Chapter X: Passages for Comparison with the Method of Agassiz (2)

Agassiz, it is said, had been afraid of softening of the brain, and of a long and painful illness like that which preceded the death of his friend Professor Bache; it had been his hope that he might rather go quickly. Yet it was not easy for him to think of dying, when his imagination teemed with projects, and when the two main visions of his life were on the point of being fully accomplished, in the great Museum and the Anderson School of Natural History on the island of Penikese. Stricken though he was, he clung to life, nor did he give up all hope of recovery until the last day. Still there was a change of demeanor, for the aims of his career as a scientist were now less obtrusive in his mind than thoughts of his family. And with the arrival of Dr. Brown -Sequard he resumed the language of his youth, so that his last words were uttered in French. In the closing hours, when at length all hope was abandoned, he was more than once heard to say: '_Tout est fini_.' On the eighth day, when death itself was approaching, his family and friends--among these, Pourtales--withdrew to an adjoining room, keeping watch over the patient through the open door. While Pourtales was standing there in his turn, not long after ten o'clock at night, Agassiz lifted himself up in bed, and said with emphasis: '_Le jeu est fini_.' Then, sinking back, he passed away.

'The play is done. _Plaudite_.' For Agassiz life was a game, full of motion, crowded with incident. He could not understand the complaint of those who found time hanging heavily upon their hands, and who sought ways of killing it. He, who had 'no time for making money,' would gladly have borrowed an extra life or two for study and teaching. From the outset he had unwavering confidence in himself. He would be 'the first naturalist of his time, a good citizen, a good son, beloved of those who knew him.' He was not to follow others; he would lead in his own path, which should be the right path, and others should follow him.

Agassiz was somewhat above the average in height. His body was well formed, his shoulders broad and square, his figure powerful, firmly set upon rather small feet that served him well in walking and climbing. With a quick, elastic step, he was an excellent pedestrian, and quite at home in the mountains. As a boy he became proficient in swimming and in the management of boats. To bodily fear he was a stranger. His hands were large and shapely, and very skilful. Never a finished draughtsman, he was none the less expert in representing, with swift, sure strokes, the essential structure of the object he wished to recall or explain. He was deft, too, with the dissecting-knife and the microscope, and with the geologist's hammer. His neck (the weak part, as his fatal illness showed) was rather short; his head was fine and large. In later years his hair, of a chestnut color, deserted his brow, but he wore it full at the sides and back, and this, with the side-whiskers of the day, tended to conceal his ears. The head itself was admirable, the forehead high and broad, the chin shapely, the countenance frank and open. The mouth was wide, the lips full and smiling, the expression as a whole altogether amiable and intelligent. His aquiline nose, with well-developed nostrils, sharply set off by the oblique lines on either side, helped to give him an air of sagacity. But it was the magnificent, fascinating eyes, young, kindly, and searching, that above all gave life to that animated countenance. To those eyes nothing was commonplace. [Footnote: Compare Clara Conant Gilson, 'Agassiz at Cambridge,' in _Frank Leslie's Popular Monthly_, December, 1891: 'He was a man of fine figure and striking appearance, not too much of the _embonpoint_, not too tall, but just tall enough to constitute a finely developed physique. His head was grand, of perfect intellectual shape, and commanded your admiration as you gazed. He was but slightly bald, his hair was of a beautiful brown, soft and fine, and fell lovingly over the collar of his coat. His face was of well-rounded contour, with a large, expressive mouth, and features indicative of great character and decision. His eyes were the feature of his face, par excellence. They were of a beautiful bright brown, full of tenderness, of meaning and earnestness--a liquid brown eye, that would moisten with tears of emotion as thoughts of his Creator came rushing to mind, while he traced His footsteps in the sciences he studied. His eyes mirrored his soul. I think there was never but one pair of eyes such as Professor Louis Agassiz's.']

Agassiz spoke French with a slight drawl characteristic of the section of Switzerland in which he was born. When he came to America in 1846, he rapidly acquired a command of English, and he eventually wrote and spoke the language with great facility, though his speech never ceased to betray his foreign origin. [Footnote: See Clara Conant Gilson, in the article just cited: He had a few striking peculiarities of pronunciation, one or two of which cling to me with great pertinacity even now. One, in particular, is fresh in my memory. For example, the words respiratory and perspiratory he would accent on the third syllable--_rat_; and, bless me, if to this day I don't have to think twice before I am sure which is right! This shows what indelible impressions his words left upon his pupils.]

With his superabundant physical, mental, and emotional energy, he was a natural orator; he was fond of an audience, and gratified by applause. No one ever possessed a greater talent for making natural science popular; even when his discourse became highly technical, his auditors hung upon his words. His method of exposition was very clear and simple. He studiously avoided the error of dragging the listener through all the processes by which the speaker has arrived at a particular truth, and quickly came to the point. In lecturing, his personal magnetism counted for much; he readily communicated his enthusiasm to others.

He was easily moved to tears or to laughter. In his earlier life he was seldom angry, or seldom showed it, but otherwise made no attempt to hide his feelings, being a perfect child of nature. Later he became less demonstrative, save when he was angry. In the last twenty years of his life he not infrequently lost his temper, though he would not utterly forget what he was saying; and, however heated the discussion might become, he never ceased to be a gentleman. Neither indecency nor aught approaching thereto ever issued from his lips. As a youth in Switzerland, during his life as a student, and even when he was a teacher at Neuchatel, he was fond of singing, and he liked to yodel after the fashion of the Swiss and Tyrolese mountaineers, but he gave this up when he came to America.

Here his recreations were mostly social. He was the friend of Longfellow, Lowell, and Whittier; he was the friend of laborers and fishermen. In society he liked to encounter men of wealth and influence, for he had by nature, and also learned from Alexander von Humboldt, some of the arts of the courtier. 'It would be difficult,' says Dr. Charles D. Walcott, [Footnote: _Smithsonian Miscellaneous Collections_ 50. 217 (1908).] 'to measure his influence in the way of causing men of political and commercial power to realize that the support of scientific research, and the diffusion of knowledge thereby gained, depend largely on them.' In other natural scientists he was prone to discover too much self-satisfaction, and too much personal curiosity, against which he hardly knew how to protect himself. But with the group of younger scientists he himself developed, though now and then one or another grew mutinous, he was, during most of the time, on the best of terms. His own early schooling in the classics gave him a relish for scholars, and he was pleased with the company of historians and lawyers. For military men he did not care, but he liked naval officers and sea-captains. He paid little attention to matters of dress, certainly as regards his own person. He was gratified by the marks of distinction conferred upon him at home and abroad, but took little subsequent thought of the ribbons, badges, and diplomas, keeping them, but not very carefully, and never making a parade of them.

Eloquent as a lecturer, he was also brilliant and persuasive in conversation, being, in appearance at least, quite unreserved, and open in his attempt to capture the good will of his auditor. However, if there was no covert artifice, there was at all events the native shrewdness of the Swiss peasant to reckon with, and doubtless the subtlety of genius--which will not, or cannot, always reveal itself in full. In his later years, accordingly, though his winning manners and his desire that you should completely display your thought to him might lead you to suppose him utterly open with you, you might in the end discover that you had not fathomed his soul, that there was that in him which could not be taken captive, and that there might be a silent invincible rejection on his part of something within you which was foreign to him.

In Agassiz the theoretical and the practical life were well balanced. He was both a visionary and a man capable of bringing his visions to pass. No philosophical conception was too general for him, and no detail of observation or inference too small. No fact could appear too slight for his intense and comprehensive scrutiny, and his memory for minute resemblances and differences was vast; yet the enduring quality of his work arose from his sense of order, and from the soundness and rigor of his principles. He possessed not only physical, but intellectual and moral courage. In the face of hardship or difficulty he was undaunted, ever energetic at the moment, ever hoping for better times. His power of working was enormous, for he made virtually no false motions, but proceeded silently, swiftly, with no apparent effort, and for long periods without interruption.

Much has been said by his friends of the depth and sincerity of his sentiments in point of religion. But he had little sympathy with clergymen, or with the definite forms in which the religious experience of man has expressed itself--though these forms are in their essence and development not unlike the natural forms which he so reverently studied. One who knew him well affirms that in early manhood Agassiz, if not precisely a materialist, was at all events a sceptic; but his later studies, with mature reflection, led him to believe in a Divine Creator. The external universe became to him the language in which the Divine Being conveys his ideas to man, and natural history the discipline by which men interpret that language. Thus he says, in the _Essay on Classification:_ 'To me it appears indisputable that this order and arrangement of our studies are based upon the natural, primitive relations of animal life--those systems, to which we have given the names of the great leaders of our science who first proposed them, being in truth but translations into human language of the thoughts of the Creator. And if this is indeed so, do we not find in this adaptability of the human intellect to the facts of creation, by which we become instinctively, and, as I have said, unconsciously, the translators of the thoughts of God, the most conclusive proof of our affinity with the Divine mind? And is not this intellectual and spiritual connection with the Almighty worthy of our deepest consideration? If there is any truth in the belief that man is made in the image of God, it is surely not amiss for the philosopher to endeavor, by the study of his own mental operations, to approximate the workings of the Divine Reason, learning from the nature of his own mind better to understand the Infinite Intellect from which it is derived. Such a suggestion may, at first sight, appear irreverent. But who is the truly humble? He who, penetrating into the secrets of creation, arranges them under a formula, which he proudly calls his scientific system? or he who in the same pursuit recognizes his glorious affinity with the Creator, and in deepest gratitude for so sublime a birthright strives to be the faithful interpreter of that Divine Intellect with whom he is permitted, nay, with whom he is intended, according to the laws of his being, to enter into communion? [Footnote: _Essay on Classification_ (1859), pp. 9-10.] Herein we may discern the secret of his power as a teacher.

'Agassiz's influence on methods of teaching in our community,' said Professor James, 'was prompt and decisive--all the more that it struck people's imagination by its very excess. The good old way of committing printed abstractions to memory never seems to have received such a shock as it encountered at his hands. There is probably no public school teacher now [1896] in New England who will not tell you how Agassiz used to lock a student up in a room full of turtle-shells, or lobster-shells, or oyster-shells, without a book or a word to help him, and not let him out till he had discovered all the truths which the objects contained. Some found the truths after weeks and months of lonely sorrow; others never found them. Those who found them were already made into naturalists thereby--the failures were blotted from the book of honor and of life. "Go to nature; take the facts into your own hands; look, and see for yourself!"--these were the maxims which Agassiz preached wherever he went, and their effect upon pedagogy was electric.... While on the Thayer expedition [to Brazil, in 1865], I remember that I often put questions to him about the facts of our new tropical habitat, but I doubt if he ever answered one of these questions of mine outright. He always said: "There, you see you have a definite problem. Go and look, and find the answer for yourself."' [Footnote: William James, _Louis Agassiz, Words Spoken ... at the Reception of the American Society of Naturalists ..._ [Dec. 30, 1896]. Pp. 9, 10. Cambridge, 1897.]

IX

OBITER DICTA BY AGASSIZ

[Footnote: The first nine of these utterances were taken down by Dr. David Stair Jordan at Penikese, in the summer of 1873, from Agassiz's talks to teachers; see _Popular Science Monthly_ 40. 726-727, and Holder, _Louis Agassiz, his Life and Works,_ 1893, pp. 173-176. The next five come from the article entitled 'Louis Agassiz, Teacher,' by Professor Burt G. Wilder, in _The Harvard Graduate's Magazine,_ June, 1907, and the last three from Agassiz's posthumous article, "Evolution and Permanence of Type," in the _Atlantic Monthly,_ Jan., 1874 (vol. 33).]

Never try to teach what you yourself do not know, and know well. If your school board insists on your teaching anything and everything, decline firmly to do it. It is an imposition alike on pupils and teacher to teach that which he does not know. Those teachers who are strong enough should squarely refuse to do such work. This much-needed reform is already beginning in our colleges, and I hope it will continue. It is a relic of mediaeval times, this idea of professing everything. When teachers begin to decline work which they cannot do well, improvements begin to come in. If one will be a successful teacher, he must firmly refuse work which he cannot do successfully.

It is a false idea to suppose that everybody is competent to learn or to teach everything. Would our great artists have succeeded equally well in Greek or calculus? A smattering of everything is worth little. It is a fallacy to suppose that an encyclopaedic knowledge is desirable. The mind is made strong, not through much learning, but by the thorough possession of something.

Lay aside all conceit. Learn to read the book of nature for yourself. Those who have succeeded best have followed for years some slim thread which has once in a while broadened out and disclosed some treasure worth a life-long search.

A man cannot be a professor of zoology on one day, and of chemistry on the next, and do good work in both. As in a concert all are musicians --one plays one instrument, and one another, but none all in perfection.

You cannot do without one specialty; you must have some base-line to measure the work and attainments of others. For a general view of the subject, study the history of the sciences. Broad knowledge of all nature has been the possession of no naturalist except Humboldt, and general relations constituted his specialty.

Select such subjects that your pupils cannot walk without seeing them. Train your pupils to be observers, and have them provided with the specimens about which you speak. If you can find nothing better, take a house-fly or a cricket, and let each hold a specimen and examine it as you talk.

In 1847 I gave an address at Newton, Massachusetts, before a Teachers' Institute conducted by Horace Mann. My subject was grasshoppers. I passed around a large jar of these insects, and made every teacher take one and hold it while I was speaking. If any one dropped the insect, I stopped till he picked it up. This was at that time a great innovation, and excited much laughter and derision. There can be no true progress in the teaching of natural science until such methods become general.

There is no part of the country where, in the summer, you cannot get a sufficient supply of the best specimens. Teach your children to bring them in themselves. Take your text from the brooks, not from the book -sellers. It is better to have a few forms well known than to teach a little about many hundred species. Better a dozen specimens thoroughly studied as the result of the first year's work, than to have two thousand dollars' worth of shells and corals bought from a curiosity -shop. The dozen animals would be your own.

The study of nature is an intercourse with the highest mind. You should never trifle with nature. At the lowest her works are the works of the highest powers--the highest something, in whatever way we may look at it.

It is much more important for a naturalist to understand the structure of a few animals than to command the whole field of scientific nomenclature.

Methods may determine the result.

The only true scientific system must be one in which the thought, the intellectual structure, rises out of, and is based upon, facts.

He is lost, as an observer, who believes that he can, with impunity, affirm that for which he can adduce no evidence.

Have the courage to say: 'I do not know.'

Since the ability of combining facts is a much rarer gift than that of discerning them, many students lost sight of the unity of structural design in the multiplicity of structural detail. [Footnote: _Atlantic Monthly_ 33. 93.]

It cannot be too soon understood that science is one, and that whether we investigate language, philosophy, theology, history, or physics, we are dealing with the same problem, culminating in the knowledge of ourselves. Speech is known only in connection with the organs of man, thought in connection with his brain, religion as the expression of his aspirations, history as the record of his deeds, and physical sciences as the laws under which he lives. [Footnote: _Atlantic Monthly_ 33. 95.]

The most advanced Darwinians seem reluctant to acknowledge the intervention of an intellectual power in the diversity which obtains in nature, under the plea that such an admission implies distinct creative acts for every species. What of it, if it were true? Have those who object to repeated acts of creation ever considered that no progress can be made in knowledge without repeated acts of thinking? And what are thoughts but specific acts of the mind? Why should it then be unscientific to infer that the facts of nature are the result of a similar process, since there is no evidence of any other cause? The world has arisen in some way or other. How it originated is the great question, and Darwin's theory, like all other attempts to explain the origin of life, is thus far merely conjectural. I believe he has not even made the best conjecture possible in the present state of our knowledge.

The more I look at the great complex of the animal world, the more sure do I feel that we have not yet reached its hidden meaning, and the more do I regret that the young and ardent spirits of our day give themselves to speculation rather than to close and accurate investigation. [Footnote: _Atlantic Monthly_ 33. 101.]

X

PASSAGES FOR COMPARISON WITH THE METHOD OF AGASSIZ

BOECKH ON THE STUDY OF HISTORY AND LITERATURE

[Footnote: August Boeckh; _Encyclopadie und Methodobgie der Philologischen Wissenschaften_, pp. 46-47.]

The person who first seeks to acquire a general survey of a science, and then gradually to descend to details, will never attain to sound and exact knowledge, but will for ever dissipate his energies, and, knowing many things, will yet know nothing. In his lectures on the Method of Academical Study, Schelling remarks with great justice that, in history, to begin with a survey of the entire past is in the highest degree useless and injurious, since it gives one mere compartments for knowledge, without anything to fill them. In history, his advice is, first study one period in detail, and from this broaden out in all directions. For the study of language and literature (which corresponds with history in its most general sense) a similar procedure is the only right one. Everything in science is related; although science itself is endless, yet the whole system is pervaded with sympathies and correspondences. Let the student place himself where he will--so long as he selects something significant and worth while,--and he will be compelled to broaden out from this point of departure in every direction in order to reach a complete understanding of his subject. From each and every detail one is driven to consider the whole; the only thing that matters is that one go to work in the right way, with strength, intelligence, and avidity. Let one choose several different points of departure, working through from each of them to the whole, and one will grasp the whole all the more surely, and comprehend the wealth of detail all the more fully. Accordingly, by sinking deep into the particular, one most easily avoids the danger of becoming narrow.

PASSAGES FOR COMPARISON

FROM THE SYMPOSIUM OF PLATO

[The passage is thus summarized by Jowett: 'He who would be truly initiated should pass from the concrete to the abstract, from the individual to the universal, from the universal to the universe of truth and beauty. [Footnote: Plato, _Symposium_. _The Dialogues of Plato, translated by Jowett, New York, Oxford University Press, 1892, 1. 580-582.]]

_Diotima_.... These are the lesser mysteries of love, into which even you, Socrates, may enter; to the greater and more hidden ones which are the crown of these, and to which, if you pursue them in a right spirit, they will lead, I know not whether you will be able to attain. But I will do my utmost to inform you, and do you follow if you can. He who would proceed aright in this matter should begin in youth to visit beautiful forms; and first, if he be guided by his instructor aright, to love one such form only--out of that he should create fair thoughts. And soon he will of himself perceive that the beauty of one form is akin to the beauty of another; and then, if beauty of form in general is his pursuit, how foolish would he be not to recognize that the beauty in every form is one and the same! And when he perceives this, he will abate his violent love of the one, which he will despise and deem a small thing, and will become a lover of all beautiful forms. In the next stage he will consider that the beauty of the mind is more honorable than the beauty of the outward form. So that if a virtuous soul have but a little comeliness, he will be content to love and tend him, and will search out and bring to the birth thoughts which may improve the young, until he is compelled to contemplate and see the beauty of institutions and laws, and to understand that the beauty of them all is of one family, and that personal beauty is a trifle. And after laws and institutions he will go on to the sciences, that he may see their beauty, being not, like a servant, in love with the beauty of one youth or man or institution, himself a slave, mean and narrow- minded, but drawing towards and contemplating the vast sea of beauty, he will create many fair and noble thoughts and notions in boundless love of wisdom; until on that shore he grows and waxes strong, and at last the vision is revealed to him of a single science, which is the science of beauty everywhere....

He who has been instructed thus far in the things of love, and who has learned to see the beautiful in due order and succession, when he comes toward the end will suddenly perceive a nature of wondrous beauty (and this, Socrates, is the final cause of all our former toils)--a nature which in the first place is everlasting, not growing and decaying, or waxing and waning; secondly, not fair in one point of view and foul in another, or at one time or in one relation or at one place fair, at another time or in another relation or at another place foul, as if fair to some and foul to others, or in the likeness of a face or hands or any other part of the bodily frame, or in any form of speech or knowledge, or existing in any other being, as, for example, in an animal, or in heaven, or in earth, or in any other place; but beauty absolute, separate, simple, and everlasting, which without diminution and without increase, or any change, is imparted to the ever-growing and perishing beauties of all other things. He who from these ascending under the influence of true love, begins to perceive that beauty, is not far from the end. And the true order of going, or being led by another, to the things of love is to begin from the beauties of earth, and mount upwards for the sake of that other beauty, using these as steps only, and from one going on to two, and from two to all fair forms, and from fair forms to fair practices, and from fair practices to fair notions, until from fair notions he arrives at the notion of absolute beauty, and at last knows what the essence of beauty is.

End of Project Gutenberg's Louis Agassiz as a Teacher, by Lane Cooper