(a)

ON SOME PRESIDENTIAL ADDRESSES: (b) THE WAR AGAINST THE INSECTS 1

To prepare a presidential address to be delivered before either the British or the American Association for the Advancement of Science is a very serious matter, and many eminent men have found it so. Is it not a sad thought that each year for many years there has been a man here and one over there who has had to worry for months, first as to his subject and again as to its mode of presentation? Of course, it sometimes happens that a man like Mr. Balfour over there or Dr. Eliot on this side is made president, and of course such men can write profound and charming addresses almost in their sleep, they have become so accustomed to formal functions of great importance. But the average man of science, even of presidential caliber, is a specialist, absorbed in his work, and the sudden realization that he must prepare an address which should interest all scientific men and should help to interest others in science is appalling.

I imagine that few of you have ever thought of this psychological aspect of presidential addresses. Possibly many of you never took the trouble to read a presidential address. Presidential addresses are things one is rather inclined to take for granted, and when one turns the pages of the journal Nature or the journal Science one is apt to say to oneself "That looks good; some day I must read it"; and then, after a glance at the news notes, the journal goes on file. In other words, presidential addresses demand the serious attention of the men who prepare them and of very few besides. Yet, I have never heard a presidential address before either the British Association or

1 Address of the President of the American Association for the Advancement of Science, Toronto, 1921.

the American Association that did not deserve serious reading and study.

For twenty-three years, year after year, I have sat on the platform near the president of the American Association for the Advancement of Science during the delivery of his address, until I may justly claim to be an expert on presidential addresses, in much the same way that the leader of a hotel-orchestra can claim to be an expert on after-dinner speeches-because he has heard so many!

At all events, the twenty-two and more addresses of this character which I have heard, and the one hundred others which I have read, have given me the idea that it would not be amiss to deliver a presidential address on the subject of presidential addresses. I have been rather pleased with this idea, and will in fact elaborate it before I take my seat.

But there are other ideas that have been almost equally insistent and which fit rather more closely to the average notion of propriety for so important an address as this theoretically should be. One of them is a consideration of what seem to me to be educational fallacies in the teaching of science to-day, and espeIcially of the biological sciences. But I am modest, and I am ignorant. I have never been a teacher, and, in order to discuss this vital question in any but a perfectly one-sided way, one must know intimately the viewpoint and the ultimate aim of those who control the teaching, especially of the biological sciences, in our great laboratories. I should visit the work shops at Harvard and Yale, at Columbia, at the University of Pennsylvania, at Johns Hopkins, at the University of Chicago, or here, at Toronto, and talk at length with the men in charge; and then I should go to Woods Hole in the summer, where the teachers themselves go to study and to be taught, and should do my utmost to convince myself that they are right in ignoring most practical problems and are justified in spending their lives on the search for fundamental principles and, what is more to the point, teaching little but facts and methods relating to their own studies and to the studies of their school. I have no time for this, and so can not enter fairly into the subject.

As I am writing this (July 29), I see that Sir Edward Thorpe has announced as the subject of his address before the British Association at Edinburgh "The Aspects and Problems of Post-War Science, Pure and Applied." It was the war that helped make me more dissatisfied than ever with the results of biological teaching in America, just as it has been the war that has caused the British people to distrust their whole educational system. With us in Washington, the teachers from the principal universities were brought together, and a National Research Council was formed. The results of the work of this organization in the direction of biology and agriculture, so far as they applied to the prosecution of the war, were largely negative; but that much good will result to the country by the bringing of these men to Washington in the great emergency there can be little doubt, since I have the hope that it opened their eyes to the fact that their university work might have been of much greater value to their country, and to the further fact perhaps that there exist under the federal government agencies which are working upon biological problems effectively and with the highest attention to scientific methods and scientific ideas.

Laying aside then this idea of an educational discussion, the idea that is always with me, of once more considering what Sir Harry Johnston has with his usual felicity called "the next great world war "-the war of humanity against the class Insecta-has still further impressed itself upon me. And so there are two topics which I shall briefly discuss-first, presidential addresses, and, second, our struggle against insects.

ON SOME PRESIDENTIAL ADDRESSES

Let us hurriedly glance at the presidential addresses delivered before the British and the American Associations from 1895 down to last year, 1920, and at the men who delivered them. During that period there were 27 such addresses before the American Association and 24 before the British Association, the discrepancy being due to the omission of the 1917 meeting of the

British Association and the holding of two extra meetings by the American Association.

It was formerly the custom in the British Association to review the progress of science each year, and this was usually done in a way in the address of the president. As time went on and science became very intricate and highly specialized in its different parts, the individual, no matter how great his ability and his general knowledge, found himself less and less able to cover the whole field, and so the character of the presidential addresses became diversified. In a measure the same trend has occurred in America. But the British, more conservative than we are over here, or perhaps having the habit of electing broader men to the presidency, have been slower in breaking away from custom, and of their later addresses on the other side seven of the twenty-four have been devoted to a review of the progress of science, while in America only two out of twenty-seven have followed this old and admirable plan. But the diversity in the other addresses has been almost as great with the British as with the Americans. On topics connected with physics, there have been 3 with the British and 3 with the Americans; with anthropology, 2 with the British and 2 with the Americans; in astronomy, 1 with the British and 3 with the Americans; botany, 1 British and 2 American; medical science, 2 British and 2 American; geology, 1 British and 2 American; chemistry, 1 British and 2 American; biology, 2 British and 3 American; economics, 2 American; engineering, 1 British; and the remaining addresses can not be classified.

What a wealth of good things can be found in these addresses! Who can forget Sir Joseph Lister's address on "The Interdependence of Science and the Healing Art" delivered at Liverpool, 1896, and the modest way (characteristic of the man) in which he broke his long silence concerning his own great part in the discoveries that revolutionized the surgical practise of the world? He said,

Pasteur's labors on fermentation have had a very important influence upon surgery. I have been often asked to speak on my share in this matter before a public audience, but I have hitherto refused

to do so, partly because the details are so entirely technical, but chiefly because I have felt an invincible repugnance to what might seem to savor of self-advertisement. The latter objection now no longer exists, since advancing years have indicated that it is right for me to leave to younger men the practise of my dearly loved profession. And it will perhaps be expected that, if I can make myself intelligible, I should say something upon the subject on the present occasion.

Who of us Americans who heard it can forget the address of Sir John Evans at the Toronto meeting in 1897, in which the following words were used,

Our gathering this year presents a feature of entire novelty and extreme interest, inasmuch as the sister Association of the United States of America -still mourning the loss of her illustrious President, Professor Cope-and some other learned societies, have made special arrangements to allow of their members coming here to join us. I need hardly say how welcome their presence is, nor how gladly we look forward to their taking part in our discussions, and aiding us by interchange of thought. To such a meeting the term "international "' seems almost misapplied. It may rather be described as a family gathering, in which our relatives more or less distant in blood, but still intimately connected with us by language, literature, and habits of thought, have spontaneously arranged to take part.

The domain of science is no doubt one in which the various nations of the civilized world meet upon equal terms, and for which no other passport is required than some evidence of having striven towards the advancement of natural knowledge. Here, on the frontier between the two great Englishspeaking nations of the world, who is there that does not inwardly feel that anything which conduces to an intimacy between the representatives of two countries, both of them actively engaged in the pursuit of science, may also, through such an intimacy, react on the affairs of daily life, and aid in preserving those cordial relations that have now for so many years existed between the great American Republic and the British Islands, with which her early foundations are indissolubly connected?

How well the following years have carried forward this idea of Sir John Evans, not only in the domain of science but in the vital affairs of national relations, was amply shown in England's influential moral support of the United

States in the war with Spain, and the response of millions of the American youth to the call from the other side during the terrible years so recently passed, thousands upon thousands of them not waiting for the direct call of their seemingly slow government.

In thinking of those days I love to remember the eloquent words of an Oxford contributor to the London Times of April 13, 1917, just before the cream of our youth in rapidly increasing numbers had gone over, thousands to serve with your Canadian troops, and thousands more to help the cause of right in other service. It is difficult to judge a whole nation. What is the criterion of judgment, and who are they that are judged? Some of us, and some of our own citizens, have judged America and found her wanting in open-eyed recognition of the issues of this struggle and unflinching determination to face the issues boldly. But if we are to be judged by our statesmen, might we not too deserve the same judgment? The issues were coming, coming, coming for years before this war began. Yet it is not easy to say that our recognition of these issues was open-eyed, and our determination to meet them unflinching. We do not dwell on these things in our past, and why should we dwell on these things and things like these in the history of another nation? If a nation is to be judged, let it be judged by the answer that its spirit makes, in the hour of need, through its purest and most chosen voices-the voice of the young, who are the first to hear and the quickest to obey, the call of Duty and Honor. If that be our criterion, and these are they that are judged, then America may be proud, and may stand secure in the day of judgment. For her young men answered, and answered early, and their answer was "We come.''

While there have been two addresses relating to the great war, the one by Sir James Thorpe delivered at Edinburgh last summer, and that read by Van Hise at the Pittsburgh meeting of 1917 entitled "Some Economic Aspects of the World War," the subject of human warfare does not seem to have been mentioned in any of the presidential addresses of earlier years, with one exception: Asaph Hall, the astronomer, in his Washington address in 1903, the title of which was " The Science of Astronomy; Historical Sketch, its Future Development, the

Influences of the Sciences on Civilization," used the following words which to-day are of extraordinary significance in view of recent events:

Men do not change much from generation to generation. Nations that have spent centuries in robbery and pillage retain their disposition and make it necessary for other nations to stand armed. No one knows when a specious plea for extending the area of civilization may be put forth, or when some fanatic may see the hand of God beckoning him to seize a country. The progress of science and invention will render it more difficult for such people to execute their designs. A century hence it may be impossible for brutal power, however rich and great, to destroy a resolute people. It is in this direction that we may look for international harmony and peace, simply because science will make war too dangerous and too costly.

Quite as striking as this, but in another way, was Sir Norman Lockyer's address at Southport in 1903, in which he discussed "The Influence of Brain Power on History.” This was mainly a plea for more universities and more research and the need of a scientific national council. Had this strong plea been heeded and acted upon, England would have found herself in much better condition to confront Germany in 1914.

In general these addresses have been extremely serious. Nearly all of the men delivering them have felt that they had an important message to give. All have felt the importance of the occasion and have tried to rise to it. As a result, traces of true humor have been scarce, and it is with a surprised joy that one greets the following paragraph in Farlow's address at New Orleans in 1906. His subject was "The Popular Conception of the Scientific Man at the Present Day," and his address was largely devoted to a discussion of government and university scientific positions. In his introduction he said: We are so accustomed to hear reports on the progress of science that we have almost ceased to ask ourselves what we mean by progress. What is or is not progress depends of course upon the point of view. Some are so far ahead of the majority that they can not see how much progress is made by those behind them, others are so far in the rear

that they can not distinguish what is going on ahead of them. We must also admit that there are different directions in which progress may be made. You have all seen the agile crab and been surprised to find how rapidly he gets over the ground, although he never seems to go ahead, but to scramble off sideways. The crab, perhaps, wonders why men are so stupid as to try to move straight forward. It is a popular belief, but, not being a zoologist, I am not prepared to vouch for its correctness, that the squid progresses backward, discharging a large amount of ink. One might perhaps ask: Is the progress of science sometimes like that of the crab, rapid but not straight forward, or, like the squid, may not the emission of a large amount of printer's ink really conceal a backward movement? So far as the accumulation of facts is concerned, there is a steady onward progress in science and it is only in the unwise or premature theorizing on known or supposed facts that science strikes a side track or even progresses backward.

A few Americans were present at the Australasian meeting of the British Association in 1914 and had the pleasure of listening to the remarkable addresses on heredity delivered at Melbourne and Sydney by the distinguished guest of the American Association at this present meeting, Prof. William Bateson. These lectures, for general and vital interest, are almost unsurpassed in the long list of presidential addresses delivered before the one or the other of the two great associations. Only a few of us heard them; many of us have read them; and it is a joy to know that we are to listen to Professor Bateson to-morrow night.

Several of the retiring presidents in both associations have ventured into the domain of prophecy. Even now the address of Sir William Crookes at Bristol in 1898 is remembered. His startling display and discussion of the decreasing wheat supply of the world and the necessity of securing nitrogen from the air created an enormous amount of interest. Ten years later, Nichols at Baltimore, in his discussion of "Science and the Practical Problems of the Future," referring to the exhaustion of our supply of fixed nitrogen, the contingency discussed by Sir William Crookes in 1898, and to the exhaustion of our free oxygen more recently discussed

by Lord Kelvin, concluded that these problems were still so remote as to have no immediate practical importance; but his address was written at a time when the conservation movement was just beginning in this country although it had already gained much force, and he referred especially to the coming exhaustion of coal, wood, ores and soils. His address was a tremendous plea for intensive research, and included the significant sentence, "We need not merely research in the universities, but universities for research." One of his final sentences reads, "Beyond lies that future in which it will no longer be a question of supremacy among nations, but of whether the race is to maintain its foothold on the earth."

The very following year, Chamberlin at Boston, in making "A Geologic Forecast of the Future of our Race," concluded with a more hopeful outlook and sent his audience home in a much happier frame of mind. He said:

While, therefore, there is to be, with little doubt, an end to the earth as a planet, and while perhaps previous to this end, conditions inhospitable to life may be reached, the forecast of these contingencies places the event in the indeterminate future. The geologic analogies give fair ground for anticipating conditions congenial to life for millions and tens of millions of years to come, not to urge even larger possibilities.

But these fifty-one addresses, as well as those that preceded them, are full of significant and quotable things. We on this side will never forget that remarkably beautiful address of Jordan's in 1910 on "The Making of a Darwin." Those on the other side who heard it will never forget Professor Schaefer's address at Dundee in 1912, on the "Nature, Origin and Maintenance of Life," in which, in closing, he gives a wonderfully elequent description of natural death-" A simple physiological process as natural as the on-coming of sleep."

This leads us to the side thought, not only of Professor Schaefer's own age at that time (it was sixty-two), but also to the interest attaching to the ages of all of the presidents