The Competitiveness of Nations in a Global Knowledge-Based Economy
Professor Michael Polanyi, D.Sc.,
F.R.S.
Science: Academic
and Industrial
Journal of the Institute of Metals
Vol. 89, 1960-61, 401-406
Let me draw a broad sketch
of the historical development which has led up to our present problems. Technology is older than science. It began with the manufacture of tools and it
dates back to the emergence of the human race from the primates. In the subsequent thousand centuries it has
made continuous progress. The systematic
study of nature, which we call science, started only about 400 years ago and
got well under way only another century later. The founders of the Royal Society, 300 years
ago, drew no sharp distinction between science and technology, but there was
actually little interaction between the two. The Industrial Revolution of the 18th and
early 19th century was achieved by a series of industrial, agricultural, and
commercial improvements which owed little to the progress of science.
Scientific research in the
universities was a mere trickle until the middle of the 19th century, when it
began rapidly to develop on a larger scale. It was during this time that a clear
distinction between pure science and technology arose for the first time. The matter had gained importance from the rise
of the electrical and chemical industries. The progress of science was seen greatly to
benefit industrial production, but this was not to affect the pursuit of theoretical
science in the universities. Admittedly,
the teaching of science would have to be expanded to supply personnel for the
new scientifically minded industries and new technical universities were to be
founded in which the principles of modern technologies would be developed and
taught to candidates for the new industries.
But fresh currents of
thought spreading in the 1930’s have called in question the division between science and technology. Two main factors contributed to this change of
outlook. These were: first, the immense
expansion in the technological applications of science, which was to include
the decisive weapons of the Second World War; second, a change in the declared
purpose of modern society. The State had
come to recognize as its prime duty the raising of the standard of living, and
the effects of this political theory on the universities was reinforced by the
fact that the financial burden of the expanding universities was taken over by
the government. Politically and socially
sensitive scientists willingly responded to this new climate of opinion. In August 1938 the British Association for the
Advancement of Science founded a new Division for the Social and International
Relations of Science, which was largely motivated by the desire to offer
deliberate social guidance to the progress of science. This programme was
given more extreme expression by the Association of Scientific Workers. In January 1943 the Association filled the Caxton Hall in London with a meeting attended by many of the
most distinguished scientists of this country, and it decided (in the words of
Professor Darlington, officially summing up the conference) that research would
no longer be conducted for itself as an end in itself. The meeting made clear throughout that science
should henceforth be guided by its usefulness to industry and the public
services. Though such demands have since
subsided, the fundamental issues they raised remain unsettled. It is still not fully recognized that it is
simply impossible to take into account in making a major scientific discovery
what its future technical applications may be.
An example will show what I
mean by this impossibility. In January
1945 Lord Russell and I were together on the BBC Brains Trust. We were asked about the possible technical
uses of Einstein’s theory of relativity, and neither of us could think of any. This was forty years after the publication of
the theory and fifty years after the inception by Einstein of the work which
led to its discovery. It was 58 years after
the Michelson-Morley experiment. But,
actually, the technical application of relativity, which neither Russell nor I
could think of, was to be revealed within a few months by the explosion of the
first atomic bomb. For the energy of the
explosion was released at the expense of mass in accordance with the
relativistic equation e = mc2,
an equation which was soon to be found splashed over
the cover of Time magazine, as a token of its supreme practical
importance.
Perhaps Russell and I
should have done better in foreseeing
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these applications of relativity in January 1945, but it is
obvious that Einstein could not possibly take these future consequences into
account when he started on the problem which led to the discovery of relativity
at the turn of the century. For one
thing, another dozen or more major discoveries had yet to be made before
relativity could be combined with them to yield the technical process which
opened the atomic age.
I apologize for labouring what may seem obvious. But, after all, it is not such a very long
time since Professor H. Levy, of the Imperial College, spoke as follows at that
meeting of distinguished British scientists held in January 1943: “When I hear
it argued,” he said, “that many of the most important scientific discoveries
have been made by individuals quite unaware of the social importance and
possible applications of their work, I cannot but think: ‘Poor mutts, that such
clever people should be so ignorant.’” And
do we not hear the complaint ever repeated in our own days that British
scientific discoveries have not found their first application in the industry
of this country - as if any particular advance in pure science should normally
be followed on the spot by its application in technology? And above all, does not the appeal for funds
in the aid of scientific research invariably emphasize today its use for the
increase of wealth and power? Does this
not obscure the fundamental fact, which was so clearly recognized in the 19th
century, that science can make no progress at all except by the efforts of men
and women with a passion for scientific discovery, pursued regardless of the
benefits which may or may not flow from it?
This is not to sing the
glory of scientists, but merely to state the plain fact that the progress of
science can be based only on the peculiar attraction exercised on certain
people by the beauty of scientific achievement. Nor is this a mere truism. It reveals on closer inspection the remarkable
mechanism on which the organization of science is based and gives us an insight
both into the clear division between science and technology and into the
principles that bridge the gap between these two domains. The main purpose of my lecture is to pursue
this insight.
Science, we know, contains
observed facts, but most facts we come across in the course of our daily lives
are excluded from science as trivial. Nor
do facts qualify as parts of science merely by forming a system. The contents of a telephone directory do not,
nor does a collection of railway-engine numbers, to the completion of which
some people devote a lifetime of effort. The reason is that the systems in question add
nothing to our understanding of nature. Facts and systems of facts are of interest to
science only if they deepen this understanding.
Sometimes a single new
observation, forming no system at all, may be a great discovery. When Tycho Brahe noted in 1572
the formation of a new fixed star, or when Rutherford and Soddy
first established the transformation of a radioactive element, they made great
discoveries, for they opened up a new insight into the nature of things. Such achievements have the same scientific
beauty as we find in the vast generalizations of universal gravitation.
But the nature of
scientific beauty is subject also to other, even more important, variations. It relies on different factors in biology
from those on which it relies in physics. Physics is the ideal of an exact science. It is based on precisely observable variables
which it subjects to a broad system of strict laws, expressed in mathematical
equations. Biology deals with plants and
animals, which cannot be defined mathematically, and which biologists divide
into millions of species by the delicate appreciation of their typical shapes. The major theories of biology have a similar
character. Harvey’s
theory of the circulation of the blood deals with organs and their functions,
both of which are identified by qualitative criteria and are subject to no
mathematical laws. Indeed, exact
measurements are relevant to biology only insofar as they bear on organs and
their functions and on living beings as a whole. This is why the tendency of modern science,
predominant since Descartes, to take mathematical physics as the ideal of
scientific perfection, induces a sense of inferiority in biologists, as indeed
in all the non-physical scientists, and causes them to strive for an impossible
degree of exactitude - sometimes losing thereby all relevance to their subject
matter.
This tendency must be
firmly opposed by recognizing the fact that scientific beauty is a complex
quality in which exactitude is only one factor, while another factor, namely
the intrinsic interest of the subject matter, is much greater in biology, dealing
with living beings, than it is in physics studying inanimate bodies. The fascination that living beings have for us
compensates for the lack of exactitude in biology, as, conversely, the beauty
of the mathematical theories of physics makes up for the fact that stones,
liquids, and gases would, in themselves, not be of much interest.
And this does not exhaust
the factors that contribute to the beauty of a scientific discovery. Discovery is appreciated not merely for its
beautiful content but as the act which makes such a new and beautiful
contribution to science. To qualify as a
discovery, this act must be surprising. The
mere extension of a survey based on the existing framework of science will not
do. There must be a leap which expands
this framework, or at least makes some important change in it. This is what we mean by originality. This is the creative quality which makes a
discovery exciting and distinguishes the discoverer among men.
To sum up, the value of
scientific discovery, the passion for which is the only motive that can induce
and guide men in the advancement of science, consists
in the combination of a number of qualities. The chief of these is originality, as measured
by the sudden expansion or improvement of our scientific framework, opening up
a deeper understanding of the nature of things - an understanding which is
appreciated for the presence of two rival qualities, namely, exactitude on the
one hand and the intrinsic interest of the subject matter on the other. The scientist must strive for achievements
assessed in terms of these combined values, and this assessment must be shared
- or at least come to be shared - by his competent colleagues on whose opinion
he depends for the opportunity of publishing his results and, indeed, for being
recognized as a professional scientist.
In pursuing this subject
further, we meet with a curious problem upon which I can touch only briefly. How can an effective consensus be established
among scientists as to the excellence of scientific discovery - judged by such
complex and delicate criteria - in view of the fact that each individual
scientist is competent to judge only a very small area of science, adjoining
the field of his own special interests? This
consensus is established by the incessant mutual criticism of scientists
working in neighbouring fields. Scientific opinion is united by overlapping
areas of competent judgement. This system functions so effectively that, in
selecting candidates for fellowship, the Royal Society of London can regularly
undertake to ascertain the same level of scientific achievement over the vast
range of sciences extending from astronomy to medicine; and that this grading
is usually accepted without protest throughout the scientific world.
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The consensus of the
scientific community which operates here exercises its influence over all the
professional work of scientists. While
his choice of subject and the actual conduct of his research is entirely the
responsibility of the individual scientist, the recognition of his claims to a
discovery is subject to the jurisdiction of the opinion of scientists as a
body. This authority will recognize at
any particular time only a certain range of matters as the proper subjects for
scientific enquiry, and no training or posts will be offered outside these
fields either for teaching or for research. Journals available for scientific publications
will also be restricted to these subjects. Moreover, papers can be published only with
the approval of referees representing scientific opinion, who will tend to favour lines of research which they consider more
important, at the expense of other lines of which they have a poor opinion. Even greater powers are exercised in this
respect by referees advising on scientific appointments, on the allocation of special
subsidies, and on the award of distinctions. Advice on these matters is usually sought from
a small number of senior scientists universally recognized as eminent in a
particular branch. By their advice they
can either delay or accelerate the growth of new directions of research. They can provide special subsidies for new
lines, and by the award of prizes and of other distinctions they can invest a
promising pioneer overnight with a position of authority and independence. New developments can be stimulated also by
advising on new appointments. Within a
decade a new school of thought can be established by the selection of
appropriate candidates for chairs that have fallen vacant during that period. In all these matters the leaders of scientific
opinion are obeying a single overriding principle. They are responsible for maintaining
approximately uniform standards of value along the whole advancing frontier of
science. Guided by these standards, they
must keep shifting resources and encouragement to the more successful growing
points of science, at the expense of sections that are approaching exhaustion.
These controlling functions
of scientific opinion are necessary, not only to maintain a rational
distribution of resources, but also to uphold in every branch the authority of
science before the general public. Published
papers are open to discussion and their results may remain controversial for a
while, but scientific controversies are usually settled within a reasonable
time. The results then pass over into
text-books for universities and schools, and this final process of codification
is again under the control of the body of scientific opinion as expressed by
reviews, upon whose authority text-books are brought into circulation.
Scientific opinion may
sometimes be mistaken and, as a result, unorthodox work of high originality and
merit may be discouraged or altogether suppressed for a time. But these risks have to be taken. Only the discipline imposed by an effective
scientific opinion can prevent the adulteration of science by cranks and
dabblers. In parts of the world where no
sound scientific opinion prevails, research stagnates for lack of stimulus,
while unsound reputations grow up, based on commonplace achievements or mere
empty boasts. Politics and business play
havoc with appointments and the granting of subsidies for research. Journals are made unreadable by including too
much trash.
Yet it is not the function
of scientific opinion to command the undertaking of any particular enquiry. It only imposes a framework of standards
within which each individual mature scientist is to pursue his vocation by his
own lights. He is entirely free to use
the opportunities made available to him by choosing problems which he considers
the most promising and by relying on his own personal judgement
for redirecting from day to day the course of his enquiry. Indeed, by its high appreciation of scientific
discovery the consensus of scientists encourages the independent scientist in
following relentlessly his own distinctive ideas, for it awards the highest
prizes to discoveries that upset currently accepted views. Moreover, owing to its passionate appreciation
of scientific discovery, scientific opinion recognizes the fact that the hidden
possibilities of discovery can be revealed only to the original mind of the
individual scientist. It establishes
thereby the principle by which the pursuit of science is organized within the
authoritative framework of scientific opinion. Complete independence must be granted to all mature
scientists so that they will distribute themselves over the whole field of
possible discoveries, each applying his own special ability to the task that
appears most profitable to him. Thus, as
many trails as possible will be covered and science will penetrate most rapidly
in every direction towards that kind of hidden knowledge which is unsuspected
by all but its discoverer - the kind of new knowledge on which the progress of
science depends. Scientific opinion may
be said to organize scientific activities by upholding the true standards of
scientific discovery, so that, by seeking recognition according to these
standards - while taking into account the published results of other scientists
- each mature scientist will gain the maximum professional success by making
the best possible contribution to the progress of science.
These are the principles of
organization under which the unprecedented advancement of science has been
achieved in the 20th century. It is easy
to find flaws in the operation of these principles, yet they remain, in my
opinion, the only principles by which this vast domain of collective creativity
can be effectively promoted and coordinated. The claims of other methods applied in the
Soviet Union turn out on closer inspection to be unfounded. Society must cultivate science on its own
terms and for its own purposes, if science is to make any progress at all.
Nor does this mean that
society is asked to subsidize the private pleasures of scientists. It is true that the beauty of a particular discovery
can be fully enjoyed only by the expert. But the widest possible responses can be
evoked by the purely scientific beauties of discovery. Great popular interest, overflowing into the
daily press, was aroused in recent years by the astronomical observations and
theories of Hoyle and Lovell and more recently of Ryle,
and this interest was not essentially different from that which these advances
had for scientists themselves. Indeed,
for the last three hundred years the progress of science has increasingly
controlled the outlook of man on the universe and has profoundly modified (for
better and for worse) the accepted meaning of human existence. Its purely theoretical influence was
pervasive. Those who think that the
public is interested in science only as a source of wealth and power are
gravely misjudging the public. There is
no reason to suppose that an electorate would be less inclined to support
science for the purpose of exploring the nature of things, than were the
private benefactors who previously supported the universities.
The universities should
have the courage to appeal to the electorate on these grounds. Honesty, at least, should demand this. For the only justification for the pursuit of
scientific research in universities lies in the fact that they provide an
intimate communion for the formation of scientific opinion, free from
corrupting intrusions and distractions. We
should openly recognize this and reassert the position of academic science as
it was acknowledged in the 19th Century. The more so, since science continues, in fact,
to be conducted
403
in the universities in exactly the same way as was done
before the movement for the social guidance of science had started.
And now, having rebuttressed the old ivory tower of pure science, let me
pass on to the opposite end of the city, where the great smoke stacks imperiously
call on scientists to increase the wealth and power of the people. Is it really so difficult, so artificial, to
distinguish this task from that of cultivating science for its own sake?
The fundamental difference
between science and technology will come out most readily if I first point out
the similarity between the two. Both
rely on observed facts and on the understanding of the nature of things. The advances of science and technology both
require a high degree of ingenuity. Originality
is in fact very strictly assessed in technology. The courts will award a patent for a technological
improvement only if it can be shown to be no mere extension of the previous
knowledge of the art. They demand that
it should be a leap across a logical gap, causing the same kind of surprise and
exhilaration which scientists feel at the sight of a new discovery. Only such exciting technical improvements can
claim protection by a patent. Only they
may rank as genuine inventions.
The basic disparity between
science and technology consists in the fact that discoveries and inventions
are, in general, quite different achievements. The law grants patents for inventions but not
for discoveries. Science relies on observations,
old and new, for advancing towards further observations which offer a deeper
understanding of nature. Technology also
relies on observations, old and new, but with a different purpose, namely to
improve the art of producing more valuable objects from less valuable
materials. Value, the relative practical
value of things, lies at the very core of a technical achievement. To simplify my illustration of this fact, I
shall concentrate for the moment on the technology of commercial products, but
the result will be readily applicable with slight changes to the technology of
arms production, road building, or any other services of public authorities.
When we say that a factory
is a centre of production, we mean that it turns out goods that are more
valuable than the resources used up, and again, normally, this will mean that
the money received by the sale of these goods will exceed the sums laid out for
the resources. In other words, a process
normally forms part of technology only if it is commercially profitable. And this conception can be expanded to all
technology if we include non-commercial profitability, such as is achieved by
building a good road, or satisfying other collective needs at a reasonable
cost.
Economists call the
combination of resources currently used at any particular productive centre its
production function. From this
point of view, existing technology is an aggregate of production functions
which apply more or less generally to similar processes at different centres. Inventions
could be regarded as ingenious and effective improvements of existing
production functions - with the small proviso that they often lead to the
manufacture of altogether new articles or at least improved forms of old ones. This formulation shows strictly that the
achievements of technology are always subject to economic criteria. They need not be commercially profitable, but
they must always be economic. A technology
claiming acceptance irrespective of economic considerations is meaningless. Indeed, any invention can be rendered
worthless and altogether farcical by a radical change in the values of the
means used up and the ends produced by it. If the price of all fuels went up a
hundredfold, all steam engines, gas turbines, motor cars, and aeroplanes would have to be thrown on the junk heap. Strictly speaking, a technical process is
valid, therefore, only within the valuations prevailing at one particular moment
and at one particular time. It can prove
more widely applicable only on account of the flexibility of its management. But there is always a danger that when the
most advanced technology of countries such as Britain and the United States is
transferred to primitive countries, where (for example) the ratio between wages
and the prices of manufactured goods is totally different, the result will be a
destruction rather than a production of values - at least in the sense that the
potential gains which could have been obtained by industrial processes more
adapted to local conditions, will be lost.
By contrast, no part of
science can lose its validity by a change in the current relative value of
things. If diamonds became as cheap as
salt is today, and salt as precious as diamonds are now, this might affect the
interest attaching to their study, but it would not invalidate any part of the
physics and chemistry of diamonds or of salt. The achievements of science are appraised by
the standards of scientific value which correspond primarily to the deepening
of our understanding of nature - an aim to which the technologist is in
principle indifferent.
So we may regard technology
as that part of industrial management which relies on a
knowledge of nature supplemented by experiments. It can, therefore, be intimately known, or
effectively improved, only by minds attuned to the aims, and well versed in the
conditions, of industrial production. The
industrial scientist must be able to assess the value of potential resources
and the urgency of potential demands as against any alternative resources and
demands. The director of an industrial
research laboratory will have to bear all these value relations in mind in
deciding between rival projects. In the
last resort he will have to defer in this respect to the commercial policy of
the general manager or, if he is attached to a public enterprise, to the
decisions of the superior officer in charge of the service. This is what I mean by calling technology an industrial
science. It means that its true home
is not in academic research controlled by the communion of scientific opinion,
but in and around the centres of industrial
production controlled by the world-wide network of economic relations or by the
specific demands of some public service. Solitary inventors are admittedly also to be
found outside industrial enterprises, some even in universities, and their role
may be important. But all these must
seek their opportunity for realizing their ideas in industrial enterprises, whether
already in existence or yet to be founded.
The sharp division between
science and technology is not affected by the fact that occasionally each can
take over the task of the other. Some
scientific discoveries may immediately contribute to the solution of a
technical problem; while experiments made for a purely technical purpose may
throw up observations which turn out to be of considerable interest to science.
But such cases only lend further precision
to the division of the two domains, by showing that a result which is accidental
to one, turns out to be essential to the other. No rational pursuit can be guided by its
wholly accidental results. However close
the symbiosis of science and technology may be, each forms a separate organism
for which its own vital interest must serve as its guide.
The distinctive principles
of science and technology can also account for the existence and peculiar
character of the important fields of knowledge which lie between these two
domains.
I have said that technology,
like science, is based on natural
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facts supplemented by experiments. But much of this knowledge is not scientific. The ancient crafts, which until fairly
recently have formed the major part of industries - such as the spinning of
yarn, the weaving and dyeing of cloth, the brewing of beer, or the smelting of
ore - were based on what is usually called a purely empirical technology,
lacking altogether the scientific understanding of the processes being applied.
Much of industrial research,
particularly that of the great research associations, has been directed
during the last decades towards discovering the scientific basis for the
technical processes used in ancient industries. Such scientific analysis has assisted the
rational improvement of these traditional crafts. The great Carlsberg laboratories, which under
Sorenson and Lindström-Lang contributed so much to
science, have owed their income from the beginning to a number of breweries
donated to them at their foundation. By
applying themselves to the scientific analysis of brewing, these laboratories
have produced the famous Carlsberg beer which is suitable for export to all
parts of the world and have thus greatly increased their endowment. Such investigations have as a rule not much
scientific interest, and the directors of technical research laboratories
should not be expected to carry them beyond the point at which their practical
usefulness is exhausted. The interest of
this analytic technology will always depend ultimately on the economic
framework within which the industry in question operates. It should find its true home in the vicinity
of the industry, the interests of which must be its predominant concern.
But there are other
industries which, though they may have originally been founded empirically,
have now achieved a vast development based entirely on a few well-known
physical laws. These are usually
described as engineering and they comprise such processes as the
construction of engines, the production and transmission of electricity, the manufacture
of electronic devices, the building of ships and airplanes, of roads and
bridges. Such work offers wide scope to
speculations employing elaborate mathematical tools. Most of aerodynamics, of hydrodynamics, and of
the theory of elasticity may be regarded as speculative extensions of engineering.
They resemble the exact sciences in
offering a mathematical elucidation of mechanical or electrical systems, and
they possess an intellectual beauty which is akin to that of the exact
sciences. Yet there is an important
difference between the two. Compare, for
example, aerodynamics and theoretical astronomy. The problems of aerodynamics are mostly
man-made, whereas those of astronomy are concerned with the course of nature
untouched by man. Hence, the theoretical
branches of engineering can contribute little to our understanding of nature,
and they derive their fascination mainly from their bearing on problems of
engineering.
All the beautiful sciences
usually called applied mathematics can be justly described therefore by the
name of theoretical technology or theoretical engineering. Since their aims are theoretical, these
sciences will best be cultivated on academic soil, within a community that can
fully appreciate their intellectual beauty. But we may doubt whether their extensive
cultivation would continue, if their practical use ceased altogether. If shipping became obsolete, much of hydrodynamics
would fall into oblivion. Even though
the highly theoretical sciences of engineering are not concerned with the
particular problems of the day with which the industrial engineer has to
contend on the spot, and though their theoretical validity would not be
impaired by the obsolescence of any particular part of engineering, their
interest does depend on the continued flowering of the various branches of
engineering on which they bear. In this
respect they differ not only from the natural sciences, but also from pure
mathematics, the interest of which lies wholly within itself.
This brings us to a third
kind of scientific enquiry situated between pure science and technology. I have described how the beauty of a
scientific discovery and the value of any part of science depends on the
combination of a number of factors each of which may compensate for the
shortcomings of the other, and how, in particular, the fascination which living
things have for us makes up for the lesser exactitude of biology as compared
with that of physics. We may expect
therefore that the technical interest of certain materials will contribute to
the scientific value of their study and will cause the extension of such
enquiries beyond what would otherwise seem justifiable. An example of this which seems appropriate to
the occasion of this lecture is the study of metals. I suppose many of the interests pursued by
the members of the Institute of Metals lie in the fields which I have described
as analytic technology and theoretical engineering. But the last thirty years have seen a
considerable extension of the physics of metals which was not unmindful of the
technical interest of these materials. The
mysteries of plastic flow, of hardening, of fatigue, of annealing and recrystallization, were among the chief preoccupations of
this enquiry. The results have attracted
the attention and appreciation of physicists, as they have deepened our understanding
of the solid state, but the main response came from people concerned with the
working and use of metals. I think,
indeed, that most of the results of these investigations would soon be
forgotten if one day the use of metals were to be reduced to an insignificant
fraction of its present extent.
Studies such as those of
wool, of cotton, or of the migration of fishes owe, like the study of metals,
much of their interest to the practical aspects of their subject matter. They have the structure of academic studies
and should find their home mainly in the universities or technical
universities, their position in this respect being similar to that of
theoretical engineering, from which they differ only in the fact that their
theoretical interest lies not in mathematical beauty, but in the understanding
of nature. Since the present extent of
these studies is due to the practical interest of their subject matter, we may
call them technically justified sciences. And by the same token, it would seem
proper that the cultivation in the universities of these technically justified
sciences should be subsidized - as a sign of their interest - by the industries
on which they bear. This should apply
also, for the same reason, to the study of theoretical engineering in the
universities.
We have now seen that three
kinds of scientific study - the analysis of technology, the theoretical
principles of engineering, and the technically justified natural sciences - lie
in between the main bodies of science and technology, the first more closely
attached to industrial centres, the last two to be
cultivated mainly on academic soil. But
apart from these intermediate areas, there are certain fields in which science
and technology actually overlap. The
most frequently discussed case of this is medicine, though I think surgery
should be exempted here, since its progress contributes only incidentally to
our understanding of nature. The classic
instance of overlapping is pharmacology. The observation of the effects of a drug is
indeed a fact of nature, while the prescription of the drug for producing this
effect fulfils a practical purpose. It
is undeniable that we can identify here, up to a point, a scientific
observation with an act of medication. But their overlapping does not eliminate
the duality of these two aspects. New
drugs are developed by people whose purpose is not the treatment of any particular
patient, while a doctor called in to treat a patient
405
should not be affected primarily by the desire to discover
the yet-unknown effects of some drug, but must attend to many aspects of his
case of which the pharmacologist knows nothing. Again, the scientific interest of a drug would
hardly be impaired if it turned out to be so rare,
unstable, or expensive as to be virtually not available in practice, although
it would cease thereby to be a drug for the treatment of patients.
1 have mentioned before
that the increasing need for scientific personnel in industry, which became
marked since the end of the 19th Century, has led - perhaps in the first place
in Germany - to an increase in the number of students taking science in the
universities, as well as to the foundation of separate technical universities
which offer a scientific training combined with a teaching of technology. But effective practical training can be given
only in such branches of practice as are actually carried on within the
university. Such is the training of
doctors in the teaching hospitals of the universities. But it is not possible to incorporate teaching
factories covering all branches of industry in a university. It follows that while universities will be
able to give excellent instruction in theoretical engineering and in the
technically justified branches of science, they will have to concentrate, in
respect of the main body of technology, on scientifically analysed
technical processes and be satisfied with giving a rather pale and sometimes
out-of-date description of the vast range of skilful practices which form the
main substance - the actual “know-how” - of living contemporary technology. Thus, the essential difference between
academic and industrial science reappears in the difficulty of teaching
technology effectively on academic soil.
The fact that the state has
taken over the financing of the universities in this country and that it tends
now to consider material welfare and military security as its first priorities, cannot change the logical necessities flowing
from the essential distinction between science and technology. Yet I can respect the tide of social sentiment
which rebels against this logic; but I cease to do so when some of its
protagonists try to arouse the resentment of technologists against academic
scientists by accusing them of snobbishly keeping the universities to
themselves in order to indulge their personal predilections.
Such resentment will appear
particularly unfounded, when it is realized that my analysis classes the
subject matter of technology with the main body of human culture; for the main
body of our culture lies outside the universities. The position of technology is akin in this
respect to the study of the humanities in the Faculties of Arts. The humanities are concerned with language,
literature, law, history, religion, economic and social life, which are all man-made things, like the products of industry. The cultivation of the humanities in the
universities is therefore at a similar disadvantage as the cultivation of
technology, by comparison with the natural sciences.
Nature is given to man ready-made;
we may try to elucidate it, but we cannot improve it. But language, literature, history, politics,
law, and religion, as well as economic and social life, are constantly on the
move, and they are advanced by poets, playwrights, novelists, politicians,
preachers, journalists, and all kinds of other, non-scholarly, writers. These are the primary initiators of cultural
changes, rather than the Faculties of Arts which contribute to the advancement
of culture mainly at second-hand, by studying language, literature, history,
law, religion, and so on, as produced outside the universities. Hence, academic science has an advantage over
the humanities similar to that it holds over technology.
We should remember this when
we deplore, with Sir Charles Snow, the gap between the now proverbial “two
cultures “. Schools and universities can
do little about this gap, for the reshaping of our cultural heritage from
generation to generation lies, except in science itself, predominantly outside
the schools and universities.
The academic pursuit of
science has yet another advantage over that of the arts. I have described how science is advanced by
the self-coordination of the independent contributions made by individual
mature scientists; and how, owing to the profoundly systematic character of
science, the problems arising at various points stimulate the systematic growth
of science as a whole. Of course, while
some discoveries may open up whole new areas, others will be of interest in the
first place only to certain specialists; but eventually all fragmentary
additions which have been deemed worthy of publication will be found to compose
a new systematic understanding of nature. The text-books, or at least the larger
handbooks of science, will fit them all together into a coherent pattern
representing the major principles of science in a new light. Fragmentary enquiries do not so readily
integrate themselves to major advances in the humanities. In fact, the kind of detailed and meticulously
documented studies of literature and history that only the universities can
provide, will rarely effect major changes in our literary and historical
consciousness. Sometimes a single
fragment of new knowledge, like the deciphering of the Mycenean
linear B script, has thrown new light on a whole great
cultural period of the past, but usually a major development in the humanities
is achieved only by the monumental work of a single great scholar. The minutely detailed investigations, suitable
for doctoral dissertations, tend indeed to frighten both their writers and
readers away from any attempt to form ampler perspectives, which few scholars -
if any - can hope to establish with similar precision. The supreme virtues of academic scholarship
may thus make the average worker in the humanities forget altogether the larger
questions on which the cultural importance of his subject depends. The academic pursuit of natural science is
free from such pitfalls.
We may conclude that the
profound distinction between science and technology is but an instance of the
difference between the study of nature on the one hand and the study of human
activities and the products of human activities, on the other. The universities cannot be the main source of
progress either in humanistic or in material culture, as they are in the
natural sciences.
The calm recognition of
this logically necessary division of labour should
form the solid foundation for dealing with the numberless difficult problems
that still remain to be faced when these foundations are recognized.
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