Many of the essentials for laying claim to a right to be numbered
among the intellectual elite have been discussed above, but not all.
Suppose that a savage has had from birth all the qualities which we
have just reviewed, but that he is entirely ignorant of the progress of
the science and industry of the civilized world. It would be extremely
difficult for him to advance our knowledge, for he knows nothing about
such matters. He can accomplish feats which to him seem extraordinarily
difficult, such as, cutting flint or extracting iron from ores, just as
his ancestors did. To us, however, he would seem ignorant and no one
would dream of classing him as a great man.
No one can make innovations or improve our knowledge unless he is
cognizant of actual conditions. There are several reasons why this is
so. In the first place, one can obviously improve only those things
which he really knows. A frequent cause of the failure of inventors
is that they knowingly venture into unfamiliar fields. Bessemer, the
son of a metallurgist, advanced the science of metallurgy, but made
a miserable failure when he attempted to build a large telescope and
also when he tried to construct a boat designed to prevent seasickness,
because he knew little or nothing about the theory of optical
instruments or of mechanical principles.
While serving on a commission appointed to investigate fire damp, I met
a physician, intelligent, possessed of a good practice, but obsessed by
the demon of invention. Much affected by an explosion in which several
hundred miners had been killed, he thought it would be a good thing
to send a current of air through the mine to sweep out the explosive
gases and thus obviate such disasters. He disclosed his plan to an
official in the Department of Public Works, and the latter warmly
congratulated him on his initiative. This unfortunate encouragement
led him to abandon his practice for a year and he devoted himself to
the construction of a ventilating system. We were obliged to inform
him that every coal mine in the world is ventilated. Furthermore,
twenty kilometers from his home he could have seen in action immense
installations which closely resembled the blowing apparatus which he
had worked out, and this device differed but slightly from the bellows
used for several thousands of years by savages for melting metals.
A second reason for being well acquainted with the field arises from
the fact that all creative advances, all discoveries are, for the
most part, the result of combining facts already known. The progress
achieved by a single individual is, in general, extremely little, but
among these short steps forward, one perhaps, like the last drop which
causes the vessel to overflow, may make an invention realizable or it
may alter the orientation of our scientific ideas.
Pasteur did not invent the communication of diseases, for this
was known to all physicians, nor did he discover the existence of
living microscopic organisms, which had been studied from the time
of Spallanzani. He merely compared these two sets of phenomena and
recognized their relations one to the other. Had he not known the
facts, he could not have made the discovery. Likewise, Lavoisier did
not invent the balance; it had often been used before. Every alchemist
who extracted metals from ores had checked the efficiency of his
procedures by weighing. On the other hand, all the physicists knew
that gases had weight. Lavoisier simply had to combine these facts to
recognize that the increase in weight of metals when calcined in the
air was due to the absorption of a gas, oxygen. The time was ripe for
this discovery, and Lavoisier had only to pluck the ripened fruit.
The same holds true in industry. The open hearth process of making
steel resulted from a combination of Reaumur’s century-old work on
the refining of cast iron and Siemens’ new method of heating. In his
invention of the incandescent gas mantle, von Welsbach started with
Clamond’s magnesia “basket” and perfected this device by substituting
thoria for the magnesia. This linkage of known facts is so common
that no industrial invention is so novel that the lawyers cannot find
authorities for prior claims. For the same reason, the defamers of
great scholars, great writers and great painters find great pleasure in
accusing them of plagiarism. Fontaine has been reproached with having
copied from Aesop, and Corneille is accused of servile imitation of
Guillen de Castro.
If the popular saying, “There is nothing new under the sun,” is surely
not strictly true, nevertheless it is quite accurate to state that
progress due to any one man is comparatively small. Humanity moves
forward at a slow pace, but the thousand-fold accumulation of short
steps forward has altered the face of the world. This progressive
revolution has only been possible because men have had a thorough
knowledge of the accomplishments of their predecessors.
A third reason for being well versed is that accomplishment of anything
new demands a knowledge of the technique of the field, and this has to
be learned. If Bessemer had not been a founder in his youth he would
never have invented his process of making steel. A thorough knowledge
of analytical chemistry is essential to the making of chemical
discoveries; success in literature is only possible to one who really
knows his own language; a painter must know how to draw. This assertion
may appear to be a step backward. Too many artists try to paint,
knowing neither drawing nor manipulation of colors; too many scientists
have no interest in methods involving actual measurements, but they are
content to construct their science with pencil and paper only. These
varieties of modern painting and science are very fruitful for their
devotees. However, who dares to assert that the cubists and similar
faddists will some day be classed as great painters or that much of
our present-day theories of the constitution of matter will be highly
regarded fifty years from now. In comparison, the men who discovered
new laws in chemistry, electricity, optics, etc., will be just as
honored thousands of years hence, as Pythagoras, Ptolemy and Archimedes
now are.
This knowledge of the field, essential to any worker who hopes to
advance human welfare, may be acquired through instruction furnished by
schools of all grades, from the highest to the lowest, or it may be a
result of observation of the facts, i. e., a fruit of the direct study
of the surroundings in which we live.
No one is born with a knowledge of the outer world; this must be
acquired solely from experience and toil. Certain natural endowments,
memory in particular, favor the acquisition of this necessary
knowledge. Many great men have had remarkable memories, Berthelot and
President Poincare are outstanding instances. The former knew the
titles of more than a thousand of his papers and the volume numbers of
the Annales de Chimie in which they were published. It is said that
Poincare needed only to write a speech once to know it by heart. He
amazed his audience at the Sorbonne by his delivery of a eulogy of the
scientific achievements of Berthelot. He spoke more than an hour and a
quarter, using no notes or memoranda, and yet with such precision that
any one might have thought him an exceptionally well-informed chemist.
The sense of observation is no less valuable; it is essential to the
completion of the fragmentary knowledge acquired by the memory during
the years of schooling. As we go through life, we are confronted by
a multiplicity of facts which demand our attention and efforts. They
are so numerous that we cannot expect to learn them from books, and,
furthermore, many of them are not common knowledge and consequently
cannot be found in courses of instruction. Our knowledge of the world
is constantly augmented by the labor of every one of us, but the
contributions are extremely unequal varying with aptitude and training.
In military instruction, observation is taught by assignments in
scouting. The pupil is sent to a given point and on his return he is
questioned as to what he saw. Usually, he has seen nothing. He is sent
back and told what to look for; the undulations of the ground, the kind
of vegetation, isolated trees, hedgerows, roads, houses, the contour of
the horizon, and little by little the pupil improves.
High-school exercises in science should be largely planned to develop
observational powers. Actual handling of apparatus and materials lends
itself excellently to this end. A student is told to heat a material,
say iodine, in a test tube, or to dissolve a substance, mercuric
sulphate, for instance, in water, and then asked to describe all that
he has seen. After he has completed his report, the instructor should
point out all that actually can be observed in the experiment.