Guinea beckons with most alluring fascination to him
to whom adventure is dearer than life.
Far back in the dawn of European exploration, the Portuguese
voyager Antonio de Abreu, may have seen the low shores of
western New Guinea, but it is quite certain that sixteen years
later, in 1527, Don Jorge de Meneses cruised along the coast
and observed the wooly-headed natives whom he called "Papuas."
The name "New Guinea" was bestowed upon the island by the
Spanish captain, Ynigo Ortz de Retes, in 1515, when he saw the
negroid natives of its northern shores.
Then there came and passed some of the world's greatest
navigators. Torres wandering from far Peru, to unknowingly
discover the strait which bears his name; Dampier, the
buccancer-adventurer, and, in 1768, the cultured, esthetic
Bougainville, who was enraptured by the beauty of the deep
forest-fringed fjords of the northeastern coast. Cook, greatest
of all geographers, mapped the principal islands and shoals of
the intricate Torres Strait in 1770; and a few years later came
Captain Bligh, the resourceful leader of his faithful few,
crouching in their frail sail boat that had survived many a
tempest; since the mutineers of the Bounty had cast them adrift
in the mid-Pacific. In the early years of the nineteenth
century the scientifically directed Astrolabe arrived, under
the command of Dumont D'Urville, and, later, Captain Owen
Stanley in the Rattlesnake, with Huxley as his zoologist, Then,
in 1858, came Alfred Russel Wallace, the codiscoverer of
Darwinism, who, by the way, is said to have been the first
Englishman who ever actually resided in New Guinea.
The daring explorers and painstaking surveyors came and went,
but the great island remained a land of dread and mystery,
guarded by the jagged reefs of its eastern shores, and the
shallow mud flats, stretching far to sea-ward beyond the mouths
of the great rivers of its southern coast. So inaccessible was
Papua that even the excellent harbor of Port Moresby, the site:
of the present capital, was not discovered until 1873. One has
but to stifle for a while in the heavy air that flows lifeless
and fetid over the lowlands as if from a steaming furnace, or
to scent the rank odors of the dark swamps, where for centuries
malaria must linger, to appreciate the reason for the
long-delayed European settlement of the country. But those who
blaze the path of colonial progress are not to be deterred by
temperatures or smells; let us remember that Batavia, "the
white man's graveyard," is now one of the world's great
commercial centers; and Jamaica, the old fever camp of the
British army, is now a health resort for tourists.
Papua, the land of the tired eyes and the earnest face, of the
willing spirit and the weary body, waning as strength fails
year by year in malaria and heat, the land wherein the heart
aches for the severed ties of wife and home; its history has
hardly yet begun, but the reward of generations of heroism will
be the conquest of another empire where England's high
standards of freedom are to he raised anew. A victory of peace
it is to be, as noble as any yet achieved in war; and great
through its death roll, and forgotten though the workers be,
the fruits of their labors will bless that better world Great
Britain is preparing for those of ages yet to come.
There are great resources in Papua with its area of 90,500
square miles. Untrodden forests where the dark soil moulders
beneath the everlasting shade; swamps bearing a harvest of
thousands of sago and nipa palms, and mountains in a riot of
contorted peaks rising to a height of 13,200 feet in the Owen
Stanley range.
It is still a country of surprises, as when petroleum fields,
probably 1,000 square miles in area, were discovered only about
four years ago along the Vailala River, the natives having
concealed their knowledge of the bubbling gas springs through
fear of offending the evil spirits of the place. It is evident
that although the country has been merely glanced over, there
are both agricultural and mineral resources of a promising
nature in Papua. It remains but for modern medicine to
over-come the infections of the tropics for the region to rise
into prominence as one of the self-supporting colonies of the
British empire.
The early history of British occupation centers around the
striking personality of James Chalmers, the great-hearted,
broad-minded, missionary, one of the most courageous who ever
devoted his life to extending the brotherhood of the white
man's ideals. Chafing, as a young man, under the petty
limitations of his mission in the Cook Islands, he sought New
Guinea, as being the wildest and most dangerous field in the
tropical Pacific. Here, for twenty-five years, he devoted his
mighty soul to the work of introducing the rudiments of
civilization and Christianity to the most sullen and dangerous
savages upon earth. Scores of times his life hung in the
balance of native caprice; wives and friends died by his side,
victims to the malignant climate and to native spears, while he
seemed to possess a charmed life; until, true to his
prediction, he was murdered by the cannibals of Dopina at the
mouth of the Fly River in 1901.
Hundreds of scattered tribes had learned to revere their great
leader "Tamate," as they called him, who brought peace and
prosperity to his followers. Yet a danger to Papua that he
himself foresaw and did all in his power to avert came as a
result of the introduction of the very civilization of which he
was the champion, for with peace came new wants that the most
unscrupulous of traders at once sought to supply at prices
ruinous to the social and moral welfare of the natives.
Also, the proximity of Queensland threatened to become a
menace; for Chalmers himself was well aware of the dark history
of the "blackbird trade" wherein practical slavery was forced
upon the indentured laborers, lured from their island homes to
toil as hopeless debtors upon the Australian plantations. A
government of the natives for the native interests he desired;
not one administered from the Australian mainland in the
interest of alien whites. The hopes of Chalmers were only
partially realized, for Papua is still only a territory of
Australia.
In most respects this condition appears to be unfortunate. The
crying needs of a new country are usually peculiarly local and
not likely to be appreciated by a distant ruling power.
Moreover, Australia is itself an undeveloped land and requires
too large a proportion of its own capital for expansion at home
to be a competent protector of a colony across the sea. One
feels that Papuan development might have proceeded with greater
smoothness had the colony been more directly under the British
empire, rather shall an Australian dependency.
The strategic necessity that Australia should command both the
northern and the southern shores of Torres Straits might still
have been secured without the sacrifice of any important
initiative in matters of government upon the part of Papua.
The cardinal evil that Chalmers feared has, however, been
averted. The natives still own 97 1/2 per cent. of the entire
land area, and wise laws guard them in this precious
possession, and aim to protect them from all manner of unjust
exploitation. It is much to the credit of the government that
the cleanest native villages and the most healthy, ambitious
and industrious tribes, are those nearest the white
settlements. Contact between the races has resulted in the
betterment, not in the degradation, of the Papuan natives.
The touch of a master hand is apparent in a multitude of
details in managing the natives of Papua; and it is of interest
to see that in broad essentials the plan of government is
adapted from that which the English have put to the test of
practice in Fiji; the modifications being of a character
designed to meet the conditions peculiar to Melanesia, wherein
the chiefs are relatively unimportant in comparison with their
role in the social systems of the Polynesians and Fijians.
Foremost in the shaping of the destiny of Papua stands the
commanding figure of Sir William Macgregor, administrator and
lieutenant governor from 1888 to 1898. As a young man Macgregor
was government physician in Fiji, where he became prominent not
only as a competent guardian of the health of the natives, but
as a leader in the suppression of the last stronghold of
cannibalism along the Singatoka River. In Papua his tireless
spirit found a wide field for high endeavor, and upon every
department of the government one finds to-day the stamp of his
powerful personality. Nor did he remain closeted in Port
Moresby, a stranger to the races of his vast domains, for over
the highest mountains and through the densest swamps his
expeditions forced their way; the Great Governor always in the
van. It was thus that he conquered the fierce Tugeri of the
Dutch border, who for generations had been the terror of the
coasts; and wherever his expeditions passed, peace followed,
and the law of the British magistrate supplanted the caprice of
the sorcerer.
But his hardest fight was not with the mountain wilds or the
malarious morasses. It was to secure from the powerful ones of
his own race the privileges of freemen for the natives of
Papua.
In his youth he had seen the blessings that came with the
advent of British rule in Fiji; and here, in broad New Guinea,
upon a vaster scale, he strove to make fair play the dominant
note in the white man's treatment of a savage race.
Arrayed against Chalmers and Macgregor were conservatism and
suspicion founded in ancient precedent, and a commercial
avarice that saw in native exploitation the readiest means to
convert New Guinea into a "white man's country." Aversion there
was also in high places to embarking upon a possibly fruitless
experiment, involving generations of labor and expense for a
remote and uncertain harvest. Chalmers and Macgregor, however,
through the force of their high convictions and the wisdom of
their wide experience, won the great fight for fairness; for
civilization's cardinal victories are those, not of the
soldier, but of the civil servant who dares risk his reputation
and his all for those things he deems just and generous; and
when Papua comes to erect statues to her great leaders, those
of these two patriots must surely occupy the highest places, as
champions of the liberties of the weak. The noble policy of
Macgregor is still, and let us hope it long may be, the keynote
of the administration in Papua, which to-day is being ably
carried forward under the great governor's disciple, the
Honorable John H. P. Murray.
The proclamation given by Captain Erskine in 1884 declared that
a British Protectorate had become essential for the
safeguarding of the lives and property of the natives of New
Guinea and for the purpose of preventing the occupation of the
country by persons whose proceedings might lead to injustice,
strife and bloodshed, or whose illegitimate trade might
endanger the liberties and alienate the lands of the natives.
It is, however, one thing for a government to declare its
altruistic intentions, but often quite another to carry them
into effect.
In Papua, every effort has been made to prevent robbery of the
natives by unscrupulous whites. The natives are firmly secured
in the possession of their lands, which they can neither sell,
lease nor dispose of, except to the government itself. Thus the
natives and the government are the only two landlords in the
country. To acquire land in Papua, the European settler must
rent it from the government, for he is not permitted to acquire
fee simple rights. The whites are thus tenants of the
government, and are subject to such rules and regulations as
their landlord may decree. The tenant is, however, recognized
as the creator and owner of any improvements he may erect upon
the land, and, at the expiration of his lease, the government
undertakes to pay him a fair compensation for such
improvements, provided he has lived up to the letter of
regulations respecting his tenure.
For agricultural land a merely nominal rental is demanded,
ranging from nothing for the first ten years to a final maximum
of six pence per acre; yet this system has had the effect of
retarding European settlement, for, although its area is twice
that of Cuba, Papua had but 1,064 whites in 1912, and only one
one hundred and seventy-fourth of the territory is held under
lease.
Men of the type who can conquer the primeval forests and create
industries prefer to own their land outright, and are apt to
resent the restrictions of complex government regulations,
however wisely administered. Socialism, while it may in some
measure be desirable in old and settled communities, serves but
to dull that sense of personal freedom which above all spurs
the pioneer onward to success in a wild and dangerous region.
Possibly in the end, the government may find it advantageous to
permit certain lands to be acquired by Europeans, in fee
simple; for until this is done the settlement of the country
must proceed with extreme slowness. Moreover, mere tenants
owning nothing but their improvements, and even these being
subject to government appraisement, may be unduly tempted to
drain, rather than to develop, the resources of the land they
occupy.
But the chief aim of the Papuan government is to introduce
civilization among the natives, and a slow increase in the
European population is of primary necessity to the
accomplishment of this result.
At present the natives are not taxed, the chief sources of
revenue being derived from the customs duties upon imports, the
bulk of which are consumed by the Europeans, and this source of
income is supplemented by an annual grant of about 25,000
pounds from the Australian Commonwealth, but, due to the duties
upon food and necessities, the cost of living is higher than it
should be in a new country.
Judging, however, from the experience of the English in Fiji
and of the Dutch in Java, the natives would be benefited rather
than oppressed by a moderate poll tax to be paid in produce,
thus developing habits of industry, and in some measure
offsetting the evil effects of that insidious apathy which
follows upon the sudden abolition of native warfare.
Every effort should also he made to encourage and educate the
Papuans in the production and sale of manufactured articles.
One must regret the loss of many arts and crafts among the
primitive peoples of the Pacific, which, if properly fostered
under European protection to insure a market and an adequate
payment for their wares, would have been a source of revenue
and a factor of immeasurable import in developing that self
respect and confidence in themselves which the too sudden
modification of their social and religious Systems is certain
to destroy. The ordinary mission schools are deficient in this
respect, devoting their major energies to the "three R's" and
to religious instruction, and, while it is pleasing to observe
a boy whose father was a cannibal extracting cube roots, one
can not but conclude that the acquisition of some money-making
trade would be more conducive to his happiness in after life.
It is not too much to say that the chief problem in dealing
with an erstwhile savage race is to overcome the universal loss
of interest and decline in energy which inevitably follows upon
the development of that semblance of civilization which is
enforced with the advent of the white man. The establishment of
manual training schools wherein arts and crafts which may be
profitably practiced by the natives as life-professions, is a
first essential to the salvation of the race. These schools
should and would in no manner interfere with the religious
teaching received from missionaries, but would indeed be a most
potent factor in the spread of true Christianity among the
natives. Whether Christianity be true or false does not affect
the case, for the natives are destined to be dominated by
Christian peoples, and it primarily essential that they should
understand at least the rudiments of Christian ideals and
behavior.
The realization of the importance of training them to the
pursuit of useful arts and trades, which would enable the
natives to become self-supporting in the European sense, has
been perceived by certain thinkers among the missionaries
themselves, and in certain regions efforts are being made the
success of which should revolutionize our whole method of
dealing with the problem of introducing civilization among a
primitive people.
Keep their minds active and their hands employed in
self-supporting work and their morals and religion will safely
fall into accord with Christian standards.
Up to the present native education has been left to the devoted
efforts of the missionaries, who have more than 10,000 pupils
under their charge, but the time is coming when the government
should cooperate in establishing trade schools wherein crafts,
providing life-vocations to the natives, may be taught.
There may be more than 275,000 natives in Papua, but, due to
lack of knowledge of the country, the actual number is unknown.
Among the mountain fastnesses, defending themselves in
tree-houses, one finds a frizzly-headed black negrito-like race
hardly more than five feet in height. These are probably
remnants of the "pigmy" pre-Dravidian or Negrito-Papuan
element, which constituted the most ancient inhabitants of the
island and who long ago were driven inland from the coveted
coast.
The burly negroid Papuans of the Great River deltas of western
Papua differ widely from the lithe, active, brown-skinned,
mop-headed natives of the eastern half of the southern coast;
and Professors Haddon and Seligmann have decided that in
eastern New Guinea many Proto-Polynesian, Melanesian and
Malayan immigrants have mingled their blood with that of the
more primitive Papuans. Thus there are many complexly
associated ethnic elements in New Guinea, and often people
living less than a hundred miles apart can not understand one
another; in fact, each village has its peculiar dialect. Social
customs and cultural standards in art and manufacture vary
greatly from the same cause, and each tribe has some remarkable
individual characteristics. In the Fly-River region, the
village consists of a few huge houses with mere stalls for the
families, which crowd for defence under the shelter of a single
roof. Along the southern side of the eastern end of the island,
however, each family has its own little thatched hut, and these
are often built for defense upon piling over the sea, reminding
one of the manner of life of the prehistoric Swiss-lake
dwellers.
Nearly 12,000 natives are at present employed by the whites as
indentured laborers in Papua, their terms of service ranging
from three years, upon agricultural work, to not more than
eighteen months in mining. Their wages range from about $1.50
to $5.00 per month, and all payments must be made in the
presence of a magistrate and in coin or approved bank notes.
At every turn both employer and employed are wisely
safeguarded; the native suffering imprisonment for desertion,
and the employer being prohibited from getting the blacks into
debt, or from treating them harshly or unjustly. Their
enlistment must be voluntary and executed in the presence of a
magistrate, and, after their term of service, the employer is
obliged to return them to their homes.
One is impressed with the many manifestations of a fair degree
of efficiency on the part of the native laborers, who are
really good plantation hands and resourceful sailors. In fact,
trade has always been practiced to a considerable extent by the
shore tribes, the pottery of the eastern end of the coast being
annually exchanged for the sago produced by the natives of the
Fly River Delta. It is a picturesque sight to see the large
lakatois, or trading canoes, creeping along in the shadow of
the palm-fringed shores under the great wall of the mountains,
the lakatoi consisting of a raft composed of six or more canoes
lashed together side by side, and covered by a platform which
bears a thatched hut serving to house the sailors and their
wares. The craft is propelled by graceful crescent-shaped
lateen sails of pandanus matting and steered by sweeps from the
stern. Trading voyages of hundreds of miles are often
undertaken, the lakatois starting from the east at the waning
of the southeast trade wind in early November and returning a
month or two later in the season of the northwest monsoon.
The Papuan is both ingenious and industrious when working in
his own interest, and with tactful management he becomes a
faithful and fairly efficient laborer. Perhaps the most serious
defect in the present system of employment in Papua is the
usually long interval between payments. The natives are not
paid at intervals of less than one month and, often, not until
the expiration of their three-year term of service. With almost
no knowledge of arithmetic and possessed of a fund which seems
large beyond the dreams of avarice, he is practically certain
to be cheated by the dishonest tradesmen who flock vulture-like
to centers of commercial activity. This evil might be in large
measure prevented were the natives to be paid at monthly
intervals, for they would then gradually become accustomed to
the handling of money and would gain an appreciation of its
actual value.
Generations must elapse before more than a moderate degree of
civilization is developed in Papua, but the foundations are
being surely and conservatively laid, and already in the
civilized centers natives respect and loyally serve their
British friends and masters.
In common with many another British colony, the safeguard of
Papua lies not in the rifles of the whites, but in the loyal
hearts of the natives themselves, and in Papua, as in Fiji, the
native constabulary under the leadership of a mere handful of
Europeans may be trusted to maintain order in any emergency. As
Governor Murray truly states in his interesting book "Papua, or
British New Guinea," the most valuable asset the colony
possesses is not its all but unexplored mineral wealth or the
potential value of its splendid forests and rich soil, but it
is the Papuans themselves, and let us add that under the
leadership of the high-minded, self-sacrificing and
well-trained civil servants of Great Britain the dawn of Papuan
civilization is fast breaking into the sunlight of a happiness
such as has come to but few of the erstwhile savage races of
the earth.
Without belittling the nobility of purpose or disregarding the
self-sacrificing devotion of the missionary for his task, let
us also grant to the civil servant his due share of praise. His
duty he also performs in the dangerous wilds of the earth;
beset with insidious disease, stifling in unending heat, exiled
from home and friends, with suspicious savages around him, he
labors with waning strength in that struggle against climate
wherein the ultimate ruin of his body is assured. Yet in his
heart there lives, growing as years elapse, the English
gentleman's ideal of service, and for him it is sufficient
that, though he is to be invalided and forgotten even before he
dies, yet his will have been one of those rare spirits who have
extended to the outer world his mother country's ideal of
justice and fair play.
CONTACT ELECTRIFICATION AND THE ELECTRIC CURRENT
BY PROFESSOR FERNANDO SANFORD
STANFORD UNIVERSITY
IN a previous paper in this journal, entitled "The Discovery of
Contact Electrification" (November, 1913), it was shown that
the production of electric charges by the mere contact of two
dissimilar metals was first discovered by Rev. Abraham Bennett,
in 1789, and that it was verified by a different method by
Tiberius Cavallo, in 1795. Meantime, in 1791, Dr. Galvani
discovered the twitching of a frog's muscle, due to electrical
stimulus. Galvani's discovery was described by himself as
follows:[1]
[1] Translation from "Makers of Electricity," p 143.
'I had dissected a frog and had prepared it, as in Figure 2 of
the fifth plate, and had placed it upon a table on which there
was an electric machine, while I set about doing certain other
things. The frog was entirely separated from the conductor of
the machine, and indeed was at no small distance away from it.
While one of those who were assisting me touched lightly and by
chance the point of his scalpel to the internal crural nerves
of the frog, suddenly all the muscles of its limbs were seen to
be so contracted that they seemed to have fallen into tonic
convulsions. Another of my assistants, who was making ready to
take up certain experiments in electricity with me, seemed to
notice that this happened only at the moment when a spark came
from the conductor of the machine. He was struck by the novelty
of the phenomenon, and immediately spoke to me about it, for I
was at the moment occupied with other things and mentally
preoccupied. I was at once tempted to repeat the experiment, so
as to make clear whatever might be obscure in it. For this
purpose I took up the scalpel and moved its point close to one
or the other of the crural nerves of the frog, while at the
same time one of my assistants elicited sparks from the
electric machine. The phenomenon happened exactly as before.
Strong contractions took place in every muscle of the limb, and
at the very moment when the sparks appeared, the animal was
seized as it were with tetanus.'
Following this original observation, Galvani made a great many
experiments on the effect of electric stimulus upon the nerves
of frogs and other animals. He found that the twitching of the
frog's muscles could be produced by atmospheric electricity,
both at the time of lightning and at other times when no
lightning was visible. During these investigations he observed
that when the legs of the frog were suspended from an iron
railing by a hook through the spinal cord, and when this hook
was of some other metal than iron, the muscles would twitch
whenever the feet touched the iron railing. He tried out a
number of pairs of metals, and found that when the nerve was
touched by one metal and the muscle or another point on the
nerve was touched by another metal and the two metals were then
brought into contact or were connected through another metal or
through the human body, the muscles would contract as they
would when stimulated by electricity.
Galvani concluded that the contraction in this case, as in the
earlier experiments, was produced by an electric stimulation,
and since the metals seemed to him to serve merely as the
conductors of the electric discharge, he concluded that the
source of the electricity must be in the tissues of the animal
body. This seemed all the more probable since it was known that
certain fishes and an electric eel were capable of giving
violent electric shocks. This electricity of the eels and
fishes had been named animal electricity, and Galvani concluded
that all animals were capable of producing this electricity in
the tissues of their bodies.
He believed this electricity was to be found in various parts
of the body, but that it was especially collected in the nerves
and muscles. The especial property of this animal electricity
seemed to be that it discharged from the nerves into the
muscles, or in the contrary direction, and that to effect this
discharge it would take the path of least resistance through
the metal conductor or through the human body. Since during
this discharge the muscle was caused to contract, Galvani
concluded that the purpose of this animal electricity was to
produce muscular contractions.
Galvani seems to have concerned himself principally with the
physiological processes which he believed gave rise to the
electric charges, but physicists began immediately to seek for
other sources of the electricity. The one observation which
seemed to offer a definite suggestion as to the possible source
of the electrical charge was the fact that, in general two
different metals must be used to connect the muscle and nerve
before a discharge would take place from the one to the other.
This made Galvani's theory that the metals served merely as
conductors seem improbable. On the other hand, it was sometimes
possible to get the muscular contractions by using a single
bent wire or rod to connect the nerve and muscle, especially if
the two ends were of different degrees of polish, or if one end
was warmer than the other.
Volta was apparently the first to suggest that the electricity
which seemed to be generated in Galvani's experiments might
have its source in the contact of the two metals. Several
writers called attention to an apparent relation between
Galvani's experiments and a phenomenon announced by J. G.
Sulzer, in 1760. Sulzer found that if pieces of lead and silver
were placed upon the tongue separately no marked taste was
produced by either, but that if while both were on the tongue
the metals were brought into contact a strong taste was
produced which he compared to the taste of iron vitriol. Here
was a case of undoubted stimulation of the nerves of taste by
the contact of two metals, and it seemed not improbable that
other nerves might be stimulated in the same manner. In the
meantime Mr. John Robison had increased the Sulzer effect
greatly by building up a pile of pieces of zinc with silver
shillings and placing these in contact with the tongue and the
cheek.
It was the question as to the possibility of producing the
electric charge by mere metallic contact which led Cavallo to
make his experiments upon contact electrification. Thus Cavallo
says in Volume III. of "A Complete Treatise on Electricity,"
published in 1795:
'The above mentioned singular properties, together with some
other facts, which will be mentioned in the sequel induced Mr.
Volta, to suspect that possibly in many cases the motions are
occasioned by a small quantity of electricity produced by the
mere contact of two different metals; though he acknowledges
that he by no means comprehends in what manner this can happen.
This suspicion being entertained by so eminent a philosopher as
Mr. Volta, induced Dr. Lind and myself to attempt some
experiment which might verify it; and with this in view we
connected together a variety of metallic substances in diverse
quantities, and that by means of insulated or not insulated
communications; we used Mr Volta's condenser, and likewise a
condenser of a new sort; the electrometer employed was of the
most sensible sort; and various other contrivances were used,
which it will be needless to describe in this place; but we
could never obtain the smallest appearance of electricity from
those metallic combinations. Yet we can infer to no other
conclusion, but that if the mere combination, or contact, of
the two metals produces any electricity, the quantity of it in
our experiments was too small to he manifested by our
instruments.'
Later, on page 111 of the same volume, he says:
'After many fruitless attempts, and after having sent to the
press the preceding part of this volume, I at last hit upon a
method of producing electricity by the action of metallic
substances upon one another, and apparently without the
interference of electric bodies. I say apparently so, because
the air seems to be in a great measure concerned in those
experiments, and perhaps the whole effect may be produced by
that surrounding medium. But, though the irregular,
contradictory, and unaccountable effects observed in these
experiments do not as yet furnish any satisfactory theory, and
though much is to be attributed to the circumambient air, yet
the metallic substances themselves seem to be endowed with
properties peculiar to each of them, and it is principally in
consequence of those properties that the produced electricity
is sometimes positive, at other times negative, and various in
its intensity.'
Cavallo then proceeds to describe the experiments on contact
electrification which were described in the previous paper
referred to at the beginning of the article.
Cavallo's experiments were evidently made in 1795. In the
following year Volta announced the discovery of the electrical
current. In a letter written to Gren's Neues Journal der
Physik, August, 1796, Volta says:
'The contact of different conductors, particularly the
metallic, including pyrites and other minerals as well as
charcoal, which I call dry conductors, or of the first class
with moist conductors, or conductors of the second class,
agitates or disturbs the electric fluid, or gives it a certain
impulse. Do not ask in what manner: it is enough that it is a
principle and a great principle.'
It will be seen that at this stage of his discovery Volta was
inclined to attribute tho origin of the current to the contact
between the metals and his moist "conductors of the second
class," though later in the same article he says it is
impossible to tell whether the impulse which sets the current
in motion is to be attributed to the contact between the metals
themselves or between the two metals and the moist conductor,
since either supposition would lead to the same results.
Later, as was shown in the previous paper by the present writer
Volta came to regard the metallic contact as the cause of the
electromotive force. In a letter written to Gren in 1797 and
published as a postscript to his letter of August, 1796, Volta
says:
'Some new facts, lately discovered, seem to show that the
immediate cause which excites the electric fluid, and puts it
in motion, whether it be an attraction or a repulsive power, is
to be ascribed much rather to the mutual contact of two
different metals, than to their contact with moist conductors.'
The new facts, "lately discovered," to which Volta attributes
his change of view were his repetitions of Bennett's
experiments of 1789.
Volta apparently thought that the current was not only set up
by the contact of the two metals of a pair, but that it was
kept up by the mutual action of the metals on each other. He
accordingly made no attempt to discover whether any changes
took place in his circuit while the current was being
generated. The chemical action on his metals and the
dissociation in his electrolyte seem to have entirely escaped
his attention. At least, he did not attach enough importance to
them to mention them anywhere in his description of his
apparatus.
In the meantime a chemical explanation of the phenomena
observed by Galvani had been proposed in 1792 by Fabroni, a
physicist of Florence. After discussing the Sulzer phenomenon
already mentioned in this paper, Fabroni argues that the
peculiar taste caused by bringing the two metals into contact
while on the tongue is due to a chemical, rather than to an
electrical, action. He then discusses the different chemical
behavior of metals when taken singly and when placed in contact
with other metals. He says:[2]
[2] The following quotations from Fabroni have been translated
by the present writer from the German of Ostwald's
"Elektrochemie," pp. 103, ff.
I have already frequently observed that fluid mercury retains
its beautiful metallic luster for a long time when by itself;
but as soon as it is amalgamated with any other metal it
becomes rapidly dim or oxidized, and in consequence of its
continuous oxidation increases in weight.
I have preserved pure tin for many years without its changing
its silvery luster, while different alloys of this metal which
I have prepared for technical purposes have behaved quite
otherwise.
I have seen in the museum at Cortonne Etrusean inscriptions
upon plates of pure lead which are perfectly preserved to this
day' although they date from very ancient times; on the other
hand, I have found with astonishment in the gallery of Florence
that the so-called "piombi" or leaden medallions of different
popes, in which tin and possibly some arsenic have been mixed
to make them harder and more beautiful, have fallen completely
to white powder, or have changed to their oxides, though they
were wrapped in paper and preserved in drawers.
In the same way I have observed that the alloy which was used
for soldering the copper plates upon the movable roof of the
observatory at Florence has changed rapidly and in places of
contact with the copper plates has gone over into a white
oxide.
I have heard also in England that the iron nails which were
formerly used for fastening the copper plates of the sheathing
of ships were attacked on account of contact, and that the
holes became enlarged until they would slip over the heads of
the nails which held them in position.
It seems to me that this is sufficient to show that the metals
in these cases exert a mutual influence upon each other, and
that to this must be ascribed the cause of the phenomena which
they show by their combination or contact.
After discussing some of the experiments on nerve stimulation
which had been made by Galvani and others, Fabroni argues that
these are principally, if not wholly, due to chemical action,
and that the undoubted electrical phenomena which sometimes
accompany them are not the cause of the muscular contractions.
In discussing the nature of the chemical changes produced in
two metals by their mutual contact, Fabroni says:
'Since the metals have relationships with each other, the
molecules must mutually attract each other as soon as they come
into contact. One can not determine the force of this
attraction, but I believe it is sufficient to weaken their
cohesion so that they become inclined to go into new
combinations and to more easily yield to the influence of the
weakest solvents.'
In order to further show the weakening of cohesion by the
contact of two metals, Fabroni describes the results of some
experiments which he has made. He says:
'In order to assure myself of the truth of my assumptions, I
put into different vessels filled with water:
(1) Separate pieces, for example, of gold in one, silver in
another, copper in the third, likewise tin, lead, etc.
(2) In other similar vessels I put pieces of the same metals in
pairs, a more oxidizable and a less oxidizable metal in each
pair' but separated from each other by strips of glass
(3) Finally, I put in other vessels pairs of different metals
which were placed in immediate contact with each other.
The first two series suffered no marked change, while in the
latter series the more oxidizable metal became visibly covered
with oxide in a few instants after the contact was made.'
Fabroni found that under the above circumstances his oxidizable
metals dissolved in the water, and in some cases salts were
formed which crystallized out. He then compares the metals in
contact with each other in water with the metals on the tongue
when brought into contact, as in Sulzer's experiment, and the
two metals touching each other by which different points on a
nerve were touched to produce the muscular twitchings in
Galvani's experiments, and concludes that the chemical action
upon the metals was the same in each case, and that the other
phenomena observed must have resulted from this chemical
action. It is not strange that when Volta showed later that an
electric current passed between the metals in all of tho above
cases Fabroni should regard the chemical action which he had
previously observed as the cause of this current.
Ten years after the publication of Fabroni's original paper,
Volta wrote a letter to J. C. Delamethrie which was published
in Vol. I of Nicholson's Journal. This letter was written after
the chemical changes in the voltaic cell had received a great
deal of attention by many experimenters, the most prominent of
whom was Davy. To show that Volta's theory as to the source of
the current was not affected by these investigations, a
quotation from this letter is given below.
'You have requested me to give you an account of the
experiments by which I demonstrate, in a convincing manner,
what I have always maintained, namely, that the pretended
agent, or GALVANIC FLUID, is nothing but common electrical
FLUID, and that this fluid is incited and moved by the simple
MUTUAL CONTACT OF DIFFERENT CONDUCTORS, particularly the
metallic; strewing that two metals of different kinds,
connected together, produce already a small quantity of true
electricity, the force and kind of which I have determined;
that the effects of my new apparatus (which might be termed
electromotors), whether consisting of a pile, or in a row of
glasses, which have so much excited the attention of
philosophers, chemists, and physicians; that these so powerful
and marvelous effects are absolutely no more than the sum total
of the effects of a series of several similar metallic couples
or pairs; and that the chemical phenomena themselves, which are
obtained by them, of the decomposition of water and other
liquids, the oxidation of metals, &c., are secondary effects;
effects, I mean, of this electricity, of this continual current
of electrical fluid, which by the above mentioned action of the
connected metals, establishes itself as soon as we form a
communication between the two extremities of the apparatus, by
means of a conducting bow; and when once established, maintains
itself, and continues as long as the circuit remains
interrupted.'[3]
[3] This seems to be a misprint for uninterrupted.
Further along in the same letter Volta reiterates his
conviction that the contact of the two metals furnishes the
true motive power of the current. Thus he says (p. 138):
'As to the rest, the action which excites and gives motion to
the electric fluid does not exert itself, as has been
erroneously thought, at the contact of the wet substance with
the metal, where it exerts so very small an action, that it may
be disregarded in comparison with that which takes place, as
all my experiments prove, at the place of contact of different
metals with each other. Consequently the true element of my
electromotive apparatus, of the pile, of cups, and others that
may be constructed according to the same principles, is the
simple metallic couple, or pair, composed of two different
metals, and not a moist substance applied to a metallic one, or
inclosed between two different metals, as most philosophers
have pretended. The humid strata employed in these complicated
apparatus are applied therefore for no other purpose than to
effect a mutual communication between all the metallic pairs,
each to each, ranged in such a manner as to impel the electric
fluid in one direction, or in order to make them communicate,
so that there may be no action in a direction contrary to the
others.'
At the end of the above letter as published in Nicholson's
Journal, the editor, William Nicholson, comments at length on
Volta's theory of the source of current in the cell and calls
attention to the fact that Davy had already made cells by the
use of a single metal and two different liquids. At the
conclusion of his comments he calls attention to the fact that
Bennett and Cavallo had performed experiments with contact
electrification prior to Volta's experiments, and says in
conclusion, after referring to Bennett,
'This last philosopher, as well as Cavallo, appears to think
that different bodies have different attractions or capacities
for electricity; but the singular hypothesis of electromotion,
or a perpetual current of electricity being produced, by the
contact of two metals is, I apprehend, peculiar to Volta.'
This peculiar theory of Volta's probably never gained many
adherents and was necessarily abandoned as soon as the energy
relations of the current were considered, but the controversy
as to whether the electrical current or the accompanying
chemical changes was the primary phenomenon soon became
transferred to a quite different field, viz., to the origin of
the electrical charges which Bennett had shown resulted from
the contact of different metals. Bennett attempted to account
for the phenomena which he had observed on the hypothesis that
different substances "have a greater or less affinity with the
electric fluid," and Cavallo says:
'I am inclined to suspect that different bodies have different
capacities for holding the electric fluid.'
Volta reaches a similar conclusion after repeating some of
Bennett's experiments. In referring to this decision of Volta
as to the origin of the electric charge in contact
electrification, Ostwald says:
'We stand here at a point where the most prolific error of
Electrochemistry begins, the combating of which has from that
time on occupied almost the greater part of the scientific work
in this field.'
The error, from Ostwald's point of view, lies in the assumption
that the transference of electricity from the one metal to the
other is a primary phenomenon of metallic contact. He, with
many others, including some of the most distinguished
physicists and chemists of the past century, regard the
electrical transference as a secondary phenomenon resulting
from the previous oxidation of one of the metals. Thus Lodge,
in discussing the opposite electrification of plates of zinc
and copper when brought into contact says:
'The effective cause of the whole phenomenon in either case is
the greater affinity of oxygen for zinc rather than copper.'
The apparent conflict of opinion between those who hold that
the different affinities of the metals for oxygen is the cause
of the rearrangement of their electrical charges when brought
into contact and those who hold with Bennett and Cavallo that
the metals in their natural state have different affinities for
the electrical fluid must disappear when we recognize that all
affinity, and consequently the affinity for oxygen, must be an
electrical attraction. If zinc has an affinity for oxygen, it
must be because the zinc is either electropositive or
electronegative to oxygen. If it has a greater affinity for
oxygen than copper has, then the zinc must be either
electropositive or electronegative to copper. This being the
case, and both being conductors, it is not surprising that some
electricity will flow from one to the other when the two metals
are brought into contact.
Those writers who attribute the oxidation theory of contact
electrification to Fabroni apparently overlook the fact that
not oxidation, but the weakening of the cohesion of at least
one of the metals due to their contact, was the primary
phenomenon in Fabroni's theory. When this is remembered, it is
seen that the observations of Bennett and Fabroni, instead of
furnishing arguments for two conflicting theories, actually
serve, as all true scientific observations must, to supplement
each other.
Thus we now know that cohesion or affinity is an electrical
attraction between the atoms or molecules of a body. The only
known methods of changing the electrical attraction between two
bodies whose distances and directions from other bodies remain
constant is by varying the magnitude of their charges or by
changing the specific inductive capacity of the medium between
them. Bennett observed that when two pieces of different metal
in their normal electrical condition are placed in contact,
there is a redistribution of the charges of their surface
atoms. Fabroni observed under the same conditions a change in
the surface cohesion of the two metals.
To the present writer this seems the actual sequence of
phenomena, viz., a redistribution of the charges of the surface
atoms of the metals, a consequent change in surface cohesion
and a resultant oxidation of one of the metals.
ON CERTAIN RESEMBLANCES BETWEEN THE EARTH AND A BUTTERNUT
BY PROFESSOR A, C. LANE
TUFTS COLLEGE
THE drama of the earth's history consists in the struggle
between the forces of uplift and the forces of degradation. The
forces of uplift are mainly the outward expression of the inner
energy and heat of the earth, whether they be the volcano
belching its ashes thousands of meters into the air, or the
earthquake, with the attendant crack or fault in the earth's
crust, leading to a sudden displacement, and sending, far and
wide, a death-dealing shock, or those mountain-building
actions, which, though they may be as gentle and gradual as
might be produced by the breathing of mother earth and the
uplifting of her bosom thereby, nevertheless, end in the huge
folds of our mountain ranges.
Against these, there are always working the forces of
degradation--the slow rotting of weathering caused by the
direct chemical action of the moist atmosphere or the
alternation of hot and cold which crumbles rocks far above the
line where rain never falls. Once the rock is rotten and
decayed, it yields readily to the forces of degradation, which
drag it down--the beating of the rain, the rush of the
avalanche or of the landslide, the tumult of the torrent, the
quieter action of the muddy river in its lower reaches or the
mighty glacier which transfers fine and coarse material alike
toward the sea.
These actions are always going on. Are they always equally
balanced, or are there periods when the forces of elevation are
more active, the forces of degradation not so powerful, as
against other times in which the forces of degradation alone
are at work? If there is inequality in the balance and struggle
of these contending forces, the great periods or acts in the
geologic drama might thus be marked off as Chamberlin suggests.
Newbery, Schuchert and others have pointed out that there seem
to have been great cycles of sedimentation which may be
interpreted as due to the alternate success, first of the
factors of elevation, then of those of degradation.
Suppose, for instance, that there has been an epoch of
elevation, that mountain chains have been lifted far into the
sky and volcanoes have sent their floods of lava forth, and
fault-scarped cliffs run across the landscape and that then,
for a while, the forces of elevation cease their work. Little
by little, the mountains will be worn down to a surface of less
and less relief, approaching a plain as a hyperbola approaches
its asymptote--a surface which W. M. Davis has called
peneplain.
But where will the material thus worn go? Into the sea. Going
into the ocean it will raise the level of the sea slowly but
surely. At present, for every four feet of elevation taken off
the land, there will be something like one foot rise of the
ocean level, and this rise may take only thirty thousand
years--a long time in human history, but not so long in the
history of the earth. All the time, then, that the forces of
the atmosphere are wearing down the surface of the earth to the
sea level the sea is rising and its waves are producing a plain
of marine denudation which rises slowly to meet the peneplain
which is produced by degradation. In the beginning of this
cycle, where the forces of degradation have their own way,
coarse material may be brought down by torrents from the
mountains, and the glaciers, which find their breeding place in
these high elevations, may drag down and deposit huge masses of
boulder clay. But, little by little as the mountains are
lowered, the sediments derived from them will become finer and
finer and glaciers will find fewer and fewer sources.
Not only that, but the growth of seas extending over the
continents will tend to change the climate, we shall have a
moister, more insular climate, we shall have a greater surface
of evaporation, and thus, on the whole, a more equable
temperature throughout the world. We know that, at present, the
extremes of cold and hot are found far within the interior of
the continents. Continental climates are the climates of
extremes, and on the whole extremes are hurtful to life. So
then as the forces of degradation tend to lower the continents
beneath the sea level glaciers and deserts and desert deposits
alike must also disappear. Vegetation will clothe the earth,
and marine life swarm in the shallow seas of the broadening
continental shelf. Under the mantle of vegetation, mechanical
erosion will be less, that is, the breaking up of rocks into
small pieces without any very great change, but the rich soil
will be charged with carbon dioxide, and chemical activity will
still go on. Rivers will still contain carbonates, even though
they carry very little mud, and in the oceans the corals and
similar living forms will deposit the burden of lime brought
into the sea by the rivers. Thus, if forces of degradation have
their own way, in time there will be a gradual change in
dominant character, from coarse sediments to fine, from rocks
which are simply crumbled debris to rocks that are the product
of chemical decay and sorting, so that we have the lime
deposited as limestone in one place and the alumina and silica,
in another. We shall have a change from local deposits, marine
on the edges of large continents, or land deposits, very often
coarse, with fossils few and far between, to rocks in which
marine deposits will spread far over the present land in which
will appear more traces of that life that crowded in the
shallow warm seas which form on the flooded continents. We
shall have a transition from deposits which may be largely
formed on the surface of the continents. lakes, rivers, salt
beds and gypsum beds, due to the drying up of such lakes and
the wind-blown deposits of the steppes, to deposits which are
almost wholly marine.
Now, I need not say (to those who are familiar with geology)
that we have indications of just such alternations in times
passed. There are limestones abounding in fossils, with a
cosmopolitan life very wide spread to be recognized in every
continent, such as used to be known as the Trenton limestone,
the mountain limestone, the chalk. Perhaps every proper system
and period should be marked by such a limestone in the middle.
The time classed as late Permian and Triassic on the other hand
was one of uplift, disturbance, volcanic action and extreme
climates, which gave us the traps of Mt. Tom, the Palisades of
the Hudson, the bold scenery of the Bay of Fundy and the gypsum
and red beds which are generally supposed to be quite largely
formed beneath the air and beds of tillite formed beneath
glaciers. Then in the times succeeding, in many parts of the
world, degrading forces were more effective than uplifting so
that the mountains became lower, and the seas extended farther
over the continents. Then the prevalence of lime sediments was
so great that the "chalk" was thought to be characteristic
everywhere. And about the time the "chalk" the land was reduced
to a peneplain. A similar cycle may be traced from the
Keweenawan rocks to the group of limestones so widespread over
the North American continent and so full of fossils, which to
older geologists and oil drillers have been known, in a broad
way, as Trenton.
All this introduces a question--to which I wish to suggest an
answer--How is it that these cycles came to be? Were the outer
rock crust of the earth perfectly smooth the oceans would cover
it to the depths of thousands of feet and it is only by the
wrinkling of such a crust that any part of it appears above the
ocean. If the earth had a cool thin crust upon a hot fluid
interior, and that thin crust were able to sustain itself
during geologic ages so that the shrinkage should accumulate
within, until finally collapse came, giving an era of uplift,
it is obvious that we could account for such cycles. There is
very clear evidence that the outermost layer of the earth's
crust is but a thin shell like the outer shuck or exocarp of a
butternut, so thin that it is not at all possible that it can
sustain itself for more than a hundred miles or so, or for more
than a very few years at the outside. Hayford's[1]
investigations are the latest that show that the continents
project because, on the whole, they are lighter, they float,
that is, above the level of the oceans because there is a mass
of lighter rock below, like an iceberg in the sea. Here the
likeness between nut and earth fails and it would be more like
the earth if the outer shuck were thicker in certain large
areas. If this extra lightness or "isostatic compensation" is
equally distributed, Hayford finds[2] that the most probable
value of the limiting depth is 70 (113 km.) miles, and
practically certain that it is somewhere between 50 (80 km.)
and 100 (150 km.) miles; if, on the other hand, this
compensation is uniformly distributed through a stratum 10 (16
km.) miles thick at the bottom of the crust so that there is a
bulging of the crust down into a heavier layer below to balance
the projection of the mountains above, as I think much more
likely, then the most probable depth for the bottom of the
outer layer is 37 (60 km.) miles. This layer is much thinner
than the outer layer of the figure and is supposed to yield to
weight placed as, though more slowly than, new thin ice bends
beneath the skater.
[1] The figure of the earth and isostasy from measurements in
the U.S. Dept. of Commerce and Labor, 1909, p. 175.
[2] loc. cit., p. 175.
There are a number of facts which support this so-called theory
of isostasy, according to which the crust of the earth is not
capable of sustaining any very great weight, though it may be
at the outside rigid, but is itself essentially like a flexible
membrane resting on a layer of viscous fluid. However viscous
this fluid may be and rigid to transitory quickly shifting
strains like those produced by the earth's rotation, it does
NOT REMAIN AT REST in a state of strain (at any rate if this
strain passes limits which are relatively quite low). Not only
are, according to Hayford's observations, the inequalities of
the North American continent compensated for by lighter
material below, so that the plumb- bob deflections are only one
twentieth what they would be if they rested upon a rigid
substratum of uniform density, but other facts that lead to the
same conclusion are the apparent tendency of areas of
sedimentation to slowly settle under their load, the apparent
settling of the Great Lake region under a load of ice and
springing up again since the removal of the ice. But if the
theory of isostasy is true, one would at first say that there
could be no great accumulation through a geologic period of
stresses which would finally yield in the shape of folded
mountain ranges. It has, in fact, been suggested that mountain
ranges have been slowly folded and lifted as the stress which
produced them accumulated and this would seem to be true if one
considers only the outer crust, but on the other hand, as we
have pointed out, there are indications in the history of the
earth of periods of relative quiescence followed by periods of
relatively considerable disturbance.
How can these two theories be reconciled in accordance with
what we know of the laws of physics and chemistry and those of
the earth's interior? It seems to me they can by making
suppositions which are perfectly natural regarding the state of
the earth's interior.
We are at liberty to suppose if the facts point that way that
there are the following layers in the earth's masses:--First,
the external, rigid and brittle layer; second, a layer under
such temperature and pressure that it is above its plastic
yield point and may be considered as a viscous fluid. The
pressure must continue to increase toward the center. We do not
know what is the temperature, but it is perfectly possible that
at a greater depth the earth may become rigid once more if the
effect of pressure in promoting solidity and rigidity
continues, as Bridgman tells me he thinks probable. We do not
even have to assume a change in the chemical composition of the
earth's substance, though it is perfectly allowable. This,
then, will be a third layer, once more rigid, perhaps extending
to the center and of very considerable thickness and capable of
accumulating strain from long periods. Blanketed as it would be
by thousands of meters of the first two layers, any change must
be relatively slow.
Kelvin in his computation of the age of the earth from cooling
assumed for the interior of the earth constant conditions. It
is now generally accepted that this is not probable, and that
whether it cooled from a gas or coagulated from planetesimals,
it became solid first at the center which then would be
hottest, and both Becker[3] and A. Holmes[4] assume an initial
temperature gradient. If that gradient were greater than the
gradient of steady flow the conditions of steady flow would be
approached most rapidly at the exterior, the loss of heat and
energy would be altogether from within and it is easy to
arrange for conditions mathematically in which almost all the
loss of energy would come from the very interior, near the
center. What will be the effect? A paradoxical one, if the part
outside the center is rigid enough to be self-sustaining. The
central core will become a gas!
[3] Bull. Geol. Soc. Am., Vol. 26, 1915, p. 197, etc.
[4] Geological Magazine, March and April, 1913.
This is so contrary to our ordinary experience and ideas, in
which loss of heat tends to change from gas to fluid and solid,
that we must look into it a little to make it sound reasonable.
The recent brilliant work of P. W. Bridgman (contrary to the
earlier speculations of Tammann) indicates that the effect of
increased pressure, at high temperature, makes a substance
solid and crystalline. Crowd any atoms close enough together,
and no matter how fast they expand or contract under the
influence of heat the crystalline atomic forces will get to
work when they are crowded within their range, and the closest
packing, hence that which will yield most to the pressure,
hence that which is likely to take place, is when they are all
regularly arranged facing the same way. Such an arrangement we
call crystalline. Just so when they want to pack the most
people into the car of an elevator they ask them to all face to
the front. Keep this metaphor a moment. Any one who should try
to penetrate such a crowd would find it a hard job. They would
offer a very effective rigidity. Now suppose them to sweat in
those confined quarters their fat away, their phlogiston, their
caloric. If the walls of the car remained rigid while the
individuals therein shrunk they might after a while be able to
turn around or even move around in a car. Such is then the
supposed condition of the atoms in the FOURTH, the central,
layer of the earth's crust. This assumes that the middle layer
is rigid and sustains itself, like the shell of a nut, as in
the figure, while within the atoms are in a less rigid
condition. That such a shell might be self-sustaining is
suggested by an experiment of Bridgman, who put a marble with a
gas bubble in it under a pressure of something like 150,000
pounds to the square inch without producing any perceptible
change.
As loss of energy from the earth's interior went on this
central core of gas would enlarge until the middle shell was
hardly self-supporting. Then, probably at some time of
astronomic strain when the earth's, orbit was extra elliptical,
it would collapse, in collapsing generate heat, and so stop the
process. The collapse would be transmitted to the viscous layer
which might be increased, motions set up in it, and so a
wrinkling of the outer thin crust on which we live.
Then there would be four layers to the earth like the butternut
of the figure. First, the inner kernel of gas; second, the hard
shell or endocarp; third, a viscous layer like the sarcocarp or
pulp, and outside of all the wrinkled crust of exocarp. If such
is the structure of the earth we may have in the very structure
of the earth itself a reason why from time to time there are
collapses of the middle layer leading to elevations of portions
of the outer rind, and marking off the chapters in geological
history, the lines between geological systems.
There are reasons in facts of observation for believing that
such is the structure of the earth, of which I have as yet said
nothing. We see the interior of a glass marble, I saw the
bubble in the interior of Bridgman's glass marble, how? By
waves, vibrations, which start from the sun or some other
source, and going through it reach my eye. Though the earth is
not penetrated by sunlight it is penetrated by the waves and
vibrations that start from that jar produced by a crack which
we call an earthquake. These vibrations can be received by that
eye of the geologist called a seismograph. The seismologist
tells us there are three kinds of waves sent out in an
earthquake. If you notice the explosion of a blast at a little
too close distance you will notice that you see it first, then
hear it, and then perhaps a little later a few chips of rock
may come flying past your ears. These three things correspond
somewhat to the three kinds of waves which spread forth from an
earthquake. But in the case of the explosion we see the blast
first, then hear later. The waves which produce the sensation
of sight are, we know, lateral disturbances, the waves which
produce the sensation of sound are waves of condensation, whose
motion is in the direction of their propagation and they come
later. In the case of the jars of earth, the reverse is true.
The first set of waves to arrive are the waves which are due to
compression--vibrations in the direction in which the waves are
produced--and correspond to sound waves. Later come waves which
are transverse sidewise disturbances of the solid mass of the
earth. As we can easily see, in an earthquake jar traveling
from the opposite end of the earth, there should be no
insurmountable difficulty in recognizing the jar, which is a
direct upthrow from one which would tilt it to the right or
left. Now there is a law of Laplace by which the velocity of
spread of sound waves through gas may be calculated. That this
law should hold at temperatures and pressures so high as those
that must exist in the middle of the earth is, of course, a
question, but it will be interesting to see how nearly the
actual velocity of about 10 kilometers a second compares with
the velocity which such waves should have in gas of a density
and under a pressure such as a gas near the center of the earth
must have. Using Oldham's figures (and they seem to be
confirmed by the recent investigations of E. Rudolph and S.
Szirtes[18]), we find that the time of transmission of these
first and fastest preliminary compression tremors is about
twice the velocity of such a jar according to Laplace's law in
as dense a mass of gas, provided the ratio of the specific heat
of a gas at constant pressure to that of a gas at constant
volume remains 1.4, which is for many substances. But as it is
1.6 for mercury the discrepancy is not more than I had
expected.
[5] Gerlands, "Beitrage zur Geophysik," XI., Band, 1 Heft,
1911, p. 132. "Das kolumbianische Erdbeben am 31 January,
1906."
The second preliminary tremors arriving later are due to the
lateral disturbance. Their propagation is much less rapid when
the point of origin is nearly opposite the point of receival.
In other words there is a core within the earth about 0.4 of
the radius in radius, in which according to Oldham, these
lateral waves have much less velocity. Now in a gas there is
less resistance to lateral displacement than in a solid, and
the less the resistance the less the velocity, so that this
fact fits in with the idea of a gaseous core perfectly. If
there is such n core, moreover, of less rigidity it would have
less refraction. Consequently waves not striking the border
above the angle of total reflection would be totally reflected,
and just as around a bubble there is a dark border where the
light does not get through so at a certain distance from the
source of an earthquake there would be a circle (it is really
about 140 degrees of arc away), where no second tremors would
be felt. Here again, though seismograph stations are as yet
few, fact and theory are apparently going to correspond.
The last type of earthquake waves follow around the outer layer
of the crust.
There is one farther line of verification to which I had
addressed myself. Is it likely that the loss of heat and energy
from the central nucleus, at the rate which we know at the
surface from a central nucleus of anything like 0.4 the radius
of the earth, would give a shrinkage of anything like the
amount indicated by the mountain ranges, in anything like the
time which we are led to assign on other grounds to the
geologic periods?
Rudski has also attempted to connect the shrinkage and age of
the earth. Both these methods depend on how fast the earth is
losing heat, that is on the geothermal gradient. Since at
present, owing to the apparently large but unknown contribution
of radioactivity to that gradient we know very little about
what the other portion is, it seems unwise to give any figures,
especially as almost all the numerical data are largely guess
work. It will, however, be fair to say that very long times for
the age of the earth seem to be indicated, nearer millions of
millions than millions unless the radius of the gaseous core
was mainly small or its rate of contraction with loss of
temperature high.
THE CASH VALUE OF SCIENTIFIC RESEARCH
BY PROFESSOR T. BRAILSFORD ROBERTSON
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA
THERE can be no doubt that the average man and woman in Europe
and America to-day professes a more or less nebulous feeling of
respect and admiration for the scientific investigator. This
feeling is not logical, for very few have ever met or seen a
scientist, fewer still have ever seen the inside of a
scientific laboratory, and hardly any have ever seen scientific
research in the making.
The average man in the street or man of affairs has no very
clear conception of what manner of man a "scientist" may be. No
especial significance attaches in his mind to the term. No
picture of a personality or his work arises in the imagination
when the word "scientist" is pronounced. More or less
indefinitely, I suppose, it is conceded by all that a scientist
is a man of vast erudition (an impression by the way which is
often strikingly incorrect) who leads a dreary life with his
head buried in a book or his eye glued to telescope or
microscope, or perfumed with those disagreeable odors which, as
everybody knows, are inseparably associated with chemicals. The
purpose of this life is not very clear, but doubtless a vague
feeling exists in the minds of most of us that people who are
willing to pursue such an unattractive career must be worthy of
admiration, for despite all the triumphs of commercialism,
humanity still loves idealism, even idealism which seems
objectless because it is incomprehensible.
From time to time the existence of the scientific man is
recalled to the popular mind by some extravagant headlines in
the daily press, announcing some utterly impossible "discovery"
or some extravagantly nonsensical dictum made by an alleged
"scientist." The "discovery" was never made, the dictum never
uttered, but no matter; to-morrow its place will be taken by
the latest political or matrimonial scandal, and the public,
with excellent good sense, will forget all about it.
From time to time, also, there creeps gradually into the public
consciousness a sense that SOMETHING HAS HAPPENED. Brief
notices appear in the press, at first infrequently and then
more frequently, and an article or two in the popular
monthlies. The public becomes languidly interested in a new
possibility and even discusses it, sceptically. Then of a
sudden we are awakened to the realization of a new power in
being. The X-ray, wireless telegraphy or the aeroplane has
become the latest "marvel of science," only to develop in a
very brief period into a commonplace of existence.
Many indeed are aware that we owe these "marvels" to scientific
research, but very few indeed, to the shame of our schools be
it spoken, have attained to the faintest realization of the
indubitable fact that we owe almost the entirety of our
material environment, and no small proportion of our social and
spiritual environment, to the labors of scientists or of their
spiritual brethren.
Long ago, in ages so remote that no record of them survives
save our heritage of labor well achieved, some pastoral savage,
more reflective and less practical than his brethren, took to
star-gazing and noting in his memory certain strange
coincidences. Doubtless he was chidden by his tribal leaders
who were hard-headed men of affairs, skilled in the
questionable art of imposing conventional behavior upon unruly
tribesmen. But he was an inveterate dreamer, this prehistoric
Newton and the fascination of the thing had gripped his mind.
In due time he was gathered to his fathers, but not before he
had passed on to a few chosen ones the peculiar coincidences he
had observed. And thus, from age to age coincidence was added
to coincidence and the result of all this "unpractical" labor
was, at long last, a calendar. Let who will attempt to estimate
the cash value of this discovery; I will not attempt the
impossible. I will merely ask you to picture to yourselves
humanity in the condition of the Australian Aboriginal or of
the South African Bushman; devoid of any means of estimating
time or season save by the daily passage of the sun, and I ask
you, "supposing that through some vast calamity, a calamity
greater even than the present war, humanity could at a stroke
evolve a calendar, would it be worth while?" I for one think it
would.
The evolution of the calendar is not an inapt illustration of
the methods of science, and of the part which it has played in
shaping the destiny of man. Out of the unregarded labors of
thousands of forgotten men, and a few whom we now remember, has
sprung every detail of that vast complex of machinery, method
and measurement in which to-day we live and move and have our
being. In all ages scientific curiosity guided by the
scientific discipline of thought has forced man into new and
more complex paths of progress. Lacking the spirit of research,
a nation or community is merely parasitic, living upon the
vital achievements of others, as Rome based her civilization
upon the civilization of the Greeks. Only an indefinite and
sterile refinement of the existing environment is possible
under such circumstances, and humanity stays stationary or
sinks back into the semibarbarism of the middle ages.
The few scattered students of nature of that day picked up the
clue to her secrets exactly as it fell from the hands of the
Greeks a thousand years before. The foundations of mathematics
were so well laid by them that our children learn their
geometry from a book written for the schools of Alexandria two
thousand years ago. Modern astronomy is the natural
continuation and development of the work of Hipparchus and of
Ptolemy; modern physics of that of Democritus and of
Archimedes; it was long before biological science outgrew the
knowledge bequeathed to us by Aristotle, by Theophrastus and by
Galen.[1]
[1] T. H. Huxley, "Science and Culture."
If, therefore, we ask ourselves what has been the value of
science to man, the answer is that its value is practically the
value of the whole world in which we find ourselves to-day, or,
at any rate, the difference between the value of our world and
that of a world inhabited by Neolithic savages.
The sweeping nature of this deduction may from its very
comprehensiveness fail to carry conviction to the reader. But
concrete illustrations of the value which scientific research
may add to our environment are not far to seek. They are
afforded in abundance by the dramatic achievements of the past
century of human progress, in which science has begun painfully
and haltingly to creep into its true place and achieve its true
function.
In the year 1813 many important events occurred. The power of
Napoleon was crumbling in that year and countless historians
have written countless pages describing innumerable events,
great and small, which accompanied that colossal downfall. But
one event of that year, of which we do not read in our
historical memoirs and school books was the discovery by Sir
Humphry Davy, in the humble person of a bookbinder's
apprentice, of the man who will probably stand out forever in
the history of science as the ideal scientific man--Michael
Faraday. The manner of this discovery is revealed by the
following conversation between Sir Humphry Davy and his friend
Pepys. "Pepys, what am I to do, here is a letter from a young
man named Faraday; he has been attending my lectures, and wants
me to give him employment at the Royal Institution--what can I
do?" "Do?" replied Pepys, "put him to wash bottles; if he
refuses he is good for nothing." "No, no," replied Davy; "we
must try him with something better than that." The result was,
that Davy engaged him to assist in the laboratory at weekly
wages.[2]
[2] J. Tyndall, "Faraday as a Discoverer."
Davy made many important discoveries, but none of his
discoveries was more important than his discovery of Faraday,
and of all the events which occurred in the year 1813, the
entry of Faraday into the Royal Institution was not the least
significant for humanity.
On the morning of Christmas day, 1821, Faraday called his wife
into his laboratory to witness, for the first time in the
history of man, the revolution of a magnet around an electric
current. The foundations of electromagnetics were laid and the
edifice was built by Faraday upon this foundation in the
fourteen succeeding years. In those years and from those
labors, the electro-motor, the motor generator, the electrical
utilization of water power, the electric car, electric
lighting, the telephone and telegraph, in short all that is
comprised in modern electrical machinery came actually or
potentially into being. The little rotating magnet which
Faraday showed his wife was, in fact, the first electric motor.
What was the cash value to humanity of those fourteen years of
labor in a laboratory?
According to the thirteenth census of the United States, the
value of the electrical machinery, apparatus and supplies
produced in this country alone, in 1909 was $221,000,000. In
1907, the value of the electric light and power stations in the
United States was $1,097,000,000, of the telephones
$820,000,000, and the combined income from these two sources
was $360,000,000. Nor does this represent a tithe of the
values, as yet barely realized, which these researches placed
at our disposal. Thus in its waterfalls, the United States is
estimated to possess 150,000,000 available horse-power, which
can only be realized through the employment of Faraday's
electro-motor. This corresponds, at the conservative figure of
$20 per horse-power per annum to a yearly income of
$3,000,000,000, corresponding at 4 per cent. interest to a
capital value of $75,000,000,0000.[3]
[3] M. T. Bogert, "The Function of Chemistry in the
Conservation of our National Resources," Journal of the
American Chemical Society, February, 1909.
Such was the Christmas gift which Michael Faraday presented to
the world in 1821.
Faraday died a poor man in 1867, neither for lack of
opportunity nor for lack of ability to grasp his opportunities,
but because as his pupil Tyndall tells us, he found it
necessary to choose between the pursuit of wealth and the
pursuit of science, and he deliberately chose the latter. This
is not a bad thing. It is perhaps as it should be, and as it
has been in the vast majority of cases. But another fact which
can not be viewed with like equanimity is that of all the
inexhaustible wealth which Faraday poured into the lap of the
world, not one millionth, not a discernible fraction, has ever
been returned to science for the furtherance of its aims and
its achievements, for the continuance of research.
There is no regular machinery for securing the permanent
endowment of research, and it is always and everywhere a barely
tolerated intruder. In the universities it crouches under the
shadow of pedagogy, and snatches its time and its materials
from the fragments which are left over when the all-important
business of teaching the young what others have accomplished
has been done. In commercial institutions it occasionally
pursues a stunted career, subject to all the caprices of
momentary commercial advantage and the cramped outlook of the
"practical man." The investigator in the employ of a commercial
undertaking is encouraged to be original, it is true, but not
to be too original. He must never transcend the "practical,"
that is to say, the infinitesimal rearrangement of the
preexisting. The institutions existing in the world which are
devoted to research and, research alone can almost be counted
on the fingers. The Solvay Institute in Brussels, the Nobel
Institute in Stockholm, the Pasteur Institute in France, the
Institute for Experimental Therapy at Frankfort, The Kaiser
Wilhelm Institutes at Berlin, The Imperial Institute for
Medical Research at Petrograd, the Biologisches Versuchsanstalt
at Vienna, the Biological Station at Naples, the Royal
Institution in London, the Wellcome Laboratories in England and
at Khartoum, the Smithsonian, Wistar, Carnegie and Rockefeller
Institutes in the United States; the list of research
institutes of important dimensions (excluding astronomical
observatories) is, I believe, practically exhausted by the
above enumeration, and many of them are woefully undermanned
and underequipped. At least two of them, the Solvay Institute
wholly, and the Frankfort Institute for Experimental Therapy in
part, owe their existence and continuance to scientific men,
Solvay and Ehrlich, who have contrived to combine the pursuit
of wealth and of science, and have dedicated the wealth thus
procured to the science that gave it birth.
In 1900 the value of the manufacturing industries in the United
States which had been developed from patented scientific
inventions was no less than $395,663,958 per annum,[4]
corresponding to a capital value of about $10,000,000,000. It
is impossible to arrive at any accurate estimate of the
proportion of this wealth which finds its way back to science
to provide equipment and subsistence for the investigator, who
is creating the wealth of the future. But the capital endowment
of the Rockefeller and Carnegie Institutes, the two wealthiest
institutes of research in the world is, according to the 1914
issue of Minerva, only $29,000,000. The total income (exclusive
of additions to endowments) of all the higher institutions of
learning in the United States in 1913, was only $90,000,000, of
which a minute percentage was expended in research.
[4] 12th census, Vol. 10, Part 4.
If science produces so much wealth, is there no contrivance
whereby we can cause a small fraction of this wealth to return
automatically to science and to furnish munitions of war for
fresh conquests of nature? A very small investment in research
often produces colossal returns. In 1911 the income of the
Kaiser Wilhelm Institute for Physical Chemistry was only
$21,000. In 1913 the income of the Institute for Experimental
Therapy at Frankfort, where "606" was discovered, was only
$20,000; that of the Imperial Institute for Medical Research at
Petrograd was $95,000, and that of the National Physical
Laboratory in England (not exclusively devoted to research) was
$40,000. Yet these are among the most famous research
institutions in the world and have achieved results of
world-wide fame and inestimable value both from a financial
standpoint and from the standpoint of the physical, moral and
spiritual welfare of mankind.
In 1856, Perkin, an English chemist, discovered the coal-tar
(anilin) dyes. The cost of this investigation, which was
carried out in an improvised, private laboratory was
negligible. Yet, in 1905, the United States imported $5,635,164
worth of these dyes from Europe, and Germany exported
$24,065,500 worth to all parts of the world.[5] To-day we read
that great industries in this country are paralyzed because
these dyes temporarily can not be imported from Germany. All of
these vast results sprang from a modest little laboratory, a
meager equipment and the genius and patience of one man.
[5] U. S. Census Bureau Bull. 92.
W. R. Whitney, director of the research laboratory of the
General Electric Company, points out that the collective
improvements in the manufacture of filaments for electric
lamps, from 1901 to 1911, have saved the consumer and producer
no less than $240,000,000 annually. He adds with apparently
unconscious naivete that the expenses of the research
laboratory in his charge aggregate more than $100,000
annually![6] A handsome investment, this, which brings in some
two hundred million for an outlay of one hundred thousand.
[6] "Technology and Industrial Efficiency," McGraw-Hill Book
Co., 1911.
According to Huxley the discovery by Pasteur of the means of
preventing or curing anthrax, silkworm disease and chicken
cholera, a fraction of that great man's life work, added
annually to the wealth of France a sum equivalent to the entire
indemnity paid by France to Germany after the war of 1870.
Humanity has not finished its conquest of nature; on the
contrary, it has barely begun. The discipline of thought which
has carried humanity so far is destined to carry it further
yet. Business enterprise and politics, the all-absorbing
interests of the majority of mankind, work in an endless
circle. Scientific research communicates a thrust to this
rotation which converts the circle into a spiral; the apex of
that spiral lies far beyond our vision. We have, not decades,
not centuries, not thousands of years before us; but, as
astronomy assures us, in all probability, humanity has millions
of years of earthly destiny to realize. Barely three thousand
years of PURPOSEFUL scientific research have brought the
uttermost ends of the earth to our doors; have made
civilization and excluded much of the most brutal and
brutalizing in life. Not more than two hundred years of
research have made us masters where we were slaves; masters of
distance, of the air, of the water, of the bowels of the earth,
of many of the most dreaded aspects of disease and suffering.
Only for forty years have we practiced antisepsis; only for
sixty years have we had anesthetics; yet life to-day is
well-nigh inconceivable without them. And all of this has been
accomplished without any forethought on the part of the
acknowledged rulers and leaders of mankind or any save the most
trumpery and uncertain provision for research. What will the
millions of years which stretch in front of us bring of power
to mankind? We can barely foreshadow things too vast to grasp;
things that will make the imaginings of Jules Verne and H. G.
Wells seem puny by comparison. The future, with the uncanny
control which it will bring over things that seem to us almost
sacred--over life and death and development and thought
itself--might well seem to us a terrifying prospect were it not
for one great saving clause. Through all that may happen to
man, of this we may be sure, that he will remain human; and
because of that we can face the future unafraid and confident
that because it will be greater, it will also be better than
the present.
What can we do to accelerate the coming of this future? Not
very much, it is true, but we can surely do something. We can
not create geniuses, often we can not discern them, but having
discerned, surely we can use them to the best advantage. It is
true that all scientific research has depended and will depend
upon individuals; Simon Newcomb expresses the matter thus:
'It is impressive to think how few men we should have to remove
from the earth during the past three centuries to have stopped
the advance of our civilization. In the seventeenth century
there would only have been Galileo, Newton and a few other
contemporaries, in the eighteenth they could almost have been
counted on the fingers, and they have not crowded the
nineteenth.'[7]
[7] "Inventors at Work," Iles, Doubleday Page, 1906.
The first thing we have to do is to discover such men, to learn
to know them or suspect them when we meet them or their works.
The next is to give them moral and financial recognition, and
the means of doing their work. Our procedure in the past has
been the reverse of this. I quote from a letter of Kepler to
his friend Moestlen:
'I supplicate you, if there is a situation vacant at Tubingen,
do what you can to obtain it for me, and let me know the prices
of bread, wine and other necessaries of life, for my wife is
not accustomed to live on beans.'
The founder of comparative psychology, J. H. Fabre, that
"incomparable observer" as Darwin characterized him, is now
over ninety years of age, and until very recently was actually
suffering from poverty. All his life his work was stunted and
crippled by poverty, and countless researches which he was the
one human being qualified by genius and experience to
undertake, remain to this day unperformed because he never
could command the meager necessary equipment of apparatus.
Once again, what can we do?
No small proportion of the population of a modern community are
alumni of some institution of higher learning, and one thing
that these can do is to see to it by every means in their power
that some measure of the spirit of academic freedom is
preserved in their alma mater. That the spirit of inquiry and
research is not merely tolerated therein but fostered and
substantially supported, morally and financially.
As members of the body politic, we can assist the development
of science in two ways. Firstly, by doing each our individual
part towards ensuring that endowment for the university must
provide not only for "teaching adolescents the rudiments of
Greek and Latin" and erecting imposing buildings, but also for
the furtherance of scientific research. The public readily
appreciates a great educational mill for the manufacture of
mediocre learning, and it always appreciates a showy building,
but it is slow to realize that that which urgently and at all
times needs endowment is experimental research.
Secondly, it is vital that public sentiment should be educated
to the point of providing the legal machinery whereby some
proportion, no matter how small, of the wealth which science
pours into the lap of the community, shall return automatically
to the support and expansion of scientific research. The
collection of a tax upon the profits accruing from inventions
(which are all ultimately if indirectly results of scientific
advances) and the devotion of the proceeds from this tax to the
furtherance of research would not only be a policy of wisdom in
the most material sense, but it would also be a policy of bare
justice.
THE PHYSICAL MICHELANGELO
BY JAMES FREDERICK ROGERS, M.D.
NEW HAVEN, CONN.
You will say that I am old and mad, but I answer that there is
no better way of keeping sane and free from anxiety than by
being mad.
HAD Michelangelo been less poetic and more explicit in his
language, he might have said there is nothing so conducive to
mental and physical wholeness as saturation of body and mind
with work. The great artist was so prone to over-anxiety and
met (whether needlessly or not) with so many rebuffs and
disappointments, that only constant absorption in manual labor
prevented spirit from fretting itself free from flesh. He
toiled "furiously" in all his mighty undertakings and body and
mind remained one and in superior harmony--in abundant
health--for nearly four score and ten years.
This Titan got his start in life in the rugged country three
miles outside Florence: a place of quarries, where stone
cutters and sculptors lived and worked. His mother's health was
failing and it was to the wife of one of these artisans that
her baby was given to nurse. Half in jest, half in earnest,
Michelangelo said one day to Vasari:
'If I have anything good in me, that comes from my birth in the
pure air of your country of Arezzo, and perhaps also from the
feet that with the milk of my nurse, I sucked in the chisels
and hammers wherewith I make my figures.'
He began his serious study of art (and with it his course in
"physical training") at fourteen, when he became apprenticed to
a painter. He was not vigorous as a child, but his bodily
powers unfolded and were intensified through their active
expression of his imagination.
His life was devoted with passion to art. He had from the start
no time for frivolity. Art became his religion--and required of
him the sacrifice of all that might keep him below his highest
level of power for work. His father early warned him to have a
care for his health, "for," said he, "in your profession, if
once you were to fall ill you would be a ruined man." To one so
intent on perfection and so keenly alive to imperfection such
advice must have been nearly superfluous, for the artist could
not but observe the effect upon his work of any depression of
his bodily well-being. He was, besides, too thrifty in all
respects to think of lapsing into bodily neglect or abuse. He
was severely temperate, but not ascetic, save in those times
when devotion to work caused him to sleep with his clothes on,
that he might not lose time in seizing the chisel when he
awoke. He ate to live and to labor, and was pleased with a
present of "fifteen marzolino cheeses and fourteen pounds of
sausage--the latter very welcome, as was also the cheese." Over
a gift of choice wines he is not so enthusiastic and the
bottles found their way mostly to the tables of his friends and
patrons. When intent on some work he usually "confined his diet
to a piece of bread which he ate in the middle of his labors."
Few hours (we have no accurate statement in the matter) were
devoted to sleep. He ate comparatively little because he worked
better: he slept less than many men because he worked better in
consequence. Partly for protection against cold, partly perhaps
for economy of time, he sometimes left his high dog-skin boots
on for so long that when he removed them the scarf skin came
away like the skin of a moulting serpent.
He dressed for comfort and not to mortify the flesh. Upon the
receipt of a present of some shirts from his nephew he writes:
'I am very much surprised ye should have sent them to me, for
they are so coarse that there is not a farm laborer here who
would not be ashamed to wear them.'
He is much pleased with a finer lot selected later by his
nephew's new wife. Perhaps he did not come up to modern notions
of cleanliness (he was early advised by his father never to
bathe but to have his body rubbed instead) but he was clean
inside, which can not be said of all who make much of a
well-washed skin.
His intensity of purpose and fiery energy expressed themselves
in his features and form. "His face was round, his brow square,
ample," and deeply furrowed: "the temples projected much beyond
the ears"; his eyes were "small rather than large," of a dark
(some said horn) color and peered, piercingly, from under heavy
brows. The flattened nose was the result of a blow from a rival
apprentice. He evidently looked the part, though for such
mental powers one of his colossal statues would seem a more
fitting mold.
Michelangelo experienced some illnesses, all but two of them of
minor moment. In 1531 he "became alarmingly ill, and the Pope
ordered him to quit most of his work and to take better care of
his health." That the illness was a storm merely of the surface
is evidenced sufficiently in that his fresco of the "Last
Judgment," probably the most famous single picture in the
world, was begun years later and completed in his sixty-sixth
year. In the work of this epoch there is more than ever the
evidence of a pouring forth of energy amounting almost to what
the critics call violence--to terribleness of action. It was
not until the age of seventy that an illness which seemed to
mark any weakening of his bodily powers came upon him. At
seventy-five, symptoms of calculus (a disease common in that
day at fifty) appeared, but, though naturally pessimistic, he
writes, "In all other respects I am pretty much as I was at
thirty years." He improved under careful medical treatment, but
the illness and his age were sufficient to cause him to "think
of putting his spiritual and temporal affairs in better order
than he had hitherto done."
He wielded the brush and the chisel with consummate skill in
his seventy-fifth year. With the later loss of cunning his
energy found vent more in the planning and supervising of
architectural works, culminating in the building of St.
Peter's, but even in these later years he took up the chisel as
an outlet for superfluous energy and to induce sleep. Though
the product of his hand was not good, his health was the better
for this mutual exercise of mind and body. In his eighty-sixth
year he is said to have sat drawing for three consecutive hours
until pains and cramps in his limbs warned him that he had not
the endurance of youth. For exercise, when manual labor proved
a disappointment, he often took horseback rides. There was no
invalidism about this great spirit, and it was not until the
day before his death that he would consent to go to bed.
In a poem of his last years he burlesques his infirmities in
his usual vigorous manner.
'I live alone and wretched, confined like the pith within the
bark of the tree.... My voice is like a wasp imprisoned within
a sack of skin and bone. ... My teeth rattle like the keys of
an old musical instrument.... My face is a scarecrow.... There
is a ceaseless buzzing in my ears--in one a spider spins his
web, in the other a cricket chirps all night.... My catarrh,
which causes a rattle in my throat, will not allow me to
sleep.--Fatigue has quite broken me, and the hostlery which
awaits me is Death.'
Few men at his age have had less reason to find in themselves
other than the changes to be expected with the passing of years
and in prose he acknowledged that he had no more affections of
the flesh than were to be expected at his age. Codiva pictures
him in his last years as "of good complexion; more muscular and
bony than fat or fleshy in his person: healthy above all
things, as well by reason of his natural constitution as of the
exercise he takes, and habitual continence in food and sexual
indulgence." His temperance and manual industry and his
"extraordinary blamelessness in life and in every action" had
been his source of preservation. He was miserly, suspicious,
quarrelsome and pessimistic, but the effects of these faults
were balanced by his better habits of thought and action. That
he, like most great men, felt keenly the value of health, is
evidenced not only by his own practice, but by his oft repeated
warnings to his nephew when choosing a wife to see that
whatever other qualities she might have she be healthy. The
blemish of nearsight he considered a no small defect and
sufficient to render a young woman unworthy of entry into the
proud family of the Buonarroti. To his own father he wrote:
"Look to your life and health, for a man does not come back
again to patch up things ill done."
One of those who look beneath unusual human phenomena for signs
of the pathologic finds Michelangelo "affected by a degree of
neuropathy bordering closely upon hysterical disease." What a
pity that more of us do not suffer from such degrees of
neuropathy--and how much better for most of us if we had such
enthusiasm for perfection, and such mania for work, at least of
that health-bringing sort in which there is absorbing colabor
of brain and hand. True it is that "there is no better way of
keeping sane and free from anxiety than by being mad."
THE CONSERVATION OF TALENT THROUGH UTILIZATION
BY PROFESSOR JOHN M. GILLETTE
STATE UNIVERSITY OF NORTH DAKOTA
TO raise the question of how to conserve talent is not an idle
inquiry. We are in no immediate danger of famine. Yet there is
an enormous interest being devoted to what is known as the
conservation of soil. Our forests contain an abundance of
timber for near purposes, and when they are gone we shall
probably find a better substitute in the direction of concrete.
Still agitation and discussion proceed relative to the
conservation of our timber supply. We hear of conservation of
childhood, of conservation of health, of conservation of
natural scenery. It is a period of agitation for conservation
of resources all along the line. This is all good. Real
intelligent foresight is manifesting itself. Civilized man
demonstrates his superiority over uncivilized man most in the
exercise of anticipation and prescience.
As compared with other natural resources, genius and talent are
relatively scarce articles. This is at least the popular
impression as to their quantity. Even scientific men, for the
most part, incline to this opinion. Unless we are able to
demonstrate that they are quite abundant this opinion must be
accepted. I shall seek to show that the estimate of the amount
of talent in existence which is usually accepted is too small.
However, we are in no peril of so inflating the potential
supply of talent and genius in the course of our remarks that
they may be regarded as universal. Nor are we likely to
discover such a rich lode of this commodity that the world may
run riot in its consumption of the visible supply. Talent
promises to remain so scarce that, granting for the moment that
it is a useful agent, its supply must be conserved.
I shall use the term talent so as to include genius. Both
talent and genius are of the same kind. Their essential
difference consists in degree. Increase what is commonly called
talent in the direction of its manifestation and it would
develop into genius. Genius is commonly thought of as something
abnormal, in the sense that it is essentially eccentric. A
genius is generally spoken of as an eccentric, erratic,
unbalanced, person. The eccentricity is then taken as
constituting the substance of the quality of genius. This is
undoubtedly a mistake. Because some geniuses have been erratic,
the popular imagination has formed its picture of all genius as
unbalanced. The majority of the world's men of genius have been
as balanced and normal in their judgments as the average man.
We may think of a genius as like the ordinary man in his
constitution. He has the same mental faculties, the same
emotions, the same kind of determinizing ability. What makes
him a genius is his power of concentration in his given field
of work. The moral quality, or zeal to accomplish, or energy
directed toward intellectual operations stands enormously above
that of the average individual. If we could confer this quality
of moral will on the common normal man possibly we would raise
him to that degree which we term genius.
In order to determine the worth of conserving talent we must
estimate its value as a commodity, as a world asset. I shall,
therefore, turn my attention first to discovering a method of
reckoning the value of eminent men.
One method open to us is what may be called the individualistic
test. Under this method we think of the individual as
individual or of his work as a concrete case of production. One
phase of this is the individual's estimate of his own powers.
We may inquire what is the man's appreciation of his own worth.
This is precarious because of two difficulties. There is an
egotistical element in individuals. It is inherent as a
historical agent of self-preservation. Most of us are like
primitive groups. The ethnologist expects to find every tribe
or horde of savages claiming to be THE PEOPLE. They ascribe
superior qualities to their group. In their names for their
group they call themselves the people, the men, and so on,
indicating their point of view.
Again, an individual, however honestly he might try, could not
estimate his own worth accurately. Let any of us attempt to see
ourselves as others see us and we shall discover the difficulty
of the undertaking. We are not able to get the perspective
because our personal feelings, our necessary selfish
self-appreciation, puts our judgments awry. Others close to us
may do little better. They are likely to either underrate us or
to exaggerate our qualities and powers. In the United States we
are called on to evaluate Mr. Taft and Mr. Roosevelt. Is either
of them a great man? Has either of them been a great president?
Opinions differ. We are too close to them. We do not know. We
give them credit, perhaps, for doing things which the age would
have worked out in spite of them. Or we think things would have
come inevitably which their personal efforts, it will be found,
were responsible for establishing. We have not yet been able to
determine accurately just how great Abraham Lincoln was. It is
almost half a century since he did his work. But we live in the
presence of the personal relative to him yet. Sentiment enters
in and obfuscates judgment.
If we turn to the product itself as mere product we are at a
loss. Unless we ask what is the import of the work we confess
we do not know. A man in Connecticut has made a manikin. It
walks, talks, does many of the things which human beings do.
But it is not alive, it is not serviceable, it can accomplish
nothing. Suppose the maker passes his life in making probably
the most intricate and perfect mechanism which has been made.
Is he a genius? We may admit that the products manifest great
ingenuity on the part of their creator, yet we feel repelled
when we think of calling the maker a genius.
The community method of rating talent is far more satisfactory.
The inventor is related to his time or to human society by
means of the usefulness of his invention. The statesman is
rated by means of the deep-seated influence for improvement he
has had on his age. The educator finds his evaluation in the
constructive spirit and method he displays in bringing useful
spirit and methods to light. The scientist is measured by the
uplift his discovery gives to the sum and substance of human
welfare. If a product which some individual creates can not be
utilized by society, its creator is not regarded as having made
a contribution to human progress. As a consequence he does not
get a rating as genius. To get the appraisal of mankind the
product of the man of talent must get generally accepted, must
fill the want of society generally or of some clientele. If a
man produces something merely ingenious, something which does
not serve a considerable portion of humanity in the way of
satisfying a want, if his creation does not pass into use, he
does not step into the current of the world's history as a
fruitful factor, he fails to attain to the rank of talent.
This objective measure of the value of the producer puts talent
into direct relation to the concept of social evolution and
progress. Society has been an evolution. Collective humanity
has gone through distinctive metamorphoses. Distinct strides in
advance have been made, tendencies have manifested themselves,
conditions have changed so that larger satisfactions have
ensued, democracy in the essential wants of mankind has been
wrought out. Society is more complex in its quantitative
aspect. It is more serviceable by reason of its greater
specialization. Since progress stands for improvement it has
come to be regarded as a desirable thing.
In the sociological conception of things the genius possesses a
specific social function. He is not a passing curiosity. He is
not produced for amusement. He does not stand unrelated. He is
the product of his age, is articulated with its life, performs
an office which is of consequence to it. He is the connecting
link between the past and the future. He takes what was and so
combines it anew as to produce what is to be. He is the
innovator, the initiator, the agent of transformation, the
creator of a new order. Hence he is the exceptional man. The
masses of men are imitators. They make nothing new, add nothing
to the mechanism of social structure, introduce no new
functions, produce no achievements, do nothing which changes
the order of things. The common people are quite as important
for the purposes of society as are the talented. Society must
be conserved most of the time or we should all float down the
stream of change too rapidly for comfort. Hence the function of
the great mass of individuals is to seize and use the
achievements which the creators, the talented have brought into
existence. We may conclude, therefore, that if society is to be
improved and if the lives of the great body of human beings are
to be endowed with more and more blessings, material and
spiritual, we must look to the men of talent, the men of
achievement, and to them 'alone, for the initiation of these
results.
We may say, then, that we have discovered not only the method
of estimating the value of talent, but also in what its value
consists. If progress is desirable, talent by means of which
that progress is secured is likewise valuable. And, like other
things, its value is measured by its scarcity. It is now
incumbent on us to attempt to discover the extent of the supply
of this commodity, both actual and possible.
I shall refer to two estimates of the amount of talent in
existence which have been made because they differ so much in
their conclusions as to the extent of talent, and because they
exhibit quite different view-points and methods.
The great English scientist and benefactor of the race, Sir
Francis Galton, in his work entitled "Hereditary Genius" made a
computation of the number of men of eminence in the British
Isles. This estimate was made nearly a half-century ago and has
generally been accepted as representing actual conditions. One
means of discovering the number was by taking a catalogue of
"Men of The Times" which contained about 2,500 names, one half
of which were Americans and Europeans. He found that most of
the men were past fifty years of age. Relative to this he
states:
'It appears that in the cases of high (but by no means in that
of the highest) merit, a man must outlive the age of fifty to
be sure of being widely appreciated. It takes time for an able
man, born in the humbler ranks of life, to emerge from them and
to take his natural position.'[1]
[1] Cattell's investigations of American men of science
disproves this statement for Americans. He finds that only a
few men enter the ranks of that class of men after the age of
fifty, and that none of that age reach the highest place. The
fecund age is from 35 to 45; ("American Men of Science," p.
575.)
After eliminating the non-British individuals he compared the
number of celebrities above fifty with males of the same age
for the whole British population. He found about 850 who were
above fifty. Of this age there were about 2,000,000 males in
the British Isles. Hence the meritorious were as 425 to
1,000,000, and the more select were as 250 to 1,000,000. He
stated what he considered the qualifications of the more select
as follows:
'The qualifications for belonging to what I call the more
select part are, in my mind, that a man should have
distinguished himself pretty frequently either by purely
original work, or as a leader of opinion. I wholly exclude
notoriety obtained by a single act. This is a fairly well
defined line, because there is not room for many men to become
eminent.'
Mr. Galton made another estimate by studying an obituary list
published in The Times in 1868. This contained 50 men of the
select class. He considered it broader than his former estimate
because it excluded men dying before they attained their
broadest reputation, and more rigorous because it excluded old
men who had previously attained a reputation which they were
not able to sustain. He consequently lowered the age to 45. In
Great Britain there were 210,000 males who died yearly of that
age. This gave a result of 50 men of exceptional merit to
210,000 of the population, or 238 to the million.
His third estimate was made by the study of obituaries of many
years back. This led to similar conclusions, namely, that about
250 to the million is an ample estimate of the number of
eminent men. He says:
'When I speak of an eminent man, I mean one who has achieved a
position that is attained by only 250 persons in each million
of men, or by one person in each 4,000.'
The other estimate of the amount of talent in existence has
been made by one of our most eminent American sociologists, the
late Lester F. Ward. The elaborate treatment of this matter is
found in his "Applied Sociology," and offers an illustration of
a most rigorous and thorough application of the scientific
method to the subject in question. The essential facts for the
study were furnished by Odin in his work on the genesis of the
literary men of France, although Candole, Jacoby and others are
laid under contribution for data. Maps, tables and diagrams are
used whenever they can be made to secure results. Odin's study
covered the period of over five hundred years of France and
French regions, or from 1300 to 1825. Out of over thirteen
thousand literary names he chose some 6,200 as representing men
of genius, talent or merit, the former constituting much the
smaller and the latter much the larger of the total number.
The object of Ward's investigation is to discover the factor or
factors in the situation which are responsible for the
production of genius. In the course of examination it was seen
that certain communities were very much more prolific than
others in producing talent. Paris, for instance, produced 123
per 100,000; Geneva, Switzerland, 196; certain chateaux as many
as 200, and some communities none at all or very few. After
considering the various factors which account for the high rate
in certain localities and the low rate or absence of merit in
others the conclusion is reached that we should expect the
presence of the meritorious class generally in even greater
numbers than it has existed in the most fruitful regions of the
French people.
Mr. Ward's studies have led him to conclude that talent is
latent in society, that it exists in greater abundance than we
have ever dared to expect, that all classes possess it equally
and would manifest it equally if obstacles were removed or
opportunities offered for its development. Education is the key
to the situation in his estimation. It affords the opportunity
which latent talent requires for its promotion, and if this
were intelligently applied to all classes and to both sexes
alike instead of securing one man of talent for each 4,000
persons as Mr. Galton held, we would be able to mature one for
every 500 of our population. This would represent an
eight-hundred-per-cent. increase of the talented class, an
eight-fold multiplication. It is an estimate of not the number
of the talented who are known to be such, but of society's
potential or latent talent.[2]
[2] Investigations made on school children by the Binet test
indicate Ward's estimate is conservative. It has been found
that from two to three out of every hundred children are of
exceptional ability, thus belonging to the talented, or at
least merit class.
Because these estimates are so divergent, it may be worth while
to consider the reason for the difference. And in taking this
up we come to the fundamentally distinct point of view of the
two investigators. Mr. Galton's work is an illustration of the
view which regards talent as a product of the hereditary
factors. Mr. Galton believed that heredity accounts for talent
and that it is so dominant in the lives of the talented that it
is bound to express itself as talent. In his estimation there
is no such thing as latent genius, because it is in the nature
of genius that it surmounts all obstacles. He says:
'By natural ability, I mean those qualities of intellect and
disposition, which urge and qualify a man to perform acts which
lead to reputation. I do not mean capacity without zeal, nor
zeal without capacity, nor even a combination of both of them,
without an adequate power of doing a great deal of very
laborious work. But I mean a nature which, when left to itself,
will, urged by an inherent stimulus, climb the path that leads
to eminence, and has strength to reach the summit--one which,
if hindered or thwarted, will fret and strive until the
hindrance is overcome, and it is again free to follow its
labor-saving instinct.'[2]
[3] "Hereditary Genius," pp. 37-8.
This in reality amounts to saying that the genius is
omnipotent. Nothing can prevent the development of the genius.
He is master of all difficulties by the very fact that he is a
genius. It is also equivalent, by implication, to saying that
obstacles can have no qualifying effect on the course of such
an individual. A great difficulty is no more to him than a
small one. Hence no matter in what circumstances he lives he is
always bound to gain the maximum of his development. He could
not be either greater or less than he is, notwithstanding the
force of circumstances, whether obstructive or propitious. The
energy of a genius is thus differentiated from all other forms
of energy. Other forms of energy are modified in their course
and effects by preventing obstacles. Add to or subtract from
the impediments and the effect of the energy is changed by the
amount of the impediments. But this doctrine completely
emancipates human energy, when manifested in the form of
genius, from the working of the law of cause and effect.
It is especially noteworthy that it is not what we should
expect in view of the place and function of the environment in
the course of evolution. To say the least environment enjoys a
very respectable influence in selecting and directing the
forces of development. Some men have gone so far as to make the
external factors account for everything in society. Discounting
this claim, the minimum biological statement is that the
environment exercises a selective function relative to organic
forms and variations. It opposes itself to the transmission
strain, and if unfavorable to it, may eliminate it entirely. To
be able to accomplish this it must be regarded as having an
influence on all forms. And as there are all grades of
environment from the most unfavorable to the most propitious,
similarly constituted organisms living in those various
environments must perforce fare differently, some being
hindered others being promoted in varying degrees. That is,
should the most able by birth appear in the most unfavorable
environment they could not be expected to make the same gains
in life as similar congenitally able who appear in the most
favorable conditions.
Mr. Ward, on the contrary, holds that genius, like all other
forms of human ability, is the product of circumstances. It is
determined in its raw form by heredity, to be sure. In similar
circumstances it will affect more than the average man. But
like all other forms of energy it is subject to the law of
causality. It is not omnipotent so that it is able to set at
naught the effects of opposing forces. Nor can it develop in
the absence of nourishing circumstances. Deprive it of cultural
opportunities and it is like the sprout of the majestic tree
which is deprived of moisture, or the great river cut off from
the supply of snow and rain. In other words, it is a product of
all the factors at work in its being and environment, and the
internal can not manifest itself or its powers without the
presence of the external. Modify the external factors to a
perceptible degree and the individual is modified to the same
degree.
In seeking to find the factors which are accountable for the
development of talent Mr. Ward takes into consideration those
of the physical environment, the ethnological, the religious,
the local, the economic, the social, and the educational. Each
one of these items is given a searching examination as to its
force. I shall briefly deal with each of these in turn, giving
the import of the findings in each case and as many of the
basic facts as possible in a small space.
By a consideration of French regions by departments, provinces,
and principal sections, as to their yield of talent, the
physical environment was found to have had no perceptible
influence. The mountain-situated Geneva and the lowland Paris
produced alike prolifically talented men. The valley of the
Seine and that of the Loire competed for hegemony in fecundity.
The facts contradicted the highland theory, the lowland theory,
the coast theory, and every other theory of the dominance of
physical environment.
To get at the influence of the ethnological factor the Gaulic,
Cimbrian, Iberian, Ligurian and Belgic elements of the
population were examined as to their fecundity in talent. Odin
confesses to being unable to discover "the least connection
between races and fecundity in men of letters." Attention was
paid likewise to races speaking other than French language.
Again there was a conflict of facts. Inside of France
ethnological elements exerted "no appreciable influence upon
literary productivity." In Belgium and Lorraine, where the
German language dominated, it was found that French literature
mastered the situation, thus indicating that a common language
does not necessitate a common literature. The conclusion
ethnologically is that races possess an equality in yielding
talent.
The religious factor was found to have been more influential
formerly in bringing to light talent than at the close of the
five-hundred-year period. From 1300 to 1700 the church
furnished on the average 37.8 per cent. of all literary talent.
Its fecundity dropped to 29 in the period from 1700 to 1750.
Between 1750 and 1825 it produced but 6.5 of the talent. As
Galton has shown, eminent men were killed or driven out during
the period of religious persecution in Spain, France and Italy.
The celibacy of the clergy which gave undisturbed leisure may
have been an element in making the church productive in the
earlier years. On the other hand, the quieting effect of family
life of the protestant ministry seems to have had a propitious
influence in later times, as there appeared a relative increase
among protestant clergy of talent, while the output among the
catholic clergy continued to decline.
In this investigation the local environment appeared to have
the most influence in the production of talent. Odin gave
witness to having a suspicion that somewhere there was a
neglected factor. The facts connected talent with the cities in
an overwhelming manner. The statement that genius is the
product of the rural regions seems to have had no legs to stand
on. The majority of the talented were born in the cities and
practically all of them were connected with city life.
In proportion to population the cities produced 12.77, almost
thirteen times as many men of talent as rural regions. The
whole of France produced 6,382, the number selected by Odin as
the more meritorious of the men of letters. If all France had
been as productive as Paris it would have yielded 53,640; if as
fecund as the other chief cities, it would have produced
22,060; but if only as fertile as the country the number would
have fallen to 1,522.
It would seem that the matter of population has something to do
with the production of talent. Aggregations of population offer
frequent contact of persons, division of labor, competition
between individuals, a better coordination of society for
cooperative results, neutralization of physical qualities, and
the ascendancy of innovation over the conservative attitude. It
is not the mere density of population which is the effective
element. It is rather the dynamic density which is productive,
that is, the manifestation of the common life and spirit. City
life is specialized in structure and function, rendering men
more interdependent and cooperative. Specialization means moral
coalescence
The chateaux of France are very prolific in producing talent.
They yielded 2 per cent. of all the talent of the period,
seemingly out of proportion to their importance.
Why are certain of the cities and the chateaux more fertile
than most cities and the country in producing the talented? We
have a general reply in the statement as to the dynamic density
of cities. A further analysis finds those communities are
possessed of elements which the country does not have. Odin
calls them "properties." They are the location of the
political, administrative and judicial agencies of society;
they are in possession of great wealth and talent; they are
depositories of learning and the tools of information. The
avenues which open upon talent and the tools and agencies by
means of which the passage to it is to be made segregate
themselves in cities and towns
As the result of his investigation into the distribution of men
of science in the United States, Professor Cattell arrives at
nearly the same conclusion. He writes:
'The main factors in producing scientific and other forms of
intellectual performance seem to be density of population,
institutions and social traditions and ideals. All these may be
ultimately due to race, but, given the existing race, the
scientific productivity of the nation can be increased in
quantity, though not in quality, almost to the extent that we
wish to increase it.'[4]
[4] "American Men of Science," Second edition, p. 654.
It is interesting to note that nearly all of the women of
talent have been born in cities and chateaux. This means that
women had to be born where the means of development were to be
had, as they were not free to move about in society, as were
men.
Periods Rich Poor
1300-1500 24 1
1500-1550 39 4
1551-1600 42 --
1601-1650 84 5
1651-1700 73 4
1701-1725 36 3
1726-1750 53 7
1751-1775 86 8
1776-1800 52 12
1801-1825 73 11
---- ----
Total 562 57, or 9 per cent.
The economic factor has been an important one in offering the
leisure which is necessary for the development of talent. Men
who have to use their time and energy wholly in the support of
themselves and families are deprived of the leisure which
productivity and creativeness in work demands. Of the French
men of letters 35 per cent. belonged to the wealthy or noble
class, 42 per cent. to the middle class, and 23 per cent. to
the working class. Odin was able to discover the economic
environment of 619 men of talent. They were distributed by
periods between the rich and poor as shown in the table on page
169.
Of one hundred foreign associates of the French Academy the
membership of the wealthy, middle and working classes were 41,
52 and 7. A combination of two other of Candole's tables yields
for those classes in per cents 35, 42 and 23. In ancient and
medieval times practically all of the talented came from the
wealthy class. On the whole, but about one eleventh of the men
of talent had to fight with economic adversity. But when we
remember that the wealthy class formed but a small portion of
the population in each period, probably not more than one
fourth, this means that as compared with members of the working
class individuals of the wealthy class had forty or fifty times
as good a chance of rising to a position of eminence. The
contrast is so sharp that Odin is led to exclaim, "Genius is in
things, not in man."
The social and the economic factors are so closely intertwined
that the influence of the social environment is already seen in
treating the economic. The social deals with matter of classes
and callings. The upper classes are of course the wealthier
classes so that the social and economic measures largely agree.
In Mr. Galton's inquiry into the callings of English men of
science which he made in 1873, it appears that out of 96
investigated 9 were noblemen or gentlemen, 18 government
officials, 34 professional men, 43 business men, 2 farmers and
1 other. Unless the one other was a working man the workers
produced none of these 96 men of science. Odin's classification
of the French men of letters gives to the nobility 25.5 per
cent., to government officials 20.0, liberal professions 23.0,
bourgeoise 11.6, manual laborers 9.8. Only a little over one
fifth of the talented were produced by the two lower classes.
Yet in numerical weight those classes constituted 90 per cent.
of the population. Data from four other European countries show
very much the same results, except that the workers and
bourgeoise classes make a better showing. It is unquestionable,
therefore, that the opportunities for developing talent or
genius are largely withheld from the working class and bestowed
on the upper classes.
We have yet one other factor to treat in the production of
talent, namely, the educational. The facts relative to the
education of the talented contradicts the assumption usually
made that genius depends on education and opportunity for none
of its success, but rises to its heights in spite of or without
them.
Of 827 men of talent (not merit class) Odin was able to
investigate as to their education he found that only 1.8 per
cent. had no education or a poor education, while 98.2 per
cent. had a good education. This number investigated was 73 per
cent. of all men of that class, and it is fair to assume that
about the same proportion of educated existed in the other 27
per cent. whose education was not known. Of the 16 of poor or
no education 13 were born in Paris, other large cities, or
chateaux, and three in other localities. Thus they had the
opportunities presented by the cities. Facts as to talented men
in Spain, Italy, England and Germany indicate that anywhere
from 92 to 98 per cent. have been highly educated, and probably
the latter per cent. is correct.
These figures can have but one meaning. They indicate that
talent and genius are dependent on educational and conventional
agencies of the cultural kind, as are other human beings for
their evolution. Otherwise we should expect the figures to be
reversed. If education and cultural opportunities count for
naught, then we should expect that, at a time when education
was by no means universal, the 90 or 98 per cent. Of genius
would mount on their eagle wings and soar to the summits of
eminence, clearing completely the conventional educational
devices which society had established.
Our conclusion, therefore, is that social and economic
opportunities afford the leisure as well as cultural advantages
for the improvement of talent; that the local environment is of
vital importance, offering as it does the cultural advantages
of cities of certain kinds and of chateaux, and that of the
local environment the educational facilities are of the
supremest importance. Consequently, it appears that Mr. Ward's
estimate of one person of talent to the 500 instead of Mr.
Galton's estimate of one to the 4,000 does not seem strained.
Produce in society generally the opportunities and advantages
which Geneva, Paris and the chateaux possessed and which gave
them their great fecundity in talent, and all regions and
places will yield up their potential or latent genius to
development and the ratio will be obtained.
This position is likely to be criticized, unless it is
remembered that we admit that there is a hereditary difference
at birth, and that all we seek to establish is that, given
these differences, what conditions are likely to mature and
develop the men of born talent. Thus after the appearance of my
"Vocational Education" I received a letter from Professor
Eugene Davenport in which he makes this statement:
'Ward's arguments as here employed seem to show that
environment is a powerful factor in bringing out talent even to
the exclusion of heredity. I doubt if you would care to be
understood to this limit, and yet where you enumerate on page
61 the reasons why certain cities are fecund in respective
talents, you seem to have overlooked the fact that if these
cities have been for many generations centers of talent to such
an extent as to provide exceptional environmental influences,
the same conditions would also provide exceptional parentage,
so that the birthrate of talent would be much higher in such a
region than the normal. In other words, the very same
conditions which would provide exceptional opportunities for
development also and at the same time provide an exceptional
birth condition. This is the rock on which very many arguments
tending to compare heredity and environment wreck
themselves.'[5]
[5] This is a criticism that needs to be met. Mr. George R.
Davies of this institution has submitted facts in a paper which
appeared in the March number of the Quarterly Journal of the
University of North Dakota, which fills in the gap. He shows
relative to American cities that there has been little or no
segregation of talented parentage.
We have arrived at a point where we are able to consider the
question of the conservation of talent. A position of advantage
has been gained from which to view this question. For we have
seen that talent has a decidedly important and indispensable
social function to perform. It is the creative and contributive
agency, the cause of achievement, and a vital factor in
progress. Its conservation is consequently devoutly to be
desired. We have also discovered the fact that, while a rare
commodity, it is present in society in a larger measure than we
have commonly believed. If progress is desirable in a measure
it is likely to be desirable in a large measure. If talent is
able to carry us forward at a certain rate with the development
of a minimum of the quantity that is in existence we should be
able to greatly accelerate our progress if all that is latent
could be developed and put into active operation. Further, we
have obtained some insight into the conditions which favor the
development of talent and likewise some of the obstacles to its
manifestation. If it abounds where certain conditions are
present in the situation and fails to appear where those
conditions are absent, we have a fertile suggestion as to the
method of social control and direction which will bring the
latent talent to fertility.
We must undoubtedly hold that if a larger supply of talent
exists than is discovered, developed and put to use that,
since, as we have seen, it is so valuable when estimated in
terms of social progress, we are dealing wastefully with
talent. We are allowing great ability to go to waste since we
are leaving it lie in its undeveloped form. Therefore one of
the problems of the proper conservation of talent consists in
finding a method of discovering and releasing this valuable
form of social energy.
When we come to inquire how this may be done, how this
discovery is to take place, we must take for our guide the
facts which were found to bear on the maturing of talent in the
above studies. We discovered that the local environment seemed
to contain the influential element in bringing forth talent.
When that local environment was analyzed it turned out that the
items of opportunity for leisure and the facilities for
education were the most fruitful factors. Leisure is absolutely
essential to afford that opportunity for self-development which
is required even of the most talented. This can only be had
when the income of the individual is sufficient to give him a
considerable part of his active time for carrying out his
intellectual aspirations. We have great numbers of people whom
we have reason to believe are as able on the average, have as
large a proportion of talent as the well-to-do, whose poverty
is so crushing and whose days of toil are so long and so
consuming of energy that the element of leisure is lacking. It
is only an occasional individual of this class of people who is
able to secure the wealth which means a measure of leisure by
which he is able to mount out of obscurity. An improvement in
the physical conditions of life of these people, together with
an increase in their economic possibilities is a necessary
means to the proper conservation of the talent of this group.
The cultural factor is one which must be made more omnipresent
than it is now before we shall be able to awake the latent
talent of the masses of people. There are certain sections of
all nations, and more especially of such nations as the United
States, where the population is widely scattered over vast
areas of farming regions in which the opportunities for
education and stimulative enterprises and institutions are
lacking or meager. The same is true of very large sections of
the populations of the cities. In both cases large
neighborhoods exist in which the lives of the people move in a
humdrum rut, never disturbed by matters which arouse the
creative element in human nature. Especially is this important
in the early years of life where the outlook for the whole
future of the individual is so strongly stamped. To come into
contact with no stimulus and arousing agent in the home, or the
neighborhood in the earliest years is to become settled into a
life-long habit of inert dullness.
When we revert to the schools which so generally abound, we
fail to find the stimulating element in them which might be
regarded as the necessary opportunity to develop talent. The
vast majority of elementary teachers are persons whose
intellectual natures have never been aroused. Their imaginative
and sympathetic capacities lie undeveloped. Their work in the
school is conducted on the basis of memory. It is parrot work
and ends in making parrots of the pupils. The rational and
causal as agencies in education are hardly ever appealed to.
Until our teaching force is itself developed in the directions
and capacities which alone characterize the intellectual we can
not hope for much in the way of recovering the rich field of
latent talent from its infertility.
Something remains to be said about the proper utilization of
talent which has been developed. Did all genius depend on the
hereditary factor and consequently we had developed all
individuals possessing exceptional ability into contributors
and creators, the question of their complete utilization by
society remains. That all able men and women are working at the
exact thing and in the exact place and under the exact methods
which will yield the greatest and most fruitful results for
society only the superficial could believe. Herbert Spencer
used up a very large part of his superb ability during the
larger portion of his life in the drudgery of making a living.
The work of the national eugenics laboratory of England is
carried on by a man of great talent, Professor Carl Pearson, in
cramped quarters and with insufficient equipment and support.
The enterprise is as important as any in England, that of
discovering the conditions and means of improving the human
race. The laboratory was built up in the first instance by the
sacrifice of Sir Francis Galton, and it is maintained by means
of the bequest of his personal fortune.
These are but instances of the many which exist where talented
individuals are working under great handicaps which neither
promote their talent nor secure fecundity of results to
collective man. In nearly every line of human endeavor gifted
individuals are consuming in an unnecessarily wasteful manner,
from the point of view of social improvement, their splendid
abilities. In educational institutions trained experts and
specialists are doing the work which very ordinary ability of a
merely clerical kind could conduct, sacrificing the higher and
more fruitful attainments thereby. I have known a faculty of
some forty members who were compelled to register the term
standings by sitting in a circle and calling off the grades of
several hundred students student by student and class by class
for each student as it came their turn, while a clerk recorded
the grades. The process consumed about ten hours per member
each term, or something over a thousand hours a year for the
whole faculty. Both economically and socially it was expensive
and wasteful because a cheap clerk could have done the whole
far better and have released the talent for productive
purposes.
We shall be wise when we realize the worth of our workable
talent and so establish its working conditions that it may
secure the full measure of its productiveness. If scientific
management for the mass of laborers of a nation is worth while
how much more serviceable would it be to extend its fructifying
influence to the most able members of the community.
But how to proceed in order to make the discovery of the latent
talent is the pressing problem. For a long time our methods
promise to be as empirical as are those we employ for the
advancement of science. Relative to the latter, after
enumerating a large list of conditions for promoting science of
which we are ignorant, Professor Cattell says:
'In the face of endless problems of this character we are as
empirical in our methods as the doctor of physic a hundred
years ago or the agricultural laborer to-day. It is surely time
for scientific men to apply scientific methods to determine the
circumstances that promote or hinder the advancement of
science.'[6]
[6] "American Men of Science," p. 565.
Since the discovery and utilization of genius and talent in
general are so closely related to the problem of the promotion
of science, his statement may be adopted to express the demand
existing in those directions.
WAR, BUSINESS AND INSURANCE[1]
[1] Chairman's address on Peace Day of the Insurance Congress,
Panama-Pacific International Exposition, San Francisco, October
11, 1915.
BY CHANCELLOR DAVID STARR JORDAN
STANFORD UNIVERSITY
THE complications behind the war in Europe are very many,
ruthless exploitation, heartless and brainless diplomacy,
futile dreams of national expansion (the "Mirage of the Map"),
of national enrichment through the use of force (the "Great
Illusion"), and withal a widespread vulgar belief in
indemnities or highway robberies as a means of enriching a
nation.
All these would represent only the unavoidable collision,
unrest and ambition of human nature, were it not that every
element involved in it was armed to the teeth. "When blood is
their argument" in matters of business or politics, all
rational interests are imperilled. The gray old strategists to
whom the control of armament was assigned saw the nations
moving towards peaceful solution of their real and imaginary
difficulties. The young men of Europe had visions of a broader
world, one cleared of lies and hate and the poison of an
ingrowing patriotism. After a generation of doubt and pessimism
in which world progress seemed to end in a blind sack, there
was rising a vision of continental cooperation, a glimpse of
the time when science, always international, should also
internationalize the art of living.
Clearly the close season for war was near at hand. The old men
found means to bring it on and in so doing to exploit the
patriotism, enthusiasm, devotion and love of adventure of the
young men of the whole world.
The use of fear and force as an argument in politics or in
business--this is war. It is a futile argument because of
itself it settles nothing. Its conclusion bears no certain
relation to its initial aim. It must end where it should begin,
with an agreement among the parties concerned. War is only the
blind negation, the denial of all law, and only the recognition
of the supremacy of some law can bring war to an end. In time
of war all laws are silent as are all efforts for progress, for
justice, for the betterment of human kind. If history were
written truthfully every page in the story of war would be left
blank, or printed black, with only fine white letters in the
darkness to mark the efforts for humanity, which war can never
wholly suppress.
In this paper I propose to consider only economic effects of
this war and with special reference to the great industry which
brings most of this audience together, the business of
insurance.
The great war debts of the nations of Europe began with
representative government. Kings borrowed money when they
could, bankrupting themselves at intervals and sometimes
wrecking their nations. Kings have always been uncertain pay.
Not many loaned money to them willingly and only in small
amounts and at usurious rates of interest. To float a
"patriotic loan," it was often necessary to make use of the
prison or the rack. With the advent of parliaments and chambers
of deputies, the credit of nations improved and it became easy
to borrow money. There was developed a special class of
financiers, the Rothschilds at their head, pawnbrokers rather
than bankers, men able and willing to take a whole nation into
pawn. And with the advent of great loans, as Goldwin Smith
wisely observed, "there was removed the last check on war."
With better social and business adjustments, and especially
with the progress of railways and steam navigation with other
applications of science to personal and national interests, the
process of borrowing became easier, as also the payment of
interest on which borrowing depends. Hence more borrowing,
always the easiest solution of any financial complication or
embarrassment. Through the substitution of regular methods of
taxation for the collection of tribute, the nations became
solidified. Only a solidified nation can borrow money. The
loose and lawless regions called Kingdoms and Empires under
feudalism were not nations at all. A nation is a region in
which the people are normally at peace among themselves. In
civil war, a nation's existence may be dissolved.
In all the ages war costs all that it can. All that can be
extorted or borrowed is cast into the melting pot, for the sake
of self-preservation or for the sake of victory. If the nations
had any more to give war would demand it. The king could
extort, but there are limits to extortion. The nation could
borrow, and to borrowing there is but one limit, that of actual
exhaustion.
Mr. H. Bell, cashier of Lloyd's Bank in London, said in 1913:
'The London bankers are not lending on the continent any more.
We can see already the handwriting on the wall and that spells
REPUDIATION. The people of Europe will say: "We know that we
have had all this money and that we ought to pay interest on
it. But we must live; and we can not live and pay."'
The chief motive for borrowing on the part of every nation has
been war or preparation for war. If it were not for war no
nation on earth need ever have borrowed a dollar. If provinces
and municipalities could use all the taxes their people pay,
for purposes of peace, they could pay off all their debts and
start free. In Europe, for the last hundred years, in time of
so-called peace, nations have paid more for war than for
anything else. It is not strange therefore that this armed
peace has "found its verification in war." It has been the "Dry
War," the "Race for the Abyss," which the gray old strategists
of the general staff have brought to final culmination.
The debt of Great Britain began with the revolution of 1869,
with about $1,250,000. This unpopular move, known as Dutch
finance, was the work of William of Orange. Other loans
followed, based on customs duties with "taxes on bachelors,
widows, marriages and funerals," and the profits on lotteries.
At the end of the war of the revolution the debt reached
$1,250,000,000, and with the gigantic borrowings of Pitt, in
the interest of the overthrow of Napoleon, the debt reached its
highest point, $4,430,000,000. The savings of peace duly
reduced this debt, but the Boer war, for which about
$800,000,000 was borrowed, swept these savings away. When the
present war began the national debt had been reduced to a
little less than $400,000,000 which sum a year of world war has
brought up to $10,000,000,000.
The debt of France dates from the French Revolution. Through
reckless management it soon rose to $700,000,000, which sum was
cut by paper money, confiscation and other repudiations to
$160,000,000. This process of easing the government at the
expense of the people spread consternation and bankruptcy far
and wide. A great program of public expenditure following the
costly war and its soon repaid indemnity raised the debt of
France to over $6,000,000,000. The interest alone amounted to
nearly $1,000,000,000. A year of the present war has brought
this debt to the unheard of figure of about $11,000,000,000.
Thus nearly two million bondholders and their families in and
out of France have become annual pensioners on the public
purse, in addition to all the pensioners produced by war.
Germany is still a very young nation and as an empire more
thrifty than her largest state. The imperial debt was in 1908 a
little over $1,000,000,000. The total debt of the empire and
the states combined was about $4,000,000,000 at the outbreak of
the war. It is now stated at about $9,000,000,000, a large part
of the increase being in the form of "patriotic" loans from
helpless corporations.
The small debt of the United States rose after the Civil War to
$2,773,000,000. It has been reduced to about $915,000,000,
proportionately less than in any other civilized nation. The
local debts of states and municipalities in this and other
countries are, however, very large and are steadily rising. As
Mr. E. S. Martin observes,
'We have long since passed the simple stage of living beyond
our incomes. We are engaged in living beyond the incomes of
generations to come.'
Let me illustrate by a supposititious example. A nation has an
expenditure of $100,000,000 a year. It raises the sum by
taxation of some sort and thus lives within its means. But
$100,000,000 is the interest on a much larger sum, let us say
$2,500,000,000. If instead of paying out a hundred million year
by year for expenses, we capitalize it, we may have immediately
at hand a sum twenty-five times as great. The interest on this
sum is the same as the annual expense account. Let us then
borrow $2,500,000,000 on which the interest charges are
$100,000,000 a year. But while paying these charges the nation
has the principal to live on for a generation. Half of it will
meet current expenses for a dozen years, and the other half is
at once available for public purposes, for dockyards, for
wharves, for fortresses, for public buildings and, above all,
for the ever-growing demands of military conscription and of
naval power. Meanwhile the nation is not standing still. In
these twelve years the progress of invention and of commerce
may have doubled the national income. There is then still
another $100,000,000 yearly to be added to the sum available
for running expenses. This again can be capitalized, another
$2,500,000,000 can be borrowed, not all at once perhaps, but
with due regard to the exigencies of banking and the temper of
the people. With repeated borrowings the rate of taxation
rises. Living on the principal sets a new fashion in
expenditure. The same fashion extends throughout the body
politic. Individuals, corporations, municipalities all live on
their principal.
The purchase of railways and other public utilities by the
government tends further to complicate the problems of national
debt. It is clear that this system of buying without paying can
not go on forever. The growth of wealth and population can not
keep step with borrowing, even though all funds were expended
for the actual needs of society. Of late years, war preparation
has come to take the lion's share of all funds, however
gathered, "consuming the fruits of progress." What the end
shall be, and by what forces it will be brought about, no one
can now say. This is still a very rich world, even though
insolvent and under control of its creditors. There is a
growing unrest among taxpayers. There would be a still greater
unrest if posterity could be heard from, for it can only save
itself by new inventions and new exploitations or by frugality
of administration of which no nation gives an example to-day.
Nevertheless, this burden of past debt, with all its many
ramifications and its interest charges, is not the heaviest the
nations have placed on themselves. The annual cost of army and
navy in the world before the war was about double the sum of
interest paid on the bonded debt. This annual sum represented
preparation for future war, because in the intricacies of
modern warfare "hostilities must be begun" long before the
materialization of any enemy. In estimating the annual cost of
war, to the original interest of upwards of $1,500,000,000 we
must add yearly about $2,500,000,000 of actual expenditure for
fighters, guns and ships. We must further consider the generous
allowance some nations make for pensions. A large and
unestimated sum may also be added to the account from loss of
military conscription, again not counting the losses to society
through those forms of poverty which have their primal cause in
war. For in the words of Bastiat, "War is an ogre that devours
as much when he sleeps as when he is awake." It was Gambetta
who foretold that the final end of armament rivalry must be "a
beggar crouching by a barrack door."
When the great war began, the nations of Europe were thus waist
deep in debt, the total amount of national bonded indebtedness
being about $30,000,000,000, or nearly three times the total
sum of actual gold and silver, coined or not in all the world.
A year of war at the rate of $50,000,000 to $70,000,000 per day
has increased this indebtedness to nearly $50,000,000,000, the
bonds themselves rated at half or less their normal value,
while the actual financial loss through destruction of life and
property has been estimated at upwards of $40,000,000,000.
In "The Unseen Empire," the forceful and prophetic drama of Mr.
Atherton Brownell, the American ambassador, Stephan Channing,
tries to show the chancellor of Germany that war with Great
Britain is not a "good business proposition." He says:
'Our Civil War has cost us to date, if you count pensions for
the wrecks it left--mental and physical--nearly twenty billions
of dollars. And that doesn't include property losses, nor
destruction of trade, nor broken hearts and desolate
homes--that's just cold hard cash that we have actually paid
out. You can't even think it. There have been only about one
billion minutes since Christ was born. Now if there had been
four million slaves and we had bought every one of them at an
average of one thousand dollars apiece, set them free and had
no war, we should have been in pocket to day just sixteen
billion dollars. That one crime cost us in cash just about the
equal of sixteen dollars a minute from the beginning of the
Christian era.'
The war as forecast in the play is now on in fact, and one
certain truth in regard to it is that it is assuredly not "a
good business proposition" for anybody in any nation, excepting
of course, the makers of the instruments of death.
DAILY COST OF GREAT EUROPEAN WAR (Charles Richet, 1912)
Feed of men. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . $12,600,000
Feed of horses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1,000,000
Pay (European rates) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4,250,000
Pay of workmen in the arsenals and ports (100 per day)1,000,000
Transportation (60 miles in 10 days) . . . . . . 2,100,000
Transportation for provisions. . . . . . . . . . 4,200,000
Munitions: Infantry 10 cartridges a day. . . . . 4,200,000
Artillery: 10 shots per day. . . . . . . . . . . 1,200,000
Marine: 2 shots per day. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 400,000
Equipment. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4,200,000
Ambulances: 500,000 wounded or ill ($1 per day). . 500,000
War ships. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 500,000
Reduction of imports . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5,000,000
Help to the poor (20 cents per day to 1 in 10) . 6,800,000
Destruction of towns, etc. . . . . . . . . . . . 2,000,000
Total per day . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .$49,950,000
The actual war began, in accord with Professor Richet's
calculation, at a cost of $50,000,000 per day. Previous to this
the "dry war" or "armed peace" cost only $10,000,000 per day.
This is Richet's calculation in 1912, an underestimate as to
expenses on the sea and in the air. These with the growing
scarcity of bread and shrapnel, the equipment of automobiles,
and the unparalleled ruin of cities have raised this cost to
$70,000,000 per day.
This again takes no account of the waste of men and horses,
less costly than the other material of war and not necessarily
replaced. All this is piled on top of "the endless caravan of
ciphers" ($30,000,000,000), which represents the accumulated
and unpaid war debt of the nineteenth century.
War is indeed the sport for kings, but it is no sport for the
people who pay and die, and in the long run the workers of the
world must pay the cost of it. As Benjamin Franklin observed:
'War is not paid for in war time) the bill comes later.'
And what a bill!
Yves Guyot, the French economist, estimates that the first six
months of war cost western Europe in cash $5,400,000,000, to
which should be added further destruction estimated at
$11,600,000,000, making a total of $17,000,000,000. The entire
amount of coin in the world is less than $12,000,000,000. Edgar
Crammond, secretary of the Liverpool Stock Exchange, another
high authority, estimates the cash cost of a year of war, to
August 1, 1915, at $17,000,000,000, while other losses will
mount up to make a grand total of $46,000,000,000. Mr. Crammond
estimates that the cost to Great Britain for a year of war will
reach $3,500,000,000. This sum is about equivalent to the
accumulated war debt of Great Britain for a hundred years
before the war. The war debt of Germany (including Prussia) is
now about the same.
No one can have any conception of what $46,000,000,000 may be.
It is four times all the gold and silver in the world. It
represents, it is stated, about 100,000 tons of gold, and would
probably outweigh the Washington monument. We have no data as
to what monuments weigh, but we may try a few other
calculations. If this sum were measured out in $20 gold pieces
and they were placed side by side on the railway track, on each
rail, they would line with gold every line from New York to the
Pacific Ocean, and there would be enough left to cover each
rail of the Siberian railway from Vladivostock to Petrograd.
There would still be enough left to rehabilitate Belgium and to
buy the whole of Turkey, at her own valuation, wiping her
finally from the map.
Or we may figure in some other fashion. The average working man
in America earns $518 per year. It would take ninety million
years' work to pay the cost of the war; or ninety million
American laborers might pay it off in one year, if all their
living expenses were paid. The working men of Europe receive
from half to a third the wages in America. They are the ones
who have this bill to pay.
The cost of a year of the great war is a little greater than
the estimated value of all the property of the United States
west of Chicago. It is nearly equal to the total value of all
the property in Germany ($48,000,000,000) as figured in 1906.
The whole Russian Empire ($35,000,000,000) could have been
bought for a less sum before the war began. It could be had on
a cash sale for half that now. It would have paid for all the
property in Italy ($13,000,000,000); Japan ($10,000,000,000);
Holland ($5,000,000,000); Belgium ($7,000,000,000); Spain
($6,000,000,000) and Portugal ($2,500,000,000). It is three
times the entire yearly earnings in wages and salaries of the
people of the United States ($15,500,000,000).
We could go on indefinitely with this, playing with figures
which nobody can understand, for the greatest fortune ever
accumulated by man, in whatever fashion, would not pay for
three days of this war.
The cost of this war would pay the national debts of all the
nations in the world at the time the war broke out, and this
aggregate sum of $45,000,000,000 for the world was all
accumulated in the criminal stupidity of the wars of the
nineteenth century. If all the farms, farming lands, and
factories of the United States were wiped out of existence, the
cost of this war would more than replace them. If all the
personal and real property of half our nation were destroyed,
or if an earthquake of incredible dimensions should shake down
every house from the Atlantic to the Pacific, the waste would
be less than that involved in this war. And an elemental
catastrophe leaves behind it no costly legacy of hate; even the
financial troubles are not ended with the treaty of peace. The
credit of Europe is gone for one does not know how long. Before
the war, it is said, there were $200,000,000,000 in bonds and
stocks in circulation in Europe. Much of this has been sold for
whatever it would bring. Some of the rest is worth its face
value Some of it is worth nothing. In the final adjustment who
can know whether he is a banker or a beggar?
The American Ambassador was quite within bounds when he said:
"There isn't so much money in the world; you can't even think
it!"
Or we may calculate (with Dr. Edward T. Devine) in a totally
different way. The cost of this war would have covered every
moral social, economic and sanitary reform ever asked for in
the civilized world, in so far as money properly expended can
compass such results. It could eliminate infectious disease,
feeble-mindedness, the slums and the centers of vice. It could
provide adequate housing, continuity of labor, insurance
against accident; in other words it could abolish almost every
kind of suffering due to outside influences and not inherent in
the character of the person concerned.
A Russian writer, quoted by Dr. John H. Finley, puts this idea
in a different form:
'Our most awful enemies, the elements and germs and insect
destroyers, attack us every minute without cease, yet we murder
one another as if we were out of our senses. Death is ever on
the watch for us, and we think of nothing but to snatch a few
patches of land! About 5,000,000,000 days of work go every year
to the displacement of boundary lines. Think of what humanity
could obtain if that prodigious effort were devoted to fighting
our real enemies, the noxious species and our hostile
environment. We should conquer them in a few years. The entire
globe would turn into a model farm. Every plant would grow for
our use. The savage animals would disappear, and the infinitely
tiny animals would be reduced to impotence by hygiene and
cleanliness. The earth would be conducted according to our
convenience. In short, the day men realize who their worst
enemies are, they will form an alliance against them, they will
cease to murder one another like wild beasts from sheer folly.
Then they will be the true rulers of the planet, the lords of
creation.'
Says Robert L. Duffus:
'Money spent in warfare is not like spending money in other
industries. It will bring far more beastliness, far more
injustice, far more tyranny, far more danger to all that is
honorable, generous and noble in the world, far more grief and
rage than money spent in any other way. Not one per cent. of
the amount devoted to these purposes, is, for the end aimed at,
wasted.'
It is said that the main cause of the war lay in the envy of
German commerce by British rivals. This is assuredly not true.
But if it were, let us look at the business side of it. Taking
the net profits of over-seas trade as stated two years ago by
the Hamburg-American Company, the strongest in the world, and
estimating the rest, we have something like this:
During the "Dry War" the net earnings of the German Mercantile
fleet was about one third the cost of the navy supposed to
protect it. It would take seventy years of trade, on the scale
of the last year before the war, to repay Germany's expenses
for a year of war. To make good all the losses of Europe would
require more than one hundred years of the over-seas trading
profits of all the world. War is therefore death to trade, as
it is to every other agency of civilization.
At the beginning of the war the value of stocks and bonds in
circulation in Europe amounted to about $200,000,000,000. What
is the present value of all these certificates of ownership?
What is the present value of any particular industrial plant or
commercial venture?
A friend in London had inherited through his German wife a
large aniline dye plant on the Rhine. He told me recently that
he had not heard one word from it for six months. What will be
its value when he hears from it? And what certainty has he as
to its ownership?
Is it true that this war is the outcome of commercial jealousy?
Let us look at this for a moment. The two greatest shipping
companies in the world before the war were the Hamburg-American
Company and the Nord-Deutscher Lloyd of Bremen. These companies
had grown strong because they deserved to grow. They had
attended to their affairs both in shipment of freight and
transportation of passengers with that minute attention to
details which is so large an element in German success. The
growth of these companies arose through American trade and
especially through trade with Great Britain and the British
possessions. Did they clamor for war--a war, whatever else
might result, sure to cripple their trade for a generation. It
is said that Ballin, of the Hamburg Company, unable to prevent
Great Britain from rising to the defense of Belgium "went home
broken-hearted." Did Ballin build the great Imperator, costing
nine million--six million of it borrowed money--with a view of
laying her off after a few trips for an indefinite period in
Hamburg? Did the Nord-Deutscher Lloyd contemplate leaving the
Vaterland and the George Washington to lie in Hoboken till they
were sold for harbor dues?
Nor was the jealousy on the other side. The growth of German
commerce concerned mainly Great Britain. Presumably it was
profitable on both sides, for all trade is barter. In any
event, Great Britain has never raised a tariff wall against it,
never protected her traders by a single differential duty. She
has risen above the idea that by tariff exactions the
foreigners can be made to pay the sages. As for envy of German
commerce, who ever heard of an Englishman who envied anybody
anything?
Again, did the Cunard Company build her three great steamships,
the Mauretania, the Lusitania, the Aquitania for the fate which
has come to them? In 1914 I saw the great Aquitania, finest of
all floating palaces, tied by the nose to the wharf at
Liverpool, the most sheepish-looking steamship I ever saw
anywhere. Out of her had been taken $1,250,000 worth of plate
glass and plush velvet, elevators and lounging rooms, the
requirements of the tender rich in their six days upon the sea.
The whole ship was painted black, filled with coal--to be sent
out to help the warships at sea. And for this humble service I
am told she proved unfitted.
No, commercial envy is not a reason, rivalry in business is not
a reason, need of expansion is not a reason. These are excuses
only, not causes of war. There is no money in war. There is no
chance of highway robbery in the byways of history which can
repay anything tangible of the expense of the expedition. The
gray old strategists do not care for this. It is fair to them
to say they are not sordid. They care no more for the financial
exhaustion of a nation than for the slaughter of its young men.
"An old soldier like me," said Napoleon, "does not care a
tinker's damn for the death of a million men." Neither does he
care for the collapse of a million industrial corporations.
Of the many forms of business and financial relation among men,
none is more important than those included under the name of
insurance. Insurance is a form of mutual help. By its influence
the effects of calamity are spread so widely that they cease to
be felt as calamity. The fact of death can not be set aside,
but through insurance it need not appear as economic disaster,
only as personal loss. Its essential nature is that of social
cooperation and it furnishes some of the most effective of
bonds which knit society together. As insurance has become
already an international function, its influence should be felt
continuously on the side of peace. That it is so felt is the
justification of our meeting together to-day, as underwriters
of insurance and as workers for peace. The essence of
insurance, as Professor Royce observes, is that
'it is a principle at once peace-making in its general tendency
and business-like in its practicable special application.... As
a result of insurance, men gradually find themselves involved
in a social network of complicated but beneficent relations of
which individuals are usually very imperfectly aware but by
means of which modern society has been profoundly transformed.'
For life insurance, in general, is not personally selfish in
its motive. It is essentially altruistic, the effort of the
benefit of some person beloved who is designated as the
beneficiary. For the benefit of this surviving person, the
efforts involved in the payment of premiums are put forth, and
the insurance companies and their underwriters constitute the
machinery by which this unification is given to society.
To all the interests of insurance, the lawlessness of war is
wholly adverse and destructive. Insurance involves mutual trust
and trust thrives under security of person and property.
Insurance demands steadiness of purpose and continuity of law.
In war, all laws are silent. War is the brutish, blind, denial
of law, only admissible when all other honorable alternatives
have been withdrawn--the last resort of "murdered, mangled
liberty."
In its direct relation, war destroys those who to the
underwriter represent the "best risks," the men most valuable
to themselves and thus most valuable to the community. Those
whom war leaves behind, to slip along the lines of least
resistance into the city slums, are the people insurance rarely
reaches. War confuses administration of insurance. Policies, in
war time, can be written only on a sliding scale. This greatly
increases the premium by reducing the final payments. Increase
of rate of premium must decrease business. War means financial
anarchy, inflated currency and depreciation of bonds. A
currency which fluctuates demoralizes all business and war
leaves no alternative. The slogan "business as usual" in war
time deceives nobody. If it did, nobody would gain by the
deception. Enforced loans from the reserve fund of insurance
companies to the state mean the depreciation of reserves. The
substitution of unstable government bonds means robbery of the
bond holders. The yielding to the state, by enforced "voluntary
action," of reserves of savings banks and insurance companies
represents a form of state robbery. This is now in practice on
the continent of Europe. Such funds are probably never actually
confiscated but held in abeyance until the close of the war.
This is another form of the everpresent "military necessity,"
which seizes men's property with little more compunction than
it shows in seizing men's bodies. War conditions mean
insecurity of investment. In war, all bonds are liable to
become "scraps of paper," and no fund can be made safe. The
insurance investments in Europe have been enormously depleted
in worth, a reduction in market value estimated at 50 per cent.
Experts in insurance tell me that in war time certain policies
are written so as to be scaled down automatically when the
holder goes under the colors. Some are invalid in time of war,
and some have the clause of free travel greatly abridged. A few
are written to apply to all conditions, but on these the rates
of premiums would naturally increase. Companies generally
refuse to pay under conditions not nominated in the bond, and
in general all policies are automatically reduced to level of
war policies when war begins.
I am told that some American companies issue group policies as
for any or all of a thousand men, these not subject to a
physical examination. The war claims in Great Britain have been
very heavy, because such a large proportion of clerks,
artisans, students and other insurable or well-paid men have
been first to volunteer. Some insurance companies have been
much embarrassed by the general enlistment of their employees.
In fire insurance, conditions are much the same. All contracts
in foreign nations are held in abeyance until the close of war.
Such companies doing business in America are now mostly
incorporated as American.
In every regard, the business of insurance is naturally allied
with the forces that make for peace. War brings ruin, through
increase of loans, through the exhaustion of reserves and the
precarious nature of investment. The same remark applies in
some degree to every honorable or constructive business. If any
other form of danger threatened a great industry, its leaders
would be on the alert. They would spare no money and leave no
stone unturned for their own protection.
Towards war, business has always shown a stupid fatalism. War
has been thought "inevitable," coming of itself at intervals
with nobody responsible.
There could not be a greater error. War does not come of
itself, nor without great and persistent preparation. A few
hundred resolute men, bent on war, led by unscrupulous leaders
brought on this war. The military group of one nation plays
into the hands of like groups in other nations. To keep up war
agitation long enough, whether the cause be real or imaginary,
seems to hypnotize the public mind. The horrors of war
fascinate rather than repel, and thousands of men in this land
of peace are ready to fight in Europe to one who dreamed of
such a line of action a year or two ago.
"Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty." The interests
involved should put honest business on its guard. The insurance
men could afford to maintain a thousand observers, men wise in
business as well as in International Law, and in the manners
and customs of the people of the world. A few dozen skilful
politico-military detectives--men like W. J. Burns for example
employed in the interest of finance might save finance a
billion dollars. These should watch the standing incentives to
war. Such men should stand guard against the influences that
work toward conflict. Those who work for peace should be not
"firemen to be called in to put out the fire" already started
through the negligence of business men but agents for
"fireproof building material" in our national edifice, to stand
at all times for the security of business, the sanctity of law,
order and peace. This kind of "preparedness for war" would
involve no risks of conflict, of victory or defeat.
THE EVOLUTION OF THE STARS AND THE FORMATION OF THE EARTH. II
BY WILLIAM WALLACE CAMPBELL
DIRECTOR OF THE LICK OBSERVATORY, UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA
EVIDENCE IN SUPPORT OF SEQUENCE PROPOSED
THERE are several lines of evidence in support of the order of
evolution which we have outlined.
1. The close relationship of the bright-line nebular spectrum,
the bright-line stellar spectrum and the spectra of the
simplest helium stars; the practically continuous sequence of
spectra from the helium stars to the red stars.
2. In the long run, we must expect the stars to grow colder, at
least as to the surface strata. What the average interior
temperatures are is another question; the highest interior
temperatures are thought to be reached at an intermediate or
quite late stage in the process, in accordance with principles
investigated by Lane and others; but the temperatures existing
in the deep interiors seem to have little direct influence in
defining the spectral characters of the stars, which are
concerned more directly with the surface strata.[1] We should
therefore expect the simpler types of spectra, such as we find
in the helium and hydrogen stars, in the early stages of the
evolutionary process. The complicated spectra of the metals,
and particularly the oxides of the metals, should be in
evidence late in stellar life, when the atmospheres of the
stars have become denser and colder.
[1] This important point seems not to have been realized by all
theorists.
3. The velocities of the Orion nebula, the Trifid nebula, the
Carina nebula, and of several other irregular nebulae, have
been measured with the spectroscope. These bodies seem to be
nearly at rest with reference to the stellar system. The helium
stars have the lowest-known stellar velocities, and the average
velocities of the stars are higher and higher as we pass from
the helium stars, through the hydrogen and solar stars, up to
the red stars. The average velocities of the brighter stars of
the different spectral classes, as determined with the D. O.
Mills spectrographs at Mount Hamilton and in Chile, are as in
the following table:
Spectral No. of Class Stars Average Velocity in Space
B 225 12.9 km. per Sec.
A 177 21.9
F 185 28.7
G 128 29.9
E 382 33.6
M 73 34.3
We can not place the irregular nebulae after the red stars:
their velocities are too small, and their spectra have no
resemblances to the red-star spectra.
4. Wherever we find large irregular gaseous nebulae we find
stars in the early subdivisions of the helium group. They are
closely related in position. This is true of the Orion and
other similar regions. The irregular, gaseous nebulae are in
general found in and near the Milky Way, and so are the helium
stars. The yellow and red stars, at least the brighter ones, do
not cluster in nebulous regions.
5. The stars are more and more uniformly distributed over the
sphere as one goes from the helium stars through the hydrogen
and solar stars, to the red stars. The Class M stars show
little or no preference for the Milky Way. Of course, I am
speaking here of the brighter and nearer stars which we have
been able to study by means of the spectroscope, and not at all
of the faint stars which form the unstudied distant parts of
the Milky Way structure. The helium stars are young, their
motions are slow, and they have not wandered far from the place
of their birth. Not so with the older stars.
6. The visual double stars afford strong evidence that the
order of evolution described is correct. The 36-inch refractor
has shown that one star in 18, on the average, brighter than
the ninth visual magnitude, consists of two or more suns which
we can not doubt are in slow revolution around each other. The
number of double stars observable would be very much greater
than this if they were not so far away. Of the 20 stars which
we say are our nearest neighbors, 8 are well known double
stars; one double in each two and one half, on the average.
Aitken has made a specialty of observing the double stars whose
components in each case are very close together and are in
comparatively rapid revolution. His program includes 164 such
systems whose types of spectra are known, as in the following
table:
Spectrum Number of Double Stars
Bright-line 0
Class B 4
Class A-F 131
Class G-N 28
Class M-N? 1
The message which this table brings is clear. The double stars
whose spectra are of the Bright-Line and Class B varieties have
their components so close together that only 4, of Class B, are
visible. The great majority fall in Classes A to K; 159 out of
164. The component stars in these classes are far enough apart
to be visible in the telescopes, and yet are close enough to be
revolving in periods reasonably short. In the Class M double
stars, this program contains not more than one star, and I
believe the explanation is this: double stars of Class M are in
general so far apart, and therefore their periods of revolution
are so long, that they do not get upon programs of rapidly
revolving stars. Also, the fainter components in many red stars
must have cooled off so far that they are invisible. The
distances between the components of visual double stars are in
general the greater as we proceed from the helium stars through
the various spectral classes up to Class M. There are reasons
for believing that two stars revolving around their center of
mass have gradually increased their distance apart, and
therefore their revolution period. If this is true, the Classes
G and K; double stars are effectively older than Classes A and
F double stars, and these in turn are effectively older than
Class B double stars.
7. The spectrograph has great advantages over the telescope in
discovering and observing double stars whose components are
very close together, by virtue of the facts that the
spectrograph measures, velocities of approach and recession in
absolute units--so many kilometers per second--and that the
speeds of rotation in binary systems are higher the closer
together the two components are. The observations of the
brighter helium stars, especially those made at the Yerkes
Observatory by Frost and Adams, have shown that one helium star
in every two and one half on the average is a very close
double. In beta Cephei, an early Class B star, the components
are so close that they revolve around each other in 4 1/2
hours; many systems have periods in the neighborhood of a day,
of two days, of three days, and so on. Similar observations
made with the D. O. Mills spectrographs in both hemispheres
have shown that about one star in every four of the bright
stars, on the average, is a double star. In general, the
proportion of spectroscopic doubles discovered to date is
greatest in Class B and decreases as we proceed toward Class M.
The explanation is simple: in the Class B doubles the
components are close together, their orbital velocities are
very high and change rapidly, and the spectrograph is able to
discover the variations with little loss of time. As we pass
toward the yellow and red spectroscopic binaries we find the
components separated more and more, the orbital velocities are
smaller and the periods longer, the variations of velocity are
more difficult to discover, and in the wider pairs we must wait
many years before the variations become appreciable. There is a
very marked progression of the average lengths of periods of
the spectrographic double stars as we pass from the Class B to
the Class M pairs. Similarly, the eccentricities of the orbits
of the binaries increase as we proceed in the same direction.
Accumulating evidence is to the effect that the proportion of
double stars to single stars may be as great in the Classes A
to K as in Class B.
8. Kapteyn believes that he is able to divide the individual
stars--those whose proper motions are known--into the two star
streams which he has described; and he finds that the first
stream is rich in the early blue stars, less rich relatively in
yellow stars, and poor in red stars, whereas the second stream
is very poor in early blue stars, rich in yellows, and
relatively very rich in reds. His interpretation is that the
stream-one stars are effectively younger than the stream-two
stars, on the whole. Stream one still abounds in youthful
stars: they grow older and the yellow and red stars will then
predominate. Stream two abounds in stars which were once young,
but are now middle-aged and old.
The eight lines of argument outlined are in harmony to the
effect that there is a sequence of development from nebulae to
red stars.
The extremely red stars are all faint, only a very few being
visible to the naked eye, and these near the limit of vision.
Our knowledge concerning them is relatively limited. That
these, and all stars, will become invisible to our telescopes,
and ultimately be dark unshining bodies, is the logical
conclusion to which the evolutionary processes will lead. As I
have already stated, both Newcomb and Kelvin were inclined to
believe that the major part of gravitational matter in the
universe is already invisible.
It should be said that a few astronomers doubt whether the
order of evolution is so clearly defined as I have outlined it;
in fact, whether we know even the main trend of the
evolutionary process. We occasionally encounter the opinion
that the subject is still so unsettled as not to let us say
whether the helium stars are effectively young or the red stars
are effectively old. Lockyer and Russell have proposed
hypotheses in which the order of evolutionary sequence begins
with comparatively cool red stars and proceeds through the
yellow stars to the very hot blue stars, and thence back
through the yellow stars to cool red stars.
I think the essentially unanimous view of astronomers is to the
effect that the great mass of accumulated evidence favors the
order of evolution which I have described. We are all ready to
admit that there are apparent exceptions to the simple course
laid down, but that these exceptions are revolutionary in
effect, and not hopeless of removal, has not yet, in my
opinion, been established.
PHYSICAL CONDITIONS GOVERN APPEARANCES OF SPECTRA
A question frequently asked is this: if the yellow and red
stars have been developed from the blue stars, why do not the
thousands of lines in the spectra of the yellow and red stars
show in the spectra of the blue stars? Indeed, why do not the
elements so conspicuously present in the atmosphere of the red
stars show in the spectra of the gaseous nebulae? The answer is
that the conditions in the nebulae and in the youngest stars
are such that only the SIMPLEST ELEMENTS, like hydrogen and
helium, and in the nebulae nebulium, which we think are nearest
to the elemental state of matter, seem to be able to form or
exist in them; and the temperature must lower, or other
conditions change to the conditions existing in the older
stars, before what we may call the more complicated elements
can construct themselves out of the more elemental forms of
matter. The oxides of titanium and of carbon found in the red
stars, where the surface temperatures must be relatively low,
would dissociate themselves into more elemental components and
lose their identity if the temperature and other conditions
were changed back to those of the early helium stars. Lockyer's
name is closely connected with this phenomenon of dissociation.
There is no evidence, to the best of my knowledge, that the
elements known in our Earth are not essentially universal in
distribution, either in the forms which the elements have in
the Earth, or dissociated into simpler forms wherever the
temperatures or other conditions make dissociations possible
and unavoidable.
The meteorites, which have come through the atmosphere to the
Earth's surface, contain at least 25 known terrestrial
elements. That they have not been found thus far to contain all
of our elements is not surprising, for we should have
difficulty in finding a piece of our Earth weighing a few
kilograms which would contain 25 of our elements. We have not
found any elements in meteorites which are unknown to our
chemists. Our comets, which ordinarily show the presence of not
more than three elements, carbon, nitrogen and oxygen, give
certain evidence of sodium in their composition when they
approach fairly near to the Sun; and the great comet of 1882,
when very close to the Sun, developed in its spectrum many
bright lines not previously seen in comet spectra, which
Copeland said were due to iron. That the comets do not show a
greater number of elements is not in the least surprising: they
are not condensed bodies, and we think that their average
temperature is low, too low generally to develop the luminous
vapors of the more refractory elements. If their temperatures,
approximated those which exist in the stars, their spectra
would probably reveal the presence of many of the elements
which exist in the meteorites. Of course the proof of this is
lacking.
DESTINY OF THE STELLAR SYSTEM
We have said that the evolutionary processes depend primarily
upon the loss of heat. This is to the best of our knowledge a
genuine loss, except as some of the heat rays happen to strike
other celestial bodies. The flow of heat energy from a star
must be essentially continuous, always in one direction from
hotter bodies to colder bodies, or into so-called unending and
heatless space. Temperatures throughout the universe are
apparently moving toward uniformity, at the level of absolute
zero. Now, this uniformity would mean universal stagnation and
death. It is possible to have life and to do work only when
there are differences of temperature between the bodies
concerned: work is done or accompanied by a flow of heat,
always from the hotter to the colder body. We are not aware
that any compensating principle exists. Several students of the
subject, notably Arrhenius, have searched for such a principle,
a fountain of youth so to speak, in accordance with which the
vigor of stellar life should maintain itself from the beginning
of time to the end of time; but I think that nothing
approaching a satisfactory theory has yet been formulated. The
stellar universe seems, from our present point of view, to be
slowly "running down." The processes will not end, however,
when all the heat generable WITHIN the stars shall have been
radiated into an endless space. Every body within the universe,
it is conceivable, could have cooled down to absolute zero, but
the system might still be in its youth. So long as the stars,
whether intensely hot or free from all heat, are rotating
rapidly on their axes or are rushing through space with high
speeds, the system will remain VERY MUCH ALIVE. Collisions or
very close approaches of two stars are bound to occur sooner or
later, whether the stars are hot or cold, and in all such cases
a large share of the kinetic energy--the energy of motion--of
the two bodies will be converted into heat. A collision, under
average stellar conditions, should convert the two stars into a
luminous gaseous nebula, or two or more nebulae, which would
require hundreds or thousands of millions of years to evolve
again into young stars, middle-aged stars, old stars, and stars
absolutely cold. So long as any of these bodies retain motion
with reference to other bodies, they retain the power of
rebirth and another life. Not to go too far into speculative
detail, the general effect of these processes would be the
destruction of relative motions and the gradual decrease in the
number of separate bodies, through coalescence. Assume further,
however, that all existing bodies, widely scattered through the
stellar system, are absolutely cold and absolutely at rest with
reference to each other: the system might even then be only
middle-aged. The mutual gravitations of the bodies would still
be operative. They would pass each other closely, or collide,
under high generated velocities: there would be new nebulae,
and new and vigorous stellar life to continue through other
long ages. The system would not run down until all the kinetic
energy had been converted into heat, and all the heat generable
had been dissipated. This would not occur until all material in
the universe had been combined into one body, or into two
bodies in mutual revolution. However, if there are those who
say that the universe in action is eternal, through the
operation of compensating principles as yet undiscovered, no
man of science is at present equipped to prove the contrary.
THE NOVAE
The so-called new stars, otherwise known as temporary stars or
novae, present interesting considerations. These are stars
which suddenly flash out at points where previously no star was
known to exist; or, in a few cases, where a faint existing star
has in a few days become immensely brighter. Twenty-nine new
stars have been observed from the year 1572 to date; 19 of them
since 1886, when the photographic dry plate was applied
systematically to the mapping of the heavens, and 15 of the 19
stand to the credit of the Harvard observers. This is an
average of one new star in two years; and as some novae must
come and go unseen it is evident that they are by no means rare
objects. Novae pass through a series of evolutions which have
many points in common; in fact, the ones which have been
extensively studied by photometer and spectrograph have had
histories with so many identities that we are coming to look
upon them as standard products of evolutionary processes. These
stars usually rise to maximum brilliancy in a few days: some of
the most noted ones increased in brightness ten-thousand-fold
in two or three days. All of them fluctuate in brightness
irregularly, and usually in short periods of time. Several
novae have become invisible to the naked eye at the end of a
few weeks. With two or three exceptions, all have become
invisible in moderate-sized telescopes, or have become very
faint, within a few months. Two novae, found very early in
their development, had at first dark line spectra, a night
later bright lines appeared, and a night or two later the
spectra contained the broad radiation and absorption bands
characteristic of all recent novae. After the novae become
fairly faint, the bright lines of the gaseous nebula spectrum
are seen for the first time. These lines increase in relative
brilliancy until the spectra are essentially the same as those
of well-known nebulae, except that the novae lines are broad
whereas the lines of the nebulae are narrow. In a few months or
years the nebular lines diminish in brightness, and the
continuous spectrum develops. Hartmann at Potsdam, and Adams
and Pease with the 60-inch Mount Wilson reflector, have shown
that the spectra of the faint remnants of four originally
brilliant novae now contain some of the bright lines which are
characteristic of Wolf-Rayet stars.[2]
[2] After this lecture was delivered Adams of Mount Wilson
reported that in November, 1914, the chief nebular line (5007A)
and another prominent nebular line (4363A) had entirely
disappeared from the spectrum of Nova Geminorum No. 2, whereas
the second nebular line in the green (4959A) remained strong;
probably a step in progress from the nebular to the Wolf-Rayet
spectrum.
Why the novae suddenly flare up, and what their relations to
other celestial bodies may be, are questions which can not be
regarded as settled. Their distribution on the celestial sphere
is indicated in Figure 25 by the open circles. In this figure
the densest parts of the Milky Way are drawn in outline. All of
the novae have appeared in the Milky Way, with the exception of
five: and these exceptions are worthy of note. One of the five
appeared in the condensed nucleus of the great Andromeda
nebula, not far from its center; another (zeta Centauri) was
located close to the edge of a spiral nebula and quite possibly
in a faint outlying part of the nebula; a third (tau Coronae)
was observed to have a nebulous halo about it at the earliest
stage of its observed existence; a fourth (tau Scorpii)
appeared in a nebula; and the fifth (Nova Ophiuchi No. 2) in
1848 was not extensively observed. The other 24 novae appeared
within the structure of the Milky Way. Keeping the story as
short as possible, a nova is seemingly best explained on the
theory that a dark or relatively dark star, traveling rapidly
through space, has encountered resistance, such as a great
nebula or cloud of particles would afford. While passing
through the cloud the forward face of the star is bombarded at
high velocities by the resisting materials. The surface strata
become heated, the luminosity of the star increases rapidly.
The effect of the bombardment by small particles can be only
skin deep, and the brightness of the star should diminish
rapidly and therefore the spectrum change speedily from one
type to another. The new star of February, 1901, in Perseus,
afforded evidence of great strength on this question. Wolf at
Heidelberg photographed in August an irregular nebulous object
near the nova. Ritchey's photograph of September showed
extensive areas of nebulosity around the star. In October
Perrine and Ritchey discovered that the nebular structure had
apparently moved outward from the nova, from September to
October. Going back to a March 29th photograph taken for a
different purpose, Perrine found an irregular ring of
nebulosity closely surrounding the star. Apparently, the region
was full f nebulosity which is normally invisible to us. The
rushing of the star through this resisting medium made the star
the brightest one in the northern sky for two or three days.
The great wave of light going out from the star when at its
brightest traveled in five weeks as far as the ring of
nebulosity, where, falling upon non-luminous nebulous
materials, it made the ring visible. Continuing its progress,
the wave of light illuminated the material which Wolf
photographed in August, the materials which Ritchey
photographed still farther away in September, and the still
more distant materials which Perrine and Ritchey photographed
in October, November, and later. We were able to see this
material only as the very strong wave of light which left the
star at maximum brightness made the material luminous in
passing. That 24 novae should occur in the Milky Way, where the
stars are most numerous, and where the resisting materials may
preferably prevail, is not surprising; and it should be
repeated that at least three of the five occurring outside of
the Milky Way were located in nebulous surroundings.
The actual collision of two stars would necessarily be too
violent in its effect to let the reduction of brilliancy occur
so rapidly as to cause the disappearance of the nova in a few
weeks or months. The close approach of two stars might
conceivably produce the observed facts, but even this process
seems too violent in its probable results. The chances for the
collision of a rapidly traveling star with an enormously
extended nebulous cloud are vastly greater, and the apparent
mildness of the phenomenon observed is in better harmony with
expectation.
RELATION OF NOVAE, PLANETARY NEBULAE AND WOLF-RAYET STARS
Although all recent novae have been observed to become
planetary or stellar nebulae, they seem not to remain nebular
for any length of time; they have gone further and become
Wolf-Rayet stars. Whether any or all of the planetary nebulae
that have been known since Herschel's day, and have remained
apparently unchanged in form, have developed from new stars, is
uncertain and doubtful. If they have, the disturbances which
gave them their character must have been violent, such as would
result from full or glancing collisions of two stars, in order
to produce deep-seated effects which change slowly, rather than
surface effects which change rapidly.
Whether the Wolf-Rayet stars have in general been formed from
planetary nebulae is a different question: some of them
certainly have. Wright has recently shown that the stellar
nuclei of planetary nebulae are Wolf-Rayet stars, and he has
formulated several steps in the process whereby the nebulosity
in a planetary eventually condenses into the central star. The
distribution of the planetaries and the Wolf-Rayet stars on the
sphere affords further evidence of a connection. We saw. that
the novae are nearly all in the Milky Way. The irregular, ring,
planetary and stellar nebulae, plotted in Fig. 27, prefer the
Milky Way, but not so markedly. The Wolf-Rayets, without
exception, are located in the Milky Way and in the Magellanic
Clouds, and those in the Milky Way are remarkably near to its
central plane. 107 of these objects are known, 1 is in the
Lesser Magellanic Cloud, and 21 are in the Greater Magellanic
Cloud. The remaining 85 average less than 2 3/4 degrees from
the central plane of the Milky Way.
We are obliged to say that the places of the novae, of the
planetary and stellar nebulae, and of the Wolf-Rayets in the
evolutionary process are not certainly known. If the Wolf-Rayet
stars have developed from the planetaries, the planetaries from
the novae, and the novae have resulted from the close approach
or collision of two stars, or from the rushing of a dark or
faint star through a resisting medium, then the novae,
planetaries and Wolf-Rayets belong to a new and second
generation: they were born under exceptional conditions. The
velocities of the planetary nebulae seem to be an insuperable
difficulty in the way of placing them between the irregular
nebulae and the helium stars. The average radial velocity of 47
planetary nebulae is about 45 km. per second; and, if the
motions of the planetaries are somewhat at random, their
average velocities in space are twice as great, or 90 km. per
second. This is fully seven times the average velocity of the
helium stars, and the helium stars in general, therefore, could
not have come from planetary nebulae. The radial velocities of
only three Wolf-Rayet stars have been observed, and this number
is too small to have statistical value, but the average for the
three is several times as high as the average for the helium
stars. We can not say, I think, that the velocities of any
novae are certainly known.
If |
