176 



NATURE 



[October io, 19 12 



Such a new basis for the further growth of all the 

 brandies of botany is provided by the lusty shoot of 

 Mendelisni, and after weighing the alternatives, and 

 with the .reserves announced already, I propose to try 

 to show that this recent outgrowth of the tree of 

 knowledge is destined not to mar its symmetry, but 

 to aid the growth of the whole crown. This, 

 my chief task, should have been my first care had not 

 an event occurred since the last meeting of this Asso- 

 ciation which compels me, in common with all 

 botanists, to divert thought from its preoccupation and 

 to look back along the route which our science has 

 travelled during the last few decades. 



That event, I need not say, is the death of Sir 

 Joseph Hooker, a former president of this Association 

 and twice president of this section. The most vener- 

 able and distinguished of British botanists. Sir Joseph 

 Hooker was well-nigh the" last survivor of that band 

 of Victorian naturalists who helped to lay the founda- 

 tions of biology and to disseminate broadcast the 

 knowledge which they made. The story of the labours 

 of that group of naturalists—Lyell, ' Darwin, the 

 Hookers, Wallace, Huxley, Galton,' and others scarcely 

 less distinguished — has been told so often that there 

 is no need to re-tell it now. Nor need I recount 

 the work of Hooker. His discoveries are known and 

 require no re-enumeration. They are incorporated 

 with the common fund of knowledge. British botanists 

 will determine, doubtless, to consecrate a special occa- 

 sion to the commemoration of Hooker's services to 

 science and to the perpetuation of his memory. My 

 duty it is to express, on behalf of native botanists and 

 of our guests who honour us with their presence, our 

 sense of loss in the death of Sir Joseph Hooker and 

 our admiring recognition of his achievements. 



.And with the example of that long life devoted until 

 its latest hour to the pursuit of science, I would fain 

 address myself forthwith to mv special task; but 

 despite my will I find mv thoughts enchained in the 

 contemplation of the life and times of Hooker. 

 Systematist, explorer, critic, writer, administrator, 

 Sir Joseph was first and last a botanist. The ver- 

 satile Hooker was a specialist. 



Thus I find myself turned again to the thoughts 

 which vexed my mind at the outset of this address, 

 urged now to ask outright whether the specialisation 

 of our times has the quality which distinguished that 

 of Hooker and his contemporaries. 



This is the uneasy phantom that has been haunting 

 me and luring me to the ramparts when I should be 

 wooing my chosen theme. It haunts me, refusing 

 tn be laid. Reason fails to exorcise that ghost. Its 

 uneasy presence lingers near me even though I con- 

 jure it with specious argument; urging that these 

 davs are days of specialisation a outrance : that now- 

 adays both in the art and practice part of life we live 

 by the intensive cultivation of small-holdings; that the 

 fii^lds of science are parcelled out in small allotments. 

 Were I — a simple officer — the sole subject of this 

 visitation I .should attribute it to fantasv, and with 

 Horatio cry "Tush! " but beside this poor Bernardo, 

 Marcellus, officer and scholar, has likewise seen it 

 "in the same figure like the King that's dead," and 



who may refuse to entertain a ghost presenting this 



tlii> highest of credentials? 



Therefore I offer it again my arguments, insisting 

 that at least among our elders we h.nve specialists as 

 versatile as anv of the Victorians. The ghost is not 

 impressed. Instead, it rises to a fuller height, and 

 lays its incorporeal finger on the row of volumes which 

 line the shelves above mv head. Mv obsequious eye 

 follows the direction, and beholds Lvell's "Principles'," 

 Darwin's "Vovage," Hooker's "Journal." Huxlev's 

 "Essays," Wallace's "Island Life," Galton's "Natural 

 NO. 2241, VOL. qo] 



Inheritance," and the other classics from his clients' 

 pens. With the dawn of my comprehension the 

 spectre vanishes, and I am alone, but not in peace. 

 'Ihe message left with me appears to translate as 

 follows : The present generation has become expert 

 in intensive cultivation of scientific knowledge, but it 

 has forgotten how to market its produce. In the 

 preoccupation of specialisation it neglects the art of 

 expression. It sinks the artist in the artisan. Each 

 specialist exchanges "separates" — hateful term — with 

 other specialists, but few among us are on speaking 

 terms with the cultured general public curious to know 

 what science is achieving. 



The translation into common English of our scien- 

 tific works is done, like that of foreign classics, too 

 much by hacks and amateurs, and too little by skilled 

 hands. The present generation lets its modesty wrong 

 it ; for the science of our day is no less full — nay, 

 many times more full — of interest and wonder than 

 that of fifty years ago. 



Still worse : to fail to cultivate the art of expression 

 is to blunt the power of thinking, for the adage " clear 

 thinking means clear writing" stands though the 

 subject and object be transposed. 



Such is the nature of the charge which my visitant 

 left with me ; and though, as it must have known, my 

 rough translation fails to convey the sober grace of 

 the original, I think that I shall not be alone in 

 pleading guilty to that charge. 



Nor perhaps will my fellow-specialists resent an 

 attempt to trace the origin of our lack of literary 

 grace. This defect is in part inevitable and in part 

 remediable. Inevitable because of the increasingly 

 engrossing nature of scientific investigation, because 

 of the relativelv small natural gift of expression which 

 nature has vouchsafed to the English race, and be- 

 cause, as science becomes more complex, its followers 

 think more and more in symbols, and those who think 

 in symbols are apt to write in shorthand. The defect 

 is remediable because it is traceable in some measure 

 to the training to which we submit our youth. That 

 training neglects too much the literary side of educa- 

 tion. 



As it seems to me, there is a fundamental error in 

 our mode of training men of science. T^e error con- 

 sists in this : that students who come to English 

 universities are treated in intellectual matters not as 

 youths but as men of mature minds. The professorial 

 potter takes the clay as he finds it, and, no matter 

 what its state, fires it forthwith, and lo ! in course of 

 time it is converted into earthenware. W>re the 

 assumption on which he acts well-founded, the method 

 might be justified. If our undergraduates were, as 

 we assume they are, well found in general culture, 

 trained already in scientific method, familiar with the 

 language of our fathers, and apt also to read and 

 speak and write some other tongue, then let us take 

 them straightway and bake them in the oven of 

 specialisation. 



But I at all events have never met those students, 

 and, outside the ranks of genius — which training 

 toucheth not — I believe they do not exist. The error, 

 as I conceive it, lies in our failure to apply, in draft- 

 ing schemes of training, the biological law that as 

 societv grows older its voung men grow younger. 

 Undergraduates call themselves men, not solely from 

 a sense of pride, but also in obedience to tradition. 

 Centuries ago they went up to the university as men 

 of fifteen or sixteen ; now they go up as youths of 

 eighteen or nineteen. With respect to moral discipline 

 we are not unforgetful of their youth, but with respect 

 to intellectual education we treat them as though they 

 were grown up. Even the saving second subject has, 

 I am toUI, been discarded from the final honours 



