34 
but no physicist can help being interested in his 
mode of presentation, and I may have occasion to 
refer, in passing, to some of the topics with which 
he dealt. 
And now, eliminating from our purview, as is 
always necessary, a great mass of human activity, 
and limiting ourselves to a scrutiny on the side of 
pure science alone, let us ask what, in the main, is 
the characteristic of the promising though perturbing 
period in which we live. Different persons would give 
different answers, but the answer I venture to give 
is—rapid progress, combined with fundamental 
scepticism. 
Rapid progress was not characteristic of the latter 
half of the nineteenth century—at least, not in 
physics. Fine solid dynamical foundations were laid, 
and the edifice of knowledge was consolidated; but 
wholly fresh ground was not being opened up, and 
totally new buildings were not expected. 
‘“In many cases the student was led to believe that 
the main facts of nature were all known, that the 
chances of any great discovery being made by experi- 
ment were vanishingly small, and that therefore the 
experimentalist’s work consisted in deciding between 
rival theories, or in finding some small residual effect, 
which might add a more or less important detail to 
the theory.’’-—Schuster. 
With the realisation of predicted ether waves in 
1888, the discovery of X-rays in 1895, spontaneous 
radio-activity in 1896, and the isolation of the electron 
in 1898, expectation of further achievement became 
vivid; and novelties, experimental, theoretical, and 
speculative, have been showered upon us ever since 
this century began. That is why I speak of rapid 
progress. 
Of the progress I shall say little; there must always 
be some uncertainty as to which particular achieve- 
ment permanently contributes to it; but I will speak 
about the fundamental scepticism. 
Let me hasten to explain that I do not mean the 
well-worn and almost antique theme of theological 
scepticism: that controversy is practically in abey- 
ance just now. At any rate, the major conflict is 
suspended; the forts behind which the enemy has 
retreated do not invite attack; the territory now 
occupied by him is little more than his legitimate 
province. It is the scientific allies, now, who are 
waging a more or less invigorating conflict among 
themselves, with philosophers joining in. Meanwhile 
the ancient foe is biding his time and hoping that from 
the struggle something will emerge of benefit to him- 
self. Some positions, he feels, were too hastily 
abandoned and may perhaps be retrieved; or, to put 
it without metaphor, it seems possible that a few of 
the things prematurely denied, because asserted on 
inconclusive evidence, may after all, in some form or 
vther, have really happened. Thus the old theological 
bitterness is mitigated, and a temporising policy is 
either advocated or instinctively adopted. 
To illustrate the nature of the fundamental scientific 
or philosophic controversies to which I do refer, would 
require almost as many addresses as there are sections 
of the British Association, or, at any rate. as many 
as there are chief cities in Australia; and perhaps my 
successor in the chair will continue the theme; but, 
to exhibit my meaning very briefly, I may cite the 
kind of dominating controversies now extant, employ- 
ing as far as possible only a single word in each case 
so as to emphasise the necessary brevity and in- 
sufficiency of the reference. 
In physiology the conflict ranges round Vitalism. 
(My immediate predecessor dealt with the subject 
at Dundee.) 
NO. 2289, VOL. 92] 
NATURE 
[SEPTEMBER I1, 1913 
| In chemistry the debate concerns Alomic structure. 
(My penultimate predecessor is well aware of 
pugnacity in that region.) e 
In biology the dispute is on the laws of Inherit- 
ance. (My nominated successor is likely to deal with 
this ainieiey probably in a way not deficient in live- 
liness. 
And besides these major controversies, debate is 
active in other sections :— 
In education, Curricula generally are being over- 
hauled or fundamentally criticised, and revolutionary 
ideas are promulgated concerning the advantages of 
freedom for infants. 
In economic and political science, or sociology, what 
is there that is not under discussion? Not property 
alone, nor land alone, but everything—back to the 
garden of Eden and the inter-relations of men and 
women. 
Lastly, in the vast group of mathematical and 
physical sciences, ‘slurred over rather than summed 
up as Section A,” present-day scepticism concerns 
what, if I had to express it in one word, I should 
call Continuity. The full meaning of this term will 
hardly be intelligible without explanation, and I shall 
discuss it presently. 
Still more fundamental and deep-rooted than any 
of these sectional debates, however, a critical examina- 
tion of scientific foundations generally is going on; 
and a kind of philosophic scepticism is in the 
ascendant, resulting in a mistrust of purely intel- 
lectual processes and in a recognition of the limited 
scope of science. 
For science is undoubtedly an affair of the intellect, 
it examines everything in the cold light of reason; 
and that is its strength. It is a commonplace to say 
that science must have no likes or dislikes, must 
aim only at truth; or as Bertrand Russell well puts 
it -— 
“The kernel of the scientific outlook is the refusal 
to regard our own desires, tastes, and interests as 
affording a key to the understanding of the world.” 
This exclusive, single-eyed attitude of science is its 
strength; but, if pressed beyond the positive region 
of usefulness into a field of dogmatic negation and 
philosophising, it becomes also its weakness. For the 
nature of man is a large thing, and intellect is only a 
part of it: a recent part, too, which therefore neces- 
sarily, though not consciously, suffers from some of 
the defects of newness and crudity, and should refrain 
from imagining itself the whole—perhaps it is not 
even the best part—of human nature. 
The fact is that some of the best things are, by 
abstraction, excluded from science, though not from 
literature and poetry; hence perhaps an ancient mis- 
trust or dislike of science, typified by the Promethean 
legend. Science is systematised and metrical know- 
ledge, and in regions where measurement cannot be 
applied it has small scope; or, as Mr. Balfour said 
the other day at the opening of a new wing of the 
National Physical Laboratory :-— 
“Science depends on measurement, and things not 
measurable are therefore excluded, or tend to be 
excluded, from its attention. But life and beauty and 
happiness are not measurable.’ And then charac- 
teristically he added: ‘“‘If there could be a unit of 
happiness, politics might begin to be scientific.” 
Emotion and intuition and instinct are immensely 
older than science, and in a comprehensive survey of 
existence they cannot be ignored. Scientific men may 
rightly neglect them in order to do their proper work, 
but philosophers cannot. 
So philosophers have begun to question some of the 
larger generalisations of science, and to ask whether 
in the effort to be universal and comprehensive we 
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