The Dreams of Reason: Science and Utopias 9780231893268

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The Dreams of Reason

*

C O L U M B I A

U N I V E R S I T Y

New York and London

PRESS

K 3K Science and Utopias

BY

RENE

DUBOS

Copyright © 1961 Columbia University Press

Q u o t a t i o n on page 15 from The Firmament of Time by Loren Eiseley. Copyrighi © 1960 by Loren Eiseley. Reprinted by permission of Atheneum Publishers. Quotation on page 142 from The Pasteur Fermentation Centennial 1857-1957, Chas. Pfizer & Co., Inc., 1958.

ISBN 0-231-02493-2

Clothbound

ISBN 0-231-08544-3

Paperbound

Fifth cloth printing and fourth paperback printing P r i n t e d in the U n i t e d States of America

To Adeline De Bloedt Dubos and Nora Wills Porter

The George B. Pegram Lectures (Opportunities for reflective appraisal of the import of science on society by the very architects of current events and trends should be cultivated whenever possible. T o this end the George B. Pegram Lectureship was established by the Trustees of Associated Universities, Inc. Residence at Brookhaven National Laboratory gives the lecturer opportunities for formal and informal contacts with the staff, and provides a period of freedom from other duties. As the second lecturer in the series, Dr. René Dubos has elected to reexamine the influence of Bacon on the modern structure and development of science, the limits to which scientific inquiry and the scientist are subject, as well as the dilemmas which arise in the pursuit of medical research and alleviation of man's ills. Dr. Dubos, m e m b e r of the Rockefeller Institute, is well known both in his specific fields of microbiology and experimental pathology a n d as an author. His latest volume is The Mirage of Health, published last year. His books also include

the third edition of Bacterial and Mycotic Infections of Man (1958); Biochemical Determinants of Microbial Disease (1954); The White Plague— Tuberculosis, Man and Society (1952); Louis Pasteur—Free Lance of Science (1950); a n d The Bacterial Cell (1945). T h e lectureship was n a m e d to honor George Braxton Pegram, one of the most influential scientists of the nuclear age. He was Professor of Physics, Dean, and Vice President of Columbia University. He was instrumental in seeing that the government was aware of the potentialities of nuclear energy in the defense of the country. In 1946 he headed the Initiatory University G r o u p which proposed that a regional center for research in the nuclear sciences be established in the New York area and thus played a key role in the establishment of Associated Universities, Inc., and the founding of Brookhaven National Laboratory. He received many awards and honorary degrees, the last of which was the Karl Taylor C o m p t o n gold medal for distinguished service in physics. George B. Pegram's lucid mind a n d gentle ways will be long remembered by those who knew him. This series in his honor has been established to further his conviction t h a t the results of science can be made to serve the needs and hopes of mankind. Gerhart Friedlander Samuel A. Goudsmit LelandJ. Haworth Daniel E. Koshland, Jr. James S. Robertson R. Christian Anderson, Chairman

viii

Acknowledgments

e author gratefully acknowledges permission to quote from the following volumes: A Diderot Pictorial Encyclopedia of Trades and Industry by Denis Diderot (Dover Publications) ; The Firmament of Time by Loren Eiseley (Atheneum Publishers); The Inward Vision by Paul Klee (Harry N. Abrams); A Land by Jacquetta Hawkes (Random House); A Modern Utopia by H. G. Wells (Chapman & Hall); The Pasteur Fermentation Centennial 1857-1957 (Chas. Pfizer & Co.); The Revolt of the Masses by José Ortega y Gasset (W. W. Norton & Company). The caricature of H. G. Wells reproduced on page 51 appears in Lions and Lambs by Low, with interpretations by "Lynx" (Harcourt, Brace & Company).

ix

Contents 1.

Background and Prejudices

i

2.

Salomon's House and the Baconian World

3.

Visionaries and the Era of Fulfillment

40

4.

Medical Utopias

63

5.

Illusions of Understanding

99

6.

The Dehumanization of the Scientist

129

"].

The Humanness of Science

15 7

12

Illustrations

xi

xii

Raphael's "School of A thens"

31

A plate from Diderot's Encyclopedia

36

Sir Thomas More

45

H. G. Wells

51

'Tisick, Colic, and Gout

68

Rembrandt's portrait of a physician

97

René Descartes

104

Lichens

112

Charles Darwin

117

Michael Faraday

140

Louis Pasteur and his wife

143

Thomas Edison

147

Bernard de Fontenelle

151

Thomas Huxley

154

The birds are to be envied They avoid Thinking about the trees and the roots. Agile, self contented, all day long they swing And sing, perched on ultimate end. PAUL KLEE

The Inward Vision

The Dreams of Reason

1 Background and Prejudices

Within a month's time during the fall of 1960 I passed from the National Laboratory in Brookhaven to the hill town of Assisi in Italy. T h e c h a n g e was not t r a u m a t i c despite the contrast, because both places bring man closer to fundamentals. In the humble monastic garden of Assisi where St. Francis wrote the " H y m n of the S u n " almost eight centuries ago, I recaptured in thought the peculiar warmth in the voice of a Brookhaven physicist explaining the mysteries of the proton. St. Francis a p p r e h e n d e d and served the creation t h r o u g h love. A n d the words carved on the entrance to the huge cosmotron in Brookhaven seem to me congenial to his teachings: " D e d i c a t e d to the E n l i g h t e n m e n t a n d Service of M a n k i n d . " I shall have nothing more to say c o n c e r n i n g Francis of Assisi, but what I have said is sufficient to warn the reader that I find it difficult to dissociate science from the rest of human experience, a confession that may help him to understand the mood in which this book has been written. 1

This book is based on the George B. Pegram Lectures t h a t I delivered at the Brookhaven National Laboratory in October, 1960. T h e circumstances which brought me to Brookhaven are of some interest because they give to the lectures a significance that far transcends their merit a n d content. T h e Brookhaven National L a b o r a t o r y is a research center devoted to studies in nuclear physics and in the biological effects of radiation. Unfortunately for me, these most exciting and mysterious aspects of modern science are far removed from the areas of medical biology in which lies my own professional specialization. T h e invitation to be the Pegram Lecturer took me, therefore, by surprise because I felt completely unqualified to speak before the Brookhaven scientific staff. I was assured, however, that my assignment was not to discuss technical aspects of physics, chemistry, biology, or medicine, but rather to present my views on science as a part of the social structure a n d of the humanistic tradition. It is the very nature of this assignment that I regard as worth emphasizing, because it throws into relief an aspect of scientific life which is commonly ignored. Everybody knows that science is the most effective instrument for the creation of wealth and power in the modern world. Most laymen also acknowledge t h a t scientists as a g r o u p exhibit great dedication to their tasks, even though their financial rewards are rarely commensurate with their efforts. But while scientists may be admired a n d even envied, it must be admitted that they are not loved. T h e y are often accused of being n a r r o w in their interests, insensitive to the emotional and artistic aspects of life, unconcerned with the social consequences of their actions—in brief, of lacking h u m a n w a r m t h a n d understanding. I h a v e tried in this book to present what 2

Background and Prejudices

seems to me a truer picture of the scientific community. T h e decision of the Brookhaven N a t i o n a l L a b o r a t o r y to devote the P e g r a m Lecture Series to the social and humanistic implications of science constitutes a good introduction to this topic because it illustrates an attitude which, contrary to general belief, has long been prevalent among scientists. As I evoke the two weeks spent in Brookhaven a m o n g scientists working at the frontiers of knowle d g e a n d u n d e r s t a n d i n g , w h a t I recall is not n a r r o w mindedness, arrogance of intellect, or indifference to h u m a n feelings, but instead their eagerness to share in all the experiences, hopes, a n d responsibilities of m a n k i n d . Nowhere have I appreciated more fully that scientists consider their calling not merely a practical t r a d e from which they derive satisfaction, but truly a vocation dedicated to the needs of the human soul and to the fulfillment of man's destiny. T h e t h e m e a r o u n d which my lectures were organized emerged in part from the historical accident that the year 1961 marks the four h u n d r e d t h anniversary of Francis Bacon's birth. W h e n I received the invitation to deliver the P e g r a m Lectures, it occurred to me t h a t this type of lectureship, a n d indeed the very existence of such institutions as the Brookhaven Laboratory where they would be delivered, can be traced to the social influence of Bacon's writings, a n d to his Utopian description of Salomon's House in The New Atlantis. Hence the association between science a n d Utopias which came to my m i n d even before I knew precisely what the content of the lectures would be. It is likely that Bacon's quadricentennial will be celebrated in many learned books and conferences. Furthermore, there is no need of historical knowledge to predict that his role as a prophet of modern science will be highBackground and Prejudices

3

l i g h t e d d u r i n g t h e c e l e b r a t i o n s . S o m e b i o g r a p h e r s will certainly t a k e the view t h a t it was B a c o n w h o publicized most effectively t h e role of t h e i n d u c t i v e m e t h o d in exp e r i m e n t a l science a n d w h o convinced t h e world t h a t scientific k n o w l e d g e is power. O t h e r historians a r e likely t o p o i n t o u t t h a t B a c o n was m e r e l y t h e voice of his age a n d t h a t scientists long before him h a d practiced what he p u t into such sonorous words. T h u s , a d e b a t e will proba b l y t a k e place b e t w e e n those w h o t r a c e t h e activities of scientists to the formulation of large p r o b l e m s by philosop h e r s a n d those w h o believe t h a t m o d e r n social philosop h y has e m e r g e d out of the findings of science. I t h o u g h t t h a t a c o n t r i b u t i o n to this d e b a t e would constitute a suita b l e topic for the P e g r a m Lectures, since these h a v e been established " t o provide a forum for discussing t h e broad implications of science in our times." M o r e specifically, I shall a t t e m p t to show t h a t the illusions, aspirations, a n d whims of m a n k i n d , even m o r e t h a n its physical needs, i n f l u e n c e p r o f o u n d l y t h e beliefs a n d activities of scientists. W h i l e I d o not question, of course, t h a t scientists are objective in t h e a c t u a l p e r f o r m a n c e of their experiments, it seems a p p a r e n t to m e t h a t they plan their studies on the basis of large philosophical a n d social a s s u m p t i o n s . For e x a m p l e , t h e y m a y believe t h a t p u r e k n o w l e d g e is m o r e i m p o r t a n t t h a n p o w e r , or t a k e it for g r a n t e d t h a t t h e p r o d u c t i o n of m o r e w e a l t h a n d better d r u g s is t h e only effective a p p r o a c h to h a p p i n e s s a n d h e a l t h . T h e y m a y assume on faith t h a t life is t h e expression of some divine vital spirit, or accept—also on faith— t h a t living processes a r e b u t the expression of t h e activities of a kind of c h e m i c a l molecule w h i c h h a p p e n s to be f a s h i o n a b l e at t h e time. Some f o r m of belief is necessary for action, b u t it is d a n g e r o u s not to be a w a r e of the un4

Background and Prejudices

derlying assumptions which condition one's thoughts and behavior. W h a t I shall try to do here is to bring to light some of the unproven assumptions which have influenced the theories a n d practical applications of science. Most of the examples that I shall use in the following essays will be taken from biology, and a few from chemistry a n d physics. This selection reflects my personal experience, a n d does not imply that I separate in my mind the natural from the social sciences. In fact, I find it extremely difficult, if not impossible, to define science, to delineate the traits that differentiate it from other h u m a n activities. Everyone agrees, of course, that theoretical physics and genetics are within t h e scientific d o m a i n a n d t h a t lyric poetry and symphonic music are not. But what about psychology, sociology, or history? T h e most I can say is that, granted much uncertainty as to the limits of science, a few convictions concerning its character are held by all scientists and most philosophers. The quest for the real, the verifiability of assertions, clarity in the definition of the terms employed, consistency in the affirmations stated in these terms, a n d h u m b l e respect for all the discoverable facts relevant to the problem under study are all fundamental to the practice of science—constitute, indeed, its very bedrock. Yet, while there is no doubt that science is primarily concerned with real, verifiable events, it is also true that many scientists spend their most pleasant professional hours, and often their most creative, in dreamlands unencumbered with realities and beyond the reach of verifiability. Indeed, it seems to me that the activities of even the most objective and practical of experimenters are conditioned not only by tools, techniques, and logical concepts, but also, and perhaps even more, by conceptual Background and Prejudices

5

views which transcend factual knowledge. In a large measure, then, this book will be concerned with the interplay between two aspects of scientific life: on the one h a n d , the factual and verifiable components a n d , on the other, the imaginative a n d emotional determinants. I know that my analysis of the h u m a n factors in science cannot be thorough, a n d I suspect that it will not be objective. T h e difficulties will originate not only from my lack of knowledge, but even more from the fact that my attitude toward science has been indelibly conditioned by w h a t I r e a d a n d h e a r d d u r i n g my s t u d e n t days. It is rather easy for me to identify these early influences because I can still quote from memory a n u m b e r of statements that struck me at the time. In order to help the reader apply the necessary correcting factors to the opinions that I shall express, it may be appropriate that I briefly describe the views of science which I gained as a young student and which are still vivid in my consciousness. As to subconscious determinants of my attitude, I am convinced of their existence but shall not try to identify them. I was born a n d educated in France a n d read little outside the writings of French authors until I was an adult. Fortunately, the French cultural tradition is so rich and diversified that it gave me a chance to see science through several colors of the spectrum. But I now realize that many wave lengths were entirely filtered out and, furthermore, that I was insensitive to some of those which came through. As probably is true of many boys all over the world, my first contact with science was made through Jules Verne. I am sure that his stories could not instill valid knowledge 6

Background and Prejudices

or critical j u d g m e n t or scientific spirit in anyone, but they can certainly foster a taste for the u n k n o w n a n d a desire for a d v e n t u r e . This is not without i m p o r t a n c e , because the longing for the u n c o m m o n a n d for the unexpected is a powerful motivating force in m a n y scientists—indeed, perhaps the only one in some of t h e m . I shall have occasion later to point out that curiosity a n d the search for a d v e n t u r e a r e important factors in scientific life. Very early, of course, I learned about Pasteur and about the applications of his discoveries in industrial processes a n d in medicine. T h r o u g h Pasteur's example the scientist appeared to me as the benefactor of mankind. Needless to say, I heard of many other scientific achievements which were of great practical i m p o r t a n c e and c h a n g e d t h e face of the world; b u t I did not appreciate the d y n a m i c c h a r a c t e r of science, the fact t h a t new discoveries are constantly changing technology a n d adding to its potentialities for new processes a n d new products. Science then appeared to me more as a body of principles and of facts to be learned than as a method for increasing endlessly the total a m o u n t of knowledge a n d of technological application. W h e t h e r my teachers a n d the books I read failed to emphasize the creative d y n a m i s m of science or whether I was not responsive to its m e a n i n g and implications is a question I c a n n o t answer. But the fact itself is certain, a n d it has been of importance in my subsequent attitude. T h e utilitarian aspects of science have never loomed large in my vision, a n d , while I recognize their importance in the abstract, my intellectual and emotional involvement in them has always been lukewarm. In contrast, other aspects of science were constantly emphasized in courses of history, philosophy, a n d literature, as well as in the endless conversations a m o n g students. Background and Prejudices

7

These discussions dealt with the role of the scientific point of view a n d of scientific facts not only in m a n ' s understanding of the universe a n d of his o w n nature, but also in the selection a n d i n t e r p r e t a t i o n of subjects by artists and writers. It is of interest in this r e g a r d t h a t the textbook of French literature which I used in school analyzed the writings of great F r e n c h scientists such as the physiologist C l a u d e B e r n a r d , the microbiologist Louis Pasteur, the chemist M a r c e l i n Berthelot, a n d the m a t h e m a t i c i a n H e n r i Poincaré, a n d illustrated t h e m with large photog r a p h s of these authors. As Ernest R e n a n has said, " E v e r y t h i n g b e c o m e s g r e a t l i t e r a t u r e w h e n d o n e with t a l e n t . " It goes without saying t h a t there were conflicting views a m o n g the teachers w h o tried to define for us the place of science in civilization, a n d I believe t h a t I was even t h e n very confused as to my own opinion concerning the relative i m p o r t a n c e of literary a n d scientific studies. Most of us h a d r e a d L'A venir de la science, the famous book in which the philosopher Ernest R e n a n announced to the world t h a t science was the new faith which h a d replaced in h i m the Catholicism of his youth. In impressive l a n g u a g e R e n a n asserted t h a t science alone could solve t h e e n i g m a of t h e world a n d " r e v e a l to m a n in a final form the real n a t u r e of things." Moreover, according to him, scientific facts were soon to provide a new a n d richer kind of m a t e r i a l for poetical inspiration. " A l t h o u g h the tales of fiction h a v e been assumed so far to be essential to poetry," he wrote, " t h e true wonders of n a t u r e will provide a far m o r e sublime subject once they h a v e been unveiled in all their splendor; they will be the source of a poetry that will be reality itself, t h a t will be at the same time science a n d poetry." 8

Background and Prejudices

Those of us who did not appreciate or trust Ernest Renan's oratory could quote statements just as sonorous made by famous scientists of the same period. Was it not Pasteur who spoke lovingly of the experimental method as " a d m i r a b l e a n d sovereign" a n d said of scientific research: " T h e charm of our studies, the enchantment of science . . . consists in the fact that everywhere and always, we can give the justification of our principles and the proof of our discoveries"? Even more positive a n d forceful was the famous chemist Marcelin Berthelot, who asserted in 1901 that "Science is today in a position to claim the leadership of societies, not only with regard to material questions, but also to intellectual and moral problems. . . . It is science that will provide the truly h u m a n basis of morals and politics in the f u t u r e . " And elsewhere Marcelin Berthelot did not hesitate to affirm his confidence that " W e are justified in pretending, without going beyond legitimate assumptions, that we can conceive and create the general types of all possible forms of life . . . that we can synthesize all the substances which have been developed since the beginning of time, under the same conditions and according to the same laws used by Nature to produce them." T h e r e is no need to illustrate by further quotations this unlimited confidence in the power of science which was so general a faith among scientists during the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, a n d which a m o u n t e d at times to narrow-minded intellectual arrogance. I shall have occasion in the following essays to deal at some length with the reaction against science generated in m a n y intellectual groups by this overconfidence. Suffice it to mention here the one example which brought me into contact with the antiscience movement during my student days. Background and Prejudices

9

Ernest R e n a n was only twenty-five years old in 1848 w h e n he wrote his book L'Avenir de la science, but he did not publish it until 1890. His faith in science h a d obviously w e a k e n e d in the interval, as c a n be seen from some of the statements in the preface to his book: " W h i l e I still believe that it is only through science that the h u m a n condition can be i m p r o v e d , I no longer believe that the solution of the problem is as near us as I h a d once h o p e d . . . . I a m afraid t h a t the m a i n contribution of science will be to deliver us from superstitions r a t h e r t h a n to reveal the ultim a t e t r u t h . " R e n a n ' s skeptical words in 1890 did not corr e s p o n d merely to a n intellectual pose; t h e y reflected an a t t i t u d e t h a t was becoming c o m m o n in some intellectual groups t h r o u g h o u t E u r o p e at the t u r n of the century. T h e t h e m e "la faillite de la science" (the b a n k r u p t c y of science) was p o p u l a r a m o n g philosophers a n d littérateurs, and it was h e a r d even in some scientific circles. T o illustrate the mood of skepticism to which I was exposed, I might quote a sentence from Anatole France which must have impressed me greatly at t h e time because I still r e m e m b e r it t o d a y , forty years after r e a d i n g it. " I despise science, my boy, for h a v i n g loved it too m u c h , " Anatole France said t h r o u g h his mouthpiece J é r ô m e Coignard, "like those disenchanted voluptuaries who reproach women for not h a v i n g given t h e m the satisfaction t h a t they h a d expected from love." In this personal n a r r a t i v e of my early student years I have tried to evoke the a t m o s p h e r e of a lively b u t not too sophisticated school e n v i r o n m e n t in F r a n c e before, during, a n d shortly a f t e r W o r l d W a r I. I n o w realize that w h a t I took so seriously then was the very superficial a n d diluted backwash of m u c h deeper controversies that were going on all over the learned world. Everywhere a n d at 10

Background and Prejudices

different levels of sophistication there was concern about the n a t u r e of scientific truth and the influence of science on civilization. An English student with a comparable b a c k g r o u n d would have been exposed to H. G. Wells's optimism based on a boyish faith in science, but also to G. B. Shaw's scornful remark that "Science is always wrong. It solves problems only to replace them by others." A G e r m a n student would have been steeped in the arrogant self-confidence of thorough Teutonic scholarship, but also in the romantic a n d diffuse airings of Naturphilosophie. And even in America the practical attitude symbolized by pragmatism was counterbalanced by the fundamentalist creed that led not so long ago to the antievolutionary "monkey trial" in Tennessee. While no one can escape the determining effects of his genetic make-up, it is almost as difficult to escape the conditioning influence of early cultural experiences. I have presented here a narrative of some of my early memories relevant to science in the hope that this will help the reader compensate for my lack of objectivity. In any case, the Pegram Lectures are intended to be a forum, and subsequent lecturers will introduce other facts a n d points of view in discussing the relation of science to modern society.

Background and Prejudices

11

2 Salomon's House and the Baconian World

T o d a y , as e v e r y d a y , I have heard of ugly congested cities with polluted atmosphere; of planes loaded with youths colliding in mid-air; of overpopulated continents and s t a r v i n g p o p u l a t i o n s ; of m e c h a n i z e d , r e g i m e n t e d , and d e h u m a n i z e d life; of brainwashing and nuclear warfare. As a m e m b e r of the scientific community, I a m awed by the thought that these social nightmares are to a large extent the products of industrial civilization—born out of science. A n d there comes to mind an etching by G o y a , the central plate of his Caprichos series. It shows a m a n s p r a w l e d across his desk, d a y d r e a m i n g or asleep, his head on his arms. Bats, owls, a n d a witch's cat surround him as in a n i g h t m a r e . O n the side of the desk are inscribed the words " E l sueno de la razon produce monstruos." I h a d a s s u m e d that this caption m e a n t that the sleep of reason produces monsters. For, indeed, errors and superstitions r e a d i l y take over a n d generate loathsome creatures w h e n reason is asleep. It is more likely, however, 12

This etching, known as "The Dreams [or Sleep] of Reason" from the inscription on the desk, is one in Francisco Goya's Los Caprichos series (1796). Goya's own caption for the etching can be translated' "Imagination deserted by reason creates monstrosities. United with reason, imagination gives birth to great marvels and true art."

that the caption refers not to sleep, but to the undisciplined dreams of reason. To Aldous Huxley the etching means that "reason may intoxicate itself as it did during the French Revolution." At that time reason engaged in daydreams of endless a n d inevitable progress, of Utopias to be reached through the easy road of political liberty and more advanced technology. Like Goya—for he himself is the dreamer sprawled over the desk in the etching—I recall that men of good will and of reason in all ages have believed that the problems of the world would soon be solved by science, the very science which instead has engendered some of the monsters that threaten us today. One of these men of reason, among the finest of eighteenth-century dreamers, was M . J . A. N. Caritat, M a r q u i s de Condorcet, author of the famous Sketch for a Historical Picture of the Progress of the Human Mind. "I will show," Condorcet asserted in his essay, "that Nature has set no limit to the perfecting of the human faculties, that the perfectibility of man is truly infinite; that the progress of this perfectibility, henceforth independent of any power that might wish to arrest it, has no limit other than the duration of the globe on which Nature has placed us. . . . The time will therefore come when the sun will shine only on free men who know no other master but their reason." Although Condorcet died a victim of the French Revolution, he apparently never lost his faith in the future of mankind. But one cannot h e l p wondering how he would react today, less than two centuries after his death, when so many thoughtful men question the very survival of civilized life. In contrast to the optimistic mood of the eighteenth century and the hopes of endless perfectibility of man through science, this is what an 14

1'he Baconian World

A m e r i c a n scientist—Loren Eiseley in The Firmament of Time—has to say of twentieth-century America, the land w h e r e scientific civilization has reached its highest level: M o d e r n m a n is being swept along in a stream of things, giving rise to other things, at such a pace that no substantial ethic, no inward stability, has been achieved. Such stability as survives, such h u m a n courtesies as remain, are the remnants of an older Christian order. Daily they are attenuated. . . . W e have re-entered nature, not like a Greek shepherd on a hillside hearing joyfully the returning pipes of Pan, but rather as an evil a n d precocious a n i m a l who slinks home in the night with a few stolen powers. T h e serenity of the gods is not disturbed. They know well on whose head the final lightning will fall. Progress secularized, progress which pursues only the next invention, progress which pulls thought out of the mind and replaces it with idle slogans, is not progress at all. It is a beckoning mirage in a desert over which stagger the generations of men. These d e v a s t a t i n g statements seem to echo the lament of a n o t h e r c o n t e m p o r a r y A m e r i c a n scholar. Said Joseph W o o d K r u t c h in Human Nature and the Human Condition: " W h a t s o m e of us t e n d to call ' t h e h u m a n b e i n g ' first c a m e i n t o easily r e c o g n i z a b l e existence a b o u t t h e year 475 B.C. a n d began to d i s a p p e a r a b o u t seventy-five years ago." T h e h u m a n i z a t i o n of m a n k i n d was t h e flowering of r e a s o n . As r e a s o n falls a s l e e p or b e c o m e s i n t o x i c a t e d , monsters t a k e c o m m a n d of civilization a n d m a n loses his h u m a n i t y , even t h o u g h he m a y gain w e a l t h a n d power. M a n y a r e those w h o believe t h a t a n u n c o n t r o l l e d appetite for t h e p r o d u c t s of m o d e r n t e c h n o l o g y is intoxicating h u m a n reason; let us, then, e x a m i n e how science, so long a n a d o r n m e n t of the m i n d , has n o w come to be The Baconian World

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valued chiefly for the creation of wealth and power and to be regarded by many as an instrument of evil. Technology is, of course, very ancient—indeed, as ancient as m a n k i n d . M a n y of the most i m p o r t a n t inventions can be traced far back in history, some of them to prehistoric times. From the practices of farming and of the potter's trade to the development of gunpowder and of the magnetic compass, the list of the technological achievements whose originators will always remain unknown is very long. Likewise, m a n y abstract scientific concepts have come to us from our Oriental a n d Greek heritage. M a t h e m a t i c a l formulas a n d astronomical observations, ideas concerning the structure of matter and the evolutionary changes that occur in living things, and so many other problems of theoretical science h a d been formulated a n d some of t h e m converted into practical applications long before the modern era. But while science has been practiced by m a n since the beginning of time, there does not seem to have existed in the distant past the concept that it could be disciplined and organized into a systematic body of operations applicable to all h u m a n problems. W h a t is really peculiar to the modern world is the belief that scientific knowledge can be used at will by man to master a n d exploit nature for his own ends. The change in point of view which led to the modern attitude toward science seems to have taken place sometime around the fourteenth century in western Europe. Since there is no reason to assume that the h u m a n brain was less well endowed in antiquity t h a n it was during the Renaissance when the modern attitude developed, historians have found it necessary to appeal to all sorts 16

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of extraneous reasons to account for the surprising fact that science was practiced for so long in such an amateurish manner. One reason frequently given is that the widespread practice of slavery prevented the Orientals and the Greeks from engaging in ordinary manual labor, and thus deprived them of the inspiration that can be derived from intimate contact with concrete problems. Slave societies, it is claimed, do not have the urge to create effort-saving processes and equipment. It has been pointed out also that the form of Christian doctrine which prevailed in Europe until the fourteenth century weakened h u m a n interest in the affairs of this world by placing so much emphasis on the afterlife. Thus, two aspects of the social changes that occurred in the postmedieval era would have contributed to making conditions more favorable for an awakening of the modern scientific attitude: on the one hand, the emergence of the bourgeois and artisan classes with experience in the concrete affairs of the world; on the other, the more material and worldly attitude that began to develop throughout Europe at the time of the Renaissance. The historical basis of these explanations is not entirely convincing. For example, recent studies have established that the number of slaves in Greece was far smaller than is commonly assumed, and that much of the physical work of everyday life was carried out by free men. As to medieval civilization, there is no reason to believe that its Christian faith, however deep, interfered seriously with the enjoyment of material pleasures. It seems safe to assume, therefore, that factors other than slavery and preoccupation with an afterlife were of importance in the intellectual revolution associated with the Renaissance. There is no doubt, for example, that machines and The Baconian World

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gadgets—such as mechanical clocks—were popular during late medieval times, a n d their operation m a y have encouraged the thought that the workings of nature could be explained by simple mechanical forces. As the Florentine painters b e c a m e more concerned with the naturalistic aspect of art, their probing into the structure of the h u m a n body and of other living things led to a more objective and concrete view of the world. T h e discovery that the time-honored teachings of Galen on h u m a n anatomy and physiology were often erroneous, especially with regard to the functions of the heart, shook confidence in traditional knowledge. Progressively the revolt against medieval scholasticism gave greater freed o m to the mind for appealing to forms of explanation a n d of authority other t h a n religious d o g m a a n d Aristotelianism. Concrete experience a p p e a r e d as valid and meaningful as the evidence derived from the Gospels and from Greek and R o m a n writers; a n d soon it proved more fruitful in both intellectual a n d m a t e r i a l satisfactions than religious and scholastic orthodoxy. Incomplete a n d unconvincing as these explanations are, they help to r e c a p t u r e the h u m a n a t m o s p h e r e in which modern science emerged. T h e ferment which agitated the men of the Renaissance led them to undertake scientific studies as a way to manifest their spirit of independence and their desire to do things, whatever these things might eventually turn out to be. T h u s , the new science was an expression of will to power, an instrument forged by the h u m a n mind before m a n knew what he would use it for. In any case, all accounts of the beginnings of modern science point to the fact t h a t scientific activities are intimately interwoven with the social fabric. We shall consider only a limited segment of this 18

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complex interrelationship—namely, the influence that philosophical t h o u g h t has exerted on the performance of the scientific community. As mentioned above, it is clear that science has been coexistent with m a n k i n d , but there is no doubt, on the other h a n d , that scientific discoveries were m a d e at an accelerated rate after 1400. In fact, one of the most articulate anticipations of the role that science was eventually to play in the world occurred even earlier, in the writings of the monk Roger Bacon during the thirteenth century. In addition to doing some scientific work of his own, this worthy predecessor of the more famous Francis Bacon emphasized that much useful knowledge could be obtained from the experience of practical tradespeople. Furthermore, he was imaginative enough to predict the invention of flying machines, of power-driven ships, a n d of other unheard-of contrivances t h a t man might wish to use. However, despite all the premonitory signs detectable during the Middle Ages—whether actual discoveries or optimistic writings about science— the scientific revolution which began yielding its fruits during the seventeenth century can be traced in large part to the writings of one person: Francis Bacon. His place in the history of science is unique because his influence was exerted through words r a t h e r t h a n deeds. He did not a d d to knowledge, but became the prophet of scientific civilization. It would be useless to tell once more the life history of Francis Bacon, Baron Verulam and Viscount St. Albans, who was born in London on J a n u a r y 12, 1561, and died there on April 9, 1626. But it is of direct relevance to our t h e m e that, in addition to his interest in T h e Baconian World

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Francis Bacon (1561-1626) is usually shown in his court attire, with all tht dignity attached to the function of Grand Chancellor of England. Here he appears in his later years as the scholar, exiled from political office. This portrait was the frontispiece in Of the Advancement and Proficience of Learning (1640).

science, he was heavily involved in political activities of the most practical sort, a n expert on legal matters, a writer of essays, a n d such a m a s t e r of t h e English lang u a g e t h a t t h e r e a r e still some t o d a y w h o believe that he w a s t h e t r u e a u t h o r of S h a k e s p e a r e ' s writings. His sense of practicalities a n d his e x t r a o r d i n a r y genius for literary expression were the m a i n factors in determining his role in the subsequent history of science. Francis Bacon, "wisest, brightest a n d meanest of m a n k i n d , " as Pope c h a r a c t e r i z e d h i m , h a d such a full public life t h a t a b i o g r a p h y of h i m p u b l i s h e d in 1940 by W. M . C u n n i n g h a m h a d the title The Tragedy of Francis Bacon—Prince of England. Despite all his worldly activities, however, Bacon pretended that his professional a n d business life was not particularly i m p o r t a n t in his eyes a n d that his contemplative life was w h a t he prized above all. W h e n still a y o u n g m a n he h a d written in a letter that his ambition was " t o take all of knowledge for his provi n c e , " a n d he a p p a r e n t l y tried h a r d to live u p to this ideal. T h r o u g h o u t his c r o w d e d legal a n d p a r l i m e n t a r y c a r e e r he kept at work u p o n a g r a n d i o s e s c h e m e for a Great Instauration or total r e n o v a t i o n of t h e sciences. In 1605 he published The Advancement of Learning, a classification a n d critical survey of all existing knowledge, a n d in 1620 his greatest work, t h e Novum Organum, a n exposition of the new e x p e r i m e n t a l m e t h o d . Bacon recognized, of course, that i m p o r t a n t contributions to science h a d been m a d e in the past, a n d that still m o r e were being m a d e by his c o n t e m p o r a r i e s . But he believed t h a t on t h e whole the business of scientific scholarship h a d been c o n d u c t e d in a wasteful m a n n e r , contributing little to factual knowledge a n d even less to the improvement of the h u m a n condition. It will be best The Baconian World

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from now on to present B a c o n ' s t h o u g h t s on the whys a n d hows of the pursuit of knowledge in his own words because it was more the brilliance of his l a n g u a g e than the originality of his ideas which influenced subsequent generations of scientists and scholars. Bacon based his scientific philosophy on the Christian d o g m a of Original Sin. While m a n had lost at the same time the state of innocence a n d his d o m i n i o n over the external world, B a c o n believed that these losses could be repaired to some extent on earth. M a n could recover A d a m ' s original state of happiness on the one h a n d by religious faith, on the other by the cultivation of science. In this light, " k n o w l e d g e is not to be sought either for pleasure of the mind, or for contention, or for superiority to others, or for profit, or fame, or power, or any of these inferior things; but for the benefit a n d use of life. . . . " " T h e true and lawful goal of the sciences is none other than this: that h u m a n life be endowed with new discoveries a n d powers. . . . " " A s in religion we are warned to show our faith by works, so in philosophy by the same rule the system s h o u l d be j u d g e d of by its fruits, and pronounced frivolous if it be barren; more especially if, in place of fruits of g r a p e a n d olive, it b e a r thorns and briars of dispute and contention." T o s u m up, then: " K n o w l e d g e , that tendeth but to satisfaction is but as a courtesan, which is for pleasure, and not for fruit or generation." H o w c a n m a n k i n d use science to r e c a p t u r e the dominion over nature that was lost by the F a l l ? First we must shake off, according to B a c o n , our intellectual bondage to the ancients, for they have so completely d o m i n a t e d our t h o u g h t s heretofore as to p a r a l y z e ac22

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tion. There is no doubt, of course, that ''the ancients proved themselves in everything that turns on wit and abstract meditation, wonderful men. . . ." "Unfortunately," Bacon says, " t h a t wisdom which we have derived principally from the Greeks is but like the boyhood of knowledge, and has the characteristic property of boys: it can talk, but it cannot generate; for it is fruitful of controversies but barren of works." Moreover, what has come down to us from the past, in particular the teachings of Plato and Aristotle, is the least valuable part of ancient knowledge and wisdom, because it is the most superficial. " T i m e is like a river, which has brought down to us things light a n d puffed up, while those which are weighty a n d solid have sunk. . . . " " W h e n on the inundation of b a r b a r i a n s into the R o m a n E m p i r e h u m a n learning h a d suffered shipwreck, then the systems of Aristotle a n d Plato, like planks of lighter a n d less solid material, floated on the waves of time, and were preserved." The greatest evil that we have inherited from the ancients is that their a p p r o a c h to knowledge is more conducive to talk than to action. " T h e y had m a d e the quiescent principles, wherefrom, and not the moving principles, whereby, things are produced, the object of their contemplation and inquiry. T h e former tend to discourse, the latter to works." Our most important task, then, is to discover how things work rather than to answer questions about their origin. In the past, knowledge has been derived chiefly from the mere observation of things and events, and from speculative thought about the scanty facts thus acquired, but this is a very ineffective method, and one which does not permit us to go far. " A s in former ages when men The Baconian World

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sailed only by observation of the stars, they could indeed coast along the shores of old continents or cross a few small and mediterranean seas; but before the ocean could be traversed and the new world discovered, the use of the mariner's needle, as a more faithful a n d certain guide, h a d to be found out: in like m a n n e r the discoveries which have been hitherto made in the arts a n d sciences are such as might be made by practice, meditation, observation, argumentation—for they lay near to the senses, a n d immediately b e n e a t h c o m m o n notions; b u t before we can reach the remoter and more h i d d e n parts of nature, it is necessary that a more perfect use a n d application of the h u m a n mind and intellect be introduced." In order to progress we have to develop precise techniques of experimentation, because "the n a t u r e of things betrays itself more readily under the vexations of art than in its natural freedom. . . ." " T h e subtlety of experiments is far greater t h a n that of the sense itself, even when assisted by exquisite instruments; such experiments, I mean, as are skillfully and artificially devised for the express purpose of determining the point in question. T o the immediate a n d proper perception of the sense therefore I do not give much weight; but I contrive t h a t the office of the sense shall be only to j u d g e of the experiment a n d that the experiment itself shall judge of the thing." Bacon knew, of course, that experimentation had been practiced long before his time. But "the manner of making experiments which men now use is blind a n d stupid. And therefore, w a n d e r i n g a n d straying as they do with no settled course, a n d taking counsel only f r o m things as they fall out, they fetch a wide circuit a n d meet with m a n y matters but m a k e little progress . . . m a k e their trials carelessly, and as it were in play." W h a t was 24

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needed, therefore, was a discipline of experimentation based entirely on strict application of the inductive method. "Whereas in the past the proceeding has been to fly at once from the sense and particulars, up to the most general propositions, as certain fixed poles for the argument to turn upon, and from these to derive the rest by middle terms . . . my plan is to proceed regularly and gradually from one axiom to another, so that the most general are not reached till the last; but then when you do c o m e to them you find them . . . such as lie at the heart and marrow of things." Thus, Bacon was convinced that man can achieve new things and improve the world only if he gives up haphazard observation and experimentation. He must formulate far-reaching goals and organize efforts in a more subtle and systematic way. Bacon recognized that not all experiments could be expected to lead immediately to practical results. Indeed, "scientists should be willing to carry out a variety of experiments, which are of no use in themselves, but simply serve to discover causes and axioms; which I call experimenta lucífera, experiments of light to distinguish them from those which I call fructífera, experiment of fruit. " N o w experiments of this kind have one admirable property and condition: they never miss or fail. For since they are applied, not for the purpose of producing any particular effect, but only of discovering the natural cause of some effect, they answer the end equally well which ever way they turn out; for they settle the question." Bacon's emphasis on what he called experimenta lucífera (experiments of light, or experiences pour voir, as Claude Bernard was to say two centuries later), devised specifiThe Baconian World

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cally to throw light on obscure problems before attempting to solve them, shows a truly sophisticated understanding of the experimental method. It is clear that he did not advocate a formula of science limited to the mere heaping up of experimental data. Nowhere do the subtleness of his m i n d a n d the richness of E l i z a b e t h a n l a n g u a g e appear m o r e b r i l l i a n t l y t h a n in these f a m o u s s e n t e n c e s : " T h e men of experiment are like the a n t ; they only collect and use; the reasoners resemble spiders, who m a k e cobwebs out of their own substance. But the bee takes a middle course, it gathers its material from the flowers of the garden a n d of the field, but transforms a n d digests it by a power o f its o w n . " C l e a r l y to be effective the scientist h a d to resemble the bee, industrious but also imaginatively selective, in order to be truly creative. B a c o n also realized that even the most objective exp e r i m e n t e r with a well-defined goal could not be successful if his angle o f vision was too n a r r o w : " N o one successfully investigates the nature of a thing in the thing itself; the inquiry must be enlarged, so as to become more general." But, suspicious of the tendency of human nature to engage in the artificial kind of idle thought which leads nowhere, he w a n t e d all scientific activities to be built on the bedrock of concrete problems. " A l t h o u g h the roads to h u m a n power and to h u m a n knowledge lie close together, a n d are nearly the same, nevertheless on account of the pernicious and inveterate habit of dwelling on abstractions, it is safer to begin and raise the sciences from those foundations which have relation to practice, a n d to let the active part itself be as the seal which prints and determines the contemplative counterpart." All in all, he trusted the practical sense of mankind 26

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more t h a n its intellectual pretenses. " L e t no m a n look for much progress in the sciences—especially in the practical part of them—unless natural philosophy be carried on and applied to particular sciences, a n d particular sciences be carried back again to n a t u r a l philosophy. . . . " "Brutes by their natural instinct have produced many discoveries, whereas men by discussion a n d the conclusions of reason have given birth to few or none." Lest this statement be construed as evidence t h a t Bacon regarded science merely as a n i n s t r u m e n t for crass material ends, without intellectual quality, it is important to point out that he knew well that the surest approach to practical applications is through the painstaking and slow process of acquiring theoretical knowledge. " T h o u g h it be true that I am principally in pursuit of works a n d the active d e p a r t m e n t of the sciences, yet I wait for harvesttime, a n d do not a t t e m p t to mow the moss or to reap the green corn. For I well know that axioms once rightly discovered will carry whole troops of works along with t h e m ; a n d produce t h e m , not here a n d there one, but in clusters." Moreover, man can recover his dominion over nature only through understanding the secrets of nature, above a n d beyond immediate practical ends. In final analysis, " T r u t h , therefore, a n d utility are here the very same things: a n d works themselves are of greater value as pledges of truth t h a n as contributing to the comforts of life." It must suffice to quote one more example to illustrate Bacon's wide-ranging awareness of the bearing that science has on h u m a n life. H e suspected t h a t knowledge, when placed in unworthy hands, might come to be used for destructive and cruel purposes, but this did not disT h e Baconian World

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may him. "If the debasement of arts a n d sciences to purposes of wickedness, luxury, a n d the like, be m a d e a ground of objection, let no one be moved thereby. For the same may be said of all earthly goods; of wit, courage, strength, beauty, wealth, light itself." So great was the role of science as envisioned by Bacon that he w a n t e d to see practical steps taken to help scientists fulfill their social responsibilities. H e was shocked to note t h a t " N a t u r a l philosophy . . . has scarcely ever possessed, especially in these later times, a disengaged a n d whole m a n (unless it were some monk studying in his cell, or some g e n t l e m a n in his c o u n t r y house), but t h a t it has been m a d e merely a passage a n d bridge to something else." Probably as a form of protest against the social neglect of science, he depicted in the last of his writings, The New Atlantis, a Utopian society guided by a community of scholars who devoted themselves entirely to scientific research, to the organization of knowledge, a n d to the pursuit of wisdom. I n the words of their leader, " T h e end of our foundation is the knowledge of causes, and secret motions of things; a n d the enlarging of the bounds of h u m a n empire, to the effecting of all things possible." T h u s did Francis Bacon, Lord of V e r u l a m , G r a n d Chancellor of England, symbolize in Salomon's House his ideal of the scientific way of life, and in the Utopian New Atlantis his concept of a society intelligently ruled by scientific philosophers. Despite his early claim that he wanted to take all learning for his province, it is certain that, even for his time a n d by any standard, Bacon himself was not much of a scientist. T r u e enough, he applied his system of inductive 28

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science to an analysis of the nature of heat and he derived by theoretical analysis conclusions which were compatible with the dynamic theory, but his mode of reasoning and of handling information seems very strange indeed in the light of modern experimental science—especially in comparison with the marvelous scientific achievements of some of his predecessors or contemporaries such as Galileo Galilei, William Gilbert, and William Harvey. His involvement in matters of law and of state did not give him much chance to prove his worth as an experimenter, and, ironically enough, the last experiment that he carried out was responsible for his death. While traveling in March, 1626, he stepped out of his coach, procured a chicken, had it killed, and helped to stuff it with snow, in order to see whether the flesh would remain fresh longer if kept at a low temperature. He contracted some respiratory disease as a result of exposure to the cold, and died of it shortly after. From the vantage point of modern knowledge, it is easy to criticize Bacon's concepts of the methods of scientific research. As we now know, very few important discoveries—if any—have been made by applying strictly the pure inductive method that he advocated with so much conviction. Indeed, we shall notice in another chapter that productive scientists approach their problems by all sorts of methods—inductive as well as deductive, rational as well as empirical—and this was already true during Bacon's time. It is entertaining in this regard to note the evaluation of the Baconian scientific philosophy expressed by his own physician—the great physiologist William Harvey, who opened the modern era in medicine by discovering the circulation of the blood. Harvey was, of course, familiar with Bacon's writings and he knew the The Baconian World

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tables of instruction which his f a m o u s p a t i e n t regarded as foolproof guides for m a k i n g discoveries. According to J o h n A u b r e y , H a r v e y e s t e e m e d B a c o n for his wit and style " b u t would not allow him to be a great Philosopher. H e writes Philosophy like a Lord C h a n c e l l o r . " Harvey's r e m a r k betrays the scornful a m u s e m e n t a n d slight irritation that practicing scientists always feel toward those who express opinions on scientific matters f r o m secondhand knowledge without really knowing the secrets of the trade. It must be e m p h a s i z e d , however, t h a t B a c o n was well a w a r e of his limitations as a scientist a n d t h a t he considered t h a t his m a i n role h a d been to act as a gadfly. I n his words, he " r a n g t h e bells w h i c h called t h e wits together." H a v i n g perceived in the official a n d lay world around him a lack of enthusiasm for science a n d skepticism arising f r o m f a i l u r e to a p p r e c i a t e its p o t e n t i a l i t i e s , he affirmed t h a t " t h e greatest obstacle to t h e progress of science a n d to the u n d e r t a k i n g of new tasks a n d provinces therein, is found in this—that m e n despair a n d think things impossible." In contrast, he considered that his m e t h o d constituted only a beginning, because " t h e art of discovery m a y a d v a n c e as discoveries a d v a n c e . " He m a d e no claim of being superior to his predecessors. " T h e comparison I challenge," he wrote, "is not of wits or faculties, b u t of w a y s a n d m e t h o d s , a n d t h e part I take u p o n myself is not that of a j u d g e , b u t of a guide." Bacon's significance in history is t h u s to h a v e blown t h e clarion call which a w a k e n e d E u r o p e a n s to the fact that science could completely t r a n s f o r m society. H e was not t h e first, of course, to h a v e recognized t h a t science c o u l d be a p p l i e d to t h e w e l f a r e of m a n . Aristotle had stated in Mechanics t h a t " v a n q u i s h e d by n a t u r e , we beThe Baconian World

Raphael's "The School of Athens," now in the Vatican, is shown here in an engraving by Volpato. Plato and Aristotle occupy the center of the stage, surrounded by Pythagoras, Heraclitus, Diogenes, Archimedes, etc., in characteristic postures. Raphael's symbolic representation of science as philosophy stands in sharp contrast to the illustrations in Diderot's Encyclopedia, where science appears as technology.

c o m e masters t h r o u g h techniques." A n d knowledge had always been applied to the development of tools a n d weapons for use in peace a n d in war. Leonardo da Vinci h a d boasted of t h a t kind of scientific skill in his famous letter to Ludovico Sforza, offering to reveal his technical secrets a n d to p r o v e to t h e D u k e by tests t h a t he was c a p a b l e of doing things thought impossible by others. W h a t Bacon advocated, however, was a very different a p p r o a c h . H e e m p h a s i z e d t h a t in the past t h e applications of k n o w l e d g e to t h e p r a c t i c a l affairs of m a n had not been systematic b u t instead in the n a t u r e of stunts, accidental in occurrence, a n d kept secret if possible. In contrast, he p r e a c h e d a general m e t h o d by which problems could be solved at will, t h u s permitting a progressive a n d continuously increasing mastery over nature t h r o u g h t h e systematic a n d u n i n t e r r u p t e d pursuit of knowledge. Moreover, he urged that these applications of science be m a d e a v a i l a b l e to m a n k i n d at large, instead of b e i n g t h e privilege of a few f o r t u n a t e s . In this light, he truly a p p e a r s as one of the prophets of the m o d e r n age. A recent biography by Benjamin Farrington (1949) is a p p r o p r i a t e l y entitled Francis Bacon, Philosopher of Industrial Science. Bacon was a m a n of t h e world, full of experience a n d wisdom. Being a w a r e of the complexities of the universe a n d of the m a n y difficulties that stood in the way of applying k n o w l e d g e for t h e welfare of m a n k i n d , he realized t h a t t h e goal he h a d in m i n d was distant a n d t h a t its a t t a i n m e n t would require the efforts not of one m a n but of m a n y , not one lifetime but generations of m e n working with a c o m m o n purpose. This aspect of Bacon's teaching h a d a p r o f o u n d influence on his a n d on the following generations, by introducing the concept of continued sci32

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entific progress t h r o u g h scientific cooperation. His Utopian New Atlantis constitutes a preview of a society built on this concept. In Salomon's House the scientists who were the wise men of this ideal state were organized in nine groups, each with a special function, according to the principle of division of labor. Technological and physical laboratories, as well as agricultural experiment stations, were at their disposal; and elaborate records were kept to preserve a n d to c o m m u n i c a t e knowledge. Some scientists planned the work, others did the experiments, still others recorded a n d organized information. "Lastly," said the leader of the House, " w e have three that raise the former discoveries by experiments into greater observations, axioms, a n d aphorisms. These we call Interpreters of N a t u r e . " In general, scientists in the Europe of Bacon's time worked as isolated individuals because organized groups, let alone institutes for research, did not exist. In other words, the ideas of scientific organization incorporated in Salomon's House were then completely Utopian; yet m a n y of t h e m came into being within a very few decades after Bacon in t h e f o r m of scientific academies and periodicals. This is not the place to list the m a n y institutions that sprang up in Europe a n d also in America during the seventeenth a n d eighteenth centuries, directly or indirectly as a result of Bacon's influence. O n e of t h e m , however, deserves mention here because it was t h e first to be created and is still today the most famous—namely, the Royal Society of London, which was officially founded in 1660, three centuries ago. T h e Royal Society h a d begun in the 1640s as an informal gathering of a few scientists— T h e Baconian World

33

a n invisible college, as t h e y called themselves. W r e n , the celebrated architect of St. P a u l ' s C a t h e d r a l , was one of its first members, as was the chemist R o b e r t Boyle. In a letter to his F r e n c h t u t o r t h e y o u n g Boyle stated t h a t he h a d b e e n studying " n a t u r a l philosophy, the m e c h a n i c s , a n d h u s b a n d r y , according to the principles of our new philosophical college, that values no knowledge, but as it hath a tendency to use." (Italics mine.) After receiving a p p r o v a l f r o m C h a r l e s II in 1660, the Royal Society prospered to such an extent t h a t a history of it was c o m p i l e d five years later by its secretary, Bishop T h o m a s S p r a t . I n this history, p u b l i s h e d in 1667, Sprat acknowledged t h a t "some of Bacon's writings" gave a better a c c o u n t of t h e p u r p o s e s of t h e Society t h a n a n y t h i n g he could compose. A n d in m a n y of its characteristics, ind e e d , the R o y a l Society of e a r l y d a y s a p p e a r s as a n emb o d i m e n t of Bacon's teachings. M e n of all professions were a d m i t t e d — " s t u d e n t s , soldiers, shopkeepers, farmers, courtiers, a n d sailors; all m u t u a l l y assisting e a c h o t h e r . " T h e w o r k of t h e Society was not l i t e r a r y or esoteric but r a t h e r " p a i n f u l d i g g i n g a n d toiling in n a t u r e . " It was c o n c e r n e d with p r a c t i c a l t r a d e s a n d industries as much as with abstract scientific pursuits. T h e progress of science t h r o u g h c o o p e r a t i o n was the a i m of t h e new scientific societies. As s t a t e d by O l d e n b u r g in t h e i n t r o d u c t i o n to t h e first issue of t h e Philosophical Transactions (1666), edited by the R o y a l Society, the new periodical was being published to the end that such Productions being clearly and truly communicated, desires after solid and useful knowledge may be further entertained . . . and those, addicted to . . . such matters, may be invited and encouraged to search, try and find out new things, impart their knowledge to one another, and 34

The Baconian World

contribute what they can to the Grand design of improving Natural knowledge. . . . T h e French Academy of Sciences was another scientific institution founded to put into practice the concepts of progressive and organized knowledge popularized by Bacon. Colbert, the minister of Louis X I V , had created the Academy in 1671 a n d endowed it with funds for supporting the Academicians and paying for their instruments a n d experiments. In some ways the French Academy came closer t h a n the Royal Society to Bacon's Utopian dreams, as it was officially charged with the responsibility for studying technical problems of national interest, carrying out experimental work in various fields, a n d disseminating the results of scientific inquiry. Only during recent decades has Bacon's vision come even closer to reality in the form of the academies of the U.S.S.R. and their scientific institutes. Another spectacular manifestation of Bacon's lasting prestige was the respect with which the philosophers of the Enlightenment mentioned his name. Several French translations of his writings were published d u r i n g the eighteenth century, a n d it is certain that they influenced the character of the most famous literary scientific document of the time: The Encyclopedia, an Analytical Dictionary of the Sciences, Arts, and Trades. T h e first of the twenty volumes of this monumental undertaking was published in 1751, with a preface by Diderot a n d D'Alembert which is justly famous. I n it the editors acknowledged their intellectual indebtedness to Descartes, Newton, and Locke, and especially to Bacon. At the Head of these illustrious Heroes we deservedly place the immortal Francis Bacon, Lord High Chancellor of England; whose works, though justly esteemed, are too little The Baconian World

35

A shop for threading screws is shown in this plate from Denis Diderot's Pictorial Encyclopedia of T r a d e s a n d Industry (1763). In Figure 1 the workman is tracing the pattern of a thread on a steel rod. The machine in Figure 3 is a threader, as on a much larger scale is that of Figure 4. The latter is turned by the wheel (5) which is cammed to reverse the rotation while moving back and forth the width of the thread with each revolution.

known, and deserve Perusal more than Praise. T o consider the just and extensive Views of this prodigious Man; the Multiplicity of his Objects; the Strength of his Style; his sublime Imagery; and extreme Exactness; we are tempted to esteem him the greatest, the most universal a n d most eloquent of all Philosophers. . . . It is to this great Author we are chiefly indebted for our Encyclopaedic Plan. F r o m Bacon the Encyclopedists h a d learned to respect the practical arts as m u c h as theoretical knowledge. In their words, " S h o u l d not the inventors of t h e spring, the c h a i n , a n d r e p e a t i n g p a r t s of a w a t c h , b e e q u a l l y est e e m e d with those w h o h a v e successfully studied to perfect a l g e b r a ? " This point of view was voiced still more eloquently by Diderot in his article o n " A r t " in the Encyclopedia: Let us at last give the artisans their due. T h e liberal arts have adequately sung their own praises; they must now use their remaining voice to celebrate the mechanical arts. It is for the liberal arts to lift the mechanical arts from the contempt in which prejudice has for so long held them, and it is for the patronage of kings to draw them from the poverty in which they still languish. Artisans have believed themselves contemptible because people have looked down on them; let us teach t h e m to have a better opinion of themselves; that is the only way to obtain more nearly perfect results from them. We need a man to rise up in the academies and go down to the workshops and gather material about to be set out in a book which will persuade artisans to read, philosophers to think on useful lines, and the great to make at least some worthwhile use of their authority and their wealth. A l t h o u g h the examples q u o t e d in the p r e c e d i n g pages illustrate Bacon's seminal influence on t h e scientific philosophy of the m o d e r n era, they d o not prove t h a t he was completely original in his views. I n d e e d , a u t h o r s before him h a d expressed more or less clearly a belief in progress T h e Baconian World

t h r o u g h science. It is easy to show, f u r t h e r m o r e , that Bacon was s o m e w h a t naive a n d ill informed, even for his time, with regard to the way science grows a n d true scientists work. T h e c o m m u n i t y of scholars t h a t he pictured in Salomon's House h a d m a n y shortcomings a n d in the long r u n would p r o b a b l y h a v e become intellectually sterile. But it is not on these i n a d e q u a c i e s t h a t Bacon must be j u d g e d . His greatness is to be f o u n d in his eloquent and passionate affirmation t h a t science would become a great social force. H e a p p e a r s as t h e first s t a t e s m a n whose aim it was to organize h u m a n life in terms of a master plan f r a m e d by scientific thought. Unknowingly, William Harvey h a d characterized Bacon's greatness in saying t h a t he wrote on science "like a L o r d C h a n c e l l o r " — i n o t h e r words, like a great s t a t e s m a n of science. In The Advancement of Learning Bacon advocated the m e t h o d s of n a t u r a l philosophy for the i m p r o v e m e n t of health a n d for i m p r o v i n g civil conduct. In The New Atlantis he d r e w a sketch of a c o m m o n w e a l t h m a k i n g use of technology in every d e p a r t m e n t . H e was truly the prophet of things to come, a n d hence it is not surprising that his ideas have f o u n d wide acceptance in the socialist states. K a r l M a r x was merely copying h i m w h e n he wrote, " H i t h e r t o , philosophers have sought to understand the world. Henceforth they must seek to change it." It was t h e richness a n d c o n v i n c i n g b e a u t y of Bacon's language that m a d e the world at large take notice of scientific k n o w l e d g e as a n i n s t r u m e n t of p o w e r a n d of social growth, thus launching us on the road that we are still t r a v e l i n g t o d a y . N o o n e q u e s t i o n s a n y l o n g e r the fact that science is increasing the d o m i n i o n of m a n over nature. This does not m e a n , of course, t h a t m a n will recover t h r o u g h scientific technology t h e h a p p i n e s s that 38

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Adam knew before the Fall, as Bacon hoped. But Bacon certainly contributed to the modern world its most characteristic aspect and its most lasting illusion when he created his Utopia of happiness based on application of scientific knowledge.

T h e Baconian World

39

3 Visionaries and the Era of Fulfillment

History is replete with anecdotes and bons mots relating to statesmen, soldiers, artists, philosophers, and most other types of notables; but even a well-informed man finds it difficult to enliven talk with quotations from scientists. The reason might be that scientists as a group lack wit or are inarticulate, but there is no evidence that this is true; more plausibly it could be suggested that the number of scientists has been so very small until the present century that the statistical chance of their having proffered quotable remarks is thereby greatly reduced; finally, there is the certain fact that historians have never been much interested in scientists and for this reason have failed to record their words of wisdom. Yet, anyone who has read in the history of science a n d of its makers can recall statements attributed to scientists which deserve to survive either for their significance or for their pungency. Indeed, a collection of such sayings might throw interesting light on certain human aspects of scien40

tific history, a n d especially on the changes in the public's attitude toward science. While Benjamin Franklin was ambassador at the French court, he witnessed some of the first balloon ascents. In reply to skeptics who queried what use a balloon might ever have, Franklin is asserted to have replied, " W h a t good is a newborn baby?" This story has been often quoted—for example, by Pasteur, who used it as an a r g u m e n t to convince his students of the i m p o r t a n c e of scientific studies during the lecture which opened his new course in chemistry at Lille in 1854. A story in the same vein is told of Michael Faraday. Shortly after he h a d discovered electromagnetic induction, F a r a d a y reportedly was visited by an i m p o r t a n t personage in his laboratory at the Royal Institution. He demonstrated the phenomenon to his visitor, who was unimpressed and inquired, " W h a t is the good of this discovery?" F a r a d a y is alleged to have replied, "Someday, sir, you will collect taxes from it." W h e t h e r these stories are authentic or not is of limited historical interest. W h a t is important is that they imply an awareness of the power and social significance of scientific experimentation. As we have seen, this awareness can be traced in large part to Francis Bacon, but it did not reach the general public until the nineteenth century. T h e answer " W h a t good is a newborn b a b y ? " clearly symbolizes the faith that scientific discoveries are not an end unto themselves, that they hold in potential many further developments, not all of which can be readily predicted because so m u c h depends on the f u t u r e circumstances that will bring them to maturity. And the suggestion that taxes will someday be collected from a new scientific fact is but a more concrete a n d worldly stateVisionaries a n d Fulfillment

41

ment of the same faith. It expresses the belief that almost any scientific discovery will eventually be converted into some process or p r o d u c t which society can use, a n d for which it is willing to pay. A p p a r e n t l y these t r u t h s were still new in t h e early p a r t of the n i n e t e e n t h c e n t u r y . In fact, they have not yet been completely assimilated even in the most industrialized countries—witness the occasion a few years ago when a Secretary of Defense in President Eisenhower's cabinet scoffed at basic science as dealing with such "useless" subjects as "why grass is green." Despite the fact that he had been president of a huge industrial corporation, this important personage did not fully realize t h a t the multifarious industries over which he h a d presided were m u c h more the outgrowth of theoretical scientific research t h a n of his own skill as a financier a n d an administrator. But the explosion of scorn and ridicule that greeted his remark was evidence than an increasing n u m b e r of persons are now a w a r e that science has become the real source of power in our society. Furt h e r m o r e , it is now widely recognized that the most unexpected results of scientific research often t u r n into its most exciting fruits—those bred without too m u c h concern as to the use of a newborn baby. T h e ignorance of science a n d the naivete revealed by the r e m a r k of the Secretary of Defense has an interest of its own, for it points to the fact t h a t today the social role of science is still m o r e a m a t t e r of faith t h a n of precise understanding. Indeed, the problems involved in the relation of science to society are on the whole so new that our knowledge of them is certainly incomplete and probably erroneous in part. For this reason, it may be permissible to engage in a few farfetched speculations, linking

42

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scientific progress to the formulation of Utopias by moralists, philosophers, and sociologists. In the matter-of-fact world t h a t we know, the words " i m a g i n a t i o n " a n d " i m a g i n i n g " have lost m u c h of their quality and have acquired instead a somewhat pejorative meaning, at least in the scientific community. They have come to imply a distorted awareness of reality, often coupled with a lack of intellectual discipline. A n d yet these words have their origin in one of the most creative characteristics of the h u m a n m i n d — i n d e e d , one of the very few traits differentiating m a n f r o m higher animals. T o " i m a g i n e " clearly means to create an i m a g e — m o r e precisely, to select from the countless a n d a m o r p h o u s facts a n d events which impinge upon us a few t h a t each individual can organize into a definite pattern which is meaningful to him. This is w h a t Shelley h a d in m i n d when he wrote in A Defence of Poetry, " W e want the creative faculty to i m a g i n e t h a t which we k n o w . " T o i m a g i n e is an act which gives h u m a n beings the chance to engage in something akin to creation. During many thousands of years, men have used the elements of the real world with which they c a m e into contact to i m a g i n e — t h a t is, to create in their minds— other worlds more reasonable, more generous, and more interesting. These acts of imagination have had an enormous influence on history, as great as or perhaps greater t h a n the effects of newly developed processes a n d tools. For it is certain that in m a n y cases new processes and tools have found their place in civilization only when they could be used to actualize, to bring into being, the imaginary worlds first conceived in the abstract by the

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h u m a n m i n d . In this light, i m a g i n a t i o n has been one of t h e most c r e a t i v e forces of civilized life, b e c a u s e it has p r o v i d e d t h e molds w h i c h m a n k i n d h a s used to shape the c r u d e facts of reality into significant structures. Since P l a t o f o r m u l a t e d a p l a n for a n ideal society in his Republic, m a n y would-be philosophers have described i m a g i n a r y states in which t h e political, social, a n d economic schemes were assumed to be conducive to health a n d h a p p i n e s s . O f all t h e i m a g i n a r y worlds, past a n d p r e s e n t , n o n e h a s a c h i e v e d g r e a t e r , w i d e r , a n d more lasting f a m e t h a n Sir T h o m a s More's Utopia. First published in Latin in 1516, often reprinted, first translated into English in 1551, r e t r a n s l a t e d into English in 1684, p u t into almost all E u r o p e a n l a n g u a g e s a n d , in the twentieth century, into several Asiatic ones, More's Utopia is obviously universal in its a p p e a l a n d u b i q u i t o u s in its influence. It is a c c l a i m e d by Christians a n d Communists alike, by P r o t e s t a n t s a n d Catholics, by progressives and r e a c t i o n a r i e s — i n d e e d , by m e n of all schools of thought, t h o u g h for widely different reasons. T h e facts t h a t More was recently c a n o n i z e d by the R o m a n C a t h o l i c C h u r c h a n d t h a t in t h e s a m e d e c a d e his Utopia was a d o p t e d as a textbook in Soviet Russia indicate the difficulties involved in assessing the m a n a n d his book. (See figure 5) For most m o d e r n readers it is difficult to find in Utopia a n y t h i n g specific to account for its p h e n o m e n a l a n d lasting fame. Like m a n y a u t h o r s before a n d a f t e r him, More used the artifice of a n i m a g i n a r y world to criticize the institutions of t h e real world he k n e w — i n this case, T u d o r E n g l a n d — a n d to describe, in contrast, his ideal of a society ruled with c o m m o n sense a n d fairness. Although first p u b l i s h e d some 450 years ago, M o r e ' s Utopia deals with topics which are still very m u c h in the public mind today, 44

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Holbein's portrait of Sir Thomas More

(1478-1535)

is reproduced by permission of the Frick Collection in New York. The reproduction does not do justice to the piercing quality of More's eyes in the original, but conveys his forcefulness and wisdom. It was probably More's prestige, rather than the content of his famous book, which gave to the word "utopia" the lasting fame that it enjoys in the Western

World.

such as penology, j u v e n i l e d e l i n q u e n c y , e d u c a t i o n , a n d social responsibility. T h e state of U t o p i a is governed by laws which are the expression of unaided h u m a n reason, without divine guidance; eugenics is practiced with the assistance of premarital tests, divorce is easy, a n d euthanasia is permissible—even encouraged a n d facilitated in certain special situations. In other words, M o r e ' s essay reads like a c o m m e n t a r y on today's n e w s p a p e r ; its perennial and universal timeliness has certainly contributed to making it a world classic. It is probable that in More's mind the word " u t o p i a " implied n o t h i n g more t h a n its literal m e a n i n g — " n o t place," a place that does not exist—and h a d no greater significance t h a n the word " n o w h e r e " in the account of another imaginary world that William Morris published three centuries later u n d e r the title News from Nowhere. It was the success of More's book a m o n g so m a n y different groups of people that m a d e the word " u t o p i a " evolve in two directions m o r e or less i n d e p e n d e n t o n e f r o m the other. " U t o p i a " now refers to an ideal state, but also designates something considered rather unreasonable because almost certainly impossible to realize. Thus, the word symbolizes both the wishful t h i n k i n g of the romantic idealist a n d t h e resistance to c h a n g e of t h e skeptical conservative. As mentioned above, Utopias have been i m a g i n e d in every generation and in every country. Most of them are inspired by hopes of political, social, a n d economic reforms, as were Plato's Republic and More's Utopia. Bacon's New Atlantis is o n e of t h e very few Utopias in w h i c h the p r o b l e m of m a k i n g society wise, kind, a n d prosperous is entrusted to scientists.

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Although the writers on Utopias have on the whole kept their creations safely sheltered within the covers of books, their followers have not been so cautious. It is claimed that two hundred or more Utopias were put into actual practice during the nineteenth century, chiefly in America. Examples are the so-called Love Colony; Brook Farm, the colony of intellectuals; and, most famous of all, Robert Owen's New Harmony in Indiana. The rapid collapse of all of them stands as a warning to those who want to put idealistic philosophies to the acid test of economic realities. Whereas the concept of Utopia is remarkably viable as long as it remains in the abstract, all Utopias in the flesh have soon perished. In part, their rapid disappearance from the real world resulted from failure to provide man with the earthly goods that he requires. Furthermore, all Utopian dreams of human harmony were soon dispelled in the heat of human conflicts and rivalries under practical conditions. Utopias invariably bring out the traits of h u m a n nature—and there are many obvious ones—that stand in the way of unselfish and stable social relationships. Accustomed as he was to comfort and luxury, Bacon pretended that scientific research in his New Atlantis could adorn the material necessities of existence with the amenities essential for civilized life; the scientists in Salomon's House enjoyed beautiful clothing and spacious marble halls. Indeed it is likely that no Utopia can succeed if it concerns itself only with the biological requirements of life. Man does not live by bread alone, and his parabiological requirements created by social forces have become as essential to him as the needs imposed by his animal nature. Whenever shortages of bread or brandy

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develop, jealousies and conflicts arise, emotional tensions m o u n t , regulations b e c o m e necessary, a n d liberties are lost. T o provide adequate supplies of goods is not the only difficulty to be overcome in order that a Utopia may survive. Another requirement is that its citizens be willing to accept a common political philosophy, and this demands that their minds be molded according to the same pattern. Whereas this could not be achieved in the past, whatever the form of coercion, it is now brought about all over the world by subtle means of influencing the mind. Mass media are used in totalitarian states to shape political and social creeds, and in democratic countries they create a uniformity of habits and tastes. As tastes in material things cannot be dissociated in the long run from tastes in ideas and concepts, and therefore from beliefs and values, it may turn out that men will become so nearly uniform that they can readily be organized in Utopian societies everywhere. T h e Brave New Worlds thus created will probably be as dull as the one visualized by Aldous Huxley but so, probably, would have been those imagined by Plato, Francis Bacon, T h o m a s More, William Morris, and H. G. Wells. Granted an a b u n d a n c e of earthly goods and uniformity in political philosophy, there remains a n o t h e r stumbling block on the way to Utopia, probably the most difficult of all to hurdle. It originates from the fact that nothing is stable in the world, neither natural resources nor the attitudes and tastes of men. T h e grapes that used to grow in E n g l a n d no longer ripen there. W h e n water b e c a m e scarce in the American Southwest a n d the trees in this area grew more slowly—as evidenced by the narrowness of the tree rings—crops failed a n d the Pueblo 48

Visionaries and Fulfillment

Indians had to abandon many of their villages. Depending upon the distribution o f rainfall, the G r e a t Plains c a n be a farmer's haven or a dust bowl, the F r e n c h vineyards yield grands crus or vin ordinaire. Similarly, the responses of the h u m a n mind cannot help being modified by changes in e n v i r o n m e n t ; however well organized society m a y be, these c h a n g e s are inevitable, and their effects are to a large extent unpredictable. Even the dogs most carefully prepared by Pavlov lost their conditioning when their e n v i r o n m e n t was suddenly altered. K o n r a d Lorenz has shown t h a t " i m p r i n t i n g , " the behavior pattern a c q u i r e d by birds early in life, c a n also be removed. T h e h u m a n body, too, changes with time, not only as a result of genetic alterations which m a y long remain u n n o t i c e d , but also because different societies cultivate different kinds o f physical traits. T h e muscle d e v e l o p m e n t in t h e A t h e n i a n athlete was different from that d e e m e d ideal today, and the obese w o m a n regarded as a V e n u s at a c e r t a i n time in certain parts of the world is repulsive to men in other eras and other climes. T h e f u n d a m e n t a l weakness of all a n c i e n t a n d o f most modern Utopias is that they postulate a more or less stable society in a stable e n v i r o n m e n t ; this is true of Plato's, More's, and Bacon's creations. But in fact static societies c a n n o t survive b e c a u s e t h e y a r e b o u n d to c r a c k and collapse in a world w h e r e e v e r y t h i n g else is endlessly changing and moving. Among utopists H. G. Wells was the first to realize that societies, like other living things, are in unstable dynamic equilibrium with their environm e n t — a n understanding he probably owed to his strong training in biological science under T h o m a s Huxley. In H. G. Wells's words, Visionaries and Fulfillment

49

The Utopia of a modern dreamer must needs differ in one fundamental aspect from the Nowheres and Utopias men planned before Darwin quickened the thought of the world. Those were all perfect and static States, a balance of happiness won forever against the forces of unrest and disorder that inhere in things. One beheld a healthy and simple generation enjoying the fruits of the earth in an atmosphere of virtue and happiness, to be followed by other virtuous, happy, and entirely similar generations, until the Gods grew weary. Change and development were d a m m e d back by invincible dams forever. But the Modern Utopia must be not static but kinetic, must shape not as a permanent state but as a hopeful stage, leading to a long ascent of stages. Nowadays we do not resist and overcome the great stream of things, but rather float upon it. We build now not citadels, but ships of state. Thus, it would seem that Utopias can exist as realities only if they die shortly after b e i n g b o r n , to be r e b o r n with new shapes. O r , more p r o b a b l y , Utopian d r e a m s never come into being. They act as catalysts converting the c r u d e materials of reality, the tools a n d products of experience a n d of science, into civilizations which take t h e s h a p e d e v e l o p e d first as a n i m a g e in t h e m i n d of m a n . Utopias are like holy spirits which give the breath of life to matter. T h e signers of the Declaration of I n d e p e n d e n c e held it as a self-evident truth that the pursuit of happiness is an inalienable right of m a n . Although they did not define happiness, it c a n be t a k e n for g r a n t e d t h a t , like most men, they believed a h a p p y life implies t h e satisfaction of a few essential needs: enough of t h e right kind of food; a d e q u a t e protection against the elements; f r e e d o m from disease; some variety of experience to keep the senses and the m i n d stimulated at the proper level; sufficient resources to avoid d r u d g e r y a n d to p r o v i d e the objects of 50

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H- C, uiJh.

UfW

77ju famous cartoon by Low represents H. G. Wells at the height of his career—the extroverted, brilliant, and learned exponent of science, the fighting optimist of Men Like Gods and A Modern Utopia. Less well known is the profound pessimism of Wells's last published work. In Mind at the End of Its Tether he wrote that "Everything was driving anyhow to anywhere at a steadily increasing velocity . . . . The pattern of things to come faded away . . . . The end of everything we call life is close at hand and cannot be evaded."

one's desires; a n d a b o v e all, p e r h a p s , the f r e e d o m to decide at every m o m e n t on the course of one's life. It was such a b l u e p r i n t for m o d e r n life that Condorcet h a d presented in his "Esquisse d'un tableau historique des progres de I'esprit humain," in which he traced the evolution of m a n from a barbaric stage to the age of reason. H e outlined t h e f u t u r e of m a n ' s progress on t h r e e lines: (1) the destruction of inequalities between nations; (2) the destruction of inequalities between classes; (3) the unlimited i m p r o v e m e n t of individuals mentally, morally, a n d physically. For the past two centuries the natural and social scientists of the Western W o r l d have labored to b r i n g to reality these d r e a m s of t h e philosophers of the Enlightenment. W e r e t h e y to c o m e b a c k to life, C o n d o r c e t a n d his c o n t e m p o r a r i e s would probably be startled to find that most of the specific goals they visualized have now been reached, at least in the countries of Western civilization, a n d especially in the U n i t e d States. A l t h o u g h we have b e c o m e s o m e w h a t blase a b o u t t h e marvels of o u r age, t h e i r m a g n i t u d e c a n be r e c a p t u r e d by i m a g i n i n g how their effects on daily life would h a v e excited the eighteenth-century m i n d . Medicine has come close to solving t h e p r o b l e m s of disease which as late as t h e n i n e t e e n t h c e n t u r y m a d e t h e average h u m a n life short a n d uncertain. N u t r i t i o n a l science has d e t e r m i n e d all the essential r e q u i r e m e n t s of m a n , a n d technology has m a d e it possible to satisfy t h e m at all seasons in any climate. Everyb o d y in t h e W e s t e r n W o r l d c a n a f f o r d to k e e p w a r m d u r i n g the winter a n d soon will be able to keep cool during t h e s u m m e r . Distances b e c o m e every d a y less of a p r o b l e m , a n d n e i t h e r lack of t i m e nor f e a r of physical

52

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strain need limit a n y longer our ability to move from one p a r t of the globe to another. At least as miraculous as the achievements of the natural sciences are those of politics, economics, and sociology. T r u e e n o u g h , e v e r y b o d y b e m o a n s t h e inefficiency of governments a n d the venality of politicians. But in fact most of the great social goals for which our ancestors were still fighting a n d d y i n g a c e n t u r y ago h a v e b e c o m e the law of t h e l a n d . W e are in the process of b e c o m i n g a classless society; in principle, if not always entirely in practice, we are free to express our opinions a n d to shape our destinies; Liberty a n d Equality are to a large extent fails accomplis, a n d even Fraternity m a y someday pass from our lips to our hearts. T h e revolutionary advances of the past two centuries suggest that almost a n y problem of h u m a n welfare can be solved if it is properly formulated a n d if its solution is diligently pursued. As a student of experimental medicine, I take it for granted that progress can be m a d e in the control of any disease to which we address ourselves with enough energy. I feel confident, also, that physicists, chemists, and engineers can provide us with almost any kind of earthly good. I even believe that sociologists and politicians will find ways of improving relations among men, even though the result may be peace without love. F r o m penicillin to supersonic flight, f r o m the control of personality to space exploration, from elimination of child labor to universal suffrage, the twentieth century has been m a r k e d by m a n y scientific a n d social achievements which are so startling as to dwarf the miracles of the legendary ages. Despite all these m o d e r n miracles, t h e r e are m a n y

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among us who speak regretfully of the old times and tend to place the golden age in the past rather t h a n in the future. A n d , in fact, the m a n y beautiful things that have come to us from the past are eloquent witnesses to a kind of happiness t h a t we m a y well envy our ancestors: the lyrical outbursts of poets, the smiling angels in Gothic cathedrals, the glamorous feasts of the Renaissance, the gay celebrations of primitive country folk. How often we long for the profound and genuine happiness of yesteryear! But on the other side of the balance of time we have to place the sufferings that in the past remained unexpressed, the hunger that so often was the fate of poor people, the cold against which there was little protection, the pain that could not be relieved, the tortures t h a t m a n inflicted on his fellow men, the sudd e n d e a t h of children a n d of adults, t h r e a t e n i n g alike the powerful of the earth a n d the unprivileged. T h e d i s e n c h a n t e d mood of today, of course, has its origin in the fact t h a t happiness does not d e p e n d only upon comfort a n d contentment. Illiterates may well be contented and morons even more so—still more, perhaps, the proverbially contented cow or the well-fed household cat. But the further man evolves from his animal origin, t h e less happiness he can find in the mere removal of discomfort a n d in the satisfactions of the body. Every fulfillment, whatever its nature, is likely to create a new need a n d thus become a source of new dissatisfaction. T h e endless urge for some new experience, the tendency to look for goals beyond the a t t a i n a b l e are traits which differentiate m a n f r o m other forms of life. These aspirations have led him to establish his dominance over the natural world, but certainly they are endlessly creating for him new problems which make of health and of hap54

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piness mirages that are ever receding into the future. However, to the extent that happiness is conditioned by the elimination of physical suffering a n d the acquisition of certain forms of physical comfort, we have gone very far indeed toward fulfilling the d r e a m s of utopists and reaching the goals formulated two centuries ago by the philosophers of the Enlightenment. In his book The Wonderful Century, A. R. Wallace listed twenty-four revolutionary changes brought about by science d u r i n g the n i n e t e e n t h c e n t u r y as against fifteen for all preceding ages. If he were living today, Wallace might regard our time as the era of fulfillment. Ancient dreams of mankind which had remained Utopian for millennia are now so nearly fulfilled that they are taken for granted by several h u n d r e d million people, a n d are claimed as a birthright by the rest of h u m a n i t y . W h a t adds to the wonder of this achievement is that it all happened so rapidly—in less than two h u n d r e d years—without any c h a n g e in the i n n a t e abilities of m a n himself. T h e oral tradition, the written texts, t h e m o n u m e n t s that have come down to us from antiquity all bear witness to the fact that the h u m a n mind long ago acquired the ability to formulate highly abstract and sophisticated concepts, and to convert them into concrete realizations. T h e revolution in the ways of life occurred when m a n learned to apply the experimental method systematically to the material problems of everyday existence. As a result of this effort, technology began to grow geometrically some three hundred years ago, each invention and each improvement facilitating the next step. T h e acceleration of growth which was already a p p a r e n t early in the nineteenth century is now b r e a t h - t a k i n g — a t times, indeed, almost frightening. In the words of the Visionaries and Fulfillment

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German physicist M a x Born, "As I a m almost eighty years old, I have myself experienced about half of this technical period. In my youth the difference in the way of life from that of, let us say, Caesar's time, appeared prodigious; but the differences between today's existence and that of my youth are incomparably greater." In the countries of Western civilization where industrial technology was created, the increase of material wealth was accompanied by a progressively more equitable distribution of wealth, with the result that opportunities for rewarding individual effort were more widespread, social stratification was weakened, and political liberties were increased. Thus, it can be said that, indirectly but very effectively, the application of experimental science to technology has provided the concrete materials out of which Utopian dreams were converted into reality. Until the end of the eighteenth century most of material civilization had been built out of practices evolved either empirically from the very experience of day-today life or from discoveries made by accident without prior scientific knowledge. In fact, much of science itself arose-from these empirical achievements. T h e n , systematic scientific knowledge derived from laboratory experimentation rapidly overtook practical life, and scientists increasingly became the innovators and indeed the governors of human existence. It can be said that the scientific age began when, from toiling obscurely in the rear of the empirical procedures, science stepped forward and held up the torch in front. By the middle of the nineteenth century, scientific investigation undertaken in a search for pure knowledge began to suggest practical applications and inventions. Faraday's electromagnetic ex56

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periments led to the dynamo and other electromagnetic machines; Maxwell's studies of waves led to wireless telegraphy; Pasteur's work revolutionized fermentation industries and the practice of medicine, etc., etc. As a result of this change, the business of everyday life is now carried out with the tools provided by science, and, more importantly, the very character of human existence is now molded by the products of scientific technology. While these facts are obvious and acknowledged by all— by those who deprecate them as well as by those who delight in them—it is not so well recognized that the direction of scientific effort during the past three centuries, and therefore the whole trend of modern life, has been markedly conditioned by an attitude fostered by the creators of Utopias. They fostered the view that nature must be studied not so much to be understood as to be mastered and exploited by man. The urge to control nature is probably the most characteristic aspect of Western civilization. It has not yet been proven, however, that this ideal is the best for human life. After all, great civilizations have been created in the past, and much profound happiness has been experienced, based on the philosophy that man must strive for harmony with the rest of nature instead of behaving toward it as a dominating lord and an exploiting master. It is much too early to be sure that Galileo, Watt, and Edison have contributed more lastingly to human advancement and happiness than have Socrates, Lao-tze, and Francis of Assisi. It is clear, of course, that the wealth and the conveniences which are the fruits of the Industrial Revolution are now accepted by all and enjoyed even by the enemies of science. But deep in the human conscience there is Visionaries and Fulfillment

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uneasiness a b o u t the enormous toll that m a n k i n d has paid for these advantages. T h e r e come to mind the misery and degradation of the labor classes in the industrial tenements of the nineteenth century, the excesses of child labor, the gross malnutrition and the destructive epidemics, the loss of the ancestral traditions which once a d d e d color and poetry to the life of everyone. Even tod a y the ugliness of the industrial s u b u r b s in the large cities of E u r o p e a n d the destruction of natural beauty everywhere serve as reminders of the tragic truth that to achieve his purpose modern man has been willing to deface a n d rape nature. It is true that, little by little, prosperous communities are trying to correct some of the blemishes left by two centuries of wanton exploitation a n d destruction. But lest we take too much pride in these halfhearted efforts, it is important to keep always in mind that today's prosperity was built out of the lives of countless millions of people a n d out of the desecration of our lands. Indeed, one may wonder whether man would have deliberately started the Industrial Revolution if he had been able to visualize beforehand what its costs a n d consequences would be. Anyone asking this question might well ponder the remarks on English scenery m a d e by J a c q u e t t a Hawkes in A Land: Recalling in tranquillity the slow possession of Britain by its people, I cannot resist the conclusion that the relationship reached its greatest intimacy, its most sensitive pitch, about two hundred years ago. By the middle of the eighteenth century, men had triumphed, the land was theirs, but had not yet been subjected and outraged. Wildness had been pushed back to the mountains, where now for the first time it could safely be admired. Communications were good enough to bind the country in a unity lacking since it was a Roman 58

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province, but were not yet so easy as to have destroyed locality and the natural freedom of the individual that remoteness freely gives. Rich men and poor men knew how to use the stuff of their countryside to raise comely buildings and to group them with instinctive grace. Town and country having grown up together to serve one another's needs now enjoyed a moment of balance. T h e first Industrial Revolution is now a fait accompli, a n d it is idle to ask whether men would have refrained from starting it, or would have directed its course more wisely, h a d they been able to foresee the distant consequences of their acts. But it is urgent that we have these questions in mind as we enter the era of the second Industrial Revolution. O n e of the reassuring aspects of the modern world is that m u c h thought is now being given to the possible effects of the f u t u r e applications of science. For example, exhaustive studies of the biological effects of ionizing radiation were u n d e r t a k e n before a t o m i c energy b e c a m e an industrial source of power. T h e obvious threats of atomic warfare have, of course, been widely publicized, but of greater interest are the current discussions centering on the possible dangers of the application of atomic energy to peaceful purposes— for example, with regard to the contamination of water supplies. T h e alarming increase in world population is another problem which is being considered from m a n y different angles. T h e development of universally acceptable techniques for birth control and of policies for increasing food production are n a t u r a l l y the aspects of the problems which first come to mind a n d are the most widely discussed. But other considerations at least as important are being brought forward as a result of more searching Visionaries and Fulfillment

59

analysis. Thus, it is becoming clear that one must be concerned not only with the number of h u m a n beings on earth, but also with the quality of their bodies and their minds. As is discussed in the following chapter, birth control alone might lead to biological disaster if not guided by genetic considerations and supplemented by the proper physiological training of people at all ages. It is becoming apparent also that the increase in population has consequences which transcend the supplies of food a n d of raw materials. There is no doubt that, by taking full advantage of the potentialities of agricultural and industrial technologies, it would be possible to take care of a world population much larger than that which now exists. But if man continues to proliferate, he will have to eliminate from the globe the other living things that compete with him for food and space. Continued increase in h u m a n population spells the virtual extinction of all wildlife—a dreary prospect indeed! As people become more numerous, furthermore, there is bound to be increasing reglementation amounting to regimentation, a spread of uniformity, a n d progressive disappearance of most individual liberties. Foods and manufactured commodities are not the only factors to be considered in a measurement of the standard of living. Beauty, independence, solitude also have always been among the essential requirements for civilized life. M a n y other examples could be adduced to illustrate that problems of crucial importance for mankind which appear at first sight predominantly technical involve in reality judgments of values. Science itself, in its pure form, is concerned with phenomena and laws on which all qualified and thoughtful persons eventually agree irrespective of their individual beliefs, opinions, and tastes. 60

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But, unlike pure knowledge, the applications of science are concerned with the desires of mankind, its whims and fancies, as much as with its biological needs. As stated by J . M. Clark, "There are two worlds, the world of impersonal investigation of cause and effect, and the world of desires, ideals and value judgments. The natural sciences deal with the first, ethics with the second." The physicist who works on the industrial applications of any form of energy cannot help becoming involved in problems of ethics; and this is true also of the physician and the biologist working on medical problems—as we shall see in the following chapter. The ethical problems posed by the utilization of knowledge are, of course, as old as mankind. But it is only during modern times that the question has become practically important as a result of the increasing effectiveness of scientific methods, and of the fact that science is now valued more for its social uses than as natural philosophy. In a recent address Ritchie Calder stated that "Scientists leave their discoveries like foundlings on the doorstep of society. The step-parents do not know now to bring them up." Clearly, this attitude is no longer permissible now that scientific discoveries can have such far-reaching and lasting effects on h u m a n existence—indeed, on the fate of the human race. It is for society, of course, to decide what goals it wishes to reach and what risks it is willing to take. But it is the task of the scientific community to formulate as clearly as possible and to make public the probable consequences of any step that it takes and of any action that it advocates. In other words, the responsibility of the scientist does not stop when he has developed the knowledge and techniques that lead to a process or a product. Beyond that, he must secure and make public Visionaries and Fulfillment

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the kind of information on which the social body as a whole can base t h e value j u d g m e n t s t h a t alone will decide long-range policies. T h e relation of science to society has changed a n d become more complex during modern times. Three hundred years ago Bacon a n d his followers were justified in claiming t h a t the i m p o r t a n t problem was to learn how to do things. T h e r e was then so little t h a t could be done! Soon it b e c a m e a p p a r e n t t h a t the most effective m e t h o d of progress was to try to u n d e r s t a n d n a t u r a l p h e n o m e n a , their whys as m u c h as their hows. Now it c a n be said that it is possible to achieve almost anything we want—so great is the effectiveness of technology based on the exp e r i m e n t a l m e t h o d . T h u s , the m a i n issue for scientists a n d for society as a whole is now to decide what to do a m o n g all the things that could be done a n d should be done. Unless scientists are willing to give h a r d thought —indeed, their hearts—to this latter aspect of their social responsibilities, they may find themselves someday in the position of the Sorcerer's A p p r e n t i c e , u n a b l e to control the forces they have unleashed. A n d they may have to confess, like C a p t a i n A h a b in Moby Dick, that all their methods are sane, their goal mad.

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4 Medical Utopias

In medicine even more than in other fields of science, theories and practices have always been under the sway of a priori philosophical attitudes and rationalized beliefs. T h e social forces that have influenced medical history range from the primitive fear of demons to the current wave of faith healing, from Rousseau's assertion that "hygiene is less a science than a virtue" to the modern illusion that diseases can be conquered by drugs. Among all the medical Utopias that have flourished in the course of time, none has blossomed so constantly and in so many forms as the belief that disease can be entirely eliminated from the earth. At the present time this illusion is based on an uncritical faith in the magic power of experimental science. But fundamentally it arises from the mystical belief in the existence of what Thomas De Quincey, in "Confessions of an English Opium-Eater," called "that sort of vital warmth . . . 63

which would p r o b a b l y always a c c o m p a n y a bodily constitution of primeval a n d antediluvian h e a l t h . " M a n y t h i n k e r s of classical Greece certainly believed t h a t r e a s o n a b l e m e n could a c h i e v e the m i l l e n n i u m of health by the exercise of wisdom. Witness the cult of Hygeia, w h i c h was a n expression of the faith t h a t men could enjoy mens sana in corpore sano if they lived according to reason. C a r r y i n g this d o c t r i n e to its logical conclusion, Plato wrote t h a t the need for m a n y hospitals and doctors was t h e m a r k of a b a d city; there would be little use for t h e m in his ideal Republic. In Imperial Rome, Tiberius asserted in a similar vein that anyone who consulted a d o c t o r a f t e r the age of thirty was a fool for not having yet l e a r n e d to regulate his life properly without outside help. A l t h o u g h medieval Christianity h a d little faith in t h e possibility of creating a paradise of health on e a r t h , T h o m a s M o r e a n d all t h e utopists t h a t followed him after the Renaissance popularized imaginary states so well organized t h a t their medical needs could be foreseen a n d provided for j u s t as certainly as their political a n d economic problems. Describing the ideal society he imagined on the moon, C y r a n o de Bergerac asserted, " I n every house there is a Physionome supported by the state, who is approximately what would be called a m o n g you a doctor, except that he only treats healthy people." T h e F r e n c h Encyclopedists believed that all health problems could be solved by science, and Condorcet envisaged a rational world free f r o m disease, in which old age a n d d e a t h w o u l d be infinitely postponed. Echoing this faith, B e n j a m i n Franklin wrote to the English chemist J o s e p h Priestley t h a t "all diseases m a y by sure means be prevented or c u r e d , not excepting that of old age, and our lives l e n g t h e n e d at pleasure even beyond the antedi64

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luvian s t a n d a r d . " Fourier was more specific, asserting that in the society of his dreams man's life would be prolonged to 144 years. Continuing the traditions of the Enlightenment, Rudolf Virchow preached in his journal Medizinische Reform that misery was the breeder of disease, and that the key to the general improvement of health would be found in the improvement of social conditions. In one form or another, projections of Utopia have continued until our time. In J a m e s Hilton's Lost Horizon the lamas living in Shangri-La, miles from corrupting influences, h a d mastered the secret of long life. In his book My First Tears in the White House Huey Long listed high on his program a plan to provide adequate medical care for the whole country—giving the j o b to the Mayo brothers! And throughout the 1960 presidential campaign, protection from womb to tomb seemed to overshadow most other political issues. Faith in the powers of m a n to eradicate disease has been greatly strengthened, of course, by the spectacular scientific achievements of the nineteenth century. Early in the twentieth century H e r m a n n Biggs, then Commissioner of Health of New York State, adopted for his department the motto "Public Health Is Purchasable. Within Natural Limitations Any C o m m u n i t y C a n Determine Its O w n D e a t h R a t e . " In 1958 the same faith was repeatedly expressed on the occasion of the tenth anniversary of the World Health Organization. The authors of the W H O pamphlet Ten Tears of Health Progress recognized that large problems remained to be solved, and that "as one disease is eradicated . . . others grow in importance," but Dr. Axel Hojer voiced their collective confidence that through techniques based on scientific knowledge " m a n seems to have found out how to make Medical Utopias

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his d r e a m s of a paradise on earth come true." Medical scientists may be skeptical about social Utopias designed on the basis of political theories, but they rarely doubt that m a n k i n d would soon achieve the millennium if their own theories based on natural sciences were put into practice! T h e widespread conviction that health is purchasable, not only in limited areas but also on a world-wide scale, seems to be justified by the advances m a d e during the past half-century in the fields of nutrition a n d infection. I n reality, however, it has not yet been shown that these achievements justify the wide extrapolations made from t h e m . T h e r e is overwhelming historical evidence t h a t the evolution of diseases is influenced by many determining factors which are not as yet a m e n a b l e to social or medical control, and may never be. T h e changes t h a t have occurred without benefit of conscious h u m a n intervention in the prevalence of various diseases during the past few centuries should serve as a warning that it is unwise to predict the f u t u r e from the short perspective of the past decades. G r a n t e d the lack of precise information, it is clear that there have been spontaneous ebbs and flows in the prevalence and severity of many diseases. Plague invaded the R o m a n world during the Justinian era; leprosy was prevalent in western Europe until the sixteenth century; plague again reached catastrophic proportions during the Renaissance; several outbreaks of the sweating sickness terrorized England during T u d o r times; syphilis spread like wildfire shortly after 1500; smallpox was the scourge of the seventeenth a n d eighteenth centuries; tuberculosis, scarlet fever, diphtheria, measles took over w h e n smallpox began to recede; today virus infections 66

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occupy the focus of attention in our medical communities; a n d long before viruses h a d become scientifically fashionable, pandemics of influenza at times a d d e d a note of still greater u n p r e d i c t a b i l i t y to the p a t t e r n of infection. A w a r e n e s s t h a t diseases c o m e a n d go for mysterious reasons is not new. M a l t h u s h a d sensed t h e p h e n o m e n o n w h e n he wrote in 1803, " F o r my part, I feel not the slightest d o u b t t h a t , if the i n t r o d u c t i o n of t h e cow pox should e x t e r m i n a t e the small pox, we shall find a very perceptible difference in the increased mortality of some other disease." M o r e recently the historical a n d geographic aspects of the problem were d o c u m e n t e d by August Hirsch in his m o n u m e n t a l Handbook of Geographical and Historical Pathology. T h e m a t t e r was interestingly discussed by Charles Anglada in Etudes sur les maladies eteintes et sur les maladies nouvelles, a n d by C h a r l e s Nicolle in his f a m o u s book Naissance, vie, et mort des maladies infectieuses, w h e r e he showed t h a t the biological aspects of life are g o v e r n e d by forces i n d e p e n d e n t of conscious h u m a n intervention. Most explicit perhaps was the statement m a d e in 1873 by William P a r r in his letter to the Registrar G e n e r a l in E n g l a n d : T h e infectious diseases replace each other, and when one is rooted out it is apt to be replaced by others which ravage the human race indifferently whenever the conditions of health are wanting. They have this property in common with weeds and other forms of life, as one species recedes another advances. I have selected infection to illustrate e b b s a n d flows in the prevalence of disease because of my greater familiarity with this field. But a n y o n e with specialized knowledge could provide just as telling e x a m p l e s f r o m o t h e r areas of medicine. W i t h regard to nutrition, Lucretius was alr e a d y a w a r e of t h e p r o b l e m w h e n he w r o t e t w o t h o u Medical Utopias

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The style and subject matter of this cartoon place it in the middle of the nineteenth century in England. Gout, tisis (tuberculosis), and colic (intestinal

disorders)

were then very common in all social classes. It is interesting to note that, while these diseases still occur, they are now much less prevalent in the Western

World.

This change is due not so much to therapeutic advances as to modifications in the ways of life.

sand years ago, " I n the old days lack of food gave languishing limbs to Lethe. O n the contrary, surfeit of things stifles us t o d a y . " C o m i n g now to our times, who could have dreamed a generation ago that hypervitaminoses would become a common form of nutritional disease in the Western W o r l d ; t h a t the cigarette industry, air pollutants, and the use of radiations would be held responsible for the increase in certain types of cancer; that the introduction of detergents a n d various synthetics would increase the incidence of allergies; t h a t advances in c h e m o t h e r a p y and other therapeutic procedures would create a new staphylococcus pathology; that alcoholics a n d patients with various forms of iatrogenic diseases would occupy such a large n u m b e r of beds in the m o d e r n hospital? Despite the dark spots on the health picture of the modern world, m a n y facts seem to provide s u p p o r t for those who claim that we are a p p r o a c h i n g medical Utopia. Franklin's optimistic prophecy t h a t our lives can be lengthened at pleasure even beyond the antediluvian s t a n d a r d a p p e a r s close to fulfillment. N o t so long ago most children died during infancy or in their teens; only a small percentage survived into a d u l t h o o d . For exa m p l e (according to H u g h Smith in The Family Physician), approximately two thirds of the children born in London between 1762 a n d 1771 died before the age of five, and fully three quarters of these never reached the age of two. T h a t this state of affairs prevailed not only among the socially unfortunate is illustrated by the case of Queen Anne, with seventeen pregnancies a n d not a single surviving child. T h e situation is very different today in the Western Medical Utopias

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World. Largely because of the control of microbial diseases and the improvements in general nutrition, the immense majority of children survive. Moreover, even those suffering from diabetes, congenital heart abnormalities, and many other formerly fatal diseases can now have an almost normal span of life. T r u e enough, progress has been much less dramatic with regard to the diseases which affect adulthood. Yet even in this age group several types of ailments and accidents which once were uniformly fatal can now be treated so effectively that they have been all but eliminated as causes of death. As a result, more a n d more persons in our communities exceed the life span of threescore and ten to which so few could aspire in the past. While the countries of Western civilization have, of course, been the chief beneficiaries of the modern advances in h u m a n health, the less privileged parts of the world have shared in the fruits of medical science, a n d this fact has contributed to the increase in population all over the world. T h e achievements of modern medical science are, indeed, almost miraculous. Surgery restores to function broken limbs a n d d a m a g e d hearts with a m a z i n g safety a n d little suffering; sanitation removes from our environment m a n y of the germs of disease; new drugs are constantly being developed to relieve physical pain, to help us sleep if we are restless, to keep us awake if we feel sleepy, a n d to m a k e us oblivious of worries. T h e r e are m a n y good reasons, therefore, to share with Dr. M. G. C a n d a u , Director General of W H O , the belief that the world will soon be in a position to make a reality bf medical Utopia. In his words, If the great advances gained in science and technology are put at the service of all people of the world, our children and 70

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their children will live in an age from which most of the diseases our grandparents and parents took for granted will be banished. . . . It may no longer be Utopian to envisage a new chapter in the history of medicine.

N o one can take exception to these words except to point out that they do not tell the whole story. Within limits it is true that we can control many of the diseases that " o u r grandparents and parents took for granted." But this does not prove that we know how to control the disease problems that will be encountered in the future, or even, for that matter, those of the present. It is seldom recognized that each type of society has diseases peculiar to itself—indeed, that each civilization creates its own diseases. Furthermore, there is no evidence that the techniques developed for dealing with the disease problems of one generation can cope with the problems of another. T h e word " U t o p i a n " used by Dr. C a n d a u is here the telltale. Whether they be medical or political, Utopias imply, as pointed out earlier, a static view of the world. In reality, however, societies are never static. Nothing is stable in the world—men change, and so do all their problems. We can indeed expect a " n e w chapter in the history of medicine," but the chapter is likely to be as full of diseases as its predecessors; the diseases will only be different from those of the past. There is no doubt, of course, that scientific medicine is now essential to our social existence a n d contributes much to the success of modern societies. T h e paradox is that, despite the spectacular advances in the knowledge and treatment of disease, the need for hospital facilities a n d the cost of medical care continue to increase. This results in part from the much more exacting criteria of Medical Utopias

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health t h a t prevail in m o d e r n societies, b u t other reasons are also a p p a r e n t . While a few of t h e old disease problems are being solved, new ones are constantly cropping u p a n d make modern m a n increasingly dependent on medicine for his very survival. T h e situation is not unlike that faced by the farmers and gardeners in their attempts to protect crops against weeds a n d pests. The task is never finished because as one problem is solved, another soon appears which requires attention. Nature always strikes back. It takes all the r u n n i n g we can do to remain in the same place. Since no one can predict the disease patterns of the future, it will suffice to contrast here, for the sake of illustration, some of the problems which dominated medicine a century ago with those likely to increase in importance in the near future. Disease from contaminated food or beverages was very common a few generations ago, and nutritional deficiencies were almost the rule. Now laboratories check on the safety of w h a t we eat a n d drink. F u r t h e r m o r e , the nutritional requirements of m a n are now well known, and in the Western World, at least, we have the means to satisfy them. But all this theoretical and practical knowledge does not guarantee that nutrition will not present problems in the i m m e d i a t e future, even assuming that economic prosperity continues. O n the one h a n d , modern agriculture a n d food technology have come to depend more a n d more on the use of chemicals to control pests a n d to improve the yields of animal and plant products. T h e cost of food production would enormously increase without these chemicals, and for this reason their use is justified. Unfortunately, however, a n d despite all care, several of t h e m eventually reach the h u m a n con72

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sumer in objectionable concentrations. As more and more substances are introduced in agriculture and food technology every year, it will become practically impossible to test them all with regard to long-range effects on human health, and the possibility of toxic reactions must be accepted as one of the inevitable risks of progress. Another potentially disturbing aspect of nutrition in the future arises from the fact that human food requirements have been formulated on the basis of a certain level of physical activity and of exposure to the inclemencies of the weather. But no one knows exactly what these requirements will be for the wheel-borne, air-conditioned human being of the next decades. The well-fed child of today may prove to have been overfed in view of the kind of life he will lead tomorrow. Just as we have eliminated from our life physical overexertion and minimized exposure to heat or cold, so we have greatly decreased contact with infectious agents and learned to treat the diseases caused by some of those that we cannot yet escape. One needs only to recall the toll exacted by infectious diseases in the past to appreciate the magnitude of the contributions made to human health by sanitation and drug therapy. But even this achievement may turn out to be a not unmixed blessing. True enough, certain acute infectious diseases are practically under control, but others are becoming more prevalent—paralytic poliomyelitis, for example. And, more than ever before, hospitals are crowded with patients suffering from chronic disorders which do not kill outright but often ruin life. Fifty years ago horses were essential for short-range transportation, and we had stables in every block. The stables constituted a fine breeding ground for flies, and these—as well as other insects—acted as vectors in the Medical Utopias

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transmission of many diseases. Progressively mankind managed to cope with this problem by developing certain kinds of natural immunity and by introducing sanitary practices. Today the situation is different. Horses have been displaced by automobiles, and the diseases they brought about have therefore disappeared. But unsought results of this advance have been the pollution of the atmosphere by automobile exhausts, and forty thousand fatalities each year on our highways. We are beginning to think constructively about these new problems and may learn to do something about them, but we may expect that new difficulties will soon arise from further improvements in methods of transportation. Probably unexpected toxic manifestations will accompany the use of new fuels or of atomic energy. Probably also a few more of our degrees of freedom will be eliminated by the enforcement of more drastic traffic laws, and this will contribute still further to the soul-destroying mechanization of our everyday life. In any case, the rapid increase in population—the population explosion, as it is properly called—will make it more and more difficult to avoid regimentation of life. Even though political freedom may survive in principle, individual activities will be increasingly restricted within any political system. The social structure is bound to become more rigid as the larger population becomes increasingly dependent on a more complex technology. Until we have learned to change our ways, restrictions of individual freedom are likely to increase the incidence of psychoneuroses. In the same class belong the mental health problems caused by automation. While some look upon automation as the gateway to the golden age, others see it as the 74

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source of new social a n d medical difficulties. It is likely that automated work will induce in the worker a sense of inadequacy because of a feeling that he is less useful in an effort the significance of which he cannot assess; to anxiety arising from the more abstract character of his effort; and to strains resulting from new kinds of responsibility. Nervous strain will inevitably result from jobs that involve little physical activity b u t d e m a n d u n r e m i t t i n g attention to signs of varying perceptibility, often separated by long intervals. T h e r e is no hope, in m y opinion, t h a t pills can prevent or cure these minor but important mental illnesses, or that medical personnel and services will ever be sufficient to deal with the huge n u m b e r s of persons who will need psychiatric help in the regimented life t h a t will characterize the first phases of the automation age. Adjustments will certainly be made, but we can anticipate a period when boredom and mental frustration will have consequences worse t h a n t h e scars t h a t used to result from inclement weather or physical exertion. It would be presumptuous on my part, and indeed impossible for anyone, to predict w h a t precise effects the ever changing social environment will have on the children who are growing u p today. But the formulation of the problem might be facilitated by considering one particular aspect on which some concrete information is available. As anyone can observe, most children are now growing in size more rapidly t h a n did those of one or two generations ago. This change affects not only size but other physiological characteristics as well; in general, boys a n d girls are m a t u r i n g physically a n d reaching puberty somewhere between six months and two years earlier than did their parents. It is probable that improvements in nutrition, control of infection, and other unidentified factors Medical Utopias

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are responsible for this physiological acceleration, but of greater importance than the causes of acceleration are the problems t h a t it poses for the m a n a g e m e n t of young people. It is ironic indeed that legislation and social mores tend to prolong the period d u r i n g which y o u n g people are treated as if they were immature and irresponsible, precisely at the time when children are growing faster and physically maturing earlier. Vigorous and well-fed young people need rough physical activity, while society urges on t h e m a sheltered a n d effortless life. T h e y are eager to show their worth a n d to function usefully, while labor laws bar them from employment. They crave an imaginative life a n d the chance to manifest initiative, while most forms of responsibility are denied t h e m because they are regarded as children. It would be entertaining, if it were not tragic, to contrast the place occupied in our society by the modern fully developed six-foot teen-agers with that occupied by their physiological equivalents in the past. Throughout history young adults have acted effectively as leaders in warfare, active m e m b e r s of political parties, creators of business enterprises, or advocates of new philosophical doctrines— whereas m o d e r n y o u n g people are expected to find fulfillment in playgrounds, juvenile spectacles, and ice cream parlors! I a m afraid t h a t the present social attitude renders them more likely to yield to sexual impulses, become juvenile delinquents, or t u r n to philosophies of despair. New health problems are b o u n d to occur a m o n g teenagers if society does not recognize t h a t fully developed, well-fed young bodies need satisfying a n d worth-while forms of expression in order to remain creative and healthy. 76

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Most unexpected, perhaps, is the fact that medicine is creating new disease problems by reason of its very successes. This side of the picture came out in the course of a debate held in L o n d o n in N o v e m b e r , 1952, w h e n the H u n t e r i a n Society voted 59 to 47 " t h a t the continued advance in medicine will produce more problems than it solves." Facetious as it was, the resolution clearly reflected the awareness that all is not as well as advertised in the world of medicine. Among the new problems arising from the partial control of man's ancient plagues, some have a n economic basis and are apparent chiefly among the underprivileged peoples of the world. In the past, microbial diseases acted as one of the checks in population size by killing large numbers of children a n d keeping down the n u m b e r of persons who reached old age. T o put it crudely, nature balanced the books for us. Today, public health measures, supplemented by the use of insecticides a n d antimicrobial drugs, greatly reduce the n u m b e r of early deaths. As the birth rates show as yet no sign of decreasing, the world population is growing in an unprecedented manner. I n Ceylon, for example, the partial control of malaria resulting f r o m the use of D D T has resulted in a sudden increase of the population d u r i n g the past few years. Unfortunately, the results of infection control are not an unmixed blessing, especially as some national economies are not capable of making orderly adjustments to the new state of affairs. It is of particular importance in this regard that food production a n d especially the supply of well-balanced proteins cannot keep pace with the increase in world population. Advances in agricultural and industrial technology will, of course, improve food Medical Utopias

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supplies, b u t not fast enough for the needs. While the world population increased by eight per cent during the past ten years, food production increased by only five per cent, a n d in consequence more people go hungry today t h a n did a decade ago. It is to be feared t h a t food deficiencies will in the long r u n cause more physiological misery a n d suffering t h a n have been prevented by the partial control of infection. Less apparent as yet, but also constituting a threat for the future, are the economic and biological consequences of the survival of persons suffering from various types of physical and mental deficiency. T h e availability of techniques capable of postponing death in every age group and arresting almost any type of disease will increasingly present to the medical conscience difficult alternatives. For example, to save t h e life of a child suffering from some hereditary defect is a h u m a n e act a n d the source of professional gratification, b u t the long-range consequences of this achievement m e a n magnified medical problems for the following generations. Likewise, prolonging the life of a n aged a n d ailing person must be weighed against the consequences for the individual himself a n d also for the c o m m u n i t y of which he is a part. These ethical difficulties are not new, of course, but in the past they rarely presented issues to the medical conscience because the physician's power of action was so limited. Soon, however, ethical difficulties are bound to become larger as the physician becomes better able to prolong biological life in individuals who cannot derive either profit or pleasure from existence, a n d whose survival creates painful burdens for the community. Increasing numbers of these persons cannot pull their full

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weight in society a n d require constant medical supervision a n d economic assistance. They constitute a social b u r d e n which is likely to grow heavier with time, precisely as a result of medical advances. Even more important than these economic considerations, however, is the fact that m a n y of the biologically defective individuals who are saved from death transfer to their progeny the genetic basis of their deficiencies. Speaking of our "load of mutations," Professor H. J . Muller has repeatedly emphasized that, as medical science becomes more effective in prolonging survival, there will be an increase in the frequency of detrimental genes allowed to accumulate in our communities. A continuation of this trend would mean that, in Professor H. J . Muller's words, Instead of people's time and energy being mainly spent in the struggle with external enemies of a primitive kind such as famine, climatic difficulties, and wild beasts, they would be devoted chiefly to the effort to live carefully, to spare and to prop up their own feeblenesses, to soothe their inner disharmonies and, in general, to doctor themselves as effectively as possible. For everyone would be an invalid, with his own special familial twists. In a recent essay on " T h e Control of Evolution in M a n , " the English geneticist C. D. Darlington expressed tersely the same thought: Those who were saved as children return to the same hospital with their children to be saved. In consequence, each generation of a stable society will become more dependent on medical treatment for its ability to survive and reproduce. Let us hasten to say that not all geneticists take such a dark view of our biological future in the Western World.

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B u t e v e n t h e most o p t i m i s t i c p r o b a b l y r e c o g n i z e that t h e r e is m u c h t r u t h in a q u a t r a i n p u b l i s h e d shortly after W o r l d W a r I in the L o n d o n

Spectator:

Science finds out ingenious ways to kill Strong men, and keep alive the weak and ill— T h a t these a sickly progeny may breed, T o o poor to tax, too numerous to feed. W h i l e these p r o b l e m s are b e c o m i n g m o r e a p p a r e n t in m o d e r n societies, they a r e not entirely new. I n a n c i e n t civilizations a n d a m o n g primitive peoples one c o m m o n l y finds social c u s t o m s a n d taboos which represent efforts to deal with t h e difficulties c r e a t e d by t h e e x i s t e n c e of individuals w h o are e c o n o m i c a l l y or biologically deficient.

A m o n g E s k i m o s a n d c e r t a i n I n d i a n tribes aged

people were e x p e c t e d to a b a n d o n the c a m p a n d die once they h a d b e c o m e too m u c h of a burden for the group. For different but related reasons, unwanted children in S p a r t a were left to die from exposure. S i m i l a r practices which seem cruel to us have been defended by s o m e of t h e most idealistic social philosophers in the past. S u i c i d e o f t h e sick was e n c o u r a g e d by the Stoics a n d o t h e r sects, a n d even by P l a t o . At Marseilles in R o m a n times poison was kept in the city for those who c o u l d p r e s e n t to t h e C o u n c i l a r e a s o n for wishing to rid t h e m s e l v e s o f life. M o r e surprisingly, a s i m i l a r a t t i t u d e was t a k e n in the seventeenth c e n t u r y by St. T h o m a s M o r e . I n M o r e ' s U t o p i a those who were i n c u r a b l y ill and in c o n t i n u a l p a i n were urged by the priests a n d magistrates to kill themselves. Y f the dysease be not onelye vncurable, but also full of contynuall payne and anguyshe, then the priestes and the magistrates exhort the m a n , seynge he ys not able to doo annye dewtye of lyffe, and by ouerlyuing hys owne deaths 80

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is noysome and yrkesome to other, and greuous to hymself; that he wyll determyne with hymselfe no longer to cheryshe that pestilent and peynefull dysease: and, seynge hys lyfe ys to hym but a tourmente, that he wyll nott be vnwyllynge too dye. In this respect at least, the ethics of the m o d e r n world have grown loftier since Plato and More. All decent men now regard h u m a n life as sacred, worth preserving at whatever cost to the individual or to society. Moreover, experience has taught us that some of the greatest achievements of the h u m a n race have come from individuals suffering from handicaps which rendered their physical lives miserable and would have prevented their survival in an unsheltered environment. Thus, selfish motives agree with modern ethics a n d religious ideals in m a k i n g the preservation a n d prolongation of h u m a n life the ultimate goal of medicine. There is, furthermore, biological jusification for this attitude, for it is misleading to speak of biological defectives without regard to the e n v i r o n m e n t in which these individuals live a n d function. Medical techniques can make u p for genetic a n d other deficiencies that would be lethal in the wilderness. While it is certain t h a t the physically handicapped could not long survive under " n a t u r a l " conditions, it is also true t h a t medical a n d other social skills make it possible for men to live long a n d function effectively in the modern world even though they be tuberculous, diabetic, blind, crippled, or psychopathic. T h e reason is that fitness is not an absolute characteristic, but rather must be defined in terms of the total environment in which the individual has to spend his life. It must be realized, however, that fitness achieved through constant medical care has grave social a n d ecoMedical Utopias

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nomic implications which are commonly overlooked. W e c a n expect that the cost of medical c a r e will continue to soar because e a c h new discovery calls into use more specialized skills and expensive items. T o d a y medical care represents some eight per cent o f the national income in the U n i t e d States. T h e r e is certainly a limit to the percentage o f society's resources that can be devoted to the m a i n t e n a n c e of medical establishments, and a time may c o m e when medical ethics and policies will have to be reconsidered in the harsh light o f economics. F u r t h e r m o r e , it must not be taken for granted that the power of science is limitless. O n l y during the past few decades and in but a few situations has medical t r e a t m e n t e n a b l e d the victims of genetic disabilities to survive a n d to r e p r o d u c e on a large scale. I f the numbers of biologically defective individuals continues to increase, t h e r a p y m a y not be able to keep pace with the new problems t h a t will inevitably arise. Y e t , failure to meet these problems might eventually lead to biological extinction. It is urgent, therefore, that we formulate medical policies c o m p a t i b l e with our system of ethics, yet practical within the limitations imposed by economic and biological consequences. For the reasons outlined above, and despite all we can do in the way of medical care, new problems of disease will endlessly arise and require ever increasing scientific a n d social efforts, making of medical U t o p i a a castle in the air t h a t c a n exist only in the E r e w h o n of political Utopia. Y e t , it is clear that the lay and paramedical organizations established during the past fifty years to deal with problems o f health are based on the optimistic assumption that, given enough time and financial resources, 82

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science can develop techniques to prevent or cure most diseases, a n d t h a t only social a n d economic limitations will in the future stand in the way of ideal health. Anyone who has dealt with congressional appropriation committees knows that their willingness to pour public money into medical research comes from the belief t h a t if the program is pursued for a few more years, science will provide ways to eliminate disease. T h e belief that disease can be conquered through the use of drugs deserves special mention here because it is so widely held. Its fallacy is that it fails to take into account the difficulties arising from the ecological complexity of h u m a n problems. Blind faith in drugs is an attitude comparable to the naive cowboy philosophy that permeates the Wild West thriller. I n the c r i m e - r i d d e n frontier town the hero single-handedly blasts out the desperadoes who have been running rampant through the settlement. T h e story ends on a happy note because it appears that peace has been restored. But in reality the death of the villains does not solve the f u n d a m e n t a l problem, for the rotten social conditions which opened the town to the desperadoes will soon allow others to come in unless something is done to correct the primary source of trouble. T h e hero moves out of town without doing anything to solve this far more complex problem; in fact, he has no weapon to deal with it and is not even aware of its existence. Similarly, the accounts of miraculous cures rarely make clear that arresting an acute episode does not solve the problem of disease in the social body—or even in the individual concerned. Gonorrhea in h u m a n beings has been readily amenable to drug therapy ever since 1935; its microbial agent, the gonococcus, is so vulnerable to peniMedical Utopias

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cillin a n d o t h e r d r u g s t h a t t h e overt f o r m s of the disease c a n n o w be a r r e s t e d in a very s h o r t t i m e , a n d at a very low cost. Yet g o n o r r h e a h a s not b e e n w i p e d o u t in any c o u n t r y or social g r o u p . T h e reason is t h a t its control involves m a n y factors, physiological a n d social, w h i c h are not a m e n a b l e to d r u g t r e a t m e n t . T h e s e factors r a n g e all t h e w a y f r o m t h e ill-defined c o n d i t i o n s w h i c h allow the persistence o f g o n o c o c c i w i t h o u t m a n i f e s t a t i o n of disease in the v a g i n a of "successfully" t r e a t e d w o m e n , to the econ o m i c a n d psychological aspects of the social environm e n t w h i c h f a v o r loose sexual mores a n d j u v e n i l e delinquency. T o state it b l u n t l y o n c e more, m y personal view is that the b u r d e n of disease is not likely to decrease in the future, w h a t e v e r t h e progress of m e d i c a l r e s e a r c h a n d w h a t e v e r the skill of social o r g a n i z a t i o n s in a p p l y i n g new discoveries. W h i l e m e t h o d s of c o n t r o l c a n a n d will be f o u n d for a l m o s t a n y given p a t h o l o g i c a l state, we c a n t a k e it for g r a n t e d t h a t disease will c h a n g e its m a n i f e s t a t i o n s acc o r d i n g t o social c i r c u m s t a n c e s . T h r e a t s to h e a l t h are inescapable a c c o m p a n i m e n t s of life. H e a l t h is a n expression of ability to cope with the various factors of the total e n v i r o n m e n t , and fitness is achieved t h r o u g h countless genotypic a n d p h e n o t y p i c a d a p t a t i o n s to these factors. A n y c h a n g e in the e n v i r o n m e n t d e m a n d s new a d a p t i v e reactions, a n d disease is the consequence of i n a d e q u a c i e s in these a d a p t i v e responses. T h e more rapid a n d p r o f o u n d t h e e n v i r o n m e n t a l c h a n g e s , the larger the n u m b e r of i n d i v i d u a l s w h o c a n n o t a d a p t to t h e m rapidly e n o u g h to m a i n t a i n a n a d e q u a t e state of fitness a n d w h o t h e r e f o r e d e v e l o p s o m e type of o r g a n i c or psychotic disease. " I t is c h a n g e s t h a t a r e c h i e f l y r e s p o n s i b l e for diseases," wrote H i p p o c r a t e s in Humours, "especially the 84

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great changes, the violent alterations both in seasons and in other things." And he stated again in Regimen in Acute Disease, " T h e chief causes of disease are the most violent changes in what concerns our constitutions a n d habits." A perfect policy of public health could be conceived for colonies of social ants or bees, whose habits have become stabilized by instincts. Likewise, it would be possible to devise for a herd of cows an ideal system of husbandry with the proper combination of stables and pastures. But unless men become robots, their behavior a n d environment fully controllable a n d predictable, no formula can ever give t h e m p e r m a n e n t l y the health a n d happiness symbolized by the contended cow. Free men will develop new urges, and these will give rise to new habits a n d new problems, which will require ever new solutions. New environmental factors are introduced by technological innovations, by the constant flux of tastes, habits, a n d mores, and by the profound disturbances that culture a n d ethics create in the normal play of biological processes. It is because of this instability of the physical a n d social environment that the pattern of disease changes with each phase of civilization, a n d t h a t medical research a n d medical services cannot be self-limiting. Science provides methods of control for the problems inherited from past generations, but it cannot prepare solutions for the specific problems of t o m o r r o w because it does not know w h a t these problems will be. Physicians a n d public health officials, like soldiers, are always equipped to fight the last war. What may be worth asking is whether medical science can help the individual a n d society to develop a greater ability to meet successfully the unpredictable problems of tomorrow. This is an ill-defined task for which there is hardly any background of knowledge. Traditionally, Medical Utopias

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medicine is concerned with retarding death and also with preventing pain and minimizing effort. Its achievements in this field have a d d e d greatly to the duration, safety, a n d c h a r m of individual existence. While scientific medicine has continued to emphasize the detailed study of particular diseases a n d specific remedies, it has p l a c e d less e m p h a s i s on the nonspecific m e c h a n i s m s by which the b o d y a n d soul deal with the constant a n d multifarious threats to survival. T h e question is whether it is possible to increase the ability of the individual a n d of the social body to meet the stresses and strains of adversity. In this r e g a r d it m a y be worth considering that preoccupation with the a v o i d a n c e of threats and dangers does not have the creative quality of goal-seeking. It is at best a negative a t t i t u d e , one that does not contribute to growth, physical or mental. In our obsession with comfort and security we have given little heed to the future, and this negligence m a y be fatal to society a n d , indeed, to the race. Whatever the theories of physicians, laboratory scientists, a n d sociologists, it is of course society that must decide on the types of threats it is most anxious to avoid and on the kind of health it wants—whether it prizes security more t h a n a d v e n t u r e , whether it is willing to jeopardize the future for the sake of present-day comfort. But the decision might be a n d should be influenced by knowledge derived from a study of the manner in which different ways of life c a n affect the future of the individual and of society. Although this knowledge does not yet exist, a few general remarks a p p e a r justified. It is a matter of common experience that, while man's physical and mental resources cannot develop to the full under conditions of extreme adversity, nevertheless a cer86

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tain a m o u n t o f stress, strain, a n d risk seems essential to the full d e v e l o p m e n t o f the individual. N o r m a l healthy h u m a n beings h a v e l o n g k n o w n , a n d physiologists are b e g i n n i n g to rediscover, t h a t too low a level o f sensory stimulation m a y lead to psychotic disorders, and that m a n f u n c t i o n s best w h e n a sufficient n u m b e r o f his n e u r o n s are a c t i v e . A n a l o g o u s considerations seem to be valid for the l o w e r levels of biological functions, a n d recent studies i l l u s t r a t e t h a t at least s o m e o f t h e m e c h a n i s m s involved in training and in adaptability a r e not beyond experimental analysis. It has been shown by D r . C u r t P. R i c h t e r a n d his associates t h a t the domesticated l a b o r a t o r y rat differs from its wild ancestor, the Norway rat, in m a n y a n a t o m i c and physiologic characteristics that c a n be measured by objective tests. As a result o f s e l e c t i o n a n d o f life in t h e sheltered e n v i r o n m e n t of the laboratory, the domesticated rat has lost most of its wild ancestor's ability to provide for itself, to fight, a n d to resist fatigue as well as toxic substances a n d m i c r o b i a l diseases. T h e d o m e s t i c a t e d r a t has b e c o m e less aggressive in b e h a v i o r b u t also less a b l e to meet successfully the strains a n d stresses o f life, and therefore it could h a r d l y survive c o m p e t i t i o n in the free state. As a result o f domestication, in D r . R i c h t e r ' s words: (1) the adrenal glands, the organs most involved in reactions to stress and fatigue, and in providing protection from a number of diseases, have become smaller, less effective . . . (2) the thyroid—the organ that helps to regulate metabolism, has become less active . . . (3) the gonads, the organs responsible for sex activity and fertility, develop earlier, function with greater regularity, bring about a much greater fertility . . . T h e finding of a smaller weight of the brain and a greater susceptibility to audiogenic and other types of fits, would indicate that the brain likewise has become less effective. Medical Utopias

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It must be pointed out, on the other hand, that the domesticated rat is better adapted than its wild ancestor to laboratory life and to many of the artificial tricks and stresses devised by the experimenter. While some of these changes may be phenotypic, it is probable that most of them are the expression of mutations selected by life in the laboratory. But, whatever their mechanism, the effects of domestication on the wild rat are not without relevance to the future of mankind. Human societies made up of well-domesticated citizens, comfort-loving and submissive, may not be the ones most likely to survive. T h e study of so-called germ-free animals has revealed other aspects of this problem. Animals born and raised in an environment free of detectable microorganisms can grow to a normal size and are capable of reproducing themselves for several generations, but they exhibit a high susceptibility to infection, even to the most common types of microorganisms that would be innocuous for animals raised in a normal, exposed environment. Furthermore, germ-free animals produce only small amounts of lymphoid tissue, and their plasma is extremely low in gamma globulin—deficiencies which may be of little consequence in the protected environment of the germ-free chamber, but which are great handicaps under normal conditions of life. Experimental situations of these types illustrate the fact that a sheltered life alters in many ways the ability of the organism to cope with the stresses of life. " L e t a man either avoid the occasion altogether, or put himself often to it, that he may be little moved with it," Bacon wrote in his essay " O f Nature in M e n . " While Bacon's aphorism is a picturesque statement of an important 88

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sociomedical problem, the solution that it offers hardly fits the m o d e r n world. M a n cannot " p u t himself often to t h r e a t s " whose n a t u r e he cannot anticipate. But he can p e r h a p s cultivate the biological mechanisms that will enable him to respond effectively when the time of danger comes. T h e word " a d a p t a t i o n " is treacherous. Among other things, it refers to the hereditary changes in genetic characters through which living things become better and better a d a p t e d to their environment from one generation to the next—the processes involved in Darwinian evolution. These genetic forces operate in m a n just as they do in other living things, and there is no doubt that they have been responsible during the course of millennia for the adaptive differentiation of h u m a n types in the various parts of the world. Clearly, the Negro possesses genetic traits which m a k e him better a d a p t e d to unprotected life in the tropics than is the fair-skinned, blue-eyed Scandinavian. I m p o r t a n t as they are, these genetically controlled phenomena are not the adaptive processes which I have in mind here. Instead, I should like to emphasize the fact that during the past century mankind in the Western World has become a d a p t e d to very new conditions of its own making, and that even more drastic alterations in the ways of life will soon d e m a n d f u r t h e r adaptations. One century is a short time on the evolutionary scale for man, and for this reason genetic changes cannot possibly account for the adaptations that have occurred during the past few decades and that will be needed in the near future. On the other hand, and fortunately, each individual has in reserve an enormous range of potential Medical Utopias

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adaptive resources that can be called into play under dem a n d i n g circumstances. These a d a p t i v e potentialities have m a d e it possible for millions of people to move in one generation from life on isolated farms to the tensions of Broadway and Forty-second Street, a n d we shall have to depend on similar mechanisms to survive the even more drastic a n d more rapid changes which are in the offing. For many millennia m a n k i n d has moved forward and upward, even though in an erratic a n d halting manner. It has taken all sorts of disasters and upheavals in its stride, often deriving from painful experiences the stimulus for a more brilliant performance. We cannot create for our descendants a world free of stresses—nor, in my opinion, should we do it if we could. But, fortunately, there is no g r o u n d for believing t h a t h u m a n n a t u r e has lost the resilience a n d creativeness t h a t it has displayed heretofore. T h e r e is one aspect of the m o d e r n world, however, which has little historical precedent. In the past, most changes in the ways of life a n d in the physical environment occurred rather slowly, often t a k i n g several generations to reach the point of affecting large numbers of people. This slow rate of c h a n g e p e r m i t t e d all sorts of progressive adjustments—at times through genetic mechanisms, more commonly through biological adaptations, and always through social devices. T h e fundamentally new aspect of the situation in our society is not that many changes are taking place, but rather that they occur so rapidly as to make orderly adjustments more difficult. Ambassador George K e n n a n has forcefully stated the importance of this new situation in our communities: Wherever the past ceases to be the great and reliable reference book of human problems—wherever, above all, the experience of the father becomes irrelevant to the trials and 90

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searchings of the son—there the foundations of man's inner health and stability begin to crumble, insecurity and panic begin to take over, conduct becomes erratic and aggressive. These, unfortunately, are the marks of an era of rapid technological or social change. Although Mr. K e n n a n ' s words refer to political and social issues, they are just as valid for the biological aspects of life—for all the reactions of body and soul to the ever changing environment. T h e crucial consequence of this rapidity of change is t h a t f u t u r e generations will have to meet emergencies without benefit of their forebears' help or experience. T h e best thing that we can do for them, perhaps the only thing worth doing, is to create an atmosphere in which they will develop such nonspecialized adaptive powers that they can respond rapidly and effectively to all kinds of new a n d unexpected threats for which they cannot be specifically prepared. T h e objection may well be raised, of course, that these are idle words which correspond to a counsel of perfection without relevance to the facts of life. In part this is true, but in part only. The reason that we know so little about how to make people develop their own adaptive powers is that modern civilization has not concerned itself with this problem. Everywhere in the world, a n d in the United States in particular, the trend has been toward controlling and modifying the external environment for the sake of human comfort, with total elimination of effort as an ideal. We do little, if anything, to train the body and soul to resist strains a n d stresses. But we devote an enormous amount of skill and foresight to conditioning our houses against heat and cold, avoiding contact with germs, making food available at all hours of the day, multiplying laMedical Utopias

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bor-saving devices, minimizing the effort o f l e a r n i n g , a n d dulling even the slightest pain with drugs. Needless to say, I a m not a d v o c a t i n g a retreat from these practices which h a v e m a d e life so m u c h easier a l t h o u g h not necessarily very m u c h h a p p i e r . But I would urge t h a t we e m p h a s i z e m o r e t h a n we do n o w a n o t h e r a p p r o a c h to d e a l i n g with the external w o r l d — n a m e l y , the cultivation of the resources in h u m a n n a t u r e which m a k e m a n potentially a d a p t a b l e to a wide range of living conditions. T h e field of a d a p t a t i o n has been so neglected a n d the k n o w l e d g e c o n c e r n i n g it is so scarce t h a t t o illustrate its manifestations with a trivial but concrete e x a m p l e might be useful. T h e illustration has to d o with a n e x p e r i e n c e c o m m o n to all of us: o u r ability to e n d u r e hot a n d cold weather. W h e n the outside t e m p e r a t u r e falls to 50° F. in S e p t e m b e r , everyone feels cold a n d a d d i t i o n a l clothing is is in order. I n contrast, the same t e m p e r a t u r e in F e b r u a r y evokes t h o u g h t s of s u m m e r a n d suggests a leisurely stroll. Clearly, the body becomes more or less a d a p t e d to the prevailing t e m p e r a t u r e as the season a d v a n c e s , a n d this ability to a d a p t has h e l p e d m a n k i n d to m a k e its h o m e over vast areas of the globe despite wide climatic differences. In view of this fact, it is probably unwise to avoid completely exposure to inclement conditions a n d thus prevent t h e h u m a n b o d y f r o m calling into a c t i o n its temp e r a t u r e - a d a p t i v e mechanisms. Let me a c k n o w l e d g e once m o r e t h a t little is k n o w n scientifically of the m e c h a n i s m s involved in a d a p t a t i o n a n d t h a t this i g n o r a n c e m a k e s it difficult to f o r m u l a t e r a t i o n a l courses of training. But it seems t o me, nevertheless, t h a t science c a n develop t e c h n i q u e s c o m p a t i b l e with civilized life a n d yet conducive to the development

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of general vigor and resistance. There is some indication, for e x a m p l e , t h a t training for life in the tropics can be achieved by repeated short periods of activity in hot humid weather, a n d does not necessarily require constant exposure to unpleasant conditions. I have no doubt that techniques of adaptation could be developed for all sorts of strains a n d stresses if we were to devote our attention to the problem instead of relying exclusively on protection and escapism. T h e considerations which have been presented in the preceding pages cannot yet influence the behavior of the practicing physician during the performance of his daily task in the treatment of disease. T h e moral responsibility of the physician in our society is to use all available resources for the succor of the sick and for the preservation of life, whatever the cost and the consequences. But the duty of the practicing physician toward his individual patient is only o n e aspect of medicine. Another aspect is made up of knowledge, practices, and points of view which bear on the welfare of the community as a whole, and on the future of mankind. And this has a large bearing, even though ill-defined because never discussed, on the formulation of a social philosophy of medicine. In my opinion, it is meaningless and dangerous to encourage the illusion t h a t health is a birthright of man, a n d that freedom f r o m disease can be achieved by the use of drugs a n d by other medical procedures. Like political freedom, freedom from disease should not be regarded as a c o m m o d i t y to be distributed by science or government. It cannot be obtained passively from a physician or at the corner drugstore. Goethe's words apply

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here: " W h a t you h a v e inherited from your father, you must earn a g a i n or it will not be yours." Health can be e a r n e d only by a disciplined way of life. It must be realized also that health a n d disease are concepts too complex and too subtle to be defined merely in gross physical terms. T h e m e a n i n g of these concepts is conditioned by the d e m a n d s of the social environment and even more by the goals that the individual formulates for himself. O p t i m u m performance imposes different health requirements on the p l o w m a n , the jet pilot, the philosopher. T h a n k s to medical science, we are in the fort u n a t e situation of h a v i n g t o d a y more t h a n ever before the means and the knowledge to achieve the kind of health that we want, but this does not relieve us of responsibility. T h e truth is that the power at our disposal will be of no avail unless we work for the kind of health that we want, a n d this effort c a n be effective only if we define our individual and social goals and have the coura g e to m a k e choices. We must reconsider the wisdom of using individual longevity as the d o m i n a n t criterion of social and medical ethics. We must be p r e p a r e d to recognize that an excessive concern with security, with comfort, and with avoida n c e of pain a n d of effort has d a n g e r o u s economic and biological implications—that such concern may, in fact, a m o u n t to social a n d racial suicide. I realize that any attempt to deal with these p r o b l e m s will involve painful conflicts with personal interests a n d with religious and moral convictions. Yet we have to formulate the problems in a forthright m a n n e r if we are to find their solutions. Unless we discover methods for producing a higher level of a d a p t i v e power in the individual and for preventing genetic deterioration of the race, the likely alternative is 94

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t h a t m o r e a n d m o r e in t h e f u t u r e we shall h a v e to run frantically f r o m one protective a n d palliative m e a s u r e to a n o t h e r , t r y i n g to l e n g t h e n life at t h e cost of sacrificing its wholeness a n d m a n y of its values. Before closing, I must a c k n o w l e d g e t h a t I h a v e never t a k e n c a r e of t h e sick a n d a m not a p h y s i c i a n — a fact t h a t has prevented me f r o m a p p r e h e n d i n g with all their c o m p e l l i n g force m a n y of t h e h u m a n a n d p r a c t i c a l aspects of medicine. T h o u g h fully a w a r e of these deficiencies, I c a n n o t refrain f r o m q u o t i n g here a few lines from G. K. C h e s t e r t o n ' s Heretics, b r o u g h t to m y a t t e n t i o n by a h u m a n e physician w h o is also a scientist: The mistake of all that medical talk lies in the very fact that it connects the idea of health with the idea of care. W h a t has health to do with care? Health has to do with carelessness. In special and abnormal cases it is necessary to have care. . . . If we are doctors we are speaking to exceptionally sick men, and they ought to be told to be careful. But when we are sociologists we are addressing the normal, we are addressing humanity. And h u m a n i t y ought to be told to be recklessness itself. For all the fundamental functions of a healthy m a n emphatically ought not to be performed with precaution or for precaution. Chesterton was n e i t h e r a scientist n o r a physician, a n d as a sociologist he was p r o n e to s u b s t i t u t e b r i l l i a n t p a r a dox for logic a n d k n o w l e d g e . Yet it seems to m e t h a t his flippant remarks h e l p to quicken a t t e n t i o n to a n aspect of medicine t h a t bids fair to b e c o m e of increasing social imp o r t a n c e in t h e f u t u r e . M e d i c a l a d v a n c e s d o not arise in a social v a c u u m . T h e y are products of the sparks between the scientific k n o w l e d g e of t h e t i m e a n d t h e d e m a n d s of the c o m m u n i t y . But w h a t the c o m m u n i t y d e m a n d s is det e r m i n e d to a large e x t e n t by publicity, a p p a r e n t or hidd e n — i n this case, by the implied promises of medical sciMedical Utopias

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ence. W e must beware lest we create the illusion that health will be a birthright for all in the medical Utopia, or a state to be reached passively by following the directives of physicians or by taking drugs bought at the corner store. In the real world of the future, as in the past, health will depend on a creative way of life, on the m a n n e r in which men respond to the unpredictable challenges that continue to arise from an ever changing environment. T h e study of specific pathological problems requires the use of l a b o r a t o r y techniques a n d c o n t r i b u t e s to the advancement of laboratory knowledge. But the field of medicine transcends this kind of knowledge because it deals with m a n as a spiritual being a n d also with the future of the h u m a n race. M e d i c a l science is c o n c e r n e d not only with the control of individual diseases, but also with the long-range effects of its products on the total performance and happiness of the individual, on the social problems of the c o m m u n i t y , and on the adaptive powers of the race. It must be realized, furthermore, that the attitudes of the physicians who are practicing the medicine o f today and the efforts of the scientists who are creating the medicine of tomorrow are i n f l u e n c e d — a n d to a large extent directed—by the beliefs and wishes of the culture to which they belong. I f the social atmosphere puts a great premium on techniques and products designed to minimize effort, to relieve pain, and to increase the selfish enjoyment of today, these goals will be given priority by medical practitioners and research scientists. T o a very large extent, this is what is happening today—in my opinion, at the sacrifice of higher values. In medicine as in other social pursuits the long-range welfare of individuals and of the community often makes it advisable to forgo some of the immediate comforts and 96

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This etching by Rembrandt, in the possession of the Philadelphia Museum of Art, is a portrait of an Amsterdam physician

{1651).

It not only conveys an impression of compassionate understanding of the plight of the patient, but also symbolizes the need for the physician to apprehend human problems in all their undefinable complexities. Contrast the reflective, dreamy mood of this face ¡vith the assurance of Descartes's expression in the Hals portrait.

pleasures for the sake of the future. Overemphasis on the avoidance of effort a n d pain is an attitude fraught with dangers for the individual and even more for society; indeed, it amounts to social suicide. Thus, medical philosophy at a high level transcends the problems posed by the care of the sick patient and must take into consideration the philosophical meaning of h u m a n existence. If we believe that the individual is but a link in a long chain of h u m a n adventure and that the continuity of h u m a n life is our collective responsibility, then it is wrong to jeopardize the future of the group for the sake of today's comfort. Medicine is one of the highest forms of social philosophy because it must look beyond the individual patient to mankind as a whole. T h e more effective it becomes through scientific knowledge, the more it must concern itself with the long-range consequences of its practices for future generations.

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5 Illusions of Understanding

It w a s for reasons of c o n v e n i e n c e in p r e s e n t a t i o n , a n d also to m a r k the four h u n d r e d t h a n n i v e r s a r y of F r a n c i s B a c o n ' s birth, t h a t I d e a l t first in this b o o k w i t h the a p p l i e d aspects o f science. In r e a l i t y , h o w e v e r , it is not at all cert a i n t h a t science d e v e l o p e d f r o m u t i l i t a r i a n p r e o c c u p a tions, o r t h a t its p r a c t i c a l i m p o r t a n c e is t h e m a i n incentive for its g r o w t h in t h e m o d e r n w o r l d . T h e b o u r g e o i s c r e d o t h a t Primum vivere, delude philosophari has led to the a s s u m p t i o n that the m a k i n g of tools a n d the d e v e l o p m e n t of c r a f t s p r e c e d e d r a t i o n a l k n o w l e d g e ; b u t in fact primitive m a n seems to h a v e b e e n c o n c e r n e d w i t h i m m o r t a l i t y a n d m a g i c as m u c h as w i t h p o t t e r y a n d w e a p o n s . T h e r e is c l e a r e v i d e n c e t h a t t h e N e a n d e r t h a l p e o p l e , a n d before t h e m m e n e v e n m o r e p r i m i t i v e , b u r i e d their d e a d w i t h offerings. In L o r e n Eiseley's w o r d s , " I t is the h u m a n gesture b y w h i c h w e k n o w a m a n , t h o u g h he looks out u p o n us u n d e r a b r o w r e m i n i s c e n t

of t h e

ape."

F u r t h e r m o r e , as stated b y J a c q u e t t a H a w k e s , " M a t e r i a l 99

ism a n d preoccupation with technology has led to an exaggeration of the i m p o r t a n c e of t o o l - m a k i n g as such; it m a y be far more significant t h a t primitive m a n stuck feathers in his h a i r . " N o m a t t e r how primitive the h u m a n society, it is always organized a r o u n d customs, myths, and beliefs that go beyond the requirements of a life of h u n t i n g a n d harvesting. T h u s , it is p r o b a b l e t h a t science evolved f r o m n o n u t i l i t a r i a n p r e o c c u p a t i o n s of t h e m i n d as m u c h as from c r a f t s m a n s h i p ; a n d it is certain t h a t scientists in the ancient world were more concerned with philosophy t h a n with technology. T h e p e r e n n i a l fascination of G r e e k philosophy lies in its concern with the kind of knowledge t h a t led m a n out of his brutish existence. Science would be just an instrum e n t for comfort a n d power, not a c u l t u r a l force, if it did not help m a n to t r a n s c e n d his a n i m a l origin. W h a t e v e r their selfish interests a n d their c o m m i t m e n t s to practical ends, most scientists cling to t h e f a i t h — r e s p e c t e d in the spirit even though often b e t r a y e d in a c t i o n — t h a t to work for knowledge a n d t r u t h is the highest f o r m of scientific d u t y . Ideally, a n d to a large e x t e n t a c t u a l l y , science is part of the collective effort for the h u m a n i z a t i o n of m a n kind. M o d e r n science has been immensely successful in discovering facts a n d i n v e n t i n g t e c h n i q u e s . As Francis Bacon h a d predicted in the Novum Organum, a n d as O r tega y Gasset scornfully e m p h a s i z e d in The Revolt of the Masses, even mediocre m i n d s c a n m a k e scientific discoveries. In contrast, it has p r o v e n far m o r e difficult to recognize i m p o r t a n t relations between facts, a n d to convert the a p p a r e n t chaos of reality into satisfying patterns. O n l y a few minds in each g e n e r a t i o n h a v e been able to perceive the laws of the cosmos a n d to c o m m u n i c a t e t h e m Illusions of Understanding

in a meaningful form to their less gifted fellow men. As to understanding the nature of the universe and of the human condition, it is questionable whether we have progressed much during the past two thousand years. The most that can be said, perhaps, is that science has helped mankind to dispel errors and overcome fears, and in addition has increased human awareness of the immensity and complexity of the cosmos. T r u e enough, there have been many times in history when man felt that he had acquired a body of knowledge and formulated a philosophy that provided a direct approach to real understanding. The illusion that this state had been reached was common among the Greeks of the classical period and among the medieval schoolmen. During the post-Newtonian era, also, many scientists and philosophers believed that the workings of the world could be so well understood that prediction of the distant future was possible. And around 1900 the chemist Marcelin Berthelot proudly claimed, " T h e world has no more mystery for us." This statement symbolizes a faith that was prevalent especially among the French rationalists—namely, that science, and science alone, can solve the riddle of creation. In reality, however, there was much hesitation on this score even in France. Diderot, the standard-bearer of the Encyclopedists, was one of those who had moments of uncertainty, as one of his notes shows. "What do I perceive? Forms. And what besides? Forms. Of the substance I know nothing. We walk among shadows, ourselves shadows to ourselves and to others." As for the English scientists, many of them managed to retain throughout their lives an orthodox religious faith, apparently without bringing it into contact with a highly developed Illusions of Understanding

scientific sophistication. This was true not only of Newton but also of Joule, Faraday, Maxwell, and many others. While orthodox religious faith in a scientist has been regarded by the pure rationalists as a form of intellectual abdication, the ability to suspend j u d g m e n t on matters for which convincing information is not yet available might be regarded instead as a kind of deeper wisdom. The fact that the discoveries of modern physics have altered the meaning of the very concepts of objectivity and causality on which classical science was built may justifyin the long run the conservative attitude of the English school. But even without appealing to the broader philosophical freedoms engendered by the relativity theory and the uncertainty principle, it would seem that understanding has not reached very deep, especially with regard to biological problems. W h a t is considered understanding hardly ever, if ever, goes beyond familiarity with a certain group of phenomena which can be related in a convenient pattern of thought and from which limited predictions can be made. In most cases the illusion of understanding comes from a failure to examine the philosophical basis of one's professional knowledge. In his "anniversary" address as President of the Royal Society in 1959, Sir Cyril Hinshelwood tried to relate certain recent biological discoveries to the concomitance of the outer world of nature and the inner world of conscious experience. He took his key from Heisenberg's famous remark that " T h e mathematical formulae no longer portray nature, but rather our knowledge of n a t u r e . " Professor Hinshelwood pointed out that what we know of life consists of observational data in which our consciousness is inextricably involved. For this reason we canIllusions of Understanding

not validly disregard the part played by consciousness in the study of biological phenomena; the mind-matter relation cannot be ignored in total consideration of existence. In his words, "behaviouristic descriptions in general are models and abstractions ignoring data which so far from being trivial a n d irrelevant, are the only things which make us inter alia concern ourselves with science at all." In fact, it seems to me that the scientific attitude of modern biologists is conditioned to a very large extent by assumptions about the mind-matter problem which were made a few centuries ago and which are accepted as a basis of operation without concern for their validity, even by those who do not really believe in them. During the early seventeenth century, as is well known, René Descartes asserted that the human body and the hum a n soul are two separate entities a n d that the body is a machine which, therefore, can be studied as such. This was a convenient assumption a n d one which has proved extremely useful for certain kinds of scientific pursuits. Immediately following Descartes, scientists applied what they knew of mechanics to the body machine and found that its structure and functions were compatible with the knowledge derived from the study of lifeless systems. Then the chemists a n d the physicists engaged in similar studies a n d found t h a t the p h e n o m e n a associated with life obey at each step the same physicochemical laws t h a t operate in the inanimate world. At the present time this approach to the study of the structure and functions of living things is culminating in the marvelous achievements of molecular biology. T h e fact that Descartes's assumptions have led to such great scientific a d v a n c e s does not prove, however, that these assumptions are correct. There is no evidence whatIllusions of Understanding

103

The original of this portrait of

Descartes

by Frans Hals is in the Louvre. The etching reproduced here shows a more sardonic than is apparent in the

original.

This helps to emphasize

the contrast

between the intellectual arrogance of the rational confident of the power of his method and the hesitating

altitude

of the humane physician

depicted by

Rembrandt.

smile

scientist

ever that the body and the mind are two separate entities, and, despite the triumphs of molecular biology, it has not yet been proven that the living body is only a machine and that life is merely a complex integration of known physicochemical forces. I realize that in raising this question I may seem to be reviving the vitalistic doctrine with all its false intellectual mysticism. But, in my opinion, I am doing nothing of the sort. I am only emphasizing that the machine view of living things is buried so deep in the modern subconscious that few scientists ever try to bring it to the surface to examine its significance in the bright light of critical knowledge. And I believe that the acceptance of an oversimplified mechanistic theory of life has narrowed considerably the front of progress in biological sciences. I shall introduce the discussion of this topic by looking at conventional machine biology in its most favorable light and pointing to what I regard as one of the most important contributions of modern science to philosophy— namely, the doctrine of the chemical unity of life. It has been found that all living things—whatever their size and whether they be man, animals, plants, or microbes—possess many physicochemical characteristics in common. In particular, all depend upon the same fundamental reactions for their supply of energy; all synthesize proteins of approximately the same amino acid composition for structural purposes and for enzymatic activity; all transfer their hereditary endowment from cell to cell through the agency of submicroscopic particles consisting largely of nucleic acids. These physicochemical similarities provide, of course, spectacular confirmatory evidence for the theory of evolution. They greatly increase the likelihood that all living forms studied so far had a common Illusions of Understanding

105

origin. Starting from a single point of genesis, organisms have progressively differentiated, but have retained the most f u n d a m e n t a l characteristics associated with life at its beginnings. T h e chemical unity of life is compatible with two different working hypotheses. O n e is that some unknown principle runs like a continuous thread through all living forms and governs the organization of their physicochemical properties. T h e other is that there is no such principle a n d that forces known to operate in the inanimate world are sufficient to account for all characteristics of life. The second hypothesis is, of course, a restatement of the machine analogy that has prevailed since Descartes's time —without mention of the soul that he h a d associated with the body. Of the two hypotheses, it is now the more generally accepted because it is economical of t h o u g h t and also because biological phenomena have been found to go h a n d in h a n d with physicochemical reactions. In reality, however, the fact that these phenomena do not contradict known physicochemical laws is not sufficient evidence to prove t h a t life is merely an expression of these laws. Correlation a n d lack of contradiction could be compatible with other theories of life. It is a p p a r e n t , furthermore, that living processes differ in many f u n d a m e n t a l ways from what is known of the ina n i m a t e world. For example, whereas an increase in entropy is expected in all inert systems, living things produce and maintain order from the components of the inanimate world, a n d this property disappears the very moment life ceases. O r again, living things possess the property of duplicating themselves a n d at the same time of undergoing changes which they can also replicate; nothing of the sort is k n o w n in t h e i n a n i m a t e world. As for the mind, Illusions of Understanding

whatever its n a t u r e a n d whether or not it is a separate entity, t h e constellation of characteristics t h a t it symbolizes confers on life powers of selection a n d of action not recognized in things not living. Let it be emphasized once more that these obvious differences are m e n t i o n e d here not to uphold t h e doctrine of vitalism in its w o r n - o u t form, but r a t h e r to illustrate h o w difficult it is to e q u a t e life with known mechanisms. In fact, to e q u a t e life with m a t t e r and its laws requires something beyond scientific imagination: it d e m a n d s the a priori faith t h a t living things are nothing but physicochemical machines. T h e greatest merit of this faith is t h a t it has engendered beautiful e x p e r i m e n t a l work. D u r i n g recent years it has also stimulated several chemical hypotheses to account for the origin of life. I n d e e d , actual p r o g r a m s of experimentation to p u t these hypotheses to the test are presently under way or are being p l a n n e d . T o illustrate their intellectual boldness, it will suffice to quote here from an authoritative p a p e r on this t h e m e by S. L. Miller a n d H . C. Urey, published in the J u l y 31, 1959, issue of Science. The major problems remaining for an understanding of the origin of life are (i) the synthesis of peptides, (ii) the synthesis of purines and pyrimidines, (iii) a mechanism by which "highenergy" phosphate or other types of bonds could be synthesized continuously, (iv) the synthesis of nucleotides and polynucleotides, (v) the synthesis of polypeptides with catalytic activity (enzymes), and (vi) the development of polynucleotides and the associated enzymes which are capable of self-duplication. [Italics mine.] T h i s s t a t e m e n t translates Descartes's assertion into m o d e r n c h e m i c a l l a n g u a g e a n d takes it for g r a n t e d t h a t the a p p a r e n t differences between a n i m a t e a n d inanimate matter are merely the consequences of a somewhat greater Illusions of Understanding

chemical complexity in the former. Whether or not a crucial experiment can be designed on this basis for the production of life de novo out of inert chemicals is a question t h a t has to be answered " o n f a i t h " until the experiment has been successfully performed. But even if it proves possible to create a self-duplicating system by assembling the proper kinds of nucleic acids, proteins, and other organic molecules, the question of the origin of life will not be decided thereby. An analogy—admittedly superficial and unconvincing, as all analogies a r e — m a y help to convey the n a t u r e of the difficulties t h a t I see in the interpretation of any experiment designed to create life de novo. Let us assume a n investigator who knows everything about the construction a n d operations of modern electric engines, b u t nothing of the scientific history of their development. This investigator can obtain a n d assemble all t h e parts r e q u i r e d for constructing the engine, a n d , by supplying energy, can get it to function. Stretching the meaning of the terms, this feat might be regarded as "crea t i n g " a f u n c t i o n i n g electrical e n g i n e — b u t certainly it would prdvide no i n f o r m a t i o n as to the " o r i g i n " of the engine or about the nature of the forces involved in its operation. W h a t the investigator would have done would be to have confirmed t h a t the available technical information a b o u t electric engines could be used to produce an expected result. Likewise, assembling a self-duplicating system from complex molecules known to be present in systems which are living and therefore self-duplicating would prove that m a n — h i m s e l f a living t h i n g — c a n reconstitute some of the mechanisms which he has found to be associated with the living objects that he knows. Important as the achievement would be, it would not settle the question of the oriIllusions of Understanding

gin of life. In this regard it is interesting to note that most of the authors who have formulated hypotheses to explain how life first emerged from matter have assumed that the initial reactions which could be regarded as having some similarity to the living process occurred, not in nucleic acids or proteins, but in simpler and more primitive molecules. Only progressively in the course of aeons would the machinery of life have become transformed into the very complex a p p a r a t u s that we know today. If it has any meaning at all in the terms of our present scientific philosophy—which is questionable—the origin of life must therefore be sought in processes unlike those found in the highly evolved living things that have survived and that we know. Life has many properties which are at least as interesting, a n d as puzzling, as the ability of living things to reproduce themselves. O n e such property is the dynamic stability of biological systems, the fact that they retain their morphological identity and other essential characteristics while being most of the time in a state of vigorous metabolic flux. In addition to the aspects of life which are for the time being best described in physicochemical terms, there are others which are still the distinct province of the classical biologist—a fact which does not m a k e them less important, less modern, or less "scientific." A few familiar examples will suffice to illustrate that the understanding of life will remain an illusion as long as one cannot account for the origin of reactions and of types of behavior found only in living things. O n e of the most puzzling aspects of living processes is that among known organisms capable of independent life, Illusions of Understanding

109

those which are probably the most primitive—namely, the bacteria—appear to be the most versatile and the most completely equipped from the biochemical point of view. Thus, certain species of bacteria can utilize very primitive sources of energy and can synthesize all their organic constituents from carbon dioxide and minerals. From what can be observed, the main trend of evolution seems to have been not the development of new chemical activities, but rather the coordination of existing processes in time and in space. During embryonic development the existing structures and functions are so designed as to contribute not only to the immediate needs of the embryo, but also to the future development of the fetus. More generally speaking, the functional and morphological changes that take place at any stage in the development of the embryo or fetus anticipate the future functional and morphological requirements of the fully developed organism and of its progeny. T o state that this wonderful arrangement is the outcome of evolution is a descriptive account of what has happened, but provides no understanding of how and why. It may be worth mentioning here that the original meaning of the word "organ" is "working tool." This etymology symbolizes the fact that describing an organ and studying it by the techniques of all known sciences cannot so far provide a complete understanding of it. The organ acquires its full significance only when it functions and when its performance is integrated in the life of the organism. Not only is it impossible to really understand a structure apart from its role in the whole organism, but in addition there exist in living things potentialities that become manifest only under very special conditions. The

Illusions of Understanding

p h e n o m e n a of symbiotic relationships reveal how these potentialities can generate reactions which have large creative effects—as illustrated in the two following examples. Small and frail as they appear to the untrained eye, lichens are in many ways among the most successful living things. They occur in many intriguing forms, with a wide range of colors, on the bark of trees, on rocks, and on waste lands. O n e of their characteristics is their ability to become established and to prosper under the most inimical conditions, even in places where life appears all but impossible. They are the first living things that develop on bare rocks, and they are a b u n d a n t even in the most desolate areas of the Antarctic. W h a t makes lichens so important for our discussion is that they are m a d e u p of two different microorganisms living in intimate association. In fact, the word "symbiosis," which means "life together," was invented to refer to the kind of biological association found in lichens. Each lichen is the symbiotic summation of one species of alga and one species of fungus, the two organisms being so intimately interwoven that it is extremely difficult to separate them. T h e r e is no doubt that the alga and the fungus supplement each other nutritionally when they are associated in the form of a lichen. The alga produces chlorophyll a n d is therefore capable of manufacturing carbohydrates from the carbon dioxide of the air by photosynthesis. T h e fungus feeds on these carbohydrates, a n d in exchange it extracts from the environment certain minerals which are used by the alga; furthermore, the fungus acts as a reservoir of moisture. Although these interrelationships have not yet been worked out in detail, it is clear that they are of advantage to both members of

Illusions of Understanding

111

Lichens were long thought to be ordinary They are in reality the composite of an alga ( / I ) and a fungus living in symbiotic

(B)

association.

This association results in creative effects that are never produced by the fungus or the alga living alone.

plants.

expression

the partnership. In any case, it is certain that lichens can multiply where nothing else will grow and can survive under conditions that seem incompatible with the survival of other living things. T h e root nodules of leguminous plants constitute another striking example of symbiosis. These nodules are produced by the response of the plant to the presence of special kinds of bacteria called Rhizobium. Although these bacteria become established on the rootlets and multiply in certain cells, normally they do not invade the rest of the plant. Leguminous plants can exist without root nodules in the absence of Rhizobium bacteria, but usually grow better when associated with them, particularly in soils deficient in nitrogen. T h e root nodule bacteria can fix gaseous nitrogen from the air and convert it into organic nitrogenous compounds that can be utilized by the plant. In exchange, the plant supplies the bacteria with other nutrients necessary for their growth. T h e partnership, therefore, is beneficial to both partners; it constitutes a true symbiosis between plants and bacteria. The nutritional aspects of symbiosis have been the most extensively studied, because nutrition is a factor of such obvious importance for survival and for growth and, moreover, one that can be readily analyzed. It is certain, however, that symbiosis often has other effects of greater biological interest. Thus, lichens exhibit complex morphological structures and synthesize peculiar organic acids and pigments that neither the alga nor the fungus can produce alone. Looking at the delicately shaped and bright red structures of the common lichen known as "British soldier," it is difficult to believe that such startlingly beautiful forms can result from the association of a microscopic alga and a microscopic fungus, both of Illusions of Understanding

them inconspicuous. Nor would it have been possible to predict from the known characters of its two components that the lichen could synthesize the peculiar chemical substances that it produces, or exhibit such great ability to survive heat, cold, or dryness. T h e association of the leguminous plants with Rhizobium provides another astonishing e x a m p l e of the creative effects of symbiosis. The root nodules contain a red pigment which is almost identical with the hemoglobin of red blood cells! This form of hemoglobin cannot be produced by the bacterium or by the plant alone, nor, for that matter, is it known to occur anywhere else in the plant world. It seems to be formed only in the plant cells which harbor the Rhizobium. Thus, it is clear that symbiosis is more than an additive association; it is a creative force which can result in the production of unpredictable new structures, functions, and properties. O n e could quote m a n y other e x a m p l e s of biological phenomena not predictable from the knowledge of forces usually studied. Such are the biological cycles which reveal dramatically how intimately all o r g a n i s m s are related to the diurnal or a n n u a l movements of the earth or to the phases of the moon; the profound effects of latitude, as well as of winds a n d weather, on physical wellbeing and on behavior; also p e r h a p s some of the odd claims of parapsychical research. I mention these facts not as an appeal to magic but merely to emphasize that there exist in heaven and earth more things than a p p e a r in present-day scientific philosophies. T o acknowledge ignor a n c e of these important matters is, in my opinion, not a retreat from reason but instead the most constructive way to broaden a n d deepen the scientific a p p r o a c h to the understanding of life. 114

Illusions of Understanding

Increasingly during recent decades the study of biological problems has been influenced by two large assumptions which at first sight appear to be based on hard-boiled scientific c o m m o n sense, but in reality are still

subjudice.

O n e is that life c a n be understood only by analyzing the m e c h a n i s m s linking the molecular and the animate worlds; the o t h e r is that the arrow of influence between these two worlds points in only one direction, from the molecular lifeless components to the more complex patterns of organization found in living things. T h e s e two assumptions have been immensely fruitful because they have encouraged investigators to break down phenomena a n d structures into smaller and simpler components, ultimately to be described in terms o f identifiable chemical forces and substances. Moreover, they provide the easiest and safest approach to biology. T h e y free the scientist from the need to engage in soul searching about the philosophical meaning of life, since in the final analysis they equate living processes with the reactions of inanimate matter. Finally, they permit an endless series of laboratory operations, because to disintegrate a n d analyze is far easier than to build up complex functioning organisms or even to investigate them as a whole. In the words of Professor H o m e r W . Smith, I would define mechanism, as we use the word today, as designating the belief that all the activities of the living organism are ultimately to be explained in terms of its component molecular parts. This was Descartes' greatest contribution to philosophy. . . . Abandon Cartesian mechanism and you will close up every scientific biological laboratory in the world at once, you will turn back the clock by three full centuries. It is likely, however, that if the analytical breakdown of living things into simpler and ever simpler compoILlusions of Understanding

nents is not s u p p l e m e n t e d by a more synthetic approach, it will lead t h e biologist into areas of knowledge conc e r n e d not w i t h t h e essential characteristics of life, but with a few selected p h e n o m e n a which h a p p e n to be associated with living processes. T o accept this limitation is a n a t t i t u d e of intellectual security a n d m a y be the better p a r t of wisdom, b u t it denies scientists the chance to gain d e e p e r insight into larger biological realities. As a contrast to the unphilosophical endless accretion of "scientific" facts c o n c e r n i n g living matter, it is stimulating to rediscover in Aristotle's writing t h e entrancing t h r o b of life. D a r w i n h a d this experience on r e a d i n g William Ogle's t r a n s l a t i o n of The Parts of Animals. " I h a d not t h e most r e m o t e n o t i o n w h a t a w o n d e r f u l m a n he was," w r o t e D a r w i n . " L i n n a e u s a n d C u v i e r h a v e been m y two gods, t h o u g h in very d i f f e r e n t ways, b u t t h e y were mere schoolboys to old Aristotle." For those w h o believe t h a t scientific biology is synonym o u s with t h e m o r e a n d m o r e r e f i n e d s t u d y of well-defined, isolated reactions, it is chastening to r e m e m b e r t h a t t h e greatest biological g e n e r a l i z a t i o n s w e r e not r e a c h e d by this a n a l y t i c a l m e t h o d . O n e of the few universal principles in b i o l o g y — n a m e l y , the D a r w i n i a n concept of evolution t h r o u g h the n a t u r a l selection of r a n d o m hereditary fluctuations—emerged not f r o m a s t u d y of t h e p r i m a r y units of M e n d e l i a n or biochemical genetics, b u t f r o m inspired guesses based on a sort of Gestalt awareness of complex relationships in n a t u r a l situations. T h e m o d e r n scientific t e c h n i q u e s h a v e served merely to verify t h e theory a n d to e l a b o r a t e its details. Even with r e g a r d to practical applications, biology has m a d e some of its most i m p o r t a n t a d v a n c e s by t e c h n i q u e s

116

Illusions of Understanding

Ever since Charles Darwin

(1809-1882),

evolutionary concepts have conditioned all scientific As pointed out by Theodosius

thought.

Dobzhansky,

in a criticism of Chapter 5 in this book, "Life would be indeed an utter

puzzle,

if it were not that it took something to arrive at the wonderful

between two and five billion years

state

in which we now obsen>e the living

things.

Evolution is a mechanism which makes

probable

what otherwise would be in the highest degree

improbable."

that did not involve the reduction of phenomena into smaller and smaller elements. Many illustrations could be quoted in support of this point of view. Thus, the modern ecological doctrine t h a t mixed complex biota are more stable t h a n biota consisting of only few species could not have been developed except from the study of the fate of species a n d their interplay under natural conditions. Or, again, the immunological theory, which is playing such a n immense role in modern medicine, developed at first, in the absence of any chemical knowledge of antibodies or i m m u n e reactions, from the observed fact that living things respond to almost any kind of stimulus by a set of reactions more or less specifically directed against the stimulus. Indeed, a useful biological philosophy could be formulated on the basis of a Le Chatelian type of auto regulation—a negative feedback of organisms in response to their e n v i r o n m e n t — e v e n in i g n o r a n c e of the precise mechanisms involved. Conditioned reflexes constitute another class of phen o m e n a whose m e a n i n g a n d very existence are expressions of the responses m a d e by the organism as a whole to its total environment. It is of interest to note in passing how the direction of physiological science can be influenced by the current scientific philosophies in different national groups. In general, American textbooks of physiology begin with a discussion of the physicochemical and mechanical principles which govern the cell a n d the cardiovascular system. In contrast, a recent authoritative Soviet text begins with the Pavlovian concept of holistic physiology as the basis for behavioral analysis. T h e pervading influence of the physicochemical point of view in Western biology is well expressed in the following passage

Illusions of Understanding

t a k e n f r o m a n A m e r i c a n a u t h o r ' s review of this Russian text in a recent issue of Science: T h e conditioned reflex technique is a means of precise description and prediction rather than of understanding. It is a symbolic language used to describe behavioral patterns without recourse to theory. On the one hand it does not lead to the joining of physiology with physics and chemistry, which ultimately afford the basis for explanation. O n the other hand it does not require the use of tenuous behavioral concepts such as motivation, reward, punishment, emotion, or memory in order to describe complex patterns of somatic and visceral activity. The study of physiology involves the attempt to answer the question about an organ, " H o w does it work?" T o a Soviet physiologist this appears to mean, " W h a t is the observed correlation (law) of events?"; whereas to his Western counterpart it more often means, " W h a t is the m a j o r premise (law) by means of which one event can be said to follow logically from another?" T h e contrast in a t t i t u d e b e t w e e n A m e r i c a n a n d Russian w o r k e r s in n e u r o p h y s i o l o g y is a p p a r e n t in t h e fact t h a t , w h e r e a s the f o r m e r c o n c e n t r a t e t h e i r efforts o n the physicochemical d e t e r m i n a n t s of n e u r a l activity, t h e latter are chiefly concerned with its m a n i f e s t a t i o n in the living individual. At t h e cost of being repetitious, I shall e l a b o r a t e once more on the points of view expressed in t h e preceding pages, in o r d e r to m a k e clear t h a t t h e y d o not express a nihilistic a t t i t u d e t o w a r d the scientific s t u d y of biological problems. Life is m o r e t h a n a s e l f - r e p l i c a t i o n of nucleic acid a n d protein molecules, s u p p l e m e n t e d n o w a n d t h e n by a few m u t a t i o n a l changes. It is m o r e t h a n t h e utilization of chemical energy for the synthesis a n d t u r n o v e r of organic materials. Life is a c r e a t i v e process e l a b o r a t i n g

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119

a n d m a i n t a i n i n g o r d e r out of the r a n d o m n e s s of m a t t e r , endlessly g e n e r a t i n g new a n d u n e x p e c t e d structures and properties by building u p associations which qualitatively transcend their constituent parts. In his enlightening book The Edge of Objectivity, Professor Charles C. Gillispie has brilliantly d e f e n d e d the view that t h e most p r o d u c t i v e p h i l o s o p h y in W e s t e r n science has been atomicism, the reduction of force, m a t t e r , a n d reactions into their u l t i m a t e constituents. C o n c c r n with being r a t h e r t h a n with becoming, Professor Gillispie claims, has p r o v e n in final analysis the most f r u i t f u l a t t i t u d e for the discovery of facts a n d of laws. W h i l e the history of physics a n d chemistry provides some s u p p o r t for this contention, I believe t h a t t h e evidence c o n c e r n i n g biology is f a r less convincing. In my opinion, exclusive p r e o c c u p a t i o n with " b e i n g " leaves out of biology the very p h e n o m e n a which differentiate the a n i m a t e from the i n a n i m a t e world. T h e fact t h a t words like " b e c o m i n g " or " e m e r g e n t evolution" c a n n o t yet be d e f i n e d in m e a n i n g f u l , o p e r a t i o n a l t e r m s does not deprive t h e m of scientific i m p o r t a n c e . R a t h e r their vagueness symbolizes a lack of u n d e r s t a n d i n g of biological p h e n o m e n a — a n i g n o r a n c e increased by o u r cult u r a l t e n d e n c y to shy a w a y f r o m t h e peculiarities which m a k e life so obviously different f r o m m a t t e r . For this reason it is u n w a r r a n t e d , indeed unbiological to limit the study of problems of life to the analysis of f r a g m e n t s or reactions isolated f r o m t h e o r g a n i s m by t e c h n i q u e s w h i c h first destroy or at best inactivate life. W e must strive for the development of more sophisticated techniques dealing with the creative aspects of living processes. It might be rewarding to r e t u r n for a while to t h e Aristotelian view t h a t t h e living o r g a n i s m c a n n o t be u n d e r s t o o d e x c e p t as an organized p a t t e r n of responses to t h e e n v i r o n m e n t . Illusions of Understanding

Living things cannot be differentiated from the inanim a t e world in terms of structures a n d properties. Their uniqueness resides in the fact that their functions and behavior are determined by their present environment, their past, a n d their f u t u r e . This view is compatible with but goes far beyond mechanical behaviorism. It takes into consideration the ability of the living organism to exhibit selective responses determined by its past and conditioned by awareness of the future, a property as yet mysterious but real nevertheless. Life is historical, and man is its most a d v a n c e d expression in that his activities reflect his past a n d are t u r n e d toward his future, that they are more intensely concerned with his memories a n d his goals. This does not m e a n t h a t the study of man's n a t u r e is outside the scope of science. Far from it. T h e limitations to the understanding of m a n are not different from those inherent in the search for any kind of knowledge, whether it be knowledge of mind or of matter. If there are any limitations, they arise from the strictures imposed on science by unproven assumptions. There was a time when it was considered simplest, a n d indeed most elegant, to explain the universe in terms of heavenly bodies moving in perfect circles around the earth. Similarly, the desire to fit the phenomena of life into the simple pattern of the known laws of inanimate matter is attractive and economical of thought, but it conflicts with reality. By selecting the facts that fit the b o d y - m a c h i n e concept one will discover the physicochemical laws that govern some of the mechanical operations of living things, but one will leave out of consideration the creativeness of life, and the values of man. In a recent essay Professor Theodosius Dobzhansky pointed out that the evolution of m a n corresponds to "a Illusions of Understanding

n a t u r a l process t h a t h a s transcended itself. O n l y o n c e before, w h e n life o r i g i n a t e d o u t of i n o r g a n i c m a t t e r , has t h e r e o c c u r r e d a c o m p a r a b l e e v e n t . " Professor D o b z h a n sky u r g e d also t h a t t h e t i m e has c o m e for m a n " t o replace t h e b l i n d force of n a t u r a l selection b y conscious d i r e c t i o n b a s e d o n his k n o w l e d g e of n a t u r e a n d o n his values." (Italics m i n e . ) T h e s t a t e m e n t t h a t n a t u r a l processes h a v e h a d to transcend t h e m s e l v e s to p r o d u c e first life, t h e n consciousness a n d h u m a n values, out of i n o r g a n i c m a t t e r a c k n o w l e d g e s in fact t h a t e v o l u t i o n a r y t h e o r y in its present f o r m does not a c c o u n t for t h e e m e r g e n c e of m a n f r o m t h e i n a n i m a t e w o r l d . (For a criticism of this view, see p a g e 117.) It seems to m e t h a t a r e t u r n to t h e A r i s t o t e l i a n philosop h y , f a r f r o m b e i n g a r e t r e a t , w o u l d e n l a r g e t h e s c o p e of t h e biological sciences. Biology will r u n d r y unless it bec o m e s m o r e r e c e p t i v e t h a n it is p r e s e n t l y t o u n s u s p e c t e d p h e n o m e n a , u n p r e d i c t a b l e on the basis of w h a t is a l r e a d y k n o w n . Science does not progress only by i n d u c t i v e , a n a lytical k n o w l e d g e . T h e i m a g i n a t i v e s p e c u l a t i o n s of the m i n d c o m e first, t h e verification a n d t h e a n a l y t i c b r e a k d o w n c o m e only later. A n d i m a g i n a t i o n d e p e n d s u p o n a state of e m o t i o n a l a n d intellectual f r e e d o m w h i c h m a k e s t h e m i n d receptive to t h e impressions t h a t it receives f r o m t h e w o r l d in its c o n f u s i n g , o v e r p o w e r i n g , b u t e n r i c h i n g totality. W e m u s t try to e x p e r i e n c e a g a i n t h e r e c e p t i v i t y of t h e y o u n g ages of science w h e n it w a s socially a c c e p t a b l e to m a r v e l . W h a t B a u d e l a i r e said of a r t

applies

e q u a l l y well to science: " G e n i u s is y o u t h r e c a p t u r e d . " M o r e prosaically, I believe t h a t in most cases t h e c r e a t i v e scientific act c o m e s b e f o r e t h e o p e r a t i o n s w h i c h l e a d to t h e e s t a b l i s h m e n t of t r u t h ; t o g e t h e r t h e y m a k e science.

Illusions of Understanding

M a n y great experimenters in all fields of science have described how their ideas were determined in large part by unanalytical, visionary perceptions. Likewise, history shows t h a t most specific scientific theories have emerged and have been formulated gradually from crude intuitive sketches. In this light, the first steps in the recognition of patterns or in the development of new concepts are more akin to artistic awareness t h a n to what is commonly regarded as the "scientific method." I have purposefully used vague terms such as "visionary perceptions" and "artistic awareness" with the knowledge that this terminology will cause accusations of antiscientific and even antiintellectual mysticism. In reality, however, I do not believe that my attitude is based on a naive acceptance of intuition as a sort of second-class revelation. Instead, it is determined by the belief that scientific questions have their origin deep in h u m a n consciousness, often below the analytical level. They constitute specialized restatements of large questions that philosophers formulated long before scientists began to work on their determinism, questions which have indeed preoccupied men ever since they began to think—even before the beginnings of formal philosophy. M a n y ancient myths are the first statements in a symbolic form of abstract themes not yet formulated in philosophical or scientific terms. T h e most complex scientific concepts can often be recognized in ancient writings—in a very primitive form, but expressed in arresting images, such as the "torch of life," which symbolize profound truths of nature. For example, the modern biochemist who demonstrates that the components of the tissues are constantly renewed in the body—in a state of d y n a m i c equilibrium, as the expres-

Illusions of Understanding

sion goes—seems to provide evidence for the very ancient belief t h a t t h r o u g h all the fluxes of m a t t e r a n d energy the o r g a n i s m s t u b b o r n l y m a i n t a i n s its o w n p a r t i c u l a r indiv i d u a l i t y . " M a n is like a f o u n t a i n , " said Heraclitus, "always the s a m e b u t never the same w a t e r . " J u s t as individual scientists h a v e expressed m a n y differe n t a n d a p p a r e n t l y o p p o s i t e views c o n c e r n i n g the ways of n a t u r e , so h a v e philosophers. W h i l e Heraclitus taught t h a t e v e r y t h i n g is constantly in flux, Ecclesiastes lam e n t e d t h a t n o t h i n g is n e w u n d e r the sun. If scientists often a p p e a r to c o n t r a d i c t one a n o t h e r , it is because comp l e m e n t a r y views a r e n e e d e d to express t h e multiple aspects of reality. T h u s , the theory of d y n a m i c equilibrium, which was the last w o r d in b i o c h e m i c a l sophistication w h e n first e n u n c i a t e d t h r e e decades ago, is now being q u e s t i o n e d a g a i n by a new g e n e r a t i o n of biochemists. In a very recent series of lectures a n e m i n e n t biochemist suggested t h a t life m i g h t reside in the stability a n d continuity of nonliving macromolecules within the cells, rather t h a n in the t r a n s f o r m a t i o n of components which undergo rapid t u r n o v e r . A c c o r d i n g to this b i o c h e m i s t , in o t h e r words, the essence of life might be found in the Cartesian concept of being r a t h e r t h a n in t h e c o n c e p t of becoming which had its origin in H e r a c l i t u s of Ephesus a n d which Hegel popularized. U n i v e r s a l instability of c o n s t i t u e n t s seems to be c o m p a t i b l e with a stability a n d even m o n o t o n y of organized life. Ancient m y t h s a n d literary images r e m a i n meaningful to us p r o b a b l y b e c a u s e t h e y symbolize p r o b l e m s crucial for m a n k i n d w h i c h a r e still unsolved. I n fact, it c a n be said t h a t t h e p r o b l e m s w h i c h m o d e r n scientists regard as f u n d a m e n t a l a r e precisely those w h i c h h a v e constit u t e d t h e s u b j e c t m a t t e r of p h i l o s o p h y since the beginIllusions of Understanding

ning o f time. For a large body of scientists the great p r o b l e m is the nature o f the cosmos, the origin in time of its present ordering, the laws (cyclic or otherwise) of its evolution. W h a t is the cosmos made of—waves or particles? A n d what are the mechanisms of their metamorphoses? F o r other scientists the final questions of science as of philosophy are not about m a t t e r a n d energy, but about the nature of life in a universe where lifelessness is the rule, life the puzzling exception. How do living things differ from i n a n i m a t e m a t t e r ? How did they originate? And can life be created de novo? Is m a n qualitatively different from the rest of the living world or merely a higher specimen in its evolution, the paragon of animals? T h e science of the mind also is reformulating some very old preoccupations. T h e m o d e r n psychologist is close to Aristotle when he recognizes that the h u m a n personality can be divided into three parts: a basic, primeval self—biological substratum or id; a derivative social self, transmitted by man's culture; an ideal self, the superego. Are psychologists talking science or philosophy when they state that o n e is born with the first self, o n e is b o r n into the social self, one must be reborn if one is to achieve the third self? E v e n the problems o f ethics a n d social organization emerge from the observations and experiments of biologists in a form that would look familiar to ancient philosophers. T h e scientist who studies social insects—bees, termites, or a n t s — c a n n o t help asking himself whether society should be organized for the sake of the individual or o f the group, a n d w h e t h e r too efficient an organization may not correspond to a static view of life i n c o m p a t i b l e with the development o f mankind and the urges of the human spirit. Illusions of Understanding

It is a r e m a r k a b l e fact that, in their efforts to formulate the central p r o b l e m s of modern science, experimenters as well as t h e o r e t i c i a n s t e n d to phrase their questions in the form of a l t e r n a t i v e s which, formally at least, resemble those considered by ancient philosophers. A large part of the history of science, for example, appears to continue the d e b a t e b e g u n several m i l l e n n i a a g o b e t w e e n t h e propon e n t s of t h e c o n t i n u u m a n d the atomicists. As Professor Gillispie emphasizes, the duality between these two points of view has p r o v i d e d a dialectic for m u c h of science ever since the beginning of the debate in Greece. A m o n g biologists the d e b a t e took its most lively form in the long-lasting controversies concerning the differentia t i o n a n d t h e e v o l u t i o n of living forms. G o e t h e a n d Lam a r c k a r e a m o n g t h e most c e l e b r a t e d s t a n d a r d - b e a r e r s for those w h o w a n t to find in n a t u r e unity a n d u n b r o k e n continuity. In Leibniz's words, "Natura non facit saltus." But ever since D e m o c r i t u s most scientists h a v e f o u n d it easier to see t h e p h e n o m e n a of the n a t u r a l world as a multiplicity of discrete events. As is well k n o w n , t h e gene theory t o d a y d o m i n a t e s evolutionary concepts a n d has b r o u g h t m u c h of m o d e r n biology w i t h i n t h e fold of the school of " e l e m e n t a r y " particles. It is not impossible, however, that as the gene concept becomes more sophisticated, the changes u n d e r g o n e by living things m a y again a p p e a r progressive a n d once more fit the Heraclitean flux a n d progress better t h a n Democritean atomicism. M a t h e m a t i c a l , physical, a n d chemical theories offer, of course, m a n y illustrations of the endless d e b a t e b e t w e e n atomicists a n d partisans of the continuum. T h e theoretical physicists s e e m to h a v e o c c u p i e d t h e c e n t e r of t h e stage d u r i n g t h e past h a l f - c e n t u r y , a n d their d e b a t e s c o n c e r n ing t h e relative merits of the c o r p u s c u l a r a n d wave theo126

Illusions of Understanding

ries h a v e s p r e a d from discussions about the nature of light to other aspects of matter a n d energy. H e r e a g a i n the point of v i e w identified with Democritus seems in accord with the d i s c o v e r y of e l e m e n t a r y particles a n d with the fact that the q u a n t u m theory is e x t e n d i n g atomicism almost i n d e f i n i t e l y . B u t men still find it d i f f i c u l t to divide time into discrete instants, and space into discrete points. O n l y sophisticated physicists could discuss usefully these p r o f o u n d p r o b l e m s , but e v e n the outsider cannot help noticing how mathematicians a n d physicists are prone to use words a n d to take points of view w h i c h present some formal analogy with those used by l a y m e n and classical philosophers. Heraclitus saw fire as the basic stuff of all creation, and, similarly, the modern physicist regards e n e r g y as the s u b s t r a t u m f r o m w h i c h all matter is made. T h e matter of Aristotle which is mere "potentia" can be c o m p a r e d to the concept of energy which gets into " a c t u a l i t y " w h e n the elementary particle is created. T h e r e m a y be some p r o f o u n d m e a n i n g in these similarities in the language of modern scientists a n d of ancient philosophers. A f t e r all, ordinary l a n g u a g e , v a g u e as it is, evolved in immediate connection with reality, a n d the concepts that it tries to c o m m u n i c a t e are reality itself. As stated by M r . Curtis A . Wilson of St. J o h n ' s College, There is a rhythm and structure in ordinary speech which forms the seed from which all the larger unifications grow—a Greek tragedy, a Mozart concerto, or the Einstein-Minkowski geometrization of space-time. Myth and logic, poetry and the sciences, alike develop out of the semantic and syntactic potentialities of everyday speech. Because of this fact, the c o m m o n l a n g u a g e m a y be more a d a p t a b l e to the expansion of k n o w l e d g e than are precise scientific terms which c o r r e s p o n d to limited and Illusions of Understanding

selected groups of phenomena rather than to reality as a whole. Furthermore, human thought evolved in direct associations with nature. Our thought patterns are based not so much on recently discovered evidence as on perceptions long experienced and on facts long known which may have influenced the formation of human intellect. Indeed, the astonishing ability of the human brain to guess certain workings of the universe suggests that, in a limited measure at least, the brain mirrors some of its very patterns. In this light, it becomes less surprising that ancient philosophers perceived the central core of many of the problems of modern science and that their formulation of these problems presents great similarities to our own. The search for viable truths and all the other worldly preoccupations of science are but part of the high tradition of religion and philosophy from whence most knowledge originally sprang.

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6 The Dehumanization of the Scientist

It is symbolic of the responsiveness of scientists to their social environment that Professor DuBridge devoted the first series of Pegram Lectures to space science. G. B. Pegram had "the conviction that the results of science can be made to serve the needs and the hopes of mankind." While practically all scientists share his conviction, for most of them it is probably more in the nature of a religious faith accepted a priori than a well-defined doctrine based upon logic or factual evidence. Professor DuBridge's lectures on Introduction to Space illustrate well that the relation of science to human needs and hopes is often indirect and tenuous. T h e immensely exciting quality of space science in all its engineering and theoretical aspects is obvious to everyone, to the crudest barbarian and the village fool as well as to the thoughtful scholar. But as Professor DuBridge makes clear, it is far less certain that space exploration will soon or ever serve the " n e e d s " of mankind—at least 129

those needs of which o r d i n a r y m e n a n d w o m e n are aware. As to t h e " h o p e s " to be served by s p a c e science, t h e y are very great indeed, a n d some of t h e m a r e within r e a c h ; b u t o n t h e w h o l e t h e y c o n c e r n o u r k n o w l e d g e of t h e universe r a t h e r t h a n t h e m o r e c o m m o n aspirations of the b o d y a n d of t h e h e a r t . Yet, d e s p i t e these l i m i t a t i o n s , it c a n n o t be q u e s t i o n e d t h a t space vehicles a r e c r o w d e d w i t h t h e most a n c i e n t d r e a m s of m a n k i n d . Not only d o t h e skies a n d the r e m o t e worlds give to m a n the p r o m i s e of n e w experiences; e v e n m o r e i m p o r t a n t is t h e fact t h a t t h e y provide h i m with t h e illusion t h a t h e c a n e s c a p e f r o m t h e e a r t h — j u s t as d r e a m s of t h e f u t u r e or of t h e past provide h i m with a n escape f r o m the present. I m a g i n a r y t r a v e l s to t h e o u t e r w o r l d a r e p r o b a b l y as old as h u m a n i m a g i n a t i o n . In Moon Travellers Peter Leighton has presented a long list of t h e m , b e g i n n i n g with early Greek writers a n d continuing with P l u t a r c h , C y r a n o de B e r g e r a c , J o n a t h a n Swift, J u l e s V e r n e , a n d H . G. Wells. C y r a n o d e B e r g e r a c deserves special m e n t i o n

among

writers w h o tried to t r a n s l a t e into fiction t h e h u m a n longi n g to e s c a p e f r o m e a r t h l y b o n d a g e . H e lived f r o m 1619 to 1655 a n d is r e m e m b e r e d b e c a u s e of his l a r g e nose, for t h e h o n o r of w h i c h h e successfully f o u g h t countless duels; his r o m a n t i c life was m a d e f a m o u s by E d m o n d R o s t a n d ' s play a g e n e r a t i o n ago. In a d d i t i o n to his facial peculiarity, this t e m p e s t u o u s cadet de Gascogne—of t h e k i n d i m m o r t a l ized in A l e x a n d r e D u m a s ' s The Three Musketeers—had

the

distinction of being a philosopher w h o h a d s t u d i e d physics with Gassendi a n d w h o w a s in revolt a g a i n s t t h e religious a n d social m o r e s of his t i m e . As a f o r m of p r o t e s t against the world in w h i c h it was his fate to live, h e i m a g i n e d t h a t he could t r a n s p o r t himself to t h e m o o n a n d o t h e r astral bodies a n d t h e r e find societies a g r e e a b l e to his tastes. H e 130

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d e s c r i b e d these i m a g i n a r y experiences in two books which w e r e p u b l i s h e d b e t w e e n 1657 a n d 1662 u n d e r t h e c o m m o n title L'Autre Monde— Voyages aux empires de la lune et du soleil. T h e s e t w o books, n o w t h r e e h u n d r e d y e a r s old, are still of interest by virtue of C y r a n o ' s vivid i m a g i n a t i o n . His a c c o u n t e n c o m p a s s e s t h e use of h e a t e d air to a s c e n d i n t o s p a c e , t h e c o r p u s c u l a r t h e o r y of m a t t e r , t h e description of a p h o n o g r a p h a n d its use for t e a c h i n g purposes, the p r a c t i c e of eugenics o n the m o o n , t h e t e a c h i n g t h a t physicians m u s t k e e p people well r a t h e r t h a n t r e a t diseases, etc., etc. T h e s e w o n d e r f u l tales, w h i c h e n j o y e d success for almost t w o centuries, n o w r e m a i n u n d i s t u r b e d u n d e r the dust of l i b r a r y shelves; b u t they live nevertheless in all the books o n space travel t h a t they h a v e e n g e n d e r e d — i n c l u d i n g j u l e s V e r n e ' s From the Earth to the Moon, H . G. Wells's A Modern Utopia, a n d t h e science fiction of o u r d a y . M y p u r p o s e in evoking h e r e t h e p i c t u r e s q u e m e m o r y of C y r a n o d e B e r g e r a c is n o t so m u c h to give h i m t h e credit t h a t h e deserves for his e a r l y c o n t r i b u t i o n to s p a c e travel l i t e r a t u r e as t o i l l u s t r a t e his use of s c i e n c e to e x p r e s s a n escapist m o o d . C y r a n o d e B e r g e r a c w a s a very gifted a n d well-educated m a n , b u t a social f a i l u r e a n d u n h a p p y . His travels t o t h e m o o n a n d to t h e s u n , a n d t h e p l e a s a n t societies h e i m a g i n e d t h e r e , p r o v i d e d h i m w i t h relief f r o m his trials o n this e a r t h . H e w a s well a w a r e of his escapist attitude, as is revealed by the following verses t h a t accomp a n y o n e of his four k n o w n p o r t r a i t s : La terre me fut importune Je pris mon essor vers les cieux J'y vis le Soleil et la Lune Et maintenant j'y vois les Dieux. T o d a y space science is a reality a n d t h e r e a r e m a n y good o r t h o d o x scientific reasons for its e n o r m o u s a p p e a l Dehumanization of the Scientist

to the public, but it is certain that most of this popular interest has no scientific basis. There is, of course, the sheer excitement aroused by anything spectacular and new; and even more, perhaps, there is the desire to escape—if only in imagination—from the difficulties of everyday life and also from its boredom. C y r a n o himself spoke of the Empire of the M o o n as a place where "even imagination is completely free." And now science provides for the imaginations of l a y m e n the richest material for d a y d r e a m i n g that all the problems of the world can be solved by magic. T h a t "science will find a way o u t " is a dangerous illusion because it serves as an excuse for intellectual laziness a n d a p a t h y . I shall try to show t h a t this attitude, which corresponds in reality to a deterioration of public interest in the intellectual aspects of science, originates in part from a change of ideals among the scientists themselves. Until Bacon's time the motivation of scientists was either plain curiosity or the philosophical urge to understand the world; the practical problems of life were hardly ever mentioned as a justification for their efforts. This does not m e a n that practical matters did not orient a n d influence somewhat the activities of scientists. It is obvious that in the past as today what scientists did was necessarily conditioned by the techniques at their disposal and by the preoccupations of their times. But the enormous gap that existed until 1800 between the large amount of theoretical knowledge and the paucity of applications derived from it bears witness to the fact that very few of the ancient scientists focused their efforts on practical issues. O n e example must suffice to illustrate how profoundly the Industrial Revolution c h a n g e d in this regard the professional outlook of the scientific community. William Thompson (Lord Kelvin) had proved himself Dehumanization of the Scientist

a most gifted theoretical investigator during the early part of his life. Before the age of thirty-three he h a d published studies which constituted the foundation of thermodynamics, provided Maxwell with the mathematical clues to the electromagnetic theory of light a n d led Hertz to the discovery of radio oscillations. But instead of pursuing the large theoretical implications of his discoveries, T h o m p son soon shifted his efforts to technological developments a n d became the first great scientist to organize a laboratory devoted to industrial research. T h e change in scientific ideals t h a t he symbolizes constitutes one of the most important characteristics of the nineteenth century. It has had such far-ranging consequences that we must consider in greater detail the forces involved in the conflict between the philosophy that "the true scientist has elected to know, not to d o " a n d the other attitude, more c o m m o n today, that the true role of science is to be, in I. Bernard Cohen's words, the "servant of m a n . " "All men possess by nature the desire to know." These words, with which Aristotle began his Metaphysics, correspond to one of the most characteristic h u m a n traits, even t h o u g h the thirst for knowledge may not be as universal as Aristotle would have us believe. Spontaneously all child r e n observe, explore, ask for explanations, a n d invent one if their request is not satisfied. The fact that all human beings thus begin as embryonic scientists focuses attention on two related problems concerning science and scientists. O n e has to do with the factors that cause most adults to lose the intellectual curiosity which was theirs as children. T h e other concerns the mysterious reasons which drive a few individuals to devote themselves to theoretical science. As Einstein pointed out, what is surprising is not that Dehumanization of the Scientist

C h i n a a n d I n d i a did not create e x p e r i m e n t a l science, but r a t h e r t h a t E u r o p e did. It is plain t h a t , whereas curiosity is n a t u r a l to m a n , the discipline of science is not spontaneous a n d d e m a n d s a p a i n f u l effort. All the great passions a n d occupations of mankind have been a n a l y z e d in the literature of all times, but only during recent d e c a d e s has t h e scientist a t t r a c t e d t h e interest of s t u d e n t s of h u m a n n a t u r e . Increasingly, h o w e v e r , his motivations a n d the qualities t h a t m a k e for his professional success are being depicted as those of soldiers, farmers, or b a n k e r s h a v e been in the past. From M a u r i c e Arthus's once f a m o u s series of essays on The Natural History of a Scientist, t h r o u g h Sinclair Lewis's Arrowsmith, to C. P. S n o w ' s novels, m a n y books h a v e t r i e d to t h r o w light on t h e life of science a n d on the idiosyncrasies of scientists. I m a g i n a t i o n ; informed a n d disciplined curiosity; a n interest in form, in forces, a n d in patterns; the ability to engage in abstract c o n t e m p l a t i o n as well as in objective observation; delight in intellectual effort; resourcefulness; a taste for power a n d a desire to benefit the world—all these t r a i t s in v a r i o u s c o m b i n a t i o n s h a v e b e e n r e p o r t e d to be c o m m o n a m o n g scientists. Obviously, however, m a n y laym e n also exhibit these motivating forces or qualities, a n d , f u r t h e r m o r e , it has not been shown t h a t scientists lack any of the attributes f o u n d in other professions. In brief, scientists do not seem to differ in a n y consistent m a n n e r f r o m other groups of h u m a n beings. Since no trait p e c u l i a r to scientists h a s yet b e e n recognized, it seems best to assume t h a t at all times a n d in all places a p p r o x i m a t e l y the same p e r c e n t a g e of m e n has been e n d o w e d with the qualities which m a k e for effective scientific p e r f o r m a n c e , b u t t h a t c o n d i t i o n s for t h e emergence of scientific vocations have not always b e e n equally Dehumanization of the Scientist

favorable. It w o u l d seem, in o t h e r words, t h a t t h e accidents of i n d i v i d u a l life a n d , even m o r e , t h e d e m a n d s of the environment, as well as the facilities t h a t it offers, are the most important factors in determining whether certain innate endowments lead a given individual to become the abbot of a new monastic order or the director of a research t e a m — w h e t h e r medieval mysticism, concern with universal laws of nature, or the urge to develop powerful engines has t h e most a p p e a l to t h e gifted m i n d . As Niels Bohr pointed out in his speech of a c c e p t a n c e of the Atoms for Peace A w a r d , men, like nations, derive their identity a n d i n w a r d quality not so m u c h f r o m the genes t h e y inherit as f r o m t h e traditions a n d sense of values imparted by the family in which they are raised a n d the civilization of which they are a p a r t . W h a t e v e r the independence of their behaviof, all men are to some extent social parasites who derive their thoughts a n d preoccupations from their social environment. T h e y are like the s t a t u e - m a n described by Condillac in his famous Traité des sensations—a creature which became aware of its needs a n d developed its ideas in a c c o r d a n c e with t h e environment in which it was placed. T h e fact most difficult to explain is t h a t certain places, at certain periods, obviously have provided circumstances peculiarly f a v o r a b l e for the flowering of culture. It is p r o b a b l e t h a t this p h e n o m e n o n d e m a n d s some heterogeneity of p o p u l a t i o n to provide the different h u m a n types r e q u i r e d for a n y complex c u l t u r a l system. T h e social e n v i r o n m e n t must be somewhat unstable to provide opportunities for the emergence of the various h u m a n types, yet it must have sufficient permanence to allow time for the d e v e l o p m e n t of long-range projects. T h e concentration of h u m a n beings must be adequate—great enough Dehumanization of the Scientist

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to permit stimulating and fertilizing contacts, not so great as to overpower or dilute intellectual or emotional creativeness. It would be possible to show, I believe, that each great cultural period has been associated with a social structure that incorporated many of these factors, thus permitting the emergence of a creative minority, in the form of a nobility rather than an aristocracy. In an ideal society, selected groups should constantly renew themselves out of the total human substratum. While this general array of conditions seems to be favorable for the emergence of culture, it is obvious that each cultural outburst is determined and characterized by a pattern of determinant causes often difficult to analyze. Today, in our social structure, technological science is a commodity much in demand, and for this reason educational techniques are being developed for the assemblyline production of the human skills required to manufacture gadgets, products, and cures. Wherever this has been attempted with sufficient vigor, the results have been according to anticipation—most men can become effective technologists if adequately trained. Obviously, man finds it easy to behave as homo faber whether his function is to produce pineapples, antibiotics, automobiles, or guided missiles. But homo sapiens has never been produced on a large scale, and it is his genesis which is the real puzzle. Of the many traits recognized among scientists, the most essential—indeed, almost a sine qua non—is some form of intellectual curiosity. H. L. Mencken believed that the prototype of the scientist "is not the liberator releasing slaves, the good Samaritan lifting up the fallen, but a dog sniffing tremendously at an infinite series of rat holes." This curiosity leads to questions that each individ136

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ual tries to answer according to his own temperament. There is, in truth, no such thing as a method of discovery. The solution of a problem may come to one m a n after immense systematic analysis, to another by analogy, to a third as a sudden thought or vision, to yet another as a d r e a m , or in m a n y other ways. T h e r e is a m e t h o d for scientific verification or demonstration, but that is a different thing from discovery. Whichever way discoveries are made, all of them put together constitute the body of scientific knowledge after they have been subjected to proof—either the kind of logical demonstration demanded by the mathematician, or the less convincing verification with which the biologist must be satisfied. Science is made up of the facts a n d concepts duly d e m o n s t r a t e d or verified, then organized into a structure compatible with the philosophical framework socially acceptable at the time. Granted that intellectual curiosity is one of the most effective forces in the creation of science, the fact remains that the scientist's behavior is determined to a very large extent by factors unrelated to the pursuit of science per se. One of these factors is the reward that intellectual curiosity can bring in the form of popular recognition. Even the withdrawn Darwin was willing to admit in his autobiogr a p h y : " M y love of n a t u r a l science has been steady and ardent. This pure love has, however, been much aided by the ambition to be esteemed by my fellow naturalists." According to Professor Ludwig Edelstein, the slowness of the development of science in the ancient world can be traced in large part to social indifference. Then, as now, scientists found it necessary to make exaggerated claims, to appeal to mystery, in order to attract public attention. It must be admitted also that the satisfactions of intellectual curiosity are often contaminated with those that Dehumanization of the Scientist

come from acquiring a sense of power and domination not only over nature but also over fellow scientists. History provides m a n y examples of these unsavory aspects of scientific life, a n d so does daily experience in any of our institutions of learning. Conflicts over priority a n d professional jealousies have always been common at all levels of the scientific population, not barring such heroic figures as Newton and Pasteur. More difficult to recognize but equally important in the motivation of scientists is the fact that what appears as thirst for knowledge often could be regarded more exactly as a kind of intellectual lust r a t h e r t h a n a love of truth. "Most people who call themselves truth seekers do not so much desire to find the truth as to cure their mental itch," wrote Sinclair Lewis in Arrowsmith. And, indeed, many investigators have acknowledged that much of the pleasure derived from a discovery or other scientific achievement is of the same order as that experienced in overcoming any difficult situation. " T h e burning desire for knowledge is what motivates a n d supports the efforts of the investigator," wrote Claude Bernard; but immediately he added, " T h e fact that knowledge endlessly recedes as the investigator is about to grasp it, is what constitutes at the same time his t o r m e n t a n d his happiness." I n a similar spirit M a x Planck stated more recently, "It is not the possession of truth, but the success that attends the seeking after it, that enriches the seeker and brings happiness to him." Thus, the pursuit of science has rewards which are independent of the specific nature of its goals a n d is often akin to an intellectual sport. In this respect again, science does not differ greatly from other h u m a n enterprises. Cervantes asserted t h a t " T h e r o a d is always better t h a n the inn,"

Dehumanization of the Scientist

and Robert Louis Stevenson claimed, in the same spirit, that to travel hopefully is better than to arrive safely. Curiosity is not sufficient to give intellectual distinction to the activities of scientists. M a n y animals are inquisitive, some to a high degree. Curiosity acquires scientific and philosophical significance from the n a t u r e of the objects to which it is addressed. In this light, F a r a d a y did not do full justice to science if he really said, as recounted in an earlier chapter, that the importance of his discovery of electromagnetic induction was that taxes would eventually be collected from its applications. W h a t he said was true, but not the whole truth. Faraday was an active member of the very strict Nonconformist sect called Sandemians. His lofty religious ideals a n d his urge to pursue as far as possible the spiritual implications of his scientific work led him to abandon all industrial consultation work and to renounce the monetary and social advantages that he could have derived from his immense fame. Yet, he does not seem to have ever defended vigorously in public his inner conviction that science is an attempt to understand the universe as much as a technique to exploit nature; that—to use an expression of which he was fond—science is, above and beyond everything else, " n a t u r a l philosophy." Faraday was not alone in his failure to recognize or at least to acknowledge publicly the philosophical basis of his dedication to science. Pasteur can serve as another example of this attitude, which was apparently very c o m m o n in the nineteenth century. It is often claimed that Pasteur's scientific activities originated from a concern with practical problems—for

Dehumanization of the Scientist

The life of Michael Faraday

(1791-1867)

typifies the most elevated aspects of science. Faraday was a self-educated man, yet his work opened vistas into the deepest secrets of nature. A matchless experimenter, he also had an intuitive perception of eternal truths. His discoveries constitute the foundation of modem technology, but for him science was, above everything else, natural philosophy.

example, that his studies on fermentation h a d their basis in attempts to improve the quality of French wines and beer, or that his interest in infectious processes developed from efforts to save the production of silkworms in France. Nothing could be f u r t h e r from the truth. I n reality, as I have shown elsewhere, Pasteur began his scientific life as a purely theoretical investigator a n d he was already a famous scientist when he began to work on practical problems. F r o m 1847 to 1857 his dominating scientific interests were problems of no a p p a r e n t practical significance but with large theoretical implications: the relation of molecular structure to optical activity, a n d the bearing of stereoisomerism on the origin of life; a few years later he became engrossed in other abstract thoughts concerning the biochemical unity of life. As time went on, however, he yielded more a n d more to the social pressures of his environment, a n d he spent the largest part of his productive life working on practical problems of fermentation and disease. H e became increasingly involved in using science as an instrument of economic conquest rather than as a technique for understanding the universe. Repeatedly he expressed gratification at seeing that his labor would help m a n to gain mastery over the physical world and to improve h u m a n life. " T o him who devotes his life to science," Pasteur wrote, "nothing can give more happiness than increasing the number of discoveries, but his cup of joy is full w h e n the results of his studies immediately find practical applications." There can be no doubt, in my opinion, that Pasteur was aware that his involvement in practical problems had interfered with the pursuit of his deeper scientific interests. He tried to justify his partial neglect of theoretical studies by the statement, " T h e r e are not two sciences. T h e r e is Dehumanization of the Scientist

only science a n d the applications of science a n d these two activities are linked as the fruit is to the tree." Yet, despite these brave words a n d irrespective of his immense success a n d p o p u l a r acclaim, it is certain t h a t he often regretted the choice t h a t h a d been imposed on h i m by the Zeitgeist. T i m e a n d time again he stated that he h a d been "enc h a i n e d " by a n inescapable forward-moving logic that h a d led h i m f r o m the study of crystals to the problems of fermentation a n d then of contagious diseases. H e came to believe that it was only through accidental circumstances t h a t he h a d become involved in practical problems—important, of course, b u t not so deeply significant as those he h a d visualized early in life. Yet the desire of his early days to work on crystallography a n d on t h e n a t u r e of life app a r e n t l y r e m a i n e d with h i m as a h a u n t i n g d r e a m . Pasteur's g r a n d s o n , Professor L. Pasteur V a l l e r y - R a d o t , has recently told a moving story which reveals the pathetic intensity of this inner conflict during Pasteur's later years. I see again that face, that appeared to be carved from a block of granite—that high and large forehead, those grayishgreen eyes, with such a deep and kind look. . . . He seemed to me serious and sad. He was probably sad because of all the things he had dreamed of but not realized. I remember one evening, at the Pasteur Institute. He was writing quietly at his desk, his head bent on his right hand, in a familiar pose. I was at the corner of the table, not moving or speaking. I had been taught to respect his silences. He stood up and, feeling the need to express his thoughts to the nearest person, even a child, he told me: "Ah! my boy, I wish I had a new life before me! With how much joy I should like to undertake again my studies on crystals!" To have given up his research on crystals was the eternal sorrow of his life. M a n y m o d e r n scientists suffer f r o m t h e schizophrenic a t t i t u d e illustrated by the examples of F a r a d a y a n d Pasteur. Fortunately, one particular aspect of science helps to Dehumanization of the Scientist

Most portraits of Pasteur, either in youth or in old age, reveal the contemplative aspect of his

personality,

his concern with large theoretical problems of science. Here he is shown in another mood, dictating

to his wife during his practical

on silkworm

studies

diseases in the South of France.

The violent controversies in which he was then are reflected in the tenseness of his facial

engaged

expression.

minimize the inner conflicts generated by this attitude— namely, the fact, already mentioned a n d universally recognized, that it is often difficult to dissociate the theoretical from the practical aspects of science. Nevertheless, the conflicts are not entirely resolved by this interdependence of theory a n d practice. T h e uneasiness of scientists on this score is revealed by the fact t h a t , whereas among themselves they claim that their primary interest is in the conceptual rather t h a n the applied aspects of science, in public they justify basic research by asserting that it always leads to "useful" results, meaning by this the development of processes a n d products that can be converted into wealth or power. In a symposium on "basic research" recently held in New York, only one of the very distinguished participants dared take the position that the search for knowledge per se is an activity sufficient unto itself, one which does not need further justification. Like Faraday and Pasteur, other scientists seem to be afraid to admit in public—or do not really believe—that detached intellectual curiosity and desire to understand the universe are proper goals of scientific activity, whether or not "useful" results will ever follow. Yet, despite Francis Bacon's claim that " K n o w l e d g e , t h a t tendeth but to satisfaction is but as a courtesan . . . ," the attempt to justify science only by its worldly p r o d u c t s is f r a u g h t with dangers. Not only does it compromise the intellectual honesty of the scientific community for reasons that need not be discussed here; in my opinion, it also helps to foster a m o n g lay people a f u n d a m e n t a l skepticism about a n d even contempt for science itself. T o be scornful of the ultimate intellectual a n d moral value of natural sciences is, of course, a very ancient atti144

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tude. Socrates' skepticism, as expressed in Plato's dialogues, has its counterpart in the talk about the bankruptcy of science that was widespread in literary and philosophical circles at the beginning of the present century. Until recently, however, the attitude of the skeptics was not one of hostility but rather one of impatience and disa p p o i n t m e n t at the fact that, despite oft repeated promises, science h a d not yet solved for m a n the riddle of his n a t u r e a n d his destiny. Far more dangerous, it seems to me, are the expressions of contempt for science as an intellectual discipline, a n d for scientists as individuals, that have a p p e a r e d repeatedly during the past few decades. Along with a d m i r a t i o n for a n d awe at the power of science, there exists a m o n g the lay public, as pointed out by M a r g a r e t M e a d , a curious mistrust of the scientist himself, as if he were something scarcely normal a n d human. This modern attitude toward the scientist is not far removed from that of primitives toward the s h a m a n or medicine man, an individual regarded as essential to the group, but one who is feared and often hated. As typical of the hostile attitude toward science and scientists, I shall consider two books published respectively in 1913 a n d 1930: The Tragic Sense of Life, by Miguel de U n a m u n o , and The Revolt of the Masses, by José Ortega y Gasset. Both books have been translated into several languages a n d are still widely read a n d q u o t e d ; they have spread far and wide the doctrine of the bankruptcy of science. Although they deal with different themes, I shall consider t h e m together since they have in common several aspects of the antiscience movement. U n a m u n o and Ortega recognize, of course, the contributions made by science to human safety and comfort. But while they appreciate the merits of aspirin and motor Dehumanization of the Scientist

145

c a r s , they a r e v e r y little impressed by the kind of intellect u a l process i n v o l v e d in the technology that has produced these c o n v e n i e n c e s . M o s t scientific thinking, a c c o r d i n g to t h e m , c o r r e s p o n d s to a m e c h a n i c a l p e r f o r m a n c e of a r a t h e r l o w o r d e r . J u s t as a n c i e n t societies used slaves for t h e a f f a i r s of e v e r y d a y life, so m o d e r n societies p r o d u c e a n d use scientific t e c h n i c i a n s for the s a m e e n d . Consciously or unconsciously, U n a m u n o a n d O r t e g a h a v e acc e p t e d to the letter B a c o n ' s c l a i m t h a t the scientific m e t h o d is so m e c h a n i c a l a n d foolproof as to be readily and effectively h a n d l e d by small minds. T h e y seem to have t a k e n to h e a r t his s t a t e m e n t that " b r u t e s by their natural instinct h a v e p r o d u c e d m a n y discoveries, whereas m e n by discussion a n d the conclusions of reason h a v e g i v e n birth to f e w or n o n e . " A s a n e x t e n s i o n of B a c o n ' s a p h o r i s m , it s e e m s w o r t h w h i l e to q u o t e at s o m e l e n g t h f r o m the seve r a l p a g e s in The Revolt of the Masses that O r t e g a devotes t o the l o w i n t e l l e c t u a l c a l i b e r of scientists a n d t h e i r discoveries. " T h e a c t u a l scientific m a n is the prototype of the massm a n . N o t b y c h a n c e , not t h r o u g h the i n d i v i d u a l failings of e a c h p a r t i c u l a r m a n of science, but b e c a u s e science itself . . . a u t o m a t i c a l l y converts him into m a s s - m a n , makes of h i m a primitive, a m o d e r n b a r b a r i a n . E x p e r i m e n t a l science has progressed t h a n k s in great part to the w o r k of m e n a s t o u n d i n g l y m e d i o c r e , a n d even less than mediocre. T h a t is to s a y , m o d e r n science . . . finds a place for the int e l l e c t u a l l y c o m m o n p l a c e m a n a n d a l l o w s h i m to w o r k t h e r e i n w i t h success. T h e r e a s o n of this lies in w h a t is at the s a m e time the great a d v a n t a g e a n d the gravest peril of the n e w science, a n d of the civilization d i r e c t e d a n d repr e s e n t e d b y it, n a m e l y , m e c h a n i s a t i o n . A f a i r a m o u n t of the things t h a t h a v e to b e d o n e in physics or in b i o l o g y is 146

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This snapshot, taken at 5:30 A.M. on June 16, 1888, shows Thomas Edison after seventy-eight hours of continuous work on his first wax-cylinder phonograph. Edison's work typifies the use of science to meet or anticipate social demands, rather than to answer abstract questions. Reproduced by courtesy of the Edison Laboratory National Monument.

mechanical work of the mind which can be done by anyone, or almost anyone." . . . " T h e work is done . . . as with a machine, a n d in order to obtain quite a b u n d a n t results it is not even necessary to have rigorous notions of their m e a n i n g a n d f o u n d a t i o n . " " T h e specialist . . . is not learned, for he is formally ignorant of all that does not enter into his speciality; but neither is he ignorant, because he is 'a scientist,' a n d 'knows' very well his own tiny portion of the universe. W e shall have to say t h a t he is a learned ignoramus." "Anyone who wishes can observe the stupidity of thought, judgment, and action shown today in politics, art, religion, a n d the general problems of life and the world by the 'men of science.'" Scientists having become so mechanical a n d unconcerned with philosophical a n d truly intellectual problems, it is not surprising that, in Unamuno's words, "Science does not satisfy the needs of our heart and our will." Not only does it not deal with the problems of the real m a n "of flesh and bone," but it "turns against those who refuse to submit to its orthodoxy the weapons of ridicule and contempt." Thus, according to U n a m u n o a n d Ortega, the modern scientist is thoroughly dehumanized, with no horizon beyond his specialized techniques, no awareness of dist a n t h u m a n goals. Science fails to deal with the problems that are the real concerns of m a n k i n d ; and, furthermore, it stultifies all higher aspirations by fostering and satisfying the mass aspects of h u m a n nature. Lest there be a n illusion that the antiscience movement is peculiar to Latin countries, I shall conclude this discussion with remarks originating f r o m the Anglo-Saxon world. In The Human Situation, W. Macneile Dixon asserted that "Science is the view of life where everything h u m a n is excluded Dehumanization of the Scientist

f r o m the prospect. It is of intention i n h u m a n , supposing, strange as it may seem, that the f u r t h e r we travel from ourselves the nearer we approach the truth, the further f r o m our deepest sympathies, f r o m all we care for, the nearer are we to reality, the stony heart of the scientific universe." As pointed o u t by K e n n e t h E. Boulding in The Image, many are those all over the world who believe that: "Science might almost be defined as the process of substituting u n i m p o r t a n t questions which can be answered for important questions which cannot." T h e contempt for science a n d the scientist illustrated by U n a m u n o ' s a n d Ortega's writings reflects an attitude now fairly widespread. T o account for it, scientists are inclined to assume that the public does not have the training or the ability required to appreciate the intellectual beauty a n d the higher morality of science. But it might be worth while to consider the possibility that the antiscience movement has its origin in the behavior of the scientists themselves—in their own failure to convey to the public the nobler aspects of the scientific heritage, and in misleading assertions which create antagonism. It seems to me, for example, that some scientists have a tendency to derive a kind of unjustified intellectual haughtiness from their familiarity with experimental techniques of which the chief intellectual merit is that they happen to permit the solution of practical problems. These scientists exhibit pride of intellect in speaking of the scientific method as if it were something esoteric, s u p e r h u m a n in its power a n d precision, whereas it is in reality a very h u m a n activity supplemented by a few specialized techniques. Instead of bragging about the purely professional aspects of a "scientific m e t h o d " that they Dehumanization of the Scientist

149

really cannot define, should not scientists emphasize more than they do the spiritual, creative, and almost artistic aspects of all great scientific advances? Scientists defend basic research in public by asserting that it cannot fail eventually to yield practical results, but they rarely advertise that knowledge per se is also a precious fruit of science. There is truth, of course, in Benjamin Farrington's statement that " m a n makes his mental history in the process of conquering the world," but only partial truth. Science, like philosophy, has long been pursued for its own sake, or, rather, for the sake of intellectual satisfaction and increased understanding. Long before science could be justified by its industrial uses Ptolemy experienced the kind of intellectual intoxication that only knowledge can provide. "I know that I am mortal, a creature of a day; but when I search into the multitudinous revolving spirals of the stars, my feet no longer rest on the earth, but, standing by Zeus himself, I take my fill of ambrosia, the food of the gods." In a similar mood Kepler exclaimed, "Eighteen months ago the first d a w n rose for me, three months ago the bright day, a n d a few days ago the full sun of a most wonderful vision." And at the end of his life Pasteur spoke lovingly of " t h e c h a r m of our studies, the enchantment of science." It would be interesting to know the reasons which have m a d e such very great scientists as F a r a d a y a n d Pasteur emphasize the practical worth of their studies and leave unexpressed their loftier intellectual goals. T h e most obvious interpretation of this attitude is that it was dictated by the wish to gain public approval. But there is no evidence that the public of their time would not have recognized and respected a purely intellectual scientific motivation. In fact, it seems to me that in all situations where the Dehumanization of the Scientist

Bernard de Fontinelle

(1657-1757)

initiated the form of science writing called in French "vulgarisation de la science." In his hundred years of unmarried life he brought this technique of writing to a state of literary perfection, thus making science a fashionable topic in the European salons.

p u b l i c h a s e x h i b i t e d a n y interest in science, it h a s been just as eager to learn of the philosophical aspects as of the practical applications. T r u e enough, little is k n o w n of the m a n n e r in which the p o p u l a r i z a t i o n of science was practiced in past centuries or of the extent of its success; there does not seem to exist any thorough historical study of this interesting aspect of scientific c o m m u n i c a t i o n . Nevertheless, t h e r e readily c o m e to m i n d the n a m e s of m a n y celeb r a t e d scientists w h o achieved great p o p u l a r acclaim by bringing theoretical knowledge to lay audiences. P r o b a b l y t h e best k n o w n of t h e science p o p u l a r i z e r s , a n d certainly one of the first, was not a professional scientist. Bernard de Fontenelle (1657-1757) m a d e his literary r e p u t a t i o n with the Entretiens sur la pluralité des mondes and c o n t i n u e d to hold the limelight with his m o r e a u s t e r e accounts of the achievements of scientists a n d of the Académie des Sciences. According to his b i o g r a p h e r , L. M . M a r s a k , Fontenelle's writings h a d as m a n y r e a d e r s a m o n g the general public of the court a n d t h e bourgeoisie as a m o n g the l e a r n e d ; they went t h r o u g h six editions in his lifetime, a n d six more by 1825. Fontenelle mentioned, of course, the practical potentialities of science, but what he emphasized was its humanistic quality, its contribution to e n l i g h t e n m e n t . H e urged on his r e a d e r s t h a t " N a t u r e is never so a d m i r a b l e or so a d m i r e d as w h e n it is u n d e r s t o o d " a n d t h a t it is at least as i m p o r t a n t for scientists to help the public rid itself of errors ("fausses merveilles") as to p r o c l a i m true marvels. W o u l d t h a t all science r e p o r t i n g respected this admonition in our times! A l t h o u g h it would be o u t of place to write h e r e at g r e a t e r l e n g t h of F o n t e nelle, I c a n n o t forgo quoting M a r s a k ' s a p p r e c i a t i o n of the m a g n i t u d e of his achievement. " I f the n i n e t e e n t h a n d twentieth centuries have held u p the businessman a n d enDehumanization of the Scientist

gineer for emulation, it would not be an exaggeration to say t h a t Fontenelle spoke for the civilization of the Enl i g h t e n m e n t when he p u t the scientist in the niche that had formerly been reserved for the artistic creator of the Renaissance or the saint of the high Middle Ages." In addition to educating the public, Fontenelle helped to create a friendly environment that eased the task of the scientists. At the end of the seventeenth century and throughout the eighteenth century people came to Paris from all over Europe to attend lectures by famous scientists on the theoretical aspects of science. In London the lectures and demonstrations at the Royal Institution long remained a fashionable rendezvous. In Germany, Helmholtz found it worth while to devote much time to presenting various aspects of theoretical science to the general public. O t h e r scientists have on m a n y occasions found responsive audiences eager to learn not of processes a n d gadgets, but of ideas a n d general laws. As evidence I need only quote a statement made in 1873 by the physicist J o h n Tyndall in Boston at the end of a highly successful tour during which he h a d lectured before lay audiences in the United States. What, I may ask, is the origin of that kindness which drew me from my work in London to address you here, and which, if I permitted it, would send me home a millionaire? Not because I had taught you to make a single cent by science am I here tonight, but because I tried to the best of my ability to present science to the world as an intellectual good. . . . It is specially on this ground of its administering to the higher needs of the intellect; it is mainly because I believe it to be wholesome, not only as a source of knowledge but as a means of discipline, that I urge the claims of science upon your attention. It will be objected, of course, that times have changed, that the public is no longer interested in the large intellecDehumanization of the Scientist

BONES AND STONES, AND SUCH-LIKE THINGS.

Thomas Huxley

{¡825-1895)

is best known as Darwin's bulldog in the controversies over evolution, as a brilliant expositor of nineteenth-century science, and as an ancestor of Aldous and Julian

Huxley.

He deserves also to be remembered for having contributed indirectly, as one of H. G. Wells's teachers, to the introduction of a dynamic social attitude in the modem outlook on science.

tual aspects of science, but is only concerned with what technology can do for h u m a n comfort. Although this objection cannot be denied convincingly, a few facts seem to be incompatible with it. For example, many of the books on science for the general public which became best sellers during recent decades dealt not with practical problems, but rather with large theoretical themes of anthropology, biology, physics, astronomy—nay, of mathematics—which could not be in any way practically useful in the conduct of the reader's material life. Here again, an objective study of public response would be enlightening and could provide useful guidance for the popularization of science. Then, it is probably meaningful that, a m o n g contemporary scientists, the one best known to the public at large is not one whose n a m e is associated with obvious practical achievements but rather Albert Einstein, who symbolized for the whole world, long before the days of the atomic bomb, the h u m a n urge for understanding and for intellectual adventure. A while ago I used the names of Miguel de U n a m u n o and Ortega y Gasset to represent the movement which is often called antiscience. This was unfair to these authors because they are, in truth, the voice of humanity begging scientists to remember that man does not live by bread alone. They express also the fear of seeing science identified exclusively with power and technology at a time when it is beginning to reach populations which have never known it under any other guise. It should not be forgotten that in the Western World science was part of culture for several centuries before coming to be used extensively for practical ends. Even today this cultural heritage still conditions to a certain extent the manner in which science is pursued and employed in the countries of Western civiliDehumanization of the Scientist

zation. In contrast, science is being introduced in the underdeveloped parts of the world not as a cultural pursuit, but merely as a powerful and convenient tool—at best to be used for the production of material wealth, at worst for destructive purposes. For these reasons it seems to me that scientists and science writers betray a public trust when they neglect to emphasize the disinterested aspects of knowledge and are satisfied instead with claiming that all scientific discoveries eventually prove of practical use. On the one hand, there is no evidence that this is true. On the other hand, this attitude ignores the fact that today, as in the past, men starve for understanding almost as much as for food. In the long run the exclusive appeal to practical values may well endanger the future of science and its very existence. It is obvious, of course, that during recent decades science has improved the lot of man on earth, even more successfully than Francis Bacon had anticipated. It is equally true, however, that for many centuries before the modern era, science had enriched mankind with a wealth of understanding at least as valuable as material riches. Scientists, like other men, win esteem and contribute to happiness more effectively by the exercise of wisdom than by the practice of power. And it is good for them to remember that, long before they had achieved technological mastery over nature and thus become servants of society, their functions as high priests of pure knowledge had given them ancient titles of nobility which they must continue to honor.

Dehumani zation of the Scientist

7 The Humanness of Science N o t h i n g could illustrate better the change that occurred in the focus of the scientific community during the Industrial Revolution t h a n the sudden and complete disapp e a r a n c e of the t e r m " n a t u r a l philosophy." T h e schism between science and philosophy was the result of two forces which o p e r a t e d almost simultaneously. O n e was the recognition that knowledge could be used for creating wealth and power; the other was the rapid accumulation of new and unexpected facts which engendered a sense of humility before the complexity of nature and rendered scientists shy of extrapolating from factual knowledge into speculative thoughts. T h e n humility evolved into scorn for speculation, and today the statement "This is not science, this is philosophy" rules out of scientific discussion any statement that goes a step beyond established fact. Yet it is apparent that today, as in the past, many scientists—among them some of the most brilliant and most effective—are eager to escape from the austere discipline of 157

factual knowledge a n d to experience again the intoxication of philosophical thought. T h e y may distrust Plato, but, like him, they seem to regard philosophy as the "dear delight." Witness the flurry of speculative books published by scientists as soon as some discovery enlarges the scope of their knowledge. The theory of evolution has been used by biologists as a platform to erect or justify religious, political, a n d economic philosophies. Familiarity with modern theoretical physics seems to warrant opinions not only on the structure of m a t t e r a n d its relation to energy, but also on the n a t u r e of life, the existence of free will, or the symbolism of language. This return to scientific philosophy negates, it seems to me, the fears so commonly expressed that scientists are becoming a class apart from the rest of society by developing a culture without contact with the rest of h u m a n life. It is true, of course, that within the area of his particular work each scientist becomes so specialized that he finds it difficult to c o m m u n i c a t e on scientific subjects except with other workers in the same specialized field. But this situation is not peculiar to science. It exists just as much in other forms of learning—in philology or Moslem culture as much as in m a t h e m a t i c s or genetics. Moreover, science should not be regarded as one single discipline concerning which sweeping statements c a n be m a d e , any more than this can be done for the so-called humanities. With regard to the knowledge and operations defined by their techniques, the biologist and the mathematician are as far a p a r t as they are from the student of Sanskrit or from the art critic, a n d as these are from each other. We must accept as a fact that the modern world is made u p of a n immense n u m b e r of specialized groups, intellectually separated by experience, words, and the meanThe Humanness of Science

ing of symbols. But althqugh the members of one intellectual guild can rarely understand the professional jargon of another guild, men can a n d do communicate nevertheless at a higher level of discourse. Experiences, words, a n d symbols can usually be reformulated in the context of broader h u m a n meanings. In my opinion, t h e r e a r e not " t w o cultures," even t h o u g h C. P. Snow has m a d e the expression famous. T h e r e are a multiplicity of intellectual occupations, each of which fortunately has several points of contact with h u m a n life. W h a t e v e r his field of specialization, the scholar can be understood beyond the confines of his guild—but only if he is willing to raise his language above the j a r g o n of his trade. T h e scholar must learn to speak to man. Considered from the point of view of this higher level of discourse, n a t u r a l sciences do not seem to be more esoteric, or more "dehumanized," t h a n are other fields of learning. Indeed, it is questionable whether the so-called "humanities" are intrinsically more meaningful and have greater interest for the general public than scientific studies. Literature, music, and the plastic arts owe their popular appeal not to their intellectual content, b u t to their emotional quality, to their play on love, jealousy, hatred, and other passions. When they are reduced to intellectual and technical presentations, humanistic studies are just as devoid of popular appeal as are scientific studies. As to science, it becomes a popular topic whenever it deals with a subject loaded with emotional value, w h e t h e r it be the origin of m a n , the conquest of space, or the sexual norms of the American male. It is doubtful that there exists a definition of culture which is universally acceptable. Yet in ordinary social contacts it is not difficult to identify types of behavior The Humanness of Science

which almost everybody would accept as corresponding to a cultured way of life. For the scientist a cultured attitude implies the ability and willingness to relate his field of work to historical developments, to emphasize its bearing on the future, a n d , more g e n e r a l l y , to recognize its relevance to other human interests. It demands an awareness that science is a humanistic activity to the extent that it is more than a body of facts a n d techniques and that it deals with material meaningful to the preoccupations of mankind. T h e r e are, of course, m a n y specialists w h o are not concerned with the cultural, humanistic implications of science, and who are satisfied with the artisan aspects of their professions, but this is true in all fields of scholarship. As far as I c a n j u d g e , science meets all the requirements usually associated with the concepts of culture and humanism. Furthermore, I see no reason to believe that the scientific way of life is any less compatible than others with the cultivation of a cultured attitude. T h e learned ignoramus that O r t e g a y Gasset found a m o n g scientists is just as familiar a type in the humanities as in science. M o r e positively, it is certain that science is concerned with universals, with an approach to truth, with the recognition of patterns and the creation of concepts, and, last but not least, with the perception of sensuous as well as of abstract beauty. As these statements are somewhat outside my theme, I shall not develop them here. Instead, I shall return briefly to some of the topics discussed in the preceding chapters in order to illustrate that m o d e r n science is maintained in the channel of general culture by the need to reexamine constantly the meaning and relevance of its social and philosophical assumptions. As we have seen, the transformations of h u m a n life which have taken place during the past hundred years are The Humanness of Science

the realizations of the Utopias formulated by the seventeenth- a n d eighteenth-century philosophers. Not so long ago the role of the scientist in this enterprise appeared straightforward a n d all to the good; each advance in scientific knowledge eventually resulted in some contribution to h u m a n health and happiness. Confident of the ultimate beneficence of his work, the scientist had good reasons to keep aloof from social problems. It is obvious, however, that the situation is now changing rapidly, and one can anticipate that the scientist will face more and more problems of conscience as the social power of science continues to increase. The necessity for the scientist to reexamine his activities in the light of social considerations can be illustrated by quotations from the recent report of a committee appointed by the American Association for the Advancement of Science to consider "Science and H u m a n Welfare." In the words of the report: Science is being consciously exploited for industrial, military, and political purposes. At the same time there is little recognition of the internal needs of science, or of its purposes as a discipline of the human mind. . . . Having become a major instrument in political affairs, science is inseparably bound up with many troublesome questions of public policy. That science is valued more for these uses than for its fundamental purpose—the free inquiry into nature—leads to pressures which have begun to threaten the integrity of science itself. When the social implications of science are discussed, the issues that immediately come to mind are certain obvious threats to mankind such as those associated with atomic power or with population pressures. In fact, however, the scientist's responsibility is involved in many other issues which appear less dramatic, perhaps, but are probably as important in the long run and more difficult to The Humanness of Science

solve because less clearly defined. Until very recent times so little could be done to deal with the obvious shortages and sufferings in the world that the most urgent need was to develop techniques for the production of material wealth and for the control of disease. N o w the power of science is so great that almost any desired method, gadget, or product can be developed if we are willing to devote enough resources to the task. And it is precisely the confidence that Utopias can now be converted into realities which creates urgent ethical problems for the scientist. The question of how to do things was a purely technical one that could be decided on scientific criteria; but the choice of what to do, among all the things than can be done, clearly implies some concern with ultimate social consequences. T h e r e is no longer any thoughtful person who believes that the conversion of science into more power, more wealth, or more drugs necessarily adds to health and happiness or improves the human condition. Indeed, haphazard scientific technology pursued without regard for its relevance to the meaning of h u m a n life could spell the end of civilization. Unless he becomes concerned with social philosophy, the scientist will increasingly hear the words of Oscar Wilde applied to him: that he knows the price of everything, but the value of nothing. While the purely theoretical scientist is not directly concerned with problems of social philosophy, he faces other philosophical problems in having to redefine the conceptual basis of his knowledge. Discussions of causality, of the uncertainty principle, of the impossibility of dissociating the observer from the observed event are now equally meaningful for physics and for philosophy. Similarly, it is difficult to believe that biology can long retain its quaint nineteenth-century provincialism and delay reexamining H i e Humanness of Science

the validity of the Cartesian assumptions u n d e r which it operates at present, such as the m i n d - m a t t e r duality and the b o d y - m a c h i n e concept. T h e fact t h a t Bergson's elan vital did not constitute a positive contribution to biological theory is no excuse for ignoring his criticism in Creative Evolution t h a t "we treat the living like the lifeless. . . . We are a t ease only in the discontinuous, in the immobile, in the dead. T h e intellect seems to be characterized by a natural inability to comprehend life." It would seem unnecessary to m e n t i o n here the processes through which new facts are discovered and their validity a n d significance are tested. No one any longer assumes that science advances through a mechanical application of the Baconian inductive method or of Descartes's deductive rationalism. O n the other hand, it is useful to be clearly aware that much of scientific knowledge is concerned not with objects and events as they occur naturally, but with fragments of nature produced artificially by analytical breakdown. Indeed, this analytical a p p r o a c h to knowledge is perhaps the one characteristic that most sharply differentiates science f r o m art in the a t t e m p t to a p p r e h e n d reality, a n d there seems to be an increasing tendency to identify the "scientific m e t h o d " with this approach. In reality, however, some of the great leaps in the scientific advance have come not from the detailed analysis of mechanisms but rather from the total "intuitive" apprehension of reality. Michael Faraday is one of the famous scientists whose discoveries and writings strikingly illustrate the role of intuition in science. Faraday was an unfatigable a n d a peerless experimenter, but in addition he had a kind of divinatory gift that made him perceive, for example, the existence of the fields of forces which were only later described in mathematical terms. H i e Humanness of Science

At the end of a series of experiments that he had hoped would establish a relation between magnetism and other phenomena, he was sincere enough to confide to his notebook, " T h e results are negative. They do not shake my strong feeling of the existence of a relation between gravity and electricity, though they give no proof that such a relation exists." Elsewhere he stated, " I have long held an opinion, almost amounting to conviction . . . that the various forms under which the forces of matter are made manifest have one common origin; . . . that they are convertible, as it were, one into another." Those who knew Faraday were aware of the visionary, almost prophetic aspect of his scientific personality. "Er riecht die Wahrheit" (He smells the truth) Kuhlraush said of him. J o h n Tyndall spoke of his "flashes of wondrous insight and utterances which seem less the product of reasoning than of revelation." And Clerk Maxwell obviously was comparing Faraday's concrete vision with his own abstract analytical mind when he wrote that scientific truth is equally valid whether it appears "in the robust form and the vivid colouring of a physical illustration, or in the tenuity and paleness of a symbolical expression." While emphasizing the limitations imposed on Faraday by the inadequacy of his theoretical training, Professor Charles C. Gillispie also recognized in his book The Edge of Objectivity that "there was given to him as to few scientists a sense of the spatial. He would almost see the moving wire slice through the lines of force and the current stir within. Perhaps, after all, it was the reward of his incapacity for abstraction, this vision of nature in the round, and in depth . . . " (Italics mine.) It is perhaps this "vision of Nature in the round" that Einstein had in mind when he wrote in his autobiography, "Physics is an attempt to T h e Humanness of Science

g r a s p reality as it is t h o u g h t , i n d e p e n d e n t l y of it being observed." G r a n t e d t h a t certain individuals with special gifts have been able to a d v a n c e knowledge by a kind of intuition, it must be a d m i t t e d nevertheless that the most concrete and also the most characteristic a c h i e v e m e n t s of Western t h o u g h t h a v e b e e n t h e products of a n a l y t i c rationalism. But it is possible t h a t as a result of c u l t i v a t i n g with such intensity t h e a b s t r a c t , c o n c e p t u a l aspects of science, we have allowed o u r endowments for perception of n a t u r e in the r o u n d to b e c o m e a t r o p h i e d , or at least b l u n t e d . Although the a t t r i b u t e of perception c a n n o t be measured or defined, experience shows that persons differ in the degree to which they c a n a p p r e h e n d as a whole t h e multiple aspects of reality a n d t h e interrelations b e t w e e n t h e m . As Aldous Huxley stated in The Doors of Perception, " W e must preserve a n d if necessary intensify o u r ability to look at the world directly a n d not t h r o u g h t h e h a l f - o p a q u e med i u m of concepts, which distorts every given fact into the all too familiar likeness of some generic label or explanatory abstraction." Needless to say, reintroducing " p e r c e p t i o n " as a technique in science involves the danger of substituting meaningless generalities for the concreteness of exact knowledge, of d r o w n i n g facts a n d laws in t h e morass of loose words and vague concepts. But insistence on clearness of thought and of purpose need not deter us from recognizing that in t h e long r u n k n o w l e d g e m i g h t be e n r i c h e d by cultivating t h e awareness t h a t almost e v e r y t h i n g is relevant to e v e r y t h i n g else. Reality h a s m u l t i p l e facets and, therefore, can be a p p r e h e n d e d only if seen f r o m different points of view. T h e concept of c o m p l e m e n t a r i t y is, of course, a manifestation of this awareness. The Humanness of Science

One of the intellectual steps that led to modern science was the recognition that man cannot discover the laws of the universe, let alone achieve mastery over n a t u r e , by the mere exercise of reason. Experimentation is the safest and most rapid road to knowledge a n d to power. But the fact that scientific knowledge is now gained mostly by experimentation does not decrease the power a n d the dangers of reason. W h a t the experimenter does, a n d consequently what he finds, is determined to a large extent by his assumptions. Thus, in practice, the facts revealed to the experimenter are limited by the range of his reason, and not uncommonly they are distorted by the very dreams of his reason. T o a large extent also, the experimenter is like Antaeus, in Greek mythology, whose strength ebbed as soon as he lost contact with the earth and could be renewed only when he again touched the ground. T h e perceptions of the scientist are the contacts through which his creative power is kept alive and healthy. They provide the substantial food which generates a deeper kind of objectivity, more true f u n d a m e n tally than factual evidence. Deprived of this h u m a n quality, reason tends to spin cobwebs, or to create nightmares that alienate science from man. Individual scientists may display an intellectual arrogance and lack of humanism fostered by confidence that their knowledge means wealth a n d power. As a class, however, scientists have remained humble. T h e y realize with Democritus that " W e know nothing unerringly but only as it changes according to the disposition of our body and the things that enter it and impinge upon it." Fortunately, limitation of understanding is compatible with a creative social attitude. In fact, the dynamic character of modern science is due in large part to the m a n n e r in The Humanness of Science

which it has put into practice Kant's definition of faith: namely, holding a concept to be true on grounds that are adequate for action, although they may not be sufficient to satisfy the intellect. Above and beyond these pragmatic considerations, scientists are also convinced that what they do has a bearing on the apprehension of absolute truth. Whatever questions are asked concerning the universe a n d h u m a n destiny, the answers of theologians and of philosophers must be consistent with the demands of informed intelligence— that is, with scientific facts. No one can question, furthermore, t h a t the world of living as well as of lifeless things revealed by scientific investigation is incomparably grander than anything that emerges from abstract thought or from the most vivid imagination. By uncovering some of the hidden mechanisms of appearances, science opens to contemplation and meditation new, unexpected vistas. Science is like a revelation that enlarges awareness by sharpening a n d extending the direct perceptions from which philosophy originated.

The Humanness of Science