For something like seventy years science has been the dominant
intellectual activity of the Western world. During that period the
range of its material has greatly increased until now the scientific
method is regarded as the method proper to almost any investigation.
Philosophy is still a partial exception, but there is a strong tendency
to regard such philosophic problems as are not susceptible to the
application of the scientific method as being essentially incapable
of solution, or else as incorrectly stated. But although the prestige
of science is so great, and the general attitude towards it so
reverential, there is still much confusion respecting its function and
achievement. Its relations to other human interests and activities are
not yet clearly defined. The attempts to define them by allotting to
science its “sphere” have proved, in the result, to be so ill-judged
that it is now considered safer to waive the question of limitations
altogether. The question is not settled. Everything is left open, but
it is not therefore assumed that science contains or will contain all
we know or all we need to know. Science is not yet the one object of
our contemplation: we have a number of interests which still lead
separate lives. The separation is not complete. Science, if not openly,
then indirectly, has invaded every province of the mind, and even a
modern musical composition counts Copernicus as well as Beethoven
amongst its ancestors. But it is admitted, of course, that we are
not usually reminded of astronomy in listening to music; there is a
sense in which music, and many other things, are autonomous. But it
is interesting to notice that science, to a greater extent than any
other pursuit, can be isolated, although its historical direction has
been influenced, of course, by social and political accidents. Science
has given generously, but has taken comparatively little, and its few
borrowings are in process of being handed back with regret as being,
after all, unsuitable.
What, then, is the precise nature and extent of the contribution of
science to our total stock? Although we do not intend its practical
applications by this question, we cannot wholly ignore them. It is
impossible completely to separate the “material” and “spiritual”
aspects of life, and the sum of the practical applications of science
has even profoundly affected much of our abstract thinking. Where it
has not originated questions it has at least made them acute, if by no
other process than by creating or transforming social conditions. It is
easy to trace the ancestry of whole schools of social philosophy to
the steam engine and the dynamo, and it is probable that the influence
of future applications will be even more extensive. The morality,
art and philosophy of, for example, a disease-less world, where the
average span of human life was two or three times its present value,
would certainly differ greatly from our own. We cannot, then, ignore
the practical applications of science, although they are not, in
themselves, pertinent to our question. But when we turn to consider the
direct spiritual value of science we are conscious, at the outset, of
some hesitation.
It was a common article of the Victorian scientist’s creed that
scientific study was, in itself, an “ennobling” and purifying
influence. He stressed the complete detachment required, in scientific
research, from all prepossessions; the man of science was completely
candid, completely docile in face of the facts. Until one became as
a little child it was no use entering a laboratory. We have realised
since then that scientific men are human, and have their full share of
the unfortunate characteristics proper to that state. But it remains
true that the scientific ideal of detachment and the scientific ideal
of evidence are higher than the corresponding ideals elsewhere. In
spite of the evidence furnished by our newspapers we may, if we are
optimists, believe that science is gradually infecting the whole
community with its conception of these ideals. If this is indeed the
case it must be counted a direct and very important moral gain, as an
indisputably valuable contribution which may be set over against those
somewhat ambiguous practical applications.
A third contribution is to be found in the large store of æsthetic
objects provided by science. Many of its theories are objects of
surpassing beauty. This is particularly true of the mathematical
sciences--indeed, there are a number of mathematicians who have felt
impelled to write of their science in a kind of prose-poetry--but it is
almost equally true of such a science as Geology. We can contemplate
schemes which, in their own way, are as all-embracing as that of the
_Divina Commedia_, and it does not detract from their æsthetic
charm to know that they are also true. The processes by which the
theories are obtained are often as æsthetically important as the
theories themselves. A subtle, elaborate and economical piece of
reasoning often affords great æsthetic pleasure, none the less real
because comparatively few people enjoy it. The fact that the history of
a big scientific investigation, such as the Electromagnetic Theory or
Einstein’s Theory of Relativity, is not generally regarded as a poem
is due merely to an accident of language and education. But we have to
admit that most people are affected by these accidents, and that the
æsthetic objects provided by science count almost as few admirers as
do the “beauties” of chess. If we may judge from the number of popular
books and articles dealing with science, there is some hope, however,
that this particular contribution is receiving more attention. The
results of such increased attention will not be simple, but if it did
no more than add fresh æsthetic objects, the contribution would be
important.
The fourth contribution of science, both in itself and for its reaction
on other interests, is perhaps the most important of all. This
contribution is, put briefly, the light thrown by science on man’s
place in the universe. Every branch of science conspires directly to
this end. With some the emphasis is on the universe as distinct from
man; others are concerned chiefly with man himself. To the general
mind the result has been to make the universe bigger and man smaller,
and this is, perhaps, no unfair summary. It is probably difficult,
after hearing a duet sung by an astronomer and a psycho-analyst, not
to feel depressed. But, such as it is, there can be no doubt that any
conception of man’s destiny that is to command attention must conceive
that destiny as played against the background of the scientific cosmos.
Whether the vision be that of a prophet, philosopher or poet, it must
accept those postulates. The cosmos revealed by science, both in
its direct influence upon the mind and in its almost equally direct
influence upon religion, philosophy and the arts, is the most important
part of the scientific contribution to our spiritual life. So far as
philosophers and artists are concerned, this influence is recognised.
It is probably desirable that the influence upon philosophy should
increase, but in the case of the artist we are faced with a special
problem. Its discussion would be interesting, the more so in view of
the fact that artists themselves have contributed very little that is
helpful to its elucidation. We think it essential to its solution to
remember that the artist, like the scientist, starts with facts. But
the system within which the facts are related is entirely different
in the two cases. The scientific scheme must, of course, be accepted
by the artist _en bloc_ if his work is to be more than a pure
fantasy. But this is very different from identifying his own scheme
with the scientific scheme. That is to fail signally to perceive
the limitations of the scientific contribution. An interesting
particular case of this problem is to be found in the question of
the right relations of the psychological novelist to the science of
psycho-analysis. A scientific investigation is often, as we have
said, a work of art, but not necessarily a work of literary art. The
scientific contribution is very considerable, but offerings from the
older benefactors are still gratefully received.