University of Virginia Library

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

NATIVES OF BOIRA VILLAGE, BRITISH NEW GUINEA. The photographs illustrating the article were taken by the author in November, 1913.

[Description: Photograph of a group of natives standing and posing for the camera.]

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

NATIVES OF BOIRA VILLAGE.

[Description: Photograph of a group of natives standing and posing for the camera.]

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

NATIVES OF BOIRA VILLAGE.

[Description: Photograph of a group of native women and children standing and posing for the camera.]

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 rôle 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

BARAKAU VILLAGE, ABOUT 20 MILES EAST OF PORT MORESBY, BRITISH NEW GUINEA.

[Description: Photograph of a primitive village built on poles in the water. ]

BARAKAU VILLAGE.

[Description: Photograph of a few huts in a primitive village built on poles in the water.]

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 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

NATIVES OF BOREBADA VILLAGE.

[Description: Photograph of what looks to be a small native family standing and posing for the camera.]

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

NATIVES OF BARAKAU VILLAGE, ABOUT 20 MILES EAST OF PORT MORESBY.

[Description: Photograph of a group of natives standing and posing. To the left a few natives in and around a grounded canoe look on.]

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

THE GOVERNOR'S SERVANTS, PORT MORESBY, GOVERNMENT HOUSE GROUNDS.

[Description: Photograph of two natives (the governor's servants).]

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]

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 stimlation

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]

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]

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 call 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 (see Fig. 1), 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.

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!

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[5]), 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.

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 a 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° 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 areoplane 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]

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]

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]

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.

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.

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 naïveté 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.

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]

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 Tübingen, 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]

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 châteaux 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]

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 sum-mit—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.[3]

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 châteaux 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 châteaux 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 depositaries 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]

It is interesting to note that nearly all of the women of talent have been born in cities and châteaux. 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.

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

             

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.

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 châteaux, 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 châteaux, 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 châteaux 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]

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]

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]
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.

3. The velocities of the Orion nebula, the Trifid nebula, the Carina nebula, and of several other irregular nebulæ, 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 Class	No. of 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 nebulæ 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 nebulæ 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 nebulæ 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 β 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 nebulæ 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 nebulæ? The answer is that the conditions in the nebulæ and in the youngest stars are such that only the simplest elements, like

hydrogen and helium, and in the nebulæ 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 nebulæ, 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 nebulæ, 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 NOVÆ

The so-called new stars, otherwise known as temporary stars or novæ, 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 novæ must come and go unseen it is evident that they are by no means rare objects. Novæ 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 novæ 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 novæ, 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 novæ. After the novæ 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 nebulæ, except that the novæ lines are broad whereas the lines of the nebulæ 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 novæ now contain some of the bright lines which are characteristic of Wolf-Rayet stars.[2]

Why the novæ 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 in 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 novæ 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 (Ζ Centauri) was located close to the edge of a spiral nebula and quite possibly in a faint outlying part of the nebula; a third (Τ Coronæ)

FIG. 25. DISTRIBUTION OF NOVÆ AND WOLF-RAYET STARS.

[Description: Illustration of two globe-like spatial maps that indicate the distribution of novæ and Wolf-Rayet stars.]

was observed to have a nebulous halo about it at the earliest stage of its observed existence; a fourth (τ Scorpii) appeared in a nebula; and the fifth (Nova Ophiuchi No. 2) in 1848 was not extensively observed. The other 24 novæ 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 of 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

FIG. 26. APPARENT MOVEMENT OF NON-LUMINOUS NEBULOSITY ABOUT NOVA PERSEI.
Photographed at the Lick Observatory.
The motion is best shown by the bright mass above and to the right of the center, in comparison with the surrounding stars.

[Description: Two photographs that compare the apparent movement of non-luminous nebulosity about the Persei nova.]

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 novæ 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 NOVÆ, PLANETARY NEBULÆ AND WOLF-RAYET STARS

Although all recent novæ have been observed to become planetary or stellar nebulæ, 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 nebulæ 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 nebulæ is a different question: some of them certainly have. Wright has recently shown that the stellar nuclei of planetary nebulæ 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 novæ are nearly all in the Milky Way. The irregular, ring, planetary and stellar nebulæ, 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° from the central plane of the Milky Way.

We are obliged to say that the places of the novæ, of the planetary and stellar nebulæ, 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 novæ, and the novæ 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 novæ, planetaries and Wolf-Rayets belong to a new and second generation: they were born under exceptional conditions. The velocities of the planetary nebulæ seem to be an insuperable difficulty in the way of placing them between the irregular nebulæ and the helium stars. The average radial velocity of 47 planetary nebulæ 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 nebulæ. 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 novæ are certainly known.

If the planetaries have been formed from novæ, especially the novæ which encountered the fiercest resistance, the high velocities are in a sense not surprising, for those stars which travel with abnormally high speeds are the ones whose chances for collisions with resisting media are best; and, further, the higher the speeds of collision the more violent the disturbance. This line of argument also leads to the conclusion that the novæ, planetaries and Wolf-Rayets belong not in general before the helium stars, but to another generation of stars. They may, and I think will, develop into a small class of helium stars having special characteristics; for example, high velocities.

KANT'S HYPOTHESIS

Immanuel Kant's writings, published principally in 1755, are in many ways the most remarkable contributions to the literature of stellar evolution yet made. Curiously, Kant's papers have not been read by the text-book makers, except in a few cases. We have already referred to his ideas on the Milky Way and on comets. In his hypothesis of the origin of the solar system, he laid emphasis upon the facts that the six known planets revolve around the Sun from west to east, nearly in the same plane and nearly in the plane of the Sun's equator; that the then four known moons of Jupiter, the five known moons of Saturn, and our moon revolve around these planets from west to east, and nearly in the same general plane; and that the Sun, our moon and the planets, so far as known, rotate in the same direction. These facts, he said, indicate indisputably a common origin for all the members of the solar system. He expressed the belief that the materials now composing the

solar system were originally scattered widely throughout the system, and in an elemental state. This was a half century before Herschel's extensive observations of nebuæ. Kant thought of this elemental matter as cold, endowed with gravitational power, and endowed necessarily with some repulsive power, such as exists in gases. He started his solar system from materials at rest. Most of the matter, he said, drifted to the center to form the Sun. He believed that nuclei or centers of attraction formed here and there throughout the chaotic structure, and that in the course of ages these centers grew by accretion of surrounding matter into the present planets and their satellites; and that in some manner motion in one direction prevailed throughout the whole system. Kant's explanation of the origin of the rotation of the solar system is unsound and worthless. We now know that such a cloud of matter, free from rotation, could not of itself generate rotation; it must get the start from outside forces. Kant's false reasoning was due in part to the fact that some of our most important dynamical laws were not yet discovered, in part to his faulty comprehension of certain dynamical principles already known, and probably in part to the unsatisfactory state of chemical knowledge existing at that date. This was half a century before Dalton's atomic theory of matter was proposed.

Kant asserted that the processes of combination of surrounding cold materials would generate heat, and, therefore, that the resulting planetary masses would assume the liquid form; that Jupiter and Saturn are now in the liquid state; and that all the planets will ultimately become cold and solid. This is in fair agreement with present-day opinion as to the planets, save that modern astronomers go further in holding that the outer strata of Jupiter and Saturn, likewise of Uranus and Neptune, down to a great depth, must still be gaseous. In 1785, after the principle of heat liberation attending the compression of a gas had been announced, Kant supplemented his statement of 1755 as to the origin of the Sun's heat. He attributed this to gravitational action of the Sun upon its own matter, causing it to contract in size: he said the quantity of heat generated in a given time would be a function of the Sun's volumes at the beginning and at the ending of that period of time. This is substantially the principle which Helmholtz rediscovered and announced in 1854, and which is now universally accepted—with the reservation of the past ten years, that radioactive substances in the Sun may be an additional factor in the problem.

Kant's paper of 1754 enunciated the theory that the Moon always turns the same face to the Earth because of tidal retardation of the Moon's rotation by the Earth's gravitational attraction; and that our Earth tides produced by the Moon will slow down the Earth's rotation until the Earth will finally turn one hemisphere constantly to the Moon. This principle was in part reannounced by Laplace a half century later,

and likewise investigated by Helmholtz in 1854, before Kant's work was recognized.

Kant's speculations on a possible destruction and re-birth of the solar system, on the nature of Saturn's ring, and on the nature of the zodiacal light are similar in several regards to present-day beliefs.

Kant wrote:

I seek to evolve the present state of the universe from the simplest condition of nature by means of mechanical laws alone.

In 1869 Sir William Thomson, afterwards Lord Kelvin, commented that Kant's

attempt to account for the constitution and mechanical origin of the universe on Newtonian principles only wanted the knowledge of thermodynamics, which the subsequent experiments of Davy, Rumford and Joule supplied, to lead to thoroughly definite explanation of all that is known regarding the present actions and temperatures of the Earth and of the Sun and all other heavenly bodies.

These are, apparently, the enthusiastic comments resulting from the re-discovery of Kant's papers. A present-day writer would not speak so decisively of them, but we must all bow in acknowledgment of Kant's remarkable contributions to our subject, published when he was but 31 years old.

LAPLACE'S HYPOTHESIS

In 1796, 41 years following Kant's principal contributions, Laplace published an extensive untechnical volume on general astronomy. At the end of the volume he appended seven short notes. The final note, to which he gave the curious title "Note VII and last,'' proposed a theory of the origin and evolution of the solar system which soon came to be known as Laplace's Nebular Hypothesis. There are several circumstances which indicate pretty clearly that Laplace was not deeply serious in proposing this hypothesis:

1. Its method of publication as the final short appendix to a large volume on general astronomy.

2. He himself said in his note that the hypothesis must be received "with the distrust with which everything should be regarded that is not the result of observation or calculation.''

3. So far as we know he did not submit the theory to the test of well-known mathematical principles involved, although this was his habit in essentially every other branch of astronomy.

4. Laplace, in common with Kant, laid great stress upon the fact that the satellites all revolve around their planets from west to east, nearly in the common plane of the solar system; yet 6 or 7 years before Laplace's publication, Herschel had shown and published that the two recently discovered satellites of Uranus were revolving about Uranus in a plane making an angle of 98° with the common plane of the

solar system. While Laplace might not have known of Uranus's satellites in 1796, on account of existing political conditions, there is no evidence that he considered or took note of the fact when making minor changes in his published papers up to the time of his death in 1827. It is a further interesting comment on international scientific literature that Laplace died without learning that Kant had worked in the same field.

Laplace and his contemporary, Sir William Herschel, had been the most fruitful contributors to astronomical knowledge since the days of Sir Isaac Newton. Herschel's observations had led him to speculate as to the evolution of the stars from nebulæ, and as a result interest in the subject was widespread. This fact, coupled with Laplace's commanding position, caused the nebular hypothesis to be received with great favor. During an entire century it was the central idea about which astronomical thought revolved.

Laplace conceived that the solar system has been evolved from a gaseous and hot nebula; that the nebulosity extended out farther than the known planets; and that the entire nebulous mass was endowed with a slow rotation that was uniform in angular rate, as in the case of a rotating solid. This gaseous mass was in equilibrium under the expanding forces of heat and rotation and the contracting force of gravitation. Loss of heat by radiation permitted corresponding contraction in size, and increased speed of rotation. A time came, according to Laplace, when the nebula was rotating so rapidly that an outer ring of nebulosity was in equilibrium under centrifugal and gravitational forces and refused to be drawn closer in toward the center. This ring, rotating as a solid, maintained its position, while the inner mass contracted farther. Later another ring was abandoned in the same manner; and so on, ring after ring, until only the central nucleus was left. Inasmuch as the nebulosity in the rings was not uniformly distributed, each ring broke into pieces, and the pieces of each ring, in the progress of time, condensed into a gaseous mass. The several large masses formed from the abandoned rings, respectively, became the planets and satellites of the solar system. These gaseous masses rotated faster and faster as their heat radiated into space, they abandoned rings of gaseous matter just as the original mass had done, and these secondary rings condensed to form the satellites; save that, in one case, the ring of gas nearest to Saturn for some reason formed a solid (!) ring about that planet, instead of condensing into one or more satellites. Thus, in outline, according to Laplace, the solar system was formed.

The first half of the nineteenth century found the nebular hypothesis accepted almost without question, but a tearing-down process began in the second half of the century, and at present not much of the original structure remains standing. This is due in small part to discoveries

since Laplace's time, but chiefly to a more careful consideration of the fundamental principles involved. We have space to present only a few of the more salient objections.

1. If the materials of the solar system existed as a gas, uniformly distributed throughout what we may call the volume of the system, the density of the gas would be exceedingly low: at the most, several hundred million times less dense than the air we breath. Conditions of equilibrium in so rare a medium would require that the abandonment of the outer parts by the contracting and more rapidly rotating inner mass should be a continuous process. Each abandoned element would be abandoned individually; it would not be vitally affected by the elements slightly farther out in the structure, nor by the elements slightly nearer to the center. Successive abandonment of nine gaseous rings of matter, each ring rotating as if it were a solid structure, is unthinkable. The real product of the cooling process in such a nebula would undoubtedly be something in the nature of a spiral nebula, in which the matter would revolve around the nucleus the more rapidly the nearer it was to the nucleus. If the matter were originally distributed uniformly throughout the rotating structure, the spiral lines might not be visible. If it were distributed irregularly, the spiral form here and there could scarcely fail to be in evidence to a distant observer.

2. Laplace held that the condensation of each ring would result in one planet, rotating on its axis from west to east; this apparently by virtue of the fact that in a ring rotating as a solid the outer edge travels more rapidly than the inner edge does, and therefore, the west to east direction of rotation must prevail in the planetary product. If now, as we firmly believe, each constituent of such an attenuated ring must rotate substantially independently of other constituents, those nearer the inner edge of the ring will possess the higher speeds of rotation, and the preponderance of kinetic energy in the inner parts of the ring should give the resulting planetary condensation a retrograde direction of rotation.

3. According to Laplace the satellites should all revolve around their primaries from west to east. Eight of the satellites do not follow this rule.

4. If the materials composing the inner ring of Saturn were abandoned by the parent planet, as this planet contracted in size and rotated ever more and more rapidly, then the ring should revolve about the planet in a period considerably longer than the planet period. The reverse is the fact. The rotation period of the equatorial region of the planet itself is 10 h. 14 m., whereas the inner edge of the ring system revolves about the planet once in about five hours.

5. The inner satellite of Mars revolves once in 7 h. 39 m., whereas Mars requires 24 h. 37 m. for one rotation. According to the Nebular Hypothesis, the period of the satellite should be the longer.

6. Laplace's hypothesis would seem to require that the orbits of the planets be circular or very nearly so. The orbits of all except Venus and Neptune are quite eccentric, and Mercury's orbit, which should have the nearest approach to circularity, is by far the most eccentric.

7. If the planetary rings were abandoned by centrifugal action, we should expect the Sun to be rotating in the principal plane of the planet system. The major planets, from Venus out to Neptune, are revolving in nearly a common plane. The Sun, containing 99 6/7 per cent. of all the material in the system, has its equator inclined 7° to the planet plane. This discrepancy is a very serious and I think fatal objection to Laplace's hypothesis, as Chamberlin has emphasized.

8. Laplace assumed a nebula whose form was a function of its rotational speed, its gravitation, its internal heat, and, although he does not so state, of its internal friction. He did not distribute the matter within the nebula to conform in any way to the distribution as we observe it to-day, but he let the entire structure contract, following the loss of heat, until the maintenance of equilibrium required the successive abandoning of seven or eight rings. He mentions a central condensation, but gives no further particulars. Thirty years ago Fouché established clearly that the condensing of Laplace's assumed nebula into the present solar system would involve the violent breaking of the law known as the conservation of moment of momentum. Fouché proved that a distributio n of matter beyond any conception of the subject by Laplace must be assumed. Fully 96 per cent. must be condensed in the central nucleus at the outset, and not more than 4 per cent. of the total mass must lie outside of the nucleus and be widely distributed thoughout the volume of the solar system. Chamberlin puts the case very strongly in another way. If the planet Mercury was abandoned as a ring of nebulosity, the equatorial velocity of the remaining central mass must at that time have been in the neighborhood of 45 km. per second, as this is the orbital speed of Mercury. If the central mass condensed to the present size of the Sun, the Sun's equatorial velocity of rotation should now be fully 400 km. per second, in accordance with the requirement of the rigid law of constancy of moment of momentum. The Sun's actual equatorial velocity is only 2 km. per second!

In several other respects the hypothesis of Laplace, as he proposed it, fails to account for the facts as they are observed to exist.

Poincaré devoted his unique talents to the evolution problem shortly before his death. He recognized that the Laplace hypothesis is not tenable except upon such an assumed distribution of matter as was defined by Fouché. Accepting this modification, and extending the hypothesis to involve the application of tidal interactions at many points throughout the solar system, Poincaré expresses the opinion that the Laplacian hypothesis, of all those proposed, is still the one which best

accounts for the facts.[3] However, he does not utilize the hypothesis of rings rotating as solids, for he finds it necessary to conclude that the planetary masses in the beginning must have had retrograde rotations. In the large planetary masses of Jupiter and Saturn, for example, the materials which form the outer retrograde satellites were abandoned while the rotations were still retrograde, and when the diameters of the planetary masses were several scores of times their present diameters. In these extended masses the Sun would create tidal waves, and here, as always, such waves would exert a retarding effect upon the rotations. A time would come, Poincaré thought, when these planets would rotate once in a revolution; that is, present the same face to the Sun; and this is in fact a west to east rotation. Further contraction of the planetary masses would give rise to increasing rotational speeds in the west to east direction. The materials which form the inner satellites of Jupiter and Saturn were abandoned successively after the west to east direction of rotation had become established. According to modifications of the same theory, tidal retardation has slowed down Saturn's speed since the abandonment of the materials which later condensed to form the inner ring of that planet; or, possibly, the ring materials encountered resistance after the planet abandoned them, with the consequence that the ring drew in toward the planet and increased its speed; and similarly in the case of Mars and its inner satellite.

To me this modification of the Laplacian hypothesis is unsatisfactory, for several reasons. To mention only one: if Jupiter was a large gaseous mass extending out as far as the 8th and 9th satellites, the gaseous body was very highly attenuated; friction in the outer strata would be essentially a negligible quantity, and tidal retardation would not be very effective; and it would be under just these conditions that loss of heat from the planet should be most rapid and the rate of increase of retrograde rotation resulting therefrom be comparatively high. It would seem that the rotation of the planet in the retrograde direction must have accelerated under the contractional cause, rather than have decreased and reversed in direction under an excessively feeble tidal cause.

The recognized weaknesses of Laplace's hypothesis have caused many

other hypotheses to be proposed in the past half century. The hypotheses of Faye, Lockyer, du Ligondes, See, Arrhenius, and Chamberlin and Moulton include many of the features of Kant's or Laplace's hypotheses, but all of them advance and develop other ideas. It is unfortunate that space limits do not permit us to discuss the new features of each hypothesis. (To be continued.)

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 nebulæ? The answer is that the conditions in the nebulæ and in the youngest stars are such that only the simplest elements, like

hydrogen and helium, and in the nebulæ 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.

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 nebulæ? The answer is that the conditions in the nebulæ and in the youngest stars are such that only the simplest elements, like

hydrogen and helium, and in the nebulæ 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.

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 nebulæ? The answer is that the conditions in the nebulæ and in the youngest stars are such that only the simplest elements, like

hydrogen and helium, and in the nebulæ 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.

PROGRESS AND PEACE
BY PROFESSOR ROBERT M. YERKES
HARVARD UNIVERSITY

LASTING peace among the nations of the earth we must regard as of supreme moment, the discovery of the conditions thereof, as most worthy of human effort. Physical struggle is no longer accepted as either a necessary or a desirable means of settling differences between individuals. Why, then, should it be tolerated to-day in connection with national disagreements? To admit the impossibility or the impracticability of universal peace is to stigmatize our vaunted civilization as a failure. Surely we will not, can not, humble ourselves by such an admission until we have exhausted our energies in searching for the conditions of national amity.

With my whole life I believe in the possibility and value of worldwide friendliness and cooperation. I am writing to discuss not the attainability or the merits of peace, but ways of achieving it; not to criticize present activities on its behalf, but to indicate the promise of a neglected approach and to present a program which should, I believe, find its place in the great "peace movement.''

Must peace be achieved and maintained by brute strength, regardless of sense and sentiment, or may it be gained through intelligence, humanely used? Must the pathway thereto be paved with human skulls, builded with infinite suffering and sacrifice, or may it he charted by scientific inquiry and builded by the joyous labor of mutual service and helpfulness? Is it possible, in the light of the history of the races of man, to doubt that we must place our dependence on intelligence sympathetically employed, not on physical prowess? To me it seems that peace must be achieved peacefully, not by the clash of arms and bloodshed.

But even if we grant that science is our main hope, there remains a choice of methods. On the one hand, there is the way of material progress, physical discovery and feverish haste to apply every new fact to armament; on the other, that of biological research, social enlightenment, and ever-increasing human understanding and sympathy.

Firm believers in each of these possible approaches, through science, to international peace, are at hand. The one group argues that nations, like individuals, must be controlled in all supreme crises by fear; the other contends that civilization has developed in enlightened human sympathy a higher, a more worthy, and a safer control of behavior.

As a biologist and a believer in the brotherhood of man, I wish to present the merits of sympathy, as contrasted with fear, and to plead for larger attention to the biological approach to the control of international relations. For I am convinced that the greatest lesson of the present stupendous world-conflict is the need of thorough knowledge of the laws of individual and social human behavior. Surely this war clearly indicates that the study of instinct, and the use of our knowledge for the control of human relations, is incalculably more important for the welfare of mankind than is the discovery of new and ever more powerful explosives or the building of increasingly terrible engines of destruction.

During the last half-century the physical sciences, technologies, arts and industries, have made marvelous advances. At enormous cost of labor and material resources there have been discovered and perfected means of destroying life and property at once so effective and so terrible to contemplate that preparedness for war seemed a safe guarantee of peace. But who is there now to insist, against the evidence of blood-drenched Europe, that material progress, physical discovery, and armament based thereupon, assure international friendship?

Only if one of the nations should discover, and guard as its secret, some diabolically horrible means of destroying human life and property by wholesale and over materially unbridged distances, can armaments even temporarily put an end to war. In such event—and it is by no means an improbability—the whole world might suddenly be made to bow in terror before the will of the all-powerful nation. Before this approaching crisis, can we do less than earnestly pray that the translation of physical progress into armament may be halted until the brotherhood of man has been further advanced? Dare we stop to contemplate what would happen to-morrow if Germany, with half the civilized world arrayed against her, should come into possession of some imponderable, and to the untutored mind mysterious, means of directing her torpedoes, exploding magazines, mines, shells from distant bases? Undoubtedly we are close upon the employment of certain vibrations for this deadly purpose. Shall we veer in time and take a safer course, or are we doomed to the inevitable?

For the certain result of pushing forward relentlessly on the path of preparation for war—in the name of peace—is the dominance of a single nation and the destruction or subjugation of all others. This is as inevitable as is death. If we would preserve and foster racial and national diversity of traits, promote social individuality as we so eagerly foster the diversity of selves, we must speedily focus attention upon human nature and seek that knowledge of it which shall enable us to control it wisely rather than to destroy it ruthlessly.

Even were I able to do so, I should in no degree belittle the achievements of the physical sciences and their technologies, for I believe

whole-heartedly in their value, and long for the steady increase of our power to control our environment. But when these achievements are offered as means of creating or maintaining certain desired conditions of individual and social life, I must insist that other knowledge is essential —nay, more essential—than that of the physicist or chemist. Knowledge, namely, of life itself.

Most briefly, the situation may thus be described. In peace and in war there are two large, complex and intricate groups of facts to be dealt with by those who seek the welfare of man. The one group comprises the phenomena of physical nature as the condition of life— environment; the other is constituted by the phenomena of life and the relations of lives. Those who sincerely believe in preparedness for war as a preventive measure, misconceive and attempt to misuse the emotion of fear and its modes of expression. It is as though we should strive tirelessly to develop machinery and methods for educating our children, the while ignorant of the laws of child development and branding as of no practical importance the fundamentals of human nature.

To nations no more than to individuals is it given to live by fear alone. By it a nation may become dominant, and diversity of body, mind, and ideals be eradicated. To base our civilization upon fear entails uniformity, monotony of life; the sacrifice of peoples for the unduly exalted traits and national ideals of a single homogeneous social group—a single all-powerful nation. Knowledge of life, and the sympathy for one's fellow men which springs from it, must control the world if nations are to live in peaceful and mutually helpful relations. If life, whether of the individual or of the social group, is to be controlled, it must be through intimate knowledge of life, not through knowledge of something else. The world must be ruled by sympathy, based upon understanding, insight, appreciation. This is my prophecy, this my faith and my present thesis.

Material as contrasted with purely intellectual or spiritual progress is the pride of our time. We worship technology as reared upon physics and chemistry. But what is our gain, in this progress, so long as we continue to use one another as targets? Would it not be wiser, more far-sighted, more humane, more favorable to the development of universal peace and brotherhood, to give a large share of our time and substance to the search for the secrets of life? As compared with the physical sciences, the biological departments of inquiry are, in general, backward and ill-supported. Why? Because their tremendous importance is not generally recognized, and, still more, because the control of inanimate nature as promised by physical discovery and its applications appeals irresistibly both to our imagination and to our greed. We long for peace—because we are afraid of war—we long for the perfecting

of individual and social life, but much more intensely and effectively we long for wealth, power and pleasure.

What I have already said and now repeat in other words is that if we really desired above anything attainable on earth the lasting peace of nations, we should diligently foster and tirelessly pursue the sciences of life and seek to perfect and exalt the varied arts and technologies which should be based upon them. Experimental zoology and genetics; physiology and hygiene; genetic psychology and education; anthropology and ethnology; sociology and economics, would be held in as high esteem and as ardently furthered as are the various physical sciences and their technologies.

Does it not seem reasonable to claim that human behavior may be intelligently controlled or directed only in the light of intimate and exhaustive knowledge of the organism, its processes, and its relations to its environment? If this be true, how pitiably, how shamefully, inadequate is our knowledge even of ourselves! How few are those who have a sound, although meager, knowledge of the laws of heredity, of the primary facts of human physiology, of the principles of hygiene, of the chief facts and laws of mental life, including the fundamental emotions and their corresponding instinctive modes of action, the modifiability or educability of the individual and the important relations of varied sorts of experience and conduct, the laws of habit, the nature and rôle of the sentiments, the unnumbered varieties of memory and ideation, the chief facts of social life and their relations to individual experience and behavior. Not one person in a thousand has a knowledge of life and its conditions equal in adequacy for practical demands to his knowledge of those aspects of physical nature with which he is concerned in earning a livelihood. Even those of us who have dedicated our lives to the study of life are humble before our ignorance. But with a faith which can not be shaken, because we have seen visions and dreamed dreams, we insist that the knowledge which we seek and daily find is absolutely essential for the perfecting of educational methods; for the development of effective systems of bodily and mental hygiene; for the discovery, fostering and maintenance of increasingly profitable social relations and organizations. In a word, we believe that biology, of all sciences, can and must lead us in the path of social as contrasted with merely material progress; can and ultimately will so alter the relations of nations that war shall be as impossible as is peace to-day.

Fortunately the biologist may depend, in his efforts to further the study of all aspects of life, not upon faith and hope alone, but also upon works, for already physiology and psychology have transformed our educational practices; and the medical sciences given us a great and steadily increasing measure of control over disease.

At least two men, as different in intellectual equipment, habits of

mind, and methods of inquiry as well could be, the one an American, the other an Englishman, have heralded the broadly comparative and genetic study of mind and behavior—let us call it Genetic Psychology— as the promise of a new era for civilization, because the essential condition of the intelligent and effective regulation of life.

The one of these prophets among biologists, President G. Stanley Hall, has lived to see his faith in the practical importance of the intensive study of childhood and adolescence justified by radical reforms in school and home. Hall should be revered by all lovers of youth as the apostle to adolescents. The other, Professor William McDougall, has done much to convince the thinking world that all of the social sciences and technologies must be grounded upon an adequate genetic psychology— a genetic psychology which shall take as full and intelligent account of behavior as of experience; of the life of the ant, monkey, ape as of that of man; of the savage as of civilized man; of the infant, child, adolescent as of the adult; of the moron, imbecile, idiot, insane, as of the normal individual; of social groups as of isolated selves. It is to McDougall we owe a most effective sketch—in his introduction to Social Psychology of the primary human emotions in their relations to instinctive modes of behavior.

Hall, McDougall and such sociologists—lamentably few, I fear—as Graham Wallas would agree that for the attainment of peace we must depend upon some primary human instinct. I venture the prediction that no one of them would select fear as the safe basis. Instead, they surely would unite upon sympathy.

Among animals preparedness for struggles is a conspicuous cause of strife. The monkey who stalks about among his fellows with muscles tense, tail erect, teeth bared, bespeaking expectancy of and longing for a fight, usually provokes it. We may not safely argue that lower animals prove the value of preparedness for war as a preventive measure! Among them, as among human groups, the only justification of militarism is protection and aggression. Preparedness for strife is provocative rather than preventive thereof.

As individual differences, and resulting struggles, are due to ignorance, misunderstanding, lack of the basis for intelligent appreciation of ideals, motives and sympathy, so among nations knowledge of bodily and mental traits, of aims, aspirations, and national ideals fosters the feeling of kinship and favors the instinctive attitude of sympathetic cooperation.

Every student of living things knows that to understand the structure, habits, instincts, of any creature is to feel for and with it. Even the lowliest type of organism acquires dignity and worth when one becomes familiar with its life. Children in their ignorance and lack of understanding are incredibly cruel. So, likewise, are nations. The treatment of inferior by superior races throughout the ages has been

childishly cruel, unjust, stupid, inimical to the best interests not only of the victims, but also of mankind. This has been so, not so much by reason of bad intentions, although selfishness has been at the root of immeasurable injustice, but primarily because of the utter lack of understanding and sympathy. To see a savage is to despise or fear him, to know him intimately is to love him. The same law holds of social groups, be they families, tribes, nations or races. They can cooperate on terms of friendly helpfulness just in the measure in which they know one another's physical, mental and social traits and appreciate their values, for in precisely this measure are they capable of understanding and sympathizing with one another's ideals.

Selfishness, the essential condition of individualism and nationalism, must be supplanted by the sympathy of an all inclusive social consciousness and conscience if lasting peace is to be attained.

To further the end of this transformation of man we should become familiar with the inborn springs to action, those fundamental tendencies which we call instincts, for we live more largely than is generally supposed by instinct and less by reason. All of the organic cravings, hungers, needs, should be thoroughly understood so that they may be effectively used. And, finally, the laws of intellect must be at our command if we are to meet the endlessly varying and puzzling situations of life profitably and with the measure of adequacy our reason would seem to justify.

Clearly, then, the least, and the most, we can do in the interest of peace is to provide for the study of life, but especially for the shamefully neglected or imperfectly described phenomena of behavior and mind, in the measure which our national wealth, our intelligence and our technical skill make possible. For one thing, it is open to us to establish institutes for the thorough study of every aspect of behavior and mind in relation to structure and environment, comparable with such institutions for social progress as the Rockefeller Institute for Medical Research. The primary function of such centers for the solution of vital problems should be the comparative study, from the genetic, developmental, historical, point of view of every aspect of the functional life of living things, to the end that human life may be better understood and more successfully controlled. Facts of heredity, of behavior, of mind, of social relations, should alike be gathered and related, and thus by the observation of the most varied types, developmental stages, and conditions of living creatures there should be developed a science of behavior and consciousness which should ultimately constitute a safe basis for the social sciences, for all forms of social endeavor, and for universal and permanent peace.

I submit that such centers of research as the psycho-biological institute I have so imperfectly described are sorely needed. For it is obvious

that the future of our species depends in large measure upon how we develop the biological sciences and what use we make of our knowledge. I further submit, and therewith I rest my case, that familiarity with living things breeds sympathy not contempt, and that sympathy in turn conditions justice.

May it be granted us to work intelligently, effectively, tirelessly for world-wide peace and service. not by the suppression of racial and national diversities, the leveling of the mass to a deadly sameness, but through steadily increasing appreciation of racial and national traits. May the world, even sooner than we dare to hope, be ruled by sympathy instead of by fear.

THE PROGRESS OF SCIENCE

THE MISSOURI AND THE NEW
YORK BOTANICAL GARDENS

THE Missouri Botanical Garden has recently celebrated the twenty-fifth anniversary of its foundation and the New York Botanical Garden its twentieth anniversary. Within these short periods these gardens have taken rank among the leading scientific institutions of the world. Botanical gardens were among the first institutions to be established for scientific research; indeed Parkinson, the "botanist royal'' of England, on the title page of his book of 1629, which we here reproduce, depicts the Garden of Eden as the first botanical garden and one which apparently engaged in scientific expeditions, for it includes plants which must have been collected in America. However this may be, publicly supported gardens for the cultivation of plants of economic and esthetic value existed in Egypt, Assyria, China and Mexico and beginning in the medieval period had a large development in Europe there being at the beginning of the seventeenth century botanical gardens devoted to research in Bologna, Montpellier, Leyden, Paris, Upsala and elsewhere. An interesting survey of the history of botanical gardens is given in a paper by Dr. A W. Hill assistant director of the Kew Gardens, prepared for the celebration of the Missouri Garden, from which we have taken the illustration from Parkinson and the pictures of Padua and Kew.

The papers presented at the celebration have been published in a handsome volume. It includes addresses by a number of distinguished botanists, though owing to the war several of the foreign botanists were unable to be present. Dr George T. Moore, director of the garden, made in his address of welcome a brief statement in regard to its origin in the private garden and by the later endowment of Mr. Henry

TITLE PAGE OF PARKINSON'S "PARADISI IN SOLE PARADISUS TERRESTRIS.''

[Description: Illustration of the title page of Parkinson's "Paradisi in Sole Paradisus Terrestris," which shows an Edenic garden with a man and woman tending it.]

Copyright 1907 by Underwood and Underwood.
DR. NATHANIEL LORD BRITTON,
Director of the New York Botanical Garden.

[Description: Photograph of a man seated and writing at a desk. A coat and hat hang from a coat-rack in the background.]

THE HERBACEOUS GROUND, ROYAL BOTANIC GARDENS, KEW, showing beds arranged according to the natural orders.

[Description: Photograph of the Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew. A number of flower beds can be seen in the foreground. Larger trees cover the left side and background.]

Shaw. Mr. Shaw came to this country from England in 1818, and with a small stock of hardware began business in one room which also served as bedroom and kitchen. Within twenty years he had acquired a fortune and retired from active business to devote the remaining forty-nine years of his life to travel and to the management of a garden surrounding his country-home on the outskirts of St. Louis. In 1859 he erected a small museum and library, and in 1866 Mr. James Gurney was brought to this country as head gardener. Mr. Shaw died in 1889, leaving his estate largely for the establishment of the Missouri Botanical Garden, but providing also for the Henry Shaw School of Botany of Washington University and a park for the city. With this liberal endowment constantly increasing as the real estate becomes more productive, Dr. William Trelease, the first director, and Dr. George T. Moore, the present director, have conducted an institution not only of value to the city of St. Louis but largely contributing to the advance of botanical science.

The New York Botanical Garden, largely through the efforts of Dr. N. L. Britton, the present director was authorized by the New York legislature in 1891. The act of incorporation provided that when the corporation created should have secured by subscription a sum not less than $250,000 the city was authorized to set aside for the garden as much as 250 acres from one of the public parks and to expend one half million dollars for the construction and equipment of the necessary buildings. The conditions were met in 1895, and the institution has since grown in its land, and its buildings, in its collections and in its herbaria, so that, in association with the department of botany of Columbia University, it now rivals in its material equipment and in the research work accomplished any botanical institution in the world.

THE SECOND PAN-AMERICAN
SCIENTIFIC CONGRESS

THERE will be held at Washington from Monday, December 27, to Saturday, January 9, the second Pan-American

Scientific Congress, authorized by the first congress held in Santiago, Chili, six years previously. This was one of the series of congresses previously conducted by the republics of Latin America. The Washington congress, which is under the auspices of the government of the United States, with Mr. William Phillips, third assistant secretary of state, as chairman of the executive committee, will meet in nine sections, which, with the chairmen, are as follows:

I. Anthropology, Wm. H. Holmes.

II. Astronomy, Meteorology, and Seismology, Robert S. Woodward.

III. Conservation of Natural Resources, Agriculture, Irrigation and Forestry, George M. Rommel.

IV. Education, P. P. Claxton.

V. Engineering, W. H. Bixby.

VI. International Law, Public Law, and Jurisprudence, James Brown Scott.

VII. Mining and Metallurgy, Economic Geology, and Applied Chemistry, Hennen Jennings.

VIII. Public Health and Medical Science, Wm. C. Gorgas.

IX. Transportation, Commerce, Finance, and Taxation, L. S. Rowe.

Each section is divided further into subsections, of which there are forty-five, each with a special committee and program. Several of the leading national associations of the United States, concerned with the investigation of subjects of pertinent interest to some of the sections of the congress, have received and accepted invitations from the executive committee of congress to meet in Washington at the same time and hold one or more joint sessions with a section or subsection of corresponding interest. Thus the nineteenth International Congress of Americanists will meet in Washington during the same week with the Pan-American Scientific Congress, and joint conferences will be held for the discussion of subjects of common interest to members of the two organizations

As an example of the wide scope of the congress we may quote the ten subsections into which the section of education is divided. Each of these subsections is under a committee of men distinguished in educational work and men of eminence have been invited to take part in the proceedings. The subjects proposed for discussion by each of these sections are:

Elementary Education: To what extent should elementary education be supported by local taxation, and to what extent by state taxation? What should be the determining factors in the distribution of support? Secondary Education: What should be the primary and what the secondary purpose of high school education? To what extent should courses of study in the high school be determined by the requirements for admission to college, and to what extent by the demands of industrial and civic life? University Education: Should universities and colleges supported by public funds be controlled by independent and autonomous powers, or should they be controlled directly by central state authority? Education of Women: To what extent is coeducation desirable in elementary schools, high schools, colleges and universities? Exchange of Professors and Students between Countries: To what extent is an exchange of students and professors between American republics desirable? What is the most effective basis for a system of exchange? What plans should be adopted in order to secure mutual recognition of technical and professional degrees by American Republics? Engineering Education: To what extent may college courses in engineering be profitably supplemented by practical work in the shop? To what extent may laboratory work in engineering be replaced through cooperation with industrial plants? Medical Education: What preparation should be required for admission to medical schools? What should he the minimum requirements for graduation? What portion of the faculty of a medical school should be

JOSEPH AUSTIN HOLMES.
First director of the United States Bureau of Mines, whose death is a serious loss to the scientific and economic work conducted under the national government.

[Description: Photograph of a man (Joseph Austin Holmes) sporting a large, full moustache and a three-piece suit.]

required to give all their time to teaching and investigation? What instruction may best be given by physicians engaged in medical practice? Agricultural Education: What preparation should be required for admission to state and national colleges of agriculture? To what extent should the courses of study in the agricultural college be theoretical and general, and to what extent practical and specific? To what extent should the curriculum of any such college be determined by local conditions? Industrial Education: What should be the place of industrial education in the school system of the American republics? Should it be supported by public taxation? Should it be considered as a function of the public school system? Should it be given in a separate system under separate control? How and to what extent may industrial schools cooperate with employers of labor, Commercial Education: How can a nation prepare in the most effective manner its young men for a business career that is to be pursued at home or in a foreign country.

SCIENTIFIC ITEMS

WE record with regret the death at the age of ninety-two of Henri Fabre, the distinguished French entomologist and author; of William Henry Hoar Hudson, late professor of mathematics at King's College, London; of Dr. Ugo Schiff, professor of chemistry at Florence; of Susanna Phelps Gage, known for her work on comparative anatomy; of Charles Frederick Holder, the California naturalist, and of Dr. Austin Flint, a distinguished physician and alienist of New York City.

DR. RAY LYMAN WILBUR, professor of medicine, has been elected president of Leland Stanford Junior University. He will on January 1 succeed Dr John Caspar Branner, who undertook to accept the presidency for a limited period on the retirement of Dr. David Starr Jordan, now chancellor of the university. Dr. Wilbur graduated from the academic department of Stanford University in 1896.

AT the Manchester meeting of the British Association for the Advancement of Science, Sir Arthur J. Evans, F.R S., the archeologist, honorary keeper of the Ashmolean Museum, Oxford, was elected president for next year's meeting, to be held at Newcastle-on-Tyne. The meeting of 1917 will be held at Bournemouth.

DR. MAX PLANCK, professor of physics at Berlin, and Professor Hugo von Seeliger, director of the Munich Observatory, have been made knights of the Prussian order pour le mérite. Dr. Ramón y Cajal, professor of histology at Madrid, and Dr. C. J. Kapteyn, professor of astronomy at Gröningen, have been appointed foreign knights of this order.

MR. JACOB H. SCHIFF, a member of the board of trustees of Barnard College and its first treasurer, has given $500,000 to the college for a woman's building. It will include a library and additional lecture halls as well as a gymnasium, a lunch room and rooms for students' organizations.

BY the will of the late Dr. Dudley P. Allen, formerly professor of surgery in the Western Reserve University, $200,000 has been set aside as a permanent endowment fund for the Cleveland Medical Library.