Part 2

Let me be fully understood. It is not to be expected or desired that many of our students should become professional men of science. The places of employment for scientific men are but few, and more in the future than in the past they will naturally be secured by those whom Nature has endowed with special aptitudes or tastes--usually the signs of aptitudes--to investigate her laws. That our country will always offer an honorable career to her men of genius, we have every reason to expect, and these born students of Nature will usually follow the plain indications of Providence without encouragement or direction from us.

It is different, however, with the great body of earnest students who are conscious of no special aptitudes, but who are desirous of doing the best thing to fit themselves for usefulness in the world; and I feel that any system of education is radically defective which does not comprise a sufficient training in the methods of experimental science to make the mass of our educated men familiar with this tool of modern civilization: so that, when, hereafter, new conquests over matter are announced and great discoveries are proclaimed, they may be able not only to understand but also to criticise the methods by which the assumed results have been reached, and thus be in a position to distinguish between the true and the false. Whether we will or not, we must live under the direction of this great power of modern society, and the only question is whether we will be its ignorant slave or its intelligent servant.

In the second place, it seems fitting that I should state to you what I regard as the true aims to be kept in view in a course of scientific study, and to give my reasons for the methods we have adopted in arranging the courses you are about beginning.

In our day there has arisen a warm discussion as to the relative claims of two kinds of culture, and attempts are made to create an antagonism between them. But all culture is the same in spirit. Its object is to awaken and strengthen the powers of the mind; for these, like the muscles of the body, are developed and rendered strong and active only by exercise; while, on the other hand, they may become atrophied from mere want of use. Science culture differs in its methods from the old classical culture, but it has the same spirit and the same object. You must not, therefore, expect me to advocate the former at the expense of the latter; for, although I have labored assiduously during a quarter of a century to establish the methods of science teaching which have now become general, I am far from believing that they are the only true modes of obtaining a liberal education. So far from this, if it were necessary to choose one of two systems, I should favor the classical; and why?

Language is the medium of thought, and can not be separated from it. He who would think well must have a good command of language, and he who has the best command of language I am almost tempted to say will think the best. For this reason a certain amount of critical study of language is essential for every educated man, and such study is not likely to be gained except through the great ancient languages; the advocates of classical scholarship frequently say, can not be gained. I am not ready to accept this dictum; but I most willingly concede that in the present state of our schools it is not likely to be gained. I never had any taste myself for classical studies; but I know that I owe to the study a great part of the mental culture which has enabled me to do the work that has fallen to my share in life.

But, while I concede all this, I do not believe, on the other hand, that the classical is the only effective method of culture; you evidently do not think so, for you would not be here if you did. But, in abandoning the old tried method, which is known to be good, for the new, you must be careful that you gain the advantages which the new offers; and you will not gain the new culture you seek unless you study science in the right way. In the classical departments the methods are so well established, and have been so long tested by experience, that there can hardly be a wrong way. But in science there is not only a wrong way, but this wrong way is so easy and alluring that you will most certainly stray into it unless you strive earnestly to keep out of it. Hence I am most anxious to point out to you the right way, and do what I can to keep you in it; and you will find that our courses and methods have been devised with this object.

When advocating in our mother University of Cambridge, in Old England, the claims of scientific culture, I was pushed with an argument which had very great weight with the eminent English scholars present, and which you will be surprised to learn was regarded as fatal to the success of the science "triposes" then under debate. The argument was that the experimental sciences could not be made the subjects of competitive examinations. Some may smile at such an objection; but, as viewed from the English standpoint, there was really a great deal in it, and the argument brought out the radical difference between scientific and classical culture.

The old method of culture may be said to have culminated in the competitive examinations of the English universities. We have no such examinations here. Success depends not simply on knowing your subject thoroughly, but on having it at your fingers' ends, and those fingers so agile that they can accomplish not only a prodigious amount of work in a short time, but can do this work with absolute accuracy. For the only approach we make to an experience of this kind, we must look to our athletic contests. It may of course be doubted whether the ability, once in a man's life, to perform such mental feats, is worth what it costs. Still it implies a very high degree of mental culture, and it is perfectly certain that the experimental sciences give no field for that sort of mental prize-fights. It is easy to prepare written examinations which will show whether the students have been faithful to their work, but they can not be adapted to such competitions as I have described without abandoning the true object of science culture. The ability of the scientific student can only be shown by long-continued work at the laboratory table, and by his success in investigating the problems which Nature presents.

We have here struck the true key-note of the scientific method. The great object of all our study should be to study Nature, and all our methods should be directed to this one object. This aim alone will ennoble our scholarship as students, and will give dignity to our scientific calling as men of science. It is this high aim, moreover, which vindicates the worth of the mode of culture we have chosen. What is it that ennobles literary culture but the great minds which, through this culture, have honored the nations to which they belong?

The culture we have chosen is capable of even greater things; not because science is nobler than art, for both are equally noble--it is the thought, the conception, which ennobles, and I care not whether it be attained through one kind of exercise of the mental faculties or another--but we are capable of grander and nobler thoughts than Plato, Cicero, Shakespeare, or Newton, because we live in a later period of the world's history, when, through science, the world has become richer in great ideas. It is, I repeat, the great thought which ennobles, and it ennobles because it raises to a higher plane that which is immortal in our manhood.

If I have made my meaning clear, and if you sympathize with my feelings, you will understand why I regard culture as so important to the individual and to the nation. The works of Shakespeare and of Bacon are of more value to England to-day than the memories of Blenheim or Trafalgar; and those great minds will still be living powers in the world when Marlborough and Nelson are only remembered as historical names.

I therefore believe that it is the first duty of a country to foster the highest culture, and that it should be the aim of every scholar to promote this culture both by his own efforts and his active influence. A nation can become really great in no other way. We live in a country of great possibilities; and the danger is that, as with many men I have known in college, of great potential abilities, the greatness will end where it begins. The scholars of the country should have but one voice in this matter, and urge upon the government and upon individuals the duty of encouraging and supporting mental culture for its own sake.

The time has passed when we can afford to limit the work of our higher institutions of learning to teaching knowledge already acquired. Henceforth the investigation of unsolved problems, and the discovery of new truth, should be one of the main objects at our American universities, and no cost grudged which is required to maintain at them the most active minds, in every branch of knowledge which the country can be stimulated to produce.

I could urge this on the self-interest of the nation as an obvious dictate of political economy. I could say, and say truly, that the culture of science will help us to develop those latent resources of which we are so proud; will enable us to grow two blades of grass where one grew before; to extract a larger percentage of metal from our ores; to economize our coal, and in general to direct our waiting energies so that they may produce a more abundant pecuniary reward. I could tell of Galvani studying for twenty long years, to no apparent purpose, the twitching of frogs' hind-legs, and thus sowing the seed from which has sprung the greatest invention of modern times. Or, if our Yankee impatience would be unwilling to wait half a century for the fruit to ripen, I could point to the purely theoretical investigations of organic chemistry, which in less than five years have revolutionized one of the great industries of Europe, and liberated thousands of acres for a more beneficent agriculture. This is all true, and may be urged properly if higher considerations will not prevail. It is an argument I have used in other places, but I will not use it here; although I gladly acknowledge the Providence which brings at last even material fruits to reward conscientious labor for the advancement of knowledge and the intellectual elevation of mankind. I would rather point to that far greater multitude who worked in faith for the love of knowledge, and who ennobled themselves and ennobled their nation, not because they added to its material prosperity, but because they made themselves and made their fellows more noble men.

I come back now again to the moral of all this, to urge upon you, as the noblest patriotism and the most enlightened self-interest, the duty of striving for yourselves and encouraging in others the highest culture in the studies you have chosen, and this culture with one end in view, to advance knowledge. I am far, of course, from advising you to grapple immaturely with unsolved problems, or, when you have gained the knowledge with which you can dare to venture from the beaten track, to undertake work beyond your power. Many a young scientific man has suffered the fate of Icarus in attempting to soar too high. Moreover, I am far from expecting that all or many of you will ever have the opportunity of going beyond the well-explored fields of knowledge; but you can all have the aim, and that aim will make your work more worthy and more profitable to yourselves. Every American boy can not be President of the United States, but if, as our English cousins allege, he believes that he can be, the very belief makes him an abler man.

We have dwelt long enough on these generalities, and it is time to come down to commonplaces, and to inquire what are the essential conditions of this scientific culture which shall fit us to investigate Nature; and the first thought that occurs to me in this connection may be expressed thus: Science presents to us two aspects, which I may call its objective and its subjective aspect. Objectively it is a body of facts, which we have to observe, and subjectively it is a body of truths, conclusions, or inferences, deduced from these facts; and the two sides of the subject should always be kept in view.

I propose next to say a few words in regard to each of these two aspects of our study, and in regard to the best means of training our faculties so as to work successfully in each sphere. First, then, success in the observation of phenomena implies three qualities at least, namely, quickness and sharpness of perception, accuracy in details, and truthfulness; and on its power to cultivate these qualities a large part of the value of science, as a means of education, depends.

To begin with the cultivation of our perceptions. We are all gifted with senses, but how few of us use them to the best advantage! "We have eyes and see not"; for, although the light paints the picture on the retina, our dull perceptions give no attention to the details, and we retain only a confused impression of what has passed before our eyes. "But how," you may ask, "are we to cultivate this sharpness of perception?" I answer, only by making a conscious effort to fix our attention on the objects we study until the habit becomes a second nature. I have often noticed, with surprise, the power which uneducated miners frequently possess of recognizing many minerals at sight. This they have acquired by long experience and close familiarity with such objects, and such power of observation is with them so purely a habit that they are frequently unable to state clearly the grounds on which their conclusions are based. They recognize the minerals by what in common language is called their "looks" and they notice delicate differences in the "looks" to which most men are blind. It is, however, the business of the scientific mineralogist to analyze these "looks," and to point out in what the differences consist; so that by fixing his attention on these points the student may gain, by a few hours' study, the power which the miner acquires only after long experience.

The chief difficulty, however, which we find in teaching mineralogy is, that the students do not readily see the differences when they are pointed out, or, if they see them, do not remember them with sufficient precision to render their subsequent observations conclusive and precise. This either arises from a failure to cultivate the powers of observation in childhood, or the subsequent blunting of them by disuse. The ladies will scout the idea that a brooch of cut-glass is as ornamental as one of diamond, and yet I venture to assert that there is not one person in fifty, at least of those who have not made a study of the subject, who can tell the difference between the two. The external appearance depends simply on what we call lustre. The lustre of glass is vitreous, that of the diamond adamantine; and I know of no other distinction which it is more difficult for students to recognize than this. Those of you who study mineralogy will experience this difficulty, and it can be overcome only by giving careful attention to the subject. The teacher can do nothing more than put in your hands the specimens which illustrate the point, and you must study these specimens until you see the difference. It is a question of sight, not of understanding, and all the optical theories of the cause of the lustre will not help you in the least toward seeing the difference between diamond and glass, or anglesite and heavy spar.

Another illustration of the same fact is the constant failure of students to distinguish by the eye alone between the two minerals called copper-glance and gray copper. There is a difference of color and lustre which, although usually well marked, it requires an educated eye to distinguish.

Mineralogy undoubtedly demands a more careful cultivation of the perceptions than the other branches of chemistry; but still you will find abundant practice for close observation in them all. I have often known students to reach erroneous results in qualitative analysis by mistaking a white precipitate in a colored liquid for a colored precipitate, or by not attending to similar broad distinctions, which would have been obvious to any careful observer; and so in quantitative analysis, mere delicacy of touch or handling is a great element of success.

But I must pass on to speak of the importance in the study of Nature of accuracy in detail, which is the second condition of successful observation of which I spoke. We must cultivate not only accuracy in observing details, but also accuracy in following details which have been laid down by others for our guidance. In science we can not draw correct conclusions from our premises unless we are sure that we have all the facts, and what seemed at first an unimportant detail often proves to be the determining condition of the result; and, again, if we are told that under certain conditions a certain sign is the proof of the presence of a certain substance, we have no right to assume that the sign is of any value unless the conditions are fulfilled. A black precipitate, for example, obtained under certain conditions, is a proof of the presence of nickel, but we can not assert that we have found nickel unless we have followed out those details in every particular.

Of course, we must avoid empiricism as far as we can. We must seek to learn the reasons of the details, and such knowledge will not only render our work intelligent, but will also frequently enable us to judge how far the details are essential, and to what extent our processes may be varied with safety. We must also avoid trifling, and, above all, "the straining at a gnat and swallowing a camel," as is the habit with triflers. Large knowledge and good judgment will avoid all such errors; but, if we must choose between fussiness and carelessness, the first is the least evil. Slovenly work means slovenly results, and habits of carefulness, neatness, and order produce as excellent fruits in the laboratory as in the home.

Last in order but first in importance of the conditions of successful observation, mentioned above, stands truthfulness. Here you may think I am approaching a delicate subject, of which even to speak might seem to cast a reproach. But not so at all. I am not speaking here of conscious deception, for I assume that no one who aspires to be a student of Nature can be guilty of that. But I am speaking of a quality whose absence is not necessarily a mark of sinfulness, but whose possession, in a high degree, is a characteristic of the greatest scientific talent. As every lawyer knows, he is a rare man whose testimony is not colored by his interests, and a very large amount of self-deception is compatible with conscious honesty of purpose.

So among scientific students the power to keep the mind unbiased, and not to color our observations in the least degree, is one of the rarest as it is one of the noblest of qualities. It is a quality we must strive after with all our might, and we shall not attain it unless we strive. Remember, our observations are our data, and, unless accurate, everything deduced from them must have the taint of our deception. We can not deceive Nature, however much we may deceive ourselves; and there is many a student who would cut off his right hand rather than be guilty of a conscious untruth, who is yet constantly untruthful to himself. Every year students of mineralogy present to me written descriptions of mineral specimens which particularize, as observed, characters that do not appear on the specimen given them to determine, although they may be the correct characters of some other mineral.

There is usually no want of honesty in this, but, deceived by some accident, the student has made a wrong guess, and then imagined that he saw on the specimen those characters which he knew from the descriptions ought to appear on the assumed mineral. So, also, it not unfrequently happens that a student in qualitative analysis, who has obtained some hints in regard to the composition of his solution, will torture his observations until they seem to him to confirm his erroneous inferences; and again the student in quantitative analysis, who finds out the exact weight he ought to obtain, is often insensibly influenced by this knowledge--in the washing and ignition of his precipitate, or in some other way--and thus obtains results whose only apparent fault may be a too close agreement with theory, but which, nevertheless, are not accurate because not true. It is evident how fatal such faults as these must be to the investigation of truth, and they are equally destructive of all scientific scholarship. Their effect on the student is so marked that, although he may deceive himself, he will rarely deceive his teacher. That he should lose confidence in his own results is, to the teacher, one of the most marked indications of such false methods of study, but the student usually refers his want of success to any cause but the real one--his own untruthfulness. He will complain of the teacher, or of the methods of instruction, and may even persuade himself that all scientific results are as uncertain as his own. As I have said, mere ordinary truthfulness, which spurns any conscious deception, will not save us from falling into such faults. Our scientific study demands a much higher order of truthfulness than this. We should so love the truth above all price as to strive for it with single-hearted and unswerving purpose. We must be constantly on our guard to avoid any circumstance which would tend to bias our minds or warp our judgments, and we must make the attainment of the truth our sole motive, guide, and end.

It remains for me, before closing this address, to say a few words on what I have called the subjective aspect of scientific study. Science offers us not only a mass of phenomena to be observed, but also a body of truths which have been deduced from these observations; and, without the power of drawing correct inferences from the data acquired, exact observations would be of little value. I have already described the inductive method of reasoning, and illustrated it by two noteworthy examples, and, in a humbler measure, we must apply the same method in our daily work in the laboratory. We must learn how to vary our experiments so as to eliminate the accidental circumstances, and make evident the essential conditions of the phenomena we are studying. Such power can only be acquired by practice, and a somewhat long experience in active teaching has convinced me that there is no better means of training this logical faculty than the study of qualitative chemical analysis in which many of you are to engage.

The results of the processes of qualitative analysis are perfectly definite and trustworthy; but they are only reached by following out the indications of experiments which are frequently obscure, and even apparently contradictory; reconciling by new experiments the seeming discrepancies, and, at last, having eliminated all other possible causes of the phenomena observed, discovering the true nature of the substances under examination.

The study of mineralogy affords an almost equally good practice, although in a somewhat different form. By comparing carefully many specimens of the same mineral, you learn to distinguish the accidental from the essential characters, and on this distinction you must base your inferences in regard to the nature of the specimens you may be called upon to determine. A single remark occurs to me which may aid you in cultivating this scientific logic.