eBook
Available on Compatible NOOK devices, the free NOOK App and in My Digital Library.
Related collections and offers
Overview
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780486165707 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Dover Publications |
| Publication date: | 01/24/2013 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 304 |
| File size: | 711 KB |
Read an Excerpt
SCIENCE AND METHOD
By HENRI POINCARE, FRANCIS MAITLAND
Dover Publications, Inc.
Copyright © 2014 Dover Publications, Inc.All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-486-16570-7
CHAPTER 1
THE SELECTION OF FACTS
TOLSTOI explains somewhere in his writings why, in his opinion, "Science for Science's sake" is an absurd conception. We cannot know all the facts, since they are practically infinite in number. We must make a selection; and that being so, can this selection be governed by the mere caprice of our curiosity? Is it not better to be guided by utility, by our practical, and more especially our moral, necessities? Have we not some better occupation than counting the number of lady-birds in existence on this planet?
It is clear that for him the word utility has not the meaning assigned to it by business men, and, after them, by the greater number of our contemporaries. He cares but little for the industrial applications of science, for the marvels of electricity or of automobilism, which he regards rather as hindrances to moral progress. For him the useful is exclusively what is capable of making men better.
It is hardly necessary for me to state that, for my part, I could not be satisfied with either of these ideals. I have no liking either for a greedy and narrow plutocracy, or for a virtuous unaspiring democracy, solely occupied in turning the other cheek, in which we should find good people devoid of curiosity, who, avoiding all excesses, would not die of any disease—save boredom. But it is all a matter of taste, and that is not the point I wish to discuss.
None the less the question remains, and it claims our attention. if our selection is only determined by caprice or by immediate necessity, there can be no science for science's sake, and consequently no science. Is this true? There is no disputing the fact that a selection must be made: however great our activity, facts outstrip us, and we can never overtake them; while the scientist is discovering one fact, millions and millions are produced in every cubic inch of his body. Trying to make science contain nature is like trying to make the part contain the whole.
But scientists believe that there is a hierarchy of facts, and that a judicious selection can be made. They are right, for otherwise there would be no science, and science does exist. One has only to open one's eyes to see that the triumphs of industry, which have enriched so many practical men, would never have seen the light if only these practical men had existed, and if they had not been preceded by disinterested fools who died poor, who never thought of the useful, and yet had a guide that was not their own caprice.
What these fools did, as Mach has said, was to save their successors the trouble of thinking. If they had worked solely in view of an immediate application, they would have left nothing behind them, and in face of a new requirement, all would have had to be done again. Now the majority of men do not like thinking, and this is perhaps a good thing, since instinct guides them, and very often better than reason would guide a pure intelligence, at least whenever they are pursuing an end that is immediate and always the same. But instinct is routine, and if it were not fertilized by thought, it would advance no further with man than with the bee or the ant. It is necessary, therefore, to think for those who do not like thinking, and as they are many, each one of our thoughts must be useful in as many circumstances as possible. For this reason, the more general a law is, the greater is its value.
This shows us how our selection should be made. The most interesting facts are those which can be used several times, those which have a chance of recurring. We have been fortunate enough to be born in a world where there are such facts. Suppose that instead of eighty chemical elements we had eighty millions, and that they were not some common and others rare, but uniformly distributed. Then each time we picked up a new pebble there would be a strong probability that it was composed of some unknown substance. Nothing that we knew of other pebbles would tell us anything about it. Before each new object we should be like a newborn child; like him we could but obey our caprices or our necessities. In such a world there would be no science, perhaps thought and even life would be impossible, since evolution could not have developed the instincts of self-preservation. Providentially it is not so; but this blessing, like all those to which we are accustomed, is not appreciated at its true value. The biologist would be equally embarrassed if there were only individuals and no species, and if heredity did not make children resemble their parents.
Which, then, are the facts that have a chance of recurring? In the first place, simple facts. It is evident that in a complex fact many circumstances are united by chance, and that only a still more improbable chance could ever so unite them again. But are there such things as simple facts? and if there are, how are we to recognize them? Who can tell that what we believe to be simple does not conceal an alarming complexity? All that we can say is that we must prefer facts which appear simple, to those in which our rude vision detects dissimilar elements. Then only two alternatives are possible; either this simplicity is real, or else the elements are so intimately mingled that they do not admit of being distinguished. In the first case we have a chance of meeting the same simple fact again, either in all its purity, or itself entering as an element into some complex whole. In the second case the intimate mixture has similarly a greater chance of being reproduced than a heterogeneous assemblage. Chance can mingle, but it cannot unmingle, and a combination of various elements in a well-ordered edifice in which something can be distinguished, can only be made deliberately. There is, therefore, but little chance that an assemblage in which different things can be distinguished should ever be reproduced. On the other hand, there is great probability that a mixture which appears homogeneous at first sight will be reproduced several times. Accordingly facts which appear simple, even if they are not so in reality, will be more easily brought about again by chance.
It is this that justifies the method instinctively adopted by scientists, and what perhaps justifies it still better is that facts which occur frequently appear to us simple just because we are accustomed to them.
But where is the simple fact? Scientists have tried to find it in the two extremes, in the infinitely great and in the infinitely small. The astronomer has found it because the distances of the stars are immense, so great that each of them appears only as a point and qualitative differences disappear, and because a point is simpler than a body which has shape and qualities. The physicist, on the other hand, has sought the elementary phenomenon in an imaginary division of bodies into infinitely small atoms, because the conditions of the problem, which undergo slow and continuous variations as we pass from one point of the body to another, may be regarded as constant within each of these little atoms. Similarly the biologist has been led instinctively to regard the cell as more interesting than the whole animal, and the event has proved him right, since cells belonging to the most diverse organisms have greater resemblances, for those who can recognize them, than the organisms themselves. The sociologist is in a more embarrassing position. The elements, which for him are men, are too dissimilar, too variable, too capricious, in a word, too complex themselves. Furthermore, history does not repeat itself; how, then, is he to select the interesting fact, the fact which is repeated? Method is precisely the selection of facts, and accordingly our first care must be to devise a method. Many have been devised because none holds the field undisputed. Nearly every sociological thesis proposes a new method, which, however, its author is very careful not to apply, so that sociology is the science with the greatest number of methods and the least results.
It is with regular facts, therefore, that we ought to begin; but as soon as the rule is well established, as soon as it is no longer in doubt, the facts which are in complete conformity with it lose their interest, since they can teach us nothing new. Then it is the exception which becomes important. We cease to look for resemblances, and apply ourselves before all else to differences, and of these differences we select first those that are most accentuated, not only because they are the most striking, but because they will be the most instructive. This will be best explained by a simple example. Suppose we are seeking to determine a curve by observing some of the points on it. The practical man who looked only to immediate utility would merely observe the points he required for some special object; these points would be badly distributed on the curve, they would be crowded together in certain parts and scarce in others, so that it would be impossible to connect them by a continuous line, and they would be useless for any other application. The scientist would proceed in a different manner. Since he wishes to study the curve for itself, he will distribute the points to be observed regularly, and as soon as he knows some of them, he will join them by a regular line, and he will then have the complete curve. But how is he to accomplish this? If he has determined one extreme point on the curve, he will not remain close to this extremity, but will move to the other end. After the two extremities, the central point is the most instructive, and so on.
Thus when a rule has been established, we have first to look for the cases in which the rule stands the best chance of being found in fault. This is one of many reasons for the interest of astronomical facts and of geological ages. By making long excursions in space or in time, we may find our ordinary rules completely upset, and these great upsettings will give us a clearer view and better comprehension of such small changes as may occur nearer us, in the small corner of the world in which we are called to live and move. We shall know this corner better for the journey we have taken into distant lands where we had no concern.
But what we must aim at is not so much to ascertain resemblances and differences, as to discover similarities hidden under apparent discrepancies. The individual rules appear at first discordant, but on looking closer we can generally detect a resemblance; though differing in matter, they approximate in form and in the order of their parts. When we examine them from this point of view, we shall see them widen and tend to embrace everything. This is what gives a value to certain facts that come to complete a whole, and show that it is the faithful image of other known wholes.
I cannot dwell further on this point, but these few words will suffice to show that the scientist does not make a random selection of the facts to be observed. He does not count lady-birds, as Tolstoi says, because the number of these insects, interesting as they are, is subject to capricious variations. He tries to condense a great deal of experience and a great deal of thought into a small volume, and that is why a little book on physics contains so many past experiments, and a thousand times as many possible ones, whose results are known in advance.
But so far we have only considered one side of the question. The scientist does not study nature because it is useful to do so. He studies it because he takes pleasure in it, and he takes pleasure in it because it is beautiful. If nature were not beautiful it would not be worth knowing, and life would not be worth living. I am not speaking, of course, of that beauty which strikes the senses, of the beauty of qualities and appearances. I am far from despising this, but it has nothing to do with science. What I mean is that more intimate beauty which comes from the harmonious order of its parts, and which a pure intelligence can grasp. It is this that gives a body a skeleton, so to speak, to the shimmering visions that flatter our senses, and without this support the beauty of these fleeting dreams would be imperfect, because it would be indefinite and ever elusive. Intellectual beauty, on the contrary, is self-sufficing, and it is for it, more perhaps than for the future good of humanity, that the scientist condemns himself to long and painful labours.
It is, then, the search for this special beauty, the sense of the harmony of the world, that makes us select the facts best suited to contribute to this harmony; just as the artist selects those features of his sitter which complete the portrait and give it character and life. And there is no fear that this instinctive and unacknowledged preoccupation will divert the scientist from the search for truth. We may dream of a harmonious world, but how far it will fall short of the real world ! The Greeks, the greatest artists that ever were, constructed a heaven for themselves; how poor a thing it is beside the heaven as we know it!
It is because simplicity and vastness are both beautiful that we seek by preference simple facts and vast facts; that we take delight, now in following the giant courses of the stars, now in scrutinizing with a microscope that prodigious smallness which is also a vastness, and now in seeking in geological ages the traces of a past that attracts us because of its remoteness.
Thus we see that care for the beautiful leads us to the same selection as care for the useful. Similarly economy of thought, that economy of effort which, according to Mach, is the constant tendency of science, is a source of beauty as well as a practical advantage. The buildings we admire are those in which the architect has succeeded in proportioning the means to the end, in which the columns seem to carry the burdens imposed on them lightly and without effort, like the graceful caryatids of the Erechtheum.
Whence comes this concordance? Is it merely that things which seem to us beautiful are those which are best adapted to our intelligence, and that consequently they are at the same time the tools that intelligence knows best how to handle? Or is it due rather to evolution and natural selection? Have the peoples whose ideal conformed best to their own interests, properly understood, exterminated the others and taken their place? One and all pursued their ideal without considering the consequences, but while this pursuit led some to their destruction, it gave empire to others. We are tempted to believe this, for if the Greeks triumphed over the barbarians, and if Europe, heir of the thought of the Greeks, dominates the world, it is due to the fact that the savages loved garish colours and the blatant noise of the drum, which appealed to their senses, while the Greeks loved the intellectual beauty hidden behind sensible beauty, and that it is this beauty which gives certainty and strength to the intelligence.
No doubt Tolstoi would be horrified at such a triumph, and he would refuse to admit that it could be truly useful. But this disinterested pursuit of truth for its own beauty is also wholesome, and can make men better. I know very well there are disappointments, that the thinker does not always find the serenity he should, and even that some scientists have thoroughly bad tempers.
Must we therefore say that science should be abandoned, and morality alone be studied? Does any one suppose that moralists themselves are entirely above reproach when they have come down from the pulpit?
CHAPTER 2THE FUTURE OF MATHEMATICS.
IF we wish to foresee the future of mathematics, our proper course is to study the history and present condition of the science.
For us mathematicians, is not this procedure to some extent professional? We are accustomed to extrapolation, which is a method of deducing the future from the past and the present; and since we are well aware of its limitations, we run no risk of deluding ourselves as to the scope of the results it gives us.
In the past there have been prophets of ill. They took pleasure in repeating that all problems susceptible of being solved had already been solved, and that after them there would be nothing left but gleanings. Happily we are reassured by the example of the past. Many times already men have thought that they had solved all the problems, or at least that they had made an inventory of all that admit of solution. And then the meaning of the word solution has been extended; the insoluble problems have become the most interesting of all, and other problems hitherto undreamed of have presented themselves. For the Greeks a good solution was one that employed only rule and compass; later it became one obtained by the extraction of radicals, then one in which algebraical functions and radicals alone figured. Thus the pessimists found themselves continually passed over, continually forced to retreat, so that at present I verily believe there are none left.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from SCIENCE AND METHOD by HENRI POINCARE, FRANCIS MAITLAND. Copyright © 2014 Dover Publications, Inc.. Excerpted by permission of Dover Publications, Inc..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
INTRODUCTION1. THE SCIENTIST AND SCIENCE.
I. THE SELECTION OF FACTS
II. THE FUTURE OF MATHEMATICS III. MATHEMATICAL DISCOVERY
IV. CHANCE
MATHEMATICAL REASONING
1. THE RELATIVITY OF SPACE
II. MATHEMATICAL DEFINITIONS AND EDUCATION. III. MATHEMATICS AND LOGIC
IV. THE NEW LOGICS V. THE LAST EFFORTS OF THE LOGISTICIANS THE NEW MECHANICS. I.MECHANICS AND RADIUM.
II. MECHANICS AND OPTICS III. THE NEW MECHANICS AND ASTRONOMY ASTRONOMICAL SCIENCE.
I. THE MILKY WAY AND THE THEORY OF GASES. 253
II. FRENCH GEODESY 270
GENERAL CONCLUSIONS