Nevertheless it remains

Nevertheless it remains

Properly, while scientific men, as human beings, are of all sorts, they do exhibit, in their own work, a degree of mental honesty which is unusual. It is easy to see that this virtue, at any rate, has a strictly utilitarian[Pg 115] basis. A scientific man is honest because he cannot succeed on any other terms in the long run. The experimental verification always looms ahead. He cannot, like the mystic who maintains his opinion in the face of the world, take refuge in the more profound insight. His results are communicable and verifiable, or they are not science. Philosophies may be constructed which no man can verify and no man can refute. Their authors may, with complete assurance, remain satisfied of their truth and lament the universal blindness of humanity, just as a poet may present a front of unconquerable self-esteem to the ignorant derision of the world. But the whole claim of science is that it is communicable and verifiable. It is found, as a matter of experience, that results of this kind are not usually obtained unless a specific mental habit is first acquired. It is this mental habit which is generally called the scientific mind. Where it is the outcome of a natural predisposition, it may be classed as a moral quality, and, as such, is not peculiar to, or widely distributed amongst, scientific men. But as a tool, as a technique, it is of greater obvious value and is more extensively employed in the sciences than in any other human activities.

[Pg 116]

THE SCIENTIFIC CONTRIBUTION For about seventy years, science has been the dominant intellectual activity in the Western world. During that period, the range of its material has dramatically increased, and now the scientific method is regarded as the proper method for 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 explain 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[Pg 117] we know or all we need to know. Science is not yet the one object of our contemplation: we have several 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 note that science, more than any other pursuit, can be isolated. However, 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 the 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 to discuss its practical applications in this question, we cannot ignore them entirely. It is impossible to completely separate the “material” and “spiritual” aspects of life, and the practical applications of science have 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[Pg 118] whole schools of social philosophy to the steam engine and the dynamo, and 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 differ significantly 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 the 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. Despite 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[Pg 119] be counted as a direct and significant 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, several mathematicians have felt impelled to write of their science in a kind of prose-poetry — but it is almost equally valid 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 crucial as the theories themselves. A subtle, elaborate and economical piece of reasoning usually affords great æsthetic pleasure, nonetheless real because comparatively few people enjoy it. The fact that the history of a considerable 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[Pg 120] 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 significant.

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 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 psychoanalyst, 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 essential part of the scientific contribution to our spiritual life. So far as philosophers and artists are concerned, this influence is recognised. It is desirable[Pg 121] that the impact 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. It is essential to the 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.

[Pg 122]

THEORIES AND PERSONALITIES That a scientific theory is, in some sense, a personal achievement becomes evident when we study several theories lying within the same branch of science. The ordinary belief that science is completely impersonal is undoubtedly not true. And yet it is not easy to see how a scientific theory can express the personality of its author; it is difficult, that is to say, to understand in what way a scientific theory can resemble a work of art. It seems that the fact that a scientific theory must have “objective truth” renders it an altogether different thing from a work of art. It would be more to say that the element of objective truth radically differentiates a scientific theory from those works of art which are independent of all experience of life, as specific musical compositions may be, for instance. But it is not clear that, in general, works of art are independent of objective truth; all those works of art which assume experience claim assent — they do, in their intention, claim universal assent — to the truth of their assumptions. The serious artist believes his[Pg 123] personal vision to be accurate; he will not, probably, claim “absolute” truth for it, but neither does a scientific theory profess to be absolutely true. And, further, works of art and scientific theories exist to serve the same purpose — to aid comprehension.