THE PRACTICE OF OBSERVING.
IT would puzzle most of us, we fancy, to give an accurate account of the sources whence we have derived our knowledge ; to say, with any degree of certainty : " This we have read in books, this we have been told, and this we have seen with our own eyes ; " or even to form a rough estimate of the proportions in which reading, hearsay, and actual observation have severally conduced to build up that amount of science which we may possess. Insensibly our knowledge grows, remains with us, or is forgotten. Still, upon one point we seem to be fairly agreed, and that is, that knowledge which has come to us by the direct means of our own senses is more durable and less easily forgotten than any other, and that theoretical science is made doubly valuable when it can be certified by practical experience. Speaking the other day at the Gresham College, Sir James Paget laid much stress upon this truth, and earnestly pressed upon his hearers the necessity of cultivating a habit of observation. His brief address was simply intended to serve as a preface to a course of lectures which was to be given on the history and principles of biology by Professor Geddes ; but, taking as his text the opening words of the Professor's syllabus, " The rise of science out of practical knowledge," Sir James preached a little sermon upon what he called "a great truth expressed in very few words," which, on the whole, deserved a wider audience than that of the moment. Practical knowledge, he contended, knowledge acquired by observation and experiment, could be gained everywhere, even in London ; and the science that arose from it was, therefore, within the reach of every one. We would not deny the fact, though we might humbly sug- gest that the reason why the Londoner is, as a rule, so far behind the countryman in the matter of practical knowledge, is contained not so much in the want of objects upon which to practise his powers of observation as in the want of time to employ them. Even a knowledge of botanical science, said Sir James, could be gained in London. Bat then the neces- sity of botanical science is not pressed upon the Londoner as it is upon the countryman ; nor, if it were, would he have the same leisure to pursue it. For we cannot help thinking that in his anxiety to make good his case, Sir James said rather too much for it, and that his advice would be rather difficult, if not impossible, for the ordinary man to follow. His own life, he remarked, had of necessity been spent almost entirely in practical work. But, then, it so happens that Sir James Paget's work is of a kind which cannot but add to his knowledge, or confirm the knowledge which he already possesses. In the life of the average man of business, politician, or official, the harder the work, the less con- ducive it is to the storage of science. Some people are happy in that their life-work is always tending in the direction of science ; others can only pursue it in their leisure hours. To advise the latter to find it by their own means of observation, would be tantamount to advising them to renounce its search altogether, for life would not be long enough for its acquisi- tion. Which of the many hundreds of branches into which scientific knowledge may be divided could a man hope to explore with any chance of success under such conditions? How much more likely he would be to fritter away his time in vain investigations which would lead him nowhere, and leave him with no gain of wisdom. Unwittingly, Sir James Paget himself told a story which furnished an excellent illustration of how a passion for observation can go astray and waste itself. A friend of his, he said, had made observations on the growth of hair. For some years past he bad been in the habit of having his hair cut at regular intervals, and of carefully measuring it on each occasion to ascertain how much it had grown. No great know- ledge, Sir James admitted, had come of that ; but, he said, "there was the possibility of really valuable knowledge growing from it, and from equally insignificant matters." The same friend had been at the pains to make observations on the growth of the finger-nails, which went to prove that it could be perceptibly retardediby the sea-sickness of a Transatlantic journey. No great or very valuable knowledge had apparently come of that either. Both experiments are, to our mind, ex- cellent examples of how a man may waste his time in the name of science. A happier illustration of the possibilities of scientific observation in London, was given in his advice that his hearers should study the autumnal decay of leaves, and seek in their uniform decay and fall some of the larger general principles of biology. In such a search, a man would be at least more happily employed than in contem- plating his finger-nails after the fashion of an Indian fakir. To every scientific truth there are thousands of possible paths, but they do not all lead there. And how many of those paths are there which are not impasses,—blind-alleys in which the seeker gropes in vain for the way ?
Let us, as unscientific persons, take autumnal leaves, or any other leaves, as an example of our unscientific search for knowledge. Take, for instance, the leaves of a laurel. Who has not observed the frequent brown spots which mar and disfigure their glossy sheen ? Now, a close observer will note that each of those brown spots is encircled by a narrow belt of green, more brilliant and vivid than that of the rest of the leaf,—the green of the young leaf, and not of the mature leaf, which he observes. Should his observation be as curious as it is narrow, he will set himself to ascertain the reason of that colouring, and seek for some other analogous phenomenon which may account for it : reasoning within himself that the environment of what is evidently disease should not present the appearance of abnormal health. Then, perhaps, he may learn that a similar phenomenon is to be found in the case of man : that the human skin, in the immediate region of a cancer or some other diseased growth, presents a rosy flush of health—just as if healthy nature had concentrated all its strength in that particular spot of the body in an effort to throw off the intruding enemy. Here he may fancy he is on the brink of a great discovery. The vitality of vegetable and man acts after the same fashion, and presents the same appearance in its action, and therefore—what ? If that is the case, what has he learnt? Can he find a way to arrest that gradual but irresistible progress of malignity, and assist the strength of the body or the leaf in its desperate struggle against it Can he ascertain any natural law which he may turn to the purpose ? If he could do that, then, indeed, his researches, however pro- longed and laborious, would be more than repaid. But if he cannot, what has he got for his pains but a useless, because an unusable, fact ; or what recompense for his time, save the consoling thought that it has been wasted in well- intentioned endeavour ? That is the complaint that, as
unscientific persons, we are tempted to level against the zeal of science. Its restless researches are so little ordered and controlled that the greater part of them result in nothing but the accumulation of useless facts. What imports it to a man to know that his finger-nails should grow faster than his hair, or his hair than his finger-nails ? A thirst for knowledge,. as it grows upon a man, seems to grow more indiscriminating and more purposeless, until we are overwhelmed with the weight of its impracticable certainties, and are tempted to cry out : " Better is ignorance with its horizon of possibility, than this barren wilderness of arid facts from which all exit seems hopeless and impossible." And upon these facts, what theories are there not based ! If only these seekers after knowledge would confess their failure, recognise that the facts at which they have arrived are but blank walls, and admit their power lessness to proceed further, we should be better content. But, un fortunately, that is a thing which they rarely do, for the progress from fact to theory is to them irresistible. Consider the theories advanced by that ingenious person Professor Lombroso. They can hardly be said to have commanded the belief of his fellow- men ; even if they had, we fail to see in what the latter ones would have benefited the human race, for they could only serve to widen the gulf that already exists between man and woman. Scientific people are often impatient of our ignor- ance ; but really we have sometimes better reason to be im- patient of their knowledge. We cannot quarrel with Sir James Paget for strongly recommending the habit of observa- tion and research ; but, nevertheless, we cannot but wish that- he had qualified his recommendation with some hint as to the necessity of exercising discrimination in its practice. There are few things more irritating to witness than the sight of vain and futile endeavour; and such °undisciplined endeavour as is likely to arise from an unquestioning obedience to his advice, will be only too probably vain and futile.
Or if he had given his advice a somewhat wider application, we should have been better pleased. It is possible that a man can exercise his powers of observation not in the interests of science, and yet in a manner which is more profitable both to- himself and his fellow-creatures. We are all rather too prone to- consider each other blind because we happen to look at the world with different eyes. Sir James Paget probably owes the greater part of his immense skill to his powers of observation. At any rate, he must owe to them his swift and unfailing dis- covery of the cause of pain in weakness, and his marvellous power of diagnosis. And yet, if he were cross-examined by a. gamekeeper on the subject of wood-lore, it is just possible that the latter would marvel how any man could be so blind or so ignorant, while the gamekeeper, in the opinion of sea- faring folk, would be held simply to have no eyes at all. The- world is infinitely large in some ways, and we have not time- to get an exhaustive view of everything. The purblind dweller in a city may, after all, be in the habit of using his eyes to some purpose, though we confess that their use is, from the nature of his surroundings, unnaturally restricted. Even though he is incurious as to the growth of his hair or the gradual decay of the yellow leaf, he has often acquired for himself a knowledge of the street quite as intricate and almost as interesting in its way as the wood-lore of the gamekeeper. That we do not all use our eyes to the same purpose, must, of course, be admitted; even the gamekeeper is an instance of that, for, with all his trained powers of observation, he is no match for the naturalist wha brings the aid of a wider and superior knowledge to assist his eyesight over the same ground. But the purpose and im- portance of our observation must differ according to its direction ; and really we cannot see that we should benefit by the practice of an unbounded curiosity. While we are vainly engaged in attempting to solve the problem of our finger- nails, other questions of far graver importance may escape us, and we may have good reason to regret that our eyes were not available for service, and that we had not followed the ordinary practice of trimming those finger-nails and leaving, them alone.
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