THE UNIVERSITY OFCHICAGO 1EECOEDJuly 3, 1975 An Official Publication Volume IX, Number 3CONTENTS91 SHAKESPEARE, NEWTON, AND BEETHOVEN OR PATTERNSOF CREATIVITY109 REPORT OF THE VISITING COMMITTEE TO EVALUATE THEDEPARTMENT OF ANATOMY1 13 REPORT OF THE STUDENT OMBUDSMAN FOR THE WINTERQUARTER, 1975117 ADDENDA TO THE OMBUDSMAN'S REPORT118 TRUSTEE ELECTION119 UNIVERSITY DIRECTOR OF FINE ARTS APPOINTED119 UNIVERSITY DISCIPLINARY COMMITTEE, 1975-76THE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGOFOUNDED BY JOHN D. ROCKEFELLER©Copyright 1975 by The University of Chicago. All rights reserved.THE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO RECORDTHE NORA AND EDWARD RYERSON LECTURESHAKESPEARE, NEWTON, AND BEETHOVENOR PATTERNS OF CREATIVITYBy S. CHANDRASEKHARThe Nora and Edward Ryerson Lectures wereestablished by the Trustees of the University inDecember 1972. They are intended to give amember of the faculty the opportunity each yearto lecture to an audience from the entire University on a significant aspect of his research andstudy. The President of the University appointsthe lecturer on the recommendation of a facultycommittee which solicits individual nominationsfrom each member of the faculty during the winterquarter preceding the academic year for whichthe appointment is made. The lectures are presented under the auspices of the Center for PolicyStudy.The lecturers have been: 1973-74 — John HopeFranklin; 1974-75 — S. Chandrasekhar,April 22, 1975Introductory RemarksThis is the second annual Ryerson Lecture — aninstitution established within The University ofChicago to commemorate the love and respectwhich this University holds for Nora and EdwardRyerson. The central condition in the establishment of the Lecture is that it is to be given at least once a year by a member of The University ofChicago faculty, selected for his or her distinctionin scholarship.Among the most pleasant recollections that Ihave from the years since I have come to TheUniversity of Chicago is meeting and getting toknow Nora and Edward Ryerson. Both radiated apersonal quality and a sense of integrity whichmade one immediately realize that he was in thepresence of rare individuals. Nora Butler Ryersonwas among the initiating members of theUniversity's Women's Board and played asignificant role in its activities throughout herlifetime. Mr. Ryerson joined the University'sBoard of Trustees in 1923, assuming the Chairmanship of the Board in 1953. He became a LifeTrustee in 1956.Although the influence of Mr. and Mrs. Ryerson is evident in practically all of the cultural andcivic activities of the City of Chicago, one gets thefeeling in reading Mr. Ryerson' s "Chronicle"that the University had a special place in theirhearts. In his "Ryerson Chronicle — 1886-1964"Edward Ryerson noted that "the experience ofserving on a Board of a great University offers amarvelous opportunity to understand how important the educational process is and what it meansinsofar as the future welfare of our country is concerned."91My personal acquaintance with both Mr. andMrs. Ryerson was enriched through a central interest both had in the cultivation of educationalradio and television. I had the pleasure of servingwith him for a time on the Board of stationWTTW. During that period we had many discussions touching upon the importance of individualresponsibility to society, especially with referenceto the future of society. This theme was reflectedin many ways in the lifetime of activities of Noraand Edward Ryerson. It is also easily recognizedin another, very tangible contribution which theymade to the world, in the person of Nancy Ryerson Ranney, who, in happy company with herhusband George, continues to further the Ryerson family's role and responsibility in a societywhich, more than ever, needs reminding of individual responsibility and integrity.The honor of being chosen the Nora and Edward Ryerson Lecturer this year has come to amost appropriate faculty member. I can recall noincident in my experience in the University whenthere has been such a happy conjunction of eventand principal participant. Professor Chan-drasekhar is indeed the essence of what was aspired to in the creation of the Ryerson Lectureship, and what we hold in mind as the ideal of thescholar in this University. I am sure Chandra willnot mind my telling you of his response to a recentinquiry made of him regarding what might be saidof him biographically, which illustrates my point.With the characteristic twinkle in his eye, he saidto me: "I told the young lady that I had been aProfessor at The University of Chicago for thepast 37 years, what more is there to say?"And that is the simple truth. The professorialideal is an individual of the very highest order ofintellectual power, doing what to him comesnaturally. In Chandra's case, it is well known,worldwide, that the individual case matches theideal. We are fortunate to have him in our midst toremind us that ideals should always be maintainedbecause, once in a while, they are achieved.Subrahmanyan Chandrasekhar is the MortonD. Hull Distinguished Service Professor in theDepartments of Astronomy and Astrophysics,Physics, the Enrico Fermi Institute, and theCommittee on the Conceptual Foundations ofScience. He is a theoretical astrophysicist, presently studying the stability of rotating stars and"black holes" within the framework of generalrelativity theory. When people discuss his work,the word most often used by those who reallyknow is "elegant." This is a word which is usedsparingly among scientists to describe the work of a colleague when it is of a quality that is recognized as the very best.Chandra was born in Lahore, India, and received his baccalaureate degree from MadrasUniversity. His doctorate was received at Cambridge where he was a Fellow of Trinity College.He joined the faculty of The University ofChicago in 1937, becoming a full professor in1943. He was appointed Morton D. Hull Distinguished Service Professor in 1952.Chandra's work has been and continues to behonored far and wide. He has received the BruceGold Medal of The American Astronomical Society of the Pacific (1952); the Gold Medal of theRoyal Astronomical Society of London, perhapsthe most esteemed award in astronomy (1953); theRoyal Medal of the Royal Society (London),which was bestowed upon him by QueenElizabeth (1962); the National Science Medal,which he received from President Johnson (1967);the Padma Vibhushan Award of India from President Zakir Husain (1968); and more recently, theHenry Draper Medal of the National Academy ofSciences (1971) and the Heineman Prize forMathematical Physics, awarded by the AmericanPhysical Society and the American Institute ofPhysics (1974). He has published innumerablepapers and five major books.In this day of "cost-effectiveness" and its frequent misapplication within the enterprise ofhigher learning, I cannot resist telling you thatChandra has furnished beleaguered Provosts withan extraordinary example in defense of the educational traditions of this University. During theperiod of the mid- 1940s and following, Chandraused to drive some hundred miles betweenYerkes Observatory in Williams Bay and theUniversity, week after week, to meet a class oftwo students. Even at that time one might haveraised a question of relative investment of timeand energy, but I doubt that such a thought everentered his mind. When the Nobel Prize inPhysics was awarded in 1957, it went to the wholeclass, Messrs. Lee and Yang.It is my great pleasure and privilege to introduce to you, Professor Chandrasekhar, the Noraand Edward Ryerson Lecturer, who is going tospeak to us about "Shakespeare, Newton, andBeethoven or Patterns of Creativity."John T. Wilson is the Provost and Acting President of the University and Professor in the Departments of Education and Psychology. TheRyerson Lecture was given in the auditorium ofthe Laird Bell Law Quadrangle.92Prefacing a somewhat derogatory criticism of Milton, T. S. Eliot once stated that "the only jury ofjudgement" that he would accept on his viewswas that "of the ablest poetical practitioners ofhis time." Ten years later, perhaps in a more mellow mood, he added: "The scholar and the practitioner, in the field of literary criticism, shouldsupplement each others' work. The criticism ofthe practitioner will be all the better, certainly, ifhe is not wholly destitute of scholarship; and thecriticism of the scholar will be all the better if hehas some experience of the difficulties of writingverse." By the same criterion, anyone, who isemboldened to ask if there are discernible differences in the patterns of creativity among the practitioners in the arts and the practitioners in thesciences, must be a practitioner, as well as a scholar, in the arts as well as in the sciences. It will notsuffice to be a practitioner in the arts only, or inthe sciences only. Certainly, a wanderer, oftenlonely, in some of the by-lanes of the physicalsciences, has simply not the circumference ofcomprehension to address himself to a questionwhich encompasses the arts and the sciences. I,therefore, begin by asking your forbearance.Allowing, as we must, for the innumerable individual differences in tastes, temperaments, andcomprehension, we ask: Can we in fact discernany major differences in the patterns of creativityamong the practitioners in the arts and the practitioners in the sciences? The way I propose toapproach this question is to examine, first, thecreative patterns of Shakespeare, Newton, andBeethoven, who, by common consent, have, eachin his own way, scaled the very summits of humanachievement. I shall then seek to determinewhether, from the likenesses and the differencesin the patterns at these rarified heights, we candraw any larger conclusions which may be valid atlower levels.II begin with Shakespeare.Shakespeare's education was simple, asElizabethan education was. While it sufficed andstood him in good stead, Shakespeare was neverpersuaded by scholarship as such. He clearly expressed his attitude inSmall have continual plodders ever wonSave base authority from others' booksorO, this learning, what a thing it is! Even so, when Shakespeare arrived in Londonin 1587, at the age of twenty-three, he had none ofthe advantages of a London background thatLodge and Kyd had, or the advantages of years atOxford or Cambridge that Peele, Lyly, Greene,Marlowe, and Nashe had. There can be littledoubt that Shakespeare was acutely aware of hisshortcomings and his handicaps. He overcamethem by reading and absorbing whatever came hisway. The publication of the revised second edition of Holinshed's Chronicle History of Englandwas particularly timely: it provided Shakespearewith the inspiration for his Chronicle plays, yet tocome.By 1592, Shakespeare had written his threeparts of Henry VI and his early comedies, TitusAndronicus and The Comedy of Errors. His success with these plays produced Robert Greene'svicious attack on him in that year. Greene was sixyears older than Shakespeare; and he was amongthe most prominent figures in the literary life ofLondon at that time. As it happened, Greene'sattack was posthumous, as he had died somewhatearlier as the result of a fatal banquet, it is said,"of Rhenish wine and pickled herrings." It wastherefore "a time bomb which Greene left." Hisattack in part read:For there is an upstart crow, beautified by ourfeathers, that with his "Tiger's heart wrappedin a player's hide," supposes he is as well ableto bombast out a blank verse as the best ofyou, and being an absolute Johannes Factotum, is in his own conceit the only Shake-scene in a country.Greene's attack brings out very clearly thatShakespeare was considered an outsider and anintruder: he had no university background and hedid not belong to the aristocratic court circles.In spite of his early successes, life for Shakespeare, as a player and a playwright, was fraughtwith uncertainties with the recurring years of theplague and the periodic closing of the theaters inLondon. But in 1590, Shakespeare found a patron, a friend, and love.Shakespeare's patron was the young Earl ofSouthampton who came of age in 1591. The intensity of Shakespeare's emotional experience, in thefour years that followed, was decisive for the development of his art and for the opportunities thatopened up for him. Shakespeare's genius maturedand flowered with an unexampled outburst ofcreative activity. Besides the plays already mentioned, he wrote The Taming of the Shrew,Love's Labour's Lost, and Richard III. The two93splendid narrative poems, Venus and Adonis andThe Rape of Lucrece, dedicated to the Earl ofSouthampton, belong to this same period.During 1592-95, Shakespeare wrote his sonnetsas a part of his services for Southampton's patronage. The sonnets are the most autobiographical ever written. They throw a flood of light onShakespeare's attitude to himself and his art; andthey also reveal the extent of his dependence onSouthampton's friendship and patronage.The course of the friendship between Southampton and Shakespeare was by no meanssmooth. There was the difference in their ages;there was the disparity in their stations, as thearistocratic patron and a player poet; and besides,there was the complication of Shakespeare'smistress — the dark lady of the sonnets — turningher attention away from Shakespeare to the responsive Earl. Shakespeare poured his feelingswith poignant sincerity into the sonnets:When, in disgrace with fortune and men'seyes,I all alone be weep my outcast state,And trouble deaf heaven with my bootlesscries,And look upon myself and curse my fate:Against that time, if ever that time come,When I shall see thee frown on my defects,When as thy love hath cast his utmost sum,Called to that audit by advised respects:Against that time when thou shalt strangelypass,And scarcely greet me with that sun, thine eye,When love, converted from the thing it was,Shall reasons find for that settled gravity:Against that time do I ensconce me hereWithin the knowledge of mine own desert,And this my hand against myself uprear,To guard the lawful reasons on thy part:To leave poor me thou hast the strength oflaws,Since why to love I can allege no cause.Their relationship, at least as perceived byShakespeare, was so fragile that he even considers the possibility of death:No longer mourn for me when I am deadThan you shall hear the surly sullen bellGive warning to the world that I am fledFrom this vile world with vilest worms todwell:And Shakespeare feels that his life cannot lastlonger than Southampton's love and that it willcome to an end with it. But do thy worst to steal thyself away,For term of life thou art assured mine;And life no longer than thy love will stay,For it depends upon that love of thine.Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs,When in the least of them my life hath end;I see a better state to me belongsThan that which on thy humour depend.Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind,Since that my life on thy revolt doth lie:O, what a happy title do I find,Happy to have thy love, happy to die!But what's so blessed-fair that fears noblot?Thou mayst be false, and yet I know itnot.In spite of the uncertainty which pervades theentire sonnet sequence, Shakespeare's propheticconfidence in his own poetry occasionally erupts.Thus, in the famous sonnet 55, we have the outpouring:Not marble, nor the guilded monumentsOf princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme;But you shall shine more bright in thesecontentsThan unswept stone, besmeared with sluttishtime.When wasteful war shall statues overturn,And broils root out the work of masonry,Nor Mars' s sword nor war's quick fire shallburn,The living record of your memory.Meantime, Marlowe appears as a dangerousrival to Southampton's patronage. To offsetShakespeare's Venus and Adonis, Marlowe beganwriting his Hero and Leander. Shakespeare expresses his uneasiness with this rivalry while conceding Marlowe's superiority:O, how I faint when I of you do write,Knowing a better spirit doth use your name,And in the praise thereof spends all his might,To make me tongue-tied speaking of yourfame!But since your worth, wide as the ocean is,The humble, as the proudest sail doth bear,My saucy bark, inferior far to his,On your broad main doth wilfully appear.Your shallowest help will hold me up afloat,Whilst he upon your soundless depth doth ride;Or, being wrecked, I am a worthless boat,He of tall building and of goodly pride.Then if he thrive and I be cast awayThe worst of this: my love was my decay.Marlowe died in 1593 in an unhappy brawlwhich Shakespeare clearly had in mind when he94made Touchstone, in As You Like It, say:When a man's verses cannot be understood,nor a man's good wit seconded with the forward child Understanding, it strikes a manmore dead than a great reckoning in littleroom.In the same play, Shakespeare also paid Marlowethe unusual tribute of addressing him as "Deadshepherd" and quoting his line:Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?And before long, the unhappy episode with the"dark lady" also ended:I am perjured mostFor all my vows are oaths to misuse thee,And all my honest faith in thee is lost.With the last sonnet of the Southampton sequence, Shakespeare emerges triumphant:No, let me be obsequious in thy heart,And take thou my oblation, poor but free,Which is not mixed with seconds, knows no artBut mutual render, only me for thee.Yes! "poor but free," "not mixed with seconds"and "only me for thee."In 1594, the Earl of Southampton gave Shakespeare some such amount as £100 to acquire ashare in Chamberlain's Company when it wasformed. With the future thus assured,Shakespeare's natural spirits rose and his geniusmatured. A Midsummer Night's Dream, which hewrote in that year, was the first of his great masterpieces. Soon Romeo and Juliet, As You LikeIt, and Much Ado About Nothing followed. ThenShakespeare turned again to his chronicle plays:King John, the two parts of Henry IV, and HenryV. The one hero in all these chronicle plays isEngland; and in them Shakespeare gives lastingexpression to "the very age and body of thetime."Many consider the two parts of Henry IV as thetwin summits of Shakespeare's achievement in hischronicle plays. They are certainly superlativeplays made more memorable by the character ofFalstaff. It has been said that "in a totally different way, Falstaff is to English literature what hiscontemporary Don Quixote has been to theSpanish."The great "middle period" of Shakespeare begins with A Midsummer Night's Dream and ends with Hamlet (1600-01).In Hamlet Shakespeare gives expression to histhoughts on the theater and also his reaction to therising rivalry with Ben Jonson and the Blackfriar'stheater with their appeal to wit and fashion. Thus,in his instruction to the players (in the play withinthe play), we find Hamlet saying:For anything so overdone is from the purposeof playing, whose end, both at the first andnow, was and is to hold, as 'twere, the mirrorup to nature, to show virtue her own feature,scorn her own image, and the very age andbody of the time his form and pressure.Shakespeare is here asserting that "the very ageand body of the time" can be expressed indrama — as, indeed, he had expressed his own agein his chronicle plays.There is perhaps a hint of admonition to BenJonson and the "reformers" inO it offends me to the soul to hear a robustiousperiwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters,to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings, who for the most part, are capable ofnothing but inexplicable dumb shows andnoise . . .O there be players that I have seen play andheard others praise . . . have so strutted andbellowed that I have thought some of nature'sjourneymen had made men, and not madethem well, they imitated humanity so abominably . . .O reform it altogether.The plays that followed Hamlet— All's WellThat Ends Well and Measure for Measure— provide indications that, at this time,Shakespeare's "nerves were on edge": he appears disillusioned with men and things — perhaps,a proper frame of mind to embark on his greattragedies. As A. L. Rowse, the distinguishedElizabethan and Shakespearian scholar, has written, the great tragedies "show evidences of strainand exhaustion"; and he continues:As in all significant work, we have a convergence of factors, on the one side literary, onthe other personal ... If Shakespeare were tocompare with his rival Ben Jonson he must doso now in tragedy. With the tragedies he was tomake the grandest efforts, extend his powersto his fullest capacity and thus fulfill his destinyas a writer . . . There is cumulative evidencethat so far from not caring about his fame and95achievement as a writer, his ambition was thehighest. The argument has come full circle:here is a personal consideration.When Shakespeare's work was complete, BenJonson was able to compare him only with thegreat tragedians, Aeschylus, Sophocles, andEuripides.The years 1604-08 saw in succession the playsOthello, King Lear, Macbeth, Antony andCleopatra, and Coriolanus. It staggers one'simagination to realize that these great plays, soutterly different from one another, could havebeen written, in succession, with such unfalteringinspiration.Here is Hazlitt's summing up of the tragedies:Macbeth and Lear, Othello and Hamlet, areusually reckoned Shakespeare's four principaltragedies. Lear stands first for the profoundintensity of the passion; Macbeth for the wild-ness of the imagination and the rapidity of action; Othello for the progressive interest andpowerful alternations of feeling; Hamlet forthe refined development of thought and sentiment. If the force of genius shown in each ofthese works is astonishing, their variety is notless so. They are like different creations of thesame mind, not one of which has the slightestreference to the rest. This distinctness andoriginality is indeed the necessary consequences of truth and nature.Hazlitt does not include Antony and Cleopatraamong the great tragedies. But nowadays it isconsidered by many as equally great. As T. S.Eliot in a remarkably sensitive analysis of Antonyand Cleopatra has said:This is a play for mature actors and for a mature audience, for neither on the stage nor inthe audience can immature people enter intothe feelings of these middle-aged lovers . . .The peculiar triumph of Antony and Cleopatrais in the fusion of the heroic and the sordid, inthe same characters in one vision of life. Marlowe could have made them seem equally majestic. Dry den in his later play on the subjectalmost does so. But only Shakespeare couldhave made them at once majestic and human intheir weakness; and without the human weaknesses we should not have the greatness andthe terror of tragedy. And the reason is thatShakespeare had learned to say things inpoetry which no one else could have said inprose.It has sometimes been suggested that the plays which followed the great tragedies — Timon ofAthens, Pericles, Prince of Tyre, and Cym-beline — all show signs of nervous fatigue. AsA. L. Rowse has remarked: "there seems to be ahiatus here, a pause, if not something more, during these years." But a contrary view has beenexpressed by T. S. Eliot. He has said:The last plays are more difficult. Our astonishment in reading and hearing Antony andCleopatra might often in many places be expressed by the words, "I should never havethought that that would be said in poetry." Ourmoments of astonishment in the later playscould better be expressed by the words, "Ishould never have thought that that could besaid at all." For in the last plays, and I meanespecially Cymbeline, The Winter's Tale,Pericles, and The Tempest, Shakespeare hasabandoned the realism of ordinary existence inorder to reveal to us a further world of emotionIn any event, Shakespeare's last threeplays — The Winter's Tale, The Tempest, andHenry VIII — are more accessible — at least,Shakespeare's natural poise is more evident.Thus, Winter's Tale is a most beautiful and moving play. Hazlitt describes it as "one of the bestacting of our author's plays." while the well-known Shakespearian scholar Q. writes:"Winter's Tale is beyond criticism and evenbeyond praise."In his penultimate play, Shakespeare, eversearching for something new, deals with a profound theme which continues to be vexatiousdown to this day: in his creation of Caliban, heconcretely states for us a central issue of the present age. But the mood of The Tempest is one offarewell:Our revels are now ended. These our actors,As I foretold you, were all spirits, andAre melted into air, into thin air:And like the baseless fabric of this vision,The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeouspalaces,The solemn temples, the great globe itself,Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,Leave not a rack behind.And finally, in his last play, Shakespeare returns to his chronicle of the English story, whichhe began with Henry VI and Richard III, andcompletes the cycle with Henry VIII and the birthof Elizabeth. The concluding speech by the96Archbishop of Canterbury opening with the incantation:This royal infant — Heaven still move abouther —Though in her cradles, yet promisesis a form of prophesy of what the Elizabethan agewas to be. It gave Shakespeare the splendid opportunity to pay his tribute to the Queen, he hadnot eulogized at her death in 1603, and to sum upthe Elizabethan age now only an imprint on time.And as A. L. Rowse concludes his biography ofShakespeareAnd this too was Shakespeare's end. But like asplendid coiled snake, glittering and richlyiridescent — emblem alike of wisdom andimmortality — his work lay about him roundedand complete.Ben Jonson' s tribute, included with the first folioHe was not of an age, but of all time!has been prophetic. Let me conclude by quotingtwo contemporary writers.Virginia Woolf, after a vain effort imagininghow Shakespeare "coined his words," writes inher diary:Indeed, I could say that Shakespeare surpasses literature altogether, if I knew what Imeant.And T. S. Eliot sums up Shakespeare as follows:The standard set by Shakespeare is that of continuous development from first to last, a development in which the choice both of themeand of dramatic and verse technique in eachplay seems to be determined increasingly byShakespeare's state of feeling by the particularstage of his emotional maturity at the time . . .We may say confidently that the full meaningof any one of his plays is not in itself alone, butin that play in the order in which it was written,in its relation to all of Shakespeare's otherplays, earlier and later: we must know all ofShakespeare's work in order to know any of it.No other dramatist of the time approachesanywhere near to this perfection of pattern . . .It seems to me to correspond to some law ofnature that the work of a man like Shakespeare, whose development in the course of hiscareer was so amazing, that it should reach, asin Hamlet, the point at which it can touch the imagination and feeling of the maximumnumber of people to the greatest possible depthand that, thereafter, like a comet which hasapproached the earth and then continued awayon its course, he should gradually recede fromview until he tends to disappear into his privatemystery.III now turn to Beethoven with more qualms: I ameven more painfully aware of my shortcomings todiscourse on him.When Beethoven came to Vienna in 1792, at theage of twenty-two, his attitude must have beenone of caution; and his studies with Haydn,Schenk, Albrechtsberger, and Salieri were, wemay assume, primarily for finding out if therewere things he could learn from them. He clearlyabsorbed what they had to teach him without distorting his own musical ideas. In any event, oncehe found that he could overpower everyone inVienna by the sheer virtuosity of his improvisations on the pianoforte, he became impatient andsometimes, even defiant. Thus, Haydn's unfavorable opinion of the third of his three trios, Opus 1,only confirmed Beethoven's own opinion that itwas the best of the three and that Haydn's contrary view was due to jealousy and malice.At this time, Beethoven desired great fame; andhe seems to have been convinced that his sheerstrength was sufficient to protect him against allmisfortune. This attitude is clearly expressed inhis letter to von Zmeskall:The devil take you! I do not know anythingabout your whole system of ethics. Power isthe morality of men who stand out from therest, and it is also mine.This supreme confidence in himself, derived fromthis morality of power, was soon destined to betried most sorely.The first signs of his deafness appeared, already, when Beethoven was twenty-eight years.His initial reaction was one of rage at what heconsidered as the senselessness of the affliction.As he wrote to Karl Amenda three years later(1801)Your Beethoven is most unhappy and at strifewith nature and Creator. I have often cursedthe latter for exposing his creatures to themerest accident, so that often the most beautiful buds are broken or destroyed thereby. Only97think that my noblest faculty, my hearing, hasgreatly deteriorated.But his fortitude was unshaken, for he continuedI am resolved to rise superior to every obstacle... I am sure my fortune will not desert me.With whom need I be afraid of measuring mystrength ... I will take Fate by the throat.We obtain a proper appreciation of the state ofBeethoven's mind at this time from his famousHeiligenstadt testament written in 1802 but discovered among his papers only after his death.The Heiligenstadt testament is so transparentlysincere that it should really be read in its entirety:but the following extract must suffice:But how humiliated I have felt if somebodystanding beside me heard the sound of a flute inthe distance and I heard nothing, or if somebody heard a shepherd sing and again I heardnothing — such experiences almost made medespair, and I was on the point of putting anend to my life — The only thing that held meback was my art. For indeed it seemed impossible to leave this world before I had producedall the works that I felt urged to compose.Beethoven's confession that he contemplatedsuicide and that it was the power of his unfulfilledart that saved him finds an echo in what he wrotetwenty years later:I live only for my art and to fulfill my duties asa man.It is clear that Beethoven's growing deafnessshattered his earlier ethics of the morality ofpower. But like a phoenix it rose only to sustainthe realization of his creative powers. Thus, bythe time (1807) he came to writing his thirdRasoumowsky quartet, his resignation to hisaffliction appears to be complete: for we find himwriting in the marginLet your deafness no longer be secret even forart . . .And the work on the grand scale in which hisconflict with fate is taken for granted and ignoredis his seventh symphony.This "middle period" of intense creativenesslasted for some ten years. By his early forties,Beethoven had composed his eight symphonies,his five piano concertos, his one violin concerto, his twenty-five piano sonatas, his eleven quartets,his seven overtures, his one opera, and his onemass. At the age of forty-two with thismagnificent pile of compositions behind him,Beethoven practically stopped composing for thenext seven years. The fruits of his meditation — sothey must have been — came after this period ofquiescence in a manner that is perhaps withoutparallel in musical history.From the first symphony written in 1801 to theeighth symphony written in 1812, it is essentiallythe same Beethoven: it is, in fact, the Beethovenof the common understanding. But the Beethovenof the ninth symphony, of the mass in D, of thelast four piano sonatas, and, most of all, the lastfive quartets is an altogether different Beethoven.Beethoven's own pupil, Czerny, did not understand his music of this last period; and he tried toexplain it away as due to Beethoven's deafness.Thus, he writesBeethoven's third style dates from the timewhen he became gradually completely deaf. . . Thence comes the dissimilarity of the styleof his last three sonatas . . . Thence manyharmonic roughnesses . . .By all accounts, Beethoven's last quartets are aMount Everest of an achievement. Here is a sample of what has been said about them:They are peerlessThey are beyond description or analysis inwordsThe last quartets are unique, unique forBeethoven, unique in all music.But this much may certainly be said: Nobody cansay what the quartets really mean; we can only besure that they express ideas nowhere else to befound. Wordsworth's description of Newton'smind "as voyaging through strange seas ofthought alone" applies equally to Beethoven'smind of this last period.Beethoven's last complete work, the quartetNo. 16 in F major, provides a noble ending to hisgreat sequence. Of this quartet, J.W.N. Sullivanwas writtenIt is the work of a man who is fundamentally atpeace. It is the peace of a man who has knownconflicts, but whose conflicts are now reminiscent. This quality is most apparent in the lastmovement with its motto, (<Muss es sein? Esmuss sein!" (Must it be? It must be!)98Reviewing the life and work of Beethoven, Sullivan sums him up as follows:One of the most significant facts, for the understanding of Beethoven, is that his workshows an organic development up until thevery end . . . The greatest music Beethovenever wrote is to be found in the last string quartets, and the music of every decade before thefinal period was greater than its predecessor.It is striking how close this summing of Beethoven is to T. S. Eliot's summing of Shakespearewhich I quoted earlier. The way Shakespeare andBeethoven overcame the crises of their earlyyears, the continual growth of their minds, theorganic unity of their works spanning their entirelives, their great masterpieces towards the end,and even the moods of farewell in The Tempestand in the sixteenth quartet, all these are indeedmost striking.IllI now turn to Newton.Isaac Newton, a posthumous child, born withno father on Christmas Day 1642, was, asMaynard Keynes has aptly written, "the lastwonder child to whom the Magi could do sincereand appropriate homage."One of the most remarkable aspects ofNewton's most remarkable life is the explosiveoutburst of his genius. He was not an infant prodigy; and it is probable that when he came to Cambridge in 1661, he knew little more than elementary arithmetic. And it must be remembered thatthe new outlook on scientific thought that we associate with the names of Galileo, Kepler, andDescartes had hardly yet penetrated the walls ofOxford and Cambridge. Nevertheless, by 1664,when Newton was in his twenty-third year, hisgenius seems to have flowered. Thus, Newtonrecalled in his old age that he had "found themethod of Infinite Series at such time (1664-65)."Newton, in fact, wrote out his notes as a connected essay entitled, "On Analysis of Equationswith an Infinite Number of Terms' ' and allowedBarrow to send it to Collins, stipulating, however,that he remain anonymous. This stipulation waswithdrawn later; but we encounter here the firstindication of a trait which was later to become anobsession with Newton.By the summer of 1665, when Cambridge wasevacuated on account of the plague and Newton had gone to Woolsthorpe, his genius was fully inflower. It manifested itself in a manner unsurpassed in the history of scientific thought. But itwas not until many years later that the world wasto know what happened during the two years thatNewton was at Woolsthorpe.For here at Woolsthorpe, Newton at the age oftwenty-three made three of the greatest discoveries in science: the Differential Calculus, theComposition of Light, and the Laws of Gravitation. Writing towards the end of his life, Newtonrecalled his discovery of the laws of gravitationthus:In the same year (1666) I began to think ofgravity extending to the orb of the moon ... Ideduced that the forces which keep the planetsin their orbs must be reciprocally as thesquares of their distances from the centersabout which they revolve; and thereby compared the force requisite to keep the moon inher orb with the force of gravity at the surfaceof the earth, and found them answer prettyw^ll. All this was in the two plague years 1665and 1666, for in those days I was in the primeof my age for invention, and minded mathematics and philosophy more than at any timesince.Notice, first, his statement that "in those days... I minded mathematics and philosophy[meaning science] more than at any time since."Notice also the curious words "answer prettywell" to the agreement he had found with respectto the acceleration experienced by the moon in itsorbit and as deduced — on the basis of hisinverse- square law — from the acceleration experienced by bodies on the earth, i.e., the fallingapple. Newton does not appear to have felt anyurgency to verify if his prediction "answers"more than "pretty well." Indeed, he does notseem to have experienced any special delight inhaving discovered so fundamental a law of nature.In actual fact, he dismissed the entire matter fromhis mind for a decade and more.Newton returned to Cambridge early in 1667;and in 1669 he was appointed to the LucasianChair of Mathematics in succession to Barrowwho had relinquished the Chair on Newton's behalf.Soon after his return to Cambridge, Newtonappears to have completed to his satisfaction hisexperimental investigations on the composition oflight and constructed his first reflecting telescopeto avoid the chromatic aberrations of the then extant refracting telescopes. But he did not publish99any of these results of his investigations for several years.The news of Newton having constructed a telescope on a new principle soon spread and Newtonwas urged to exhibit it at the Royal Society. It isknown that Newton sent at least two telescopes tothe Royal Society and that the second of themwas exhibited in 1671.Newton was elected to the Royal Society inJanuary 1672. Stimulated perhaps by this recognition, Newton acceded to the request by Oldenburg, then the Secretary of the Royal Society, tocommunicate to the Society an account of his discoveries and in particular the principles underlying the construction of his telescope. In two successive letters, Newton replied to Oldenburg asfollows;I shall endeavour to testify my gratitude bycommunicating what my poor and solitary endeavours can effect towards the promotingyour philosophical designs. (January 6, 1672)In the next letter he suggests communicating anaccount of his optical discoveries rather than adescription of his telescope. He writesAn account of a philosophical discovery . . .which I doubt not but will prove much moregrateful than the communication of that instrument, being in my judgement the oddest, ifnot the most considerable detection, which hashitherto been made in the operation of nature.(January 18, 1672)I should like to draw your attention especiallyto the words, "the oddest, if not the most considerable detection." This is the first and the onlytime that Newton expresses a trace of enthusiasmwith respect to any of his discoveries.. But whatfollowed the publication of Newton's account ofhis experiments on the composition of light wasnothing short of a disaster. A vigorous controversy ensued; and Newton appears to havebeen irritated beyond endurance by the inabilityof his critics even to comprehend what it was hehad experimentally demonstrated. This lack ofcomprehension is apparent, for example, fromHuygens — even Huygens — arguing that there"would still remain the great difficulty of explaining by mechanical principles, in what consists thediversity of colours, even supposing thatNewton's decomposition of white light into thecolours of the spectrum is correct."At first Newton tried to persuade by clarifyinghis method: For the best and safest method of philosophizing seems to be, first to enquire diligently intothe properties of things, and of establishingthose properties by experiments, and then toproceed more slowly to hypotheses for the explanation of them. For hypotheses should besubservient only in explaining the properties ofthings, but not assumed in determining them;unless so far as they may furnish experiments(Parenthetically, we may notice that Newton is,here, enunciating what he was to formulate laterin his famous aphorismHypotheses non jingo — I frame no hypotheses.)Newton's failure to persuade resulted in theaversion he now formed to scientific publication,discussion, and arguments. Thus, he wrote toOldenburg:I have long since determined to concern myselfno further about the promotion of philosophy.(December 5, 1672)I see I have made myself a slave toPhilosophy, but if I get free of Mr. Linus' business I will resolutely bid adieu to it eternally,except what I do for my private satisfaction, orleave to come out after me. For I see, a manmust either resolve to point out nothing new orto become a slave to defend it. (November 18,1676)This aversion to scientific publication, discussion, and argument was to find repeated expressions in later years. Here are two examples:For I see not what there is desirable in publicesteem, were I able to acquire and maintain it.It would perhaps increase my acquaintance,the thing which I chiefly study to decline.I am grown of all men the most shy of settingpen to paper about anything that may lead intodisputes. (September 12, 1682)Soon after the publication of his optical discoveries, Newton receded into himself and we donot know very much as to how he occupied himself during the following decade. But we do knowthat in 1679, Newton had proved for himself thatunder the influence of a central inverse- square attractive force an object will describe an ellipticalorbit, with the center of attraction at one of itsfoci. But, again, he kept the result to himself.100At long last, in 1684, an incident, not ofNewton's making, was to change the course ofscientific history. In January of that year, at ameeting in London between Christopher Wren,Robert Hooke, and Edmund Halley, the questionarose as to the nature of the orbit a planet woulddescribe under the influence of an inverse- squareattractive gravitational force. Since none of themknew how the question could be resolved, Halleywent to Cambridge in August of that year to inquire if Newton had any suggestions to offer. ToHalley' s inquiry, Newton replied at once that theorbit would be an ellipse; and that he had established this result for himself some seven years earlier. Halley was overjoyed and he wished to seeNewton's proof. On Newton finding that he hadmislaid the piece of paper on which he had writtenout the proof, he promised to rework it and send itto him shortly.The reworking of this old problem seems tohave aroused Newton's interest in the whole area.By October, he had worked out enough problemsto serve as a basis for nine lectures which he gaveduring the Michaelmas term under the title DeMoto Corporum.Halley, on receiving Newton's promised proofat about this time and hearing also of Newton'slectures, went to Cambridge once again, this timeto persuade Newton to publish his lectures.By now Newton's mathematical genius seemsto have been fully aroused; and Newton appearsto be caught in its grip. Newton now entered upona period of the most intense mathematical activity. Against his will and against his preferences,Newton seems to have been propelled inexorablyforward, by the pressure of his own genius, till, atlast, he had accomplished the greatest intellectualfeat of his life, the greatest intellectual feat in all ofscience.Let us pause for a moment to take full measureof the magnitude of the feat. By Newton's ownaccount, he began writing the Principia towardsthe end of December 1684; and he sent the completed manuscript of all three books of thePrincipia to the Royal Society in May 1686, i.e.,in seventeen months. He had solved two of thepropositions in the first Book in 1679; and he hadalso proved eight of the propositions in the secondBook in June and July 1685. There are ninety-eight propositions in the first Book; fifty-three inthe second; and forty-two in the third. By far thelarger proportion of them was, therefore, enunciated and proved during the seventeen consecutive months that Newton was at work on the threeBooks. It is this rapidity of execution, besides the monumental scale of the whole work, that makesthis achievement incomparable. If the problemsenunciated in the Principia were the results of alifetime of thought and work, Newton's positionin science would still be unique. But that all theseproblems should have been enunciated, solved,and arranged in logical sequence in seventeenmonths is beyond human comprehension. It canbe accepted only because it is a fact: it just happens to be so!It is only when we observe the scale ofNewton's achievement that comparisons, whichhave sometimes been made of other men of science to him, appear altogether inappropriate bothwith respect to Newton and with respect to theothers. In fact, only in juxtaposition with Shakespeare and Beethoven is the consideration ofNewton appropriate.Now, a few remarks concerning the style of thePrincipia. Quite unlike his early communicationson his optical discoveries, the Principia is writtenin a style of glacial remoteness which makes noconcessions to his readers. As Whewell aptlywrote:... As we read the Principia, we feel as whenwe are in an ancient armoury where theweapons are of gigantic size; and as we look atthem, we marvel what manner of men theywere who could use as weapons what we canscarcely lift as a burden . . .It is, however, clear that the rigid and the lamel-lated style of the Principia is deliberate. For afterthe publication of the Principia, Newton is reported to have told Rev. Dr. Derham:To avoid being baited by little smatterers inmathematics, I designedly made the Principiaabstruse; but yet so as to be understood byable mathematicians who, I imagine, by comprehending my demonstrations would concurwith my theory.Although Newton was only forty-two years ofage when he finished writing the Principia andwas, quite literally, at the height of his mathematical powers and was to remain in full possession ofhis faculties for another forty years, he neveragain seriously concerned himself with scientificinvestigation. He turned to an utterly differentway of living. And in time he became one of theprincipal sights of London for all visiting intellectuals: the Sir Isaac Newton of popular tradition.No account of Newton's life, however brief,can omit some indication of the manner of man he101was. The subject is a complex and a controversialone. But this much can fairly be said: Newtonseems to have been remarkably insensitive: impervious to the arts, tactless, and with no understanding whatsoever of others.Newton's most remarkable gift was probablyhis powers of concentration. As Keynes wroteHis peculiar gift was the power of holding continuously in his mind a purely mental problemuntil he had seen straight through it. I fancy hispre-eminence is due to his muscles of his intuition being the strongest and most enduringwith which a man has ever been gifted ... Ibelieve that Newton could hold a problem inhis mind for hours and days and weeks until itsurrendered to him its secret.Besides, as De Morgan has said... So happy in his conjectures as to seem toknow more than he could possibly have anymeans of proving . . .But the central paradox of Newton's life is thathe deliberately and systematically ignored hissupreme mathematical genius and through most ofhis life neglected the one activity for which he wasgifted beyond any man. This paradox can be resolved only if we realize that Newton simply didnot consider science and mathematics as of anygreat importance; or, as Keynes has said the samething, somewhat differently,... It seems easier to understand . . . thisstrange spirit, who was tempted by the Devilto believe, at the time when within these walls[of Trinity College] he was solving so much,that he could reach all the secrets of God andNature by the pure power of mind — Copernicus and Faustus in one.And finally, I cannot desist repeating Newton'soft-quoted evaluation of himself.I do not know what I may appear to the world,but to myself I seem to have been only like aboy playing on the sea- shore, and divertingmyself in now and then finding a smootherpebble or a prettier shell than ordinary, whilstthe great ocean of truth lay all undiscoveredbefore me.In view of Newton's insensitiveness to others,doubts have sometimes been raised about the sincerity of this statement. I do not believe that suchdoubts are warranted: only someone, like New ton, who can view knowledge from his height, canhave the vision of an "ocean of undiscoveredtruth." As an ancient proverb of India says,"Only the wise can plumb the wells of wisdom."IVFrom the foregoing accounts of the creative patterns of Shakespeare, Beethoven, and Newton,though very brief and very inadequate, two factsemerge with startling clarity: the remarkable similarity in the creative patterns of Shakespeare andBeethoven on the one hand and their stark contrast with that of Newton on the other. Are thesimilarity and the contrast accidental? Or, arethey manifestations of a general phenomenonwhich in the case of these giants only happens tobe very sharply etched?Consider in juxtaposition the following statements that have been made concerning thecreativity of mathematicians and of poets.G. H. Hardy, an outstanding English mathematician of this century, in his essay AMathematician's Apology — an essay which hasbeen described by C. P. Snow as "the most beautiful statement of the creative mind ever written orever likely to be written" — G. H. Hardy in hisessay writesNo mathematician should ever allow himself toforget that mathematics, more than any otherart or science, is a young man's game . . .Galois died at twenty-one, Abel at twenty-seven, Ramanujan at thirty-three, Riemann atforty. There have been men who have donegreat work a good deal later; . . . [but] I do notknow an instance of a major mathematical advance initiated by a man past fifty. ... Amathematician may still be competent enoughat sixty, but it is useless to expect him to haveoriginal ideas.And with respect to Ramanujan' s early death,Hardy has further writtenThe real tragedy about Ramanujan was not hisearly death. It is, of course, a disaster that anygreat man should die young; but a mathematician is comparatively old at thirty, and hisdeath may be less of a catastrophe than itseems . . .Place beside these statements of Hardy the following one of A. L. Rowse on the death of Christopher Marlowe at the age of twenty-nine:102What would he not have achieved if he hadlived! — his was the greatest of all losses to English Literature.Or, of Desmond King-Hele on the death of Shelley at the age of thirty:The rule that a poet is at his best after the ageof 30 might have applied as well to him as toShakespeare, Milton, Wordsworth, Byron,Tennyson, and indeed almost every major English poet who lived to be over 30.In a more negative vein, there is the statementattributed to Thomas Huxley that a man of science past sixty does more harm than good.I do not doubt that these statements will bechallenged or, at least, subjected to qualifications.But consider this.In 1817, at the age of forty- seven, when the longperiod of meditation, during which Beethovencomposed very little, was coming to an end, hesaid to Cipriani Potter with transparent sincerity,"Now, I know how to compose." I do not believethat there has been any scientist, past forty, whocould have said, "Now, I know how to do research." And this to my mind is the center andthe core of the difference: the apparent inability ofa scientist to continually grow and mature.VIf one should wish to establish with some degreeof certainty that a contrast does exist in the patterns of creativity among the practitioners in thearts and the practitioners in the sciences, then oneshould undertake a survey of an extent and adepth which is far beyond my resources. At thesame time it does not seem entirely proper that Ileave the matter without some further examples. Ishall consider four examples taken from science.My first example is James Clerk Maxwell whois generally considered the greatest physicist ofthe nineteenth century. Maxwell's principal contributions to physics are his founding of the kinetic theory of gases and the dynamical theory of theelectromagnetic field. The new physical conceptswhich Maxwell introduced in formulating hisequations of the electromagnetic field — Maxwell'sequations which every student of physics knows —have been described by Einstein as "the mostfruitful and profound that physics has experienced since the time of Newton."The four great memoirs which encompassMaxwell's contributions to the two areas were published during the five years 1860-65 when hewas between the ages of thirty and thirty-five andwas a professor at King's College, London. Atthe end of this period of intense activity, Maxwellresigned his professorship in London and retiredto his country home in Glenlair in Scotland.(Maxwell's biographers never really "explain"why Maxwell felt it necessary to take these actions.) In Glenlair, for the following six years,Maxwell seems to have lived in quietness, occupied, principally, with the planning of his two-volume treatise on Electricity and Magnetism(which was eventually completed and published in1873). In 1871, Maxwell was persuaded to leavehis retirement in Glenlair and to return toacademic life in Cambridge as the first CavendishProfessor of Experimental Physics. He died in1878 at the age of forty-eight. Maxwell's eightyears in Cambridge were devoted mostly to editing the scientific papers of Henry Cavendish, organizing and establishing the Cavendish Laboratory, and other diverse university matters. WhileMaxwell's early death was a tragedy, it must beadmitted that his work did not rise again to theheights it had in his early thirties.My second example is George Gabriel Stokes.Stokes was elected to the Lucasian Chair ofMathematics (in Cambridge) in 1849, when hewas just past thirty. He held this Chair until hisdeath in 1903 — a Chair that was once held byNewton. Stokes is one of the great figures ofnineteenth-century physics and mathematics; andhis name continues to be associated with severalcurrent notions and concepts. Thus, we have theNavier-Stokes equations governing viscous flowin hydrodynamics; Stokes' law giving the asymptotic rate of fall of small spherical bodies in a viscous medium — a law which provides the basis forMillikan's "oil-drop experiment" for determiningthe charge on the electron; Stokes' parameters forcharacterizing polarized radiation which are relevant to most current measurements in radio-astronomy; Stokes' law of fluorescence, that thewavelength of the fluorescing light must exceedthat of the exciting light; and Stokes' theoremwhich in addition to being a very fundamentaltheorem provides a key element for modern developments in the calculus of differential forms.Now Stokes' scientific papers are collected infive medium-sized volumes. The first three volumes contain all the important concepts and notions that I have enumerated and covers the ten-year period 1842-52; and the remaining two volumes suffice to cover his entire scientific work ofthe following fifty years.103G. Evelyn Hutchinson (the distinguishedzoologist at Yale University), whose father was aclose associate of Stokes during the last years,makes the remarkable statement: "Stokes, however, quite possibly, emulated his great predecessor [in the Lucasian Chair] consciously. . . . WhatNewton did, Stokes deemed appropriate for himto do also."My third example is Einstein. The year i905was the annus mirabilis both for Einstein and forphysics. It was in that year that Einstein, at theage of twenty- six, published three papers, eachepoch-making in its own way: the first laid thefoundations for his special theory of relativitywith remarkable clarity, conciseness, and coherence; the second provided a rational molecularbasis (independently of Smoluchowski) for accounting for Brownian motion; and the third carried Planck's hypothesis of the quantum to its logical limit to formulate the concept of the lightquantum. In the decade that followed, Einsteinwas constantly preoccupied with the resolution ofthe basic inconsistency between Newton's lawsof gravitation, with its postulate of instantaneousaction at a distance, and his own special theory ofrelativity, with its postulate that no signal can bepropagated with a velocity exceeding that of light.After many detours and false starts, Einsteinfinally arrived triumphantly to his general theoryof relativity in 1916. As Hermann Weyl later expressed, Einstein's general theory of relativity is"one of the greatest examples of the power ofspeculative thought."In the years following the founding of his general theory of relativity, Einstein made a numberof important contributions to the furtherramifications of his own general theory as well asto certain aspects of statistical physics. But already by 1926, Einstein was letting the newer developments in the quantum theory, initiated byHeisenberg, pass him by. Thus, Heisenberg records that at the Solvay Congress in 1927, PaulEhrenfest, Einstein's friend, said to him, "Einstein, I am ashamed of you: you are arguingagainst the new quantum theory just as your opponents argue about relativity theory." Heisenberg adds sadly that this friendly admonition wentunheeded. As Einstein's great admirer CorneliusLanczos observesFrom 1925 on his interest in the current affairsof physics begins to slacken. He voluntarilyabdicated his leadership as the foremost physicist of his time, and receded more and moreinto voluntary exile from his laboratory, a state into which only a few of his colleagues werewilling to follow. During the last thirty years ofhis life he became more and more a reclusewho lost touch with the contemporary developments of physics.I should like to conclude with an examplewhich in some ways appears counter to Hardy'sgeneral rule. I wish to consider the case of LordRayleigh, perhaps the greatest pillar of classicalmathematical physics. Rayleigh' s productivitywas remarkably steady and uniform all throughhis fifty years of scientific publication. Hisscientific work is encompassed in a two- volumetreatise on The Theory of Sound and six largevolumes of his Scientific Papers.In a memorial address, delivered in Westminster Abbey in December 1921, J. J. Thomsonevaluated Rayleigh' s scientific contributions inthe following terms:Among the 446 papers which fill these volumes[his six volumes of his Scientific Papers], thereis not one that is trivial, there is not one whichdoes not advance the subject with which itdeals, there is not one which does not clearaway difficulties; and among that great numberthere are scarcely any which time has shown torequire correction . . . Lord Rayleigh tookphysics for his province and extended theboundary of every department of physics. Theimpression made by reading his papers is notonly due to the beauty of the new results attained, but to the clearness and insight displayed, which gives one a new grasp of thesubject . . .This is a remarkable testimony; and anyone whohas had occasion to use Rayleigh' s ScientificPapers will testify to its accuracy.But why was Rayleigh so different from Maxwell and Einstein? Perhaps, the clue is to be foundin what Thomson said in the same memorial address:There are some great men of science whosecharm consists in having said the first word ona subject, in having introduced some new ideawhich has proved fruitful; there are otherswhose charm consists perhaps in having saidthe last word on the subject, and who havereduced the subject to logical consistency andclearness. I think by temperament LordRayleigh belonged to the second group.And perhaps there is a clue also in Rayleigh' sresponse to his son (also a distinguished physicist)104when he asked him to comment on Huxley's remark I quoted earlier, "that a man of science pastsixty does more harm than good." Rayleigh wassixty- seven at that time; and his response wasThat may be, if he undertakes to criticize thework of younger men, but I do not see why itneed be so if he sticks to the things he is conversant with.Perhaps there is a moral here for all of us !VII now pass on to some cognate matters.First, may I say that I am frankly puzzled bythe difference that appears to exist in the patternsof creativity among the practitioners in the artsand the practitioners in the sciences: for, in thearts, as in the sciences, the quest is after the sameelusive quality: beauty. But what is beauty?In a deeply moving essay on "The Meaning ofBeauty in the Exact Sciences," Heisenberg givesa definition of beauty which I find most apposite.The definition, which Heisenberg says goes backto antiquity, is that "beauty is the proper conformity of the parts to one another and to thewhole." On reflection, it does appear that thisdefinition touches the essence of what we maydescribe as "beautiful": it applies equally to KingLear, the Missa Solemnis, and the Principia.There is ample evidence that in science, beautyis often the source of delight. One can find manyexpressions of such delight scattered through thescientific literature. Let me quote a few examples.Kepler:Mathematics is the archetype of the beautiful.David Hilbert (in his memorial address for Hermann Minkowski):Our Science, which we loved above everything, had brought us together. It appeared tous as a flowering garden. In this garden therewere well-worn paths where one might lookaround at leisure and enjoy oneself without effort, especially at the side of a congenial companion. But we also liked to seek out. hiddentrails and discovered many an unexpectedview which was pleasing to our eyes; and whenthe one pointed it out to the other, and weadmired it together, our joy was complete. Hermann Weyl (as quoted by Freeman Dyson):My work always tried to unite the true with thebeautiful; but when I had to choose one or theother, I usually chose the beautiful.Heisenberg (in a discussion with Einstein):If nature leads us to mathematical forms ofgreat simplicity and beauty — by forms I am referring to coherent systems of hypothesis, axioms, etc. — to forms that no one has previously encountered, we cannot help thinkingthat they are "true," that they reveal a genuinefeature of nature . . . You must have felt thistoo: the almost frightening simplicity andwholeness of the relationships which naturesuddenly spreads out before us and for whichnone of us was in the least prepared.All these remarks, that I have quoted, may appear vague or too general. Let me try to be concrete and specific.The discovery by Pythagoras, that vibratingstrings, under equal tension, sound together harmoniously, if their lengths are in simple numericalratios, established for the first time a profoundconnection between the intelligible and the beautiful. I think we may agree with Heisenberg thatthis is "one of the truly momentous discoveries inthe history of mankind."Kepler was certainly under the influence of thePythagorean concept of beauty when he compared the revolution of the planets about the sunwith a vibrating string and spoke of the harmonious concord of the different planetary orbits asthe music of the spheres. It is known that Keplerwas profoundly grateful that it had been reservedfor him to discover, through his laws of planetarymotion, a connection of the highest beauty.A more recent example of the reaction of agreat scientist, to this aspect of beauty at the moment of revelation of a great truth, is provided byHeisenberg' s description of the state of his feelings when he found the key that opened the doorto all the subsequent developments in the quantum theory.Towards the end of May 1925, Heisenberg, illwith hay fever, went to Heligoland to be awayfrom flowers and fields. There by the sea, he maderapid progress in resolving the difficulties in thequantum theory as it was at that time. He writes:Within a few days more, it had become clear tome what precisely had to take the place of theBohr-Sommerfeld quantum conditions in an105atomic physics working with none but observable magnitudes. It also became obvious thatwith this additional assumption, I had introduced a crucial restriction into the theory.Then I noticed that there was no guaranteethat . . . the principle of the conservation ofenergy would apply . . . Hence I concentratedon demonstrating that the conservation lawheld; and one evening I reached the pointwhere I was ready to determine the individualterms in the energy table [Energy Matrix] . . .When the first terms seemed to accord with theenergy principle, I became rather excited, andI began to make countless arithmetical errors.As a result, it was almost three o'clock in themorning before the final result of my computations lay before me. The energy principle hadheld for all the terms, and I could no longerdoubt the mathematical consistency andcoherence of the kind of quantum mechanics towhich my calculations pointed. At first, I wasdeeply alarmed. I had the feeling that, throughthe surface of atomic phenomena, I was looking at a strangely beautiful interior, and feltalmost giddy at the thought that I now had toprobe this wealth of mathematical structure nature had so generously spread out before me. Iwas far too excited to sleep, and so, as a newday dawned, I made for the southern tip of theisland, where I had been longing to climb arock jutting out into the sea. I now did so without too much trouble, and waited for the sun torise.May I allow myself at this point a personalreflection? In my entire scientific life, extendingover forty-five years, the most shattering experience has been the realization that an exact solution of Einstein's equations of general relativity,discovered by the New Zealand mathematician,Roy Kerr, provides the absolutely exact representation of untold numbers of massive black holesthat populate the universe. This "shuddering before the beautiful," this incredible fact that a discovery motivated by a search after the beautiful inmathematics should find its exact replica in Nature, persuades me to say that beauty is that towhich the human mind responds at its deepest andmost profound. Indeed, everything I have tried tosay in this connection has been stated more succinctly in the Latin mottos:Simplex sigillum veri — The simple is the seal ofthe trueandPulchritudo splendor veritatis — Beauty is thesplendour of truth. VIIBut I must return to my question: why is there adifference in the patterns of creativity among thepractitioners in the arts and the practitioners inthe sciences. I shall not attempt to answer thisquestion directly; but I shall make an assortmentof remarks which may bear on the answer.First, I should like to consider how scientistsand poets view one another. When one thinks ofthe attitude of the poets to science, one almostalways thinks of Wordsworth and Keats and theiroft-quoted lines:A fingering slave,One that would peep and botanizeUpon his mother's grave?A reasoning self-sufficing thing,An intellectual All-in-all!Sweet is the lore which Nature brings;Our meddling intellectMisshapes the beauteous forms of things:We murder to dissect.(Wordsworth)Do not all charms flyAt the mere touch of cold philosophy?There was an awful rainbow once in heaven:We know her woof, her texture; she is givenIn the dull catalogue of common things.Philosophy will clip an Angel's wings.(Keats)These lines, perhaps, find an echo in a statementof Lowes Dickinson, "When Science arrives, itexpels Literature."It is to be expected that one should find scientists countering these views. Thus, Peter Meda-war counters Lowes Dickinson byThe case I shall find evidence for is that whenliterature arrives, it expels science . . . Theway things are at present, it is simply no goodpretending that science and literature representcomplementary and mutually sustaining endeavours to reach a common goal. On the contrary, where they might be expected to cooperate, they compete.It would not seem to me that one can go veryfar in these matters by pointing accusing fingers atone another. So, let me only say that the attitudesof Wordsworth and Keats are by no means typical. A scientist should rather consider the attitudeof Shelley. Shelley is a scientist's poet. It is not an106accident that the most discriminating literarycriticism of Shelley's thought and work is by adistinguished scientist Desmond King-Hele. AsKing-Hele has pointed out, "Shelley's attitude toscience emphasizes the surprising modern climateof thought in which he chose to live" and thatShelley "describes the mechanisms of Naturewith a precision and a wealth of detail unparalleled in English poetry." And here is A. N.Whitehead's testimony:Shelley's attitude to Science was at the opposite pole to that of Wordsworth. He loved it,and is never tired of expressing in poetry thethoughts which it suggests. It symbolizes tohim joy, and peace, and illumination . . .I should like to read two examples fromShelley's poetry which support what has beensaid about him. The first example is from hisCloud which "fuses together a creative myth, ascientific monograph, and a gay picaresque tale ofcloud adventure":I am the daughter of Earth and Water,And the nursling of the Sky;I pass through the pores of the ocean andshores;I change, but I cannot die.For after the rain when with never a stainThe pavilion of Heaven is bare,And the winds and sunbeams with their convexgleamsBuild up the blue dome of air,I silently laugh at my own cenotaph,And out of the caverns of rain,Like a child from the womb, like a ghostfrom the tomb,I arise and unbuild it again.The second example is from Promethus Unbound, which has been described by HerbertRead as "the greatest expression ever given tohumanity's desire for intellectual light andspiritual liberty' ':The lightning is his slave; heaven's utmostdeepGives up her stars, and like a flock of sheepThey pass before his eyes, are numbered androll on!The tempest is his steed, he strides the air;And the abyss shouts from his depth laidbare,Heaven, hast thou secrets? Man unveils me;I have none.Let me turn to a slightly different aspect of the matter. What are we to make of the following confession of Charles Darwin:Up to the age of thirty, or beyond it, poetry ofmany kinds, such as the works of Milton,Gray, Byron, Wordsworth, Coleridge, andShelley, gave me great pleasure, and even as aschool boy I took intense delight in Shakespeare, especially historical plays ... I havealso said that formerly pictures gave me considerable, and music very great delight. Butnow for many years I cannot endure to read aline of poetry; I have tried lately to readShakespeare, and found it so intolerably dullthat it nauseated me. I have almost lost mytaste for pictures or music . . . My mind seemsto have become a kind of machine for grindinggeneral laws out of large collections of fact, butwhy this should have caused the atrophy ofthat part of the brain alone on which the highertastes depend, I cannot conceive.Or, consider this: Faraday discovered the laws ofelectromagnetic induction and his discoveries ledhim to formulate concepts such as "lines offorce" and "fields of force" which were foreign tothe then prevailing modes of thought. They werein fact looked askance by many of his contemporaries. But of Faraday's ideas, Maxwell wrotewith prophetic discernment:The way in which Faraday made use of hisidea of lines of force in coordinating thephenomenon of magneto-electric inductionshows him to have been in reality a mathematician of a very high order — one from whom themathematicians of the future may derive valuable and fertile methods. We are probably ignorant even of the name of the science whichwill be developed out of the materials we arenot collecting, when the great philosopher nextafter Faraday makes his appearance.And yet when Gladstone, then the Chancellor ofthe Exchequer, interrupted Faraday in his description of his work on electricity by the impatient inquiry, "But after all, what use is it?"Faraday's response was, "Why, Sir, there isevery probability that you will soon be able to taxit." And Faraday's response has always beenquoted most approvingly.It seems to me that to Darwin's confession andto Faraday's response, what Shelley has saidabout the cultivation of the sciences in his A Defence of Poetry is apposite:The cultivation of those sciences which haveenlarged the limits of the empire of man over107the external world, has, for want of the poetical faculty, proportionately circumscribedthose of the internal world; and man, havingenslaved the elements, remains himself aslave.Lest you think that Shelley is not sensitive to therole of technology in modern society, let me quotewhat he has said in that connection:Undoubtedly the promoters of utility, in thislimited sense, have their appointed office insociety. They follow the footstep of poets, andcopy the sketches of their creations into thebook of common life. They make space, andgive time.Shelley's A Defence of Poetry from which Ihave just quoted is one of the most moving documents in all of English literature. W. B. Yeats hascalled it "the profoundest essay on the foundationof poetry in the English language." The essayshould be read in its entirety: but allow me to reada selection:Poetry is the record of the best and happiestmoments of the happiest and best minds.Poetry thus makes immortal all that is best andmost beautiful in the world . . . arrests the vanishing apparitions which haunt the interluna-tions of life . . .Poetry is indeed something divine. It is at oncethe centre and circumference of knowledge; itis that which comprehends all science and to which all science must be referred. It is at thesame time the root and blossom of all othersystems of thought.Poets are the hierophants of an unapprehendedinspiration; the mirrors of the gigantic shadowswhich futurity casts upon the present; thewords which express what they understandnot; the trumpets which sing to battle, and feelnot what they inspire; the influence whichmoves not, but moves. Poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world.On reading Shelley's ,4 Defence of Poetry, thequestion insistently occurs why there is no similarA Defence of Science written by a scientist ofequal endowment. Perhaps in raising this questionI have, in part, suggested an answer to the one Ihave repeatedly asked during the lecture.I began this lecture by asking your forbearancefor addressing myself to matters which are largelyoutside the circumference of my comprehension.Allow me then to conclude by quoting fromShakespeare's epilogue to the second part of hisHenry IV:First, my fear; then my curtsy; last my speech.My fear, is your displeasure, my curtsy, myduty, and my speech, to beg your pardon.S. Chandrasekhar is the Morton D. Hull Distinguished Service Professor in the Departments ofAstronomy and Astrophysics, Physics, the EnricoFermi Institute, and the Committee on the Conceptual Foundations of Science.108REPORT OF THE VISITING COMMITTEE TOEVALUATE THE DEPARTMENT OF ANATOMYI. BackgroundThe Evaluation Committee was charged originally with the task of reviewing programs and organization in the areas of anatomy, cell biology,evolutionary biology, and neurobiology. As weanticipated our task by reading materials sent us,and refined it through discussions with membersof the University's faculty and administration,our attention came to focus more specificallyupon the Department of Anatomy itself, andupon the ways in which it interacts with otherunits in the Division.In two-and-a-half days at The University ofChicago, we interviewed junior and senior facultyin the Department by disciplinary groups and — inseven cases — individually, at the facultymember's request. We also saw, singly or ingroups, nearly all of the Department's graduatestudents. We met with the other departmentchairmen in the basic medical sciences, with theMaster of Biology and the Dean of the College,with the Acting Chairman of the curriculumcommittee in The Pritzker School of Medicine,and with administrative officials of the School andthe University. We also held discussions withgroups of faculty concerned with graduate training in neurobiology, cell biology, and evolutionary biology. Finally, we were shown the facilitiesof the Department of Anatomy and talked with itsChairman. Such interviews by the full Committeeoccupied about twenty -four hours of our visit,and we spent an additional six hours in executivesession.None of us is confident that a single experience, however concentrated, can reveal all thedetails of a complete system, nor that our responses are the most appropriate ones possible.Still, we were impressed with the consistency ofthe patterns that emerged from these interviews,and at the congruence of the views each of uscame to hold as a result.II. HistoryWe would register, to begin with, our very positive view of The University of Chicago's contemporary devotion to its traditional ideal thatacademic excellence dominates all other consid erations in appointments. This freedom from constraint in the appointment process extends intothe area of practice: no institution known to usaffords its faculty members more independencefrom particular formal assignments related totheir specialties. Partly as a result, Chicago has atradition of developing strong programs in important areas not necessarily popular elsewhere.The Department of Anatomy provides a goodexample of this kind of building. At the time itspresent Chairman assumed office the Departmentwas at a low ebb in numbers, productivity,morale, and facilities. During the intervening decade, its climb to effective status has been impressive. Especially conspicuous among itsachievements has been the recruitment of a groupof functional morphologists that has become nationally known for its research accomplishments,and for a strong teaching program in grossanatomy. The Department is a training center forgraduate students who become effective teachersof anatomy, as well as researchers in functionalmorphology, so much so that the Department hasbecome the main national supplier of biologists inthis discipline. Facilities in the Department havebeen thoroughly modernized, despite their location in antiquated space. There is conspicuousinterest in, and dedication to, effective teaching.In these ways the Department clearly bears thestamp of good management.III. Present Views of the Department of AnatomyDespite these achievements, there is evidentmalaise both inside and outside the Department.Some faculty members voice objections to themanagerial style of the Chairman; we heard similar complaints from some members of other faculties within the Division, and from one or twomembers of the administration. We found itdifficult, however, to evaluate the few specificpoints raised by departmental faculty to illustratethese concerns. In the end, we had to attributemost of them to differences of style or personality, or to polarizations of attitude rooted primarilyin events outside the realm of academic policy.Two of the complaints voiced to us on severaloccasions seem to possess more substance. The109first is related to the tripartite organization of theDepartment. Three foci of strength: FunctionalMorphology, Neuroanatomy, and Cell Biologyare represented, and organized as sections in theperformance of some of the Department's work.The specific complaint to which we refer hereconcerns the use of the sections in preliminaryscreening of departmental appointments.It has become the practice to accomplish muchof the selection process at the sectional level, involving the rest of the Department only in thefinal evaluation of candidates during visits and inthe final selection. In the most recent appointments, some feel that even these final requirements for broad participation were only minimally met. It is our belief that failure to guaranteewide involvement in the appointment processfrom the beginning is a serious procedural defect,primarily because it encourages inbreeding, butalso because it invites dissatisfaction with the results.The second kind of complaint had to do withalleged arbitrariness on the part of the Chairmanin dealing with various aspects of graduate training, including the allocation of support. Thesewere often not very specific, but at the very leastthe variety of perceptions on the part of facultyand graduate students about this matter suggestssignificant deficiencies in communication between the Chairman and both constituencies.Do these findings lead to the conclusion thatthere has been serious disenfranchisement of anygroup within the Department of Anatomy? Wethink not. Junior faculty, in particular, seem toplay an active role in the determination of policyand in the appointment process. Opportunities forparticipation seem available; the fact that participation has been so variable speaks more, we believe, to differences in individual motivation thanit does to the availability of opportunity. In fact, itcan be argued that democracy in the Departmentmay have been extended into areas where it mayproduce an unfortunate impact. We know of noexamples, in other institutions, of participation bynon-tenured faculty in votes on internal promotion to tenure. In general this practice is avoidedbecause it can throw junior faculty into conflict ofinterest — or at least into a situation in which sucha conflict could be perceived by others. At a timewhen economic realities make it increasinglydifficult to cross the tenure line, such a policymay become increasingly troublesome.Before leaving this part of the problem, wethink it important to illustrate the degree to whichmisperceptions are contributing to the present dissatisfactions within the Department. Severalfaculty members expressed the suspicion that theChairman did not vigorously support, in higherlevels in the University, proposals for whichthere was a departmental consensus. They cited aspecific instance, in which he is believed by somenot to have been sufficiently warm in his supportof a departmental vote for the promotion of a faculty member. Ironically, we received from someadministrators a complaint, based upon the sameincident, that the Chairman was in this instancetoo vigorous, and that the institution had nearlybeen forced into an error by the strength of hissupport for the departmental position. There maybe, in this incident, some cause for criticizing theChairman; but, if there is, it would be for actionsopposite to those for which departmental criticshave held him responsible. We believe that a substantial improvement in the present morale of theDepartment of Anatomy could result from a simple resolution of these misunderstandings.Proposals for ReorganizationAs one potential solution to problems within theDepartment of Anatomy, the Committee carefully considered an existing proposal to divide theDepartment and distribute its faculty to the Department of Biology and/or the Department ofPharmacological and Physiological Sciences. Inour view, this proposal involves a structural disruption entirely disproportionate to the problem.Whenever such departmental realignments areconsidered, two questions must be asked: First,what evidence is there that the relocated elementswill be welcomed in their new environments orthat the new associations will represent their disciplines more effectively? Second, are there alternative structures that can realize the benefits ofreorganization, if any, without the costs?With regard to the first, we are unable to identify any willing receptacle for the fragments resulting from Anatomy reorganization. The members of the Department of Biology to whom wetalked almost unanimously expressed lack of interest in adding either the cell biology group orthe large contingent of evolutionary morphologists. We find their reasons persuasive. TheBiology Department, with 25 faculty, is about atthe limit of size for effective interaction, and hasevolved a balance of disciplines which it is reluctant to disrupt. The functional morphology groupis large enough to alter that balance considerably;the cell biology group does not, at its presentstrength, represent a particularly logical or desirable addition. No other departments seem ap-110propriate locations for either of these units. TheDepartment of Pharmacological and Physiological Sciences is in some respects a plausible homefor the neuroanatomists, but for reasons givenbelow we favor an alternative arrangement inwhich the neurosciences develop in several locations.Concerning alternative structures, we re-emphasize the flexibility of arrangements atChicago for graduate education and for interdepartmental cooperation in other ventures. Themechanism of joint appointment has already beenused to link the Department of Anatomy with thevarious departments that would absorb it underthe dispersion proposal. The Committeemechanism for graduate training is already available for Evolutionary Biology and for Cell Biology. We can identify in the proposed reorganization no educational purpose that cannot besatisfied through less drastic and costly arrangements.Impacts upon TeachingThe most compelling argument against the reorganization proposal has to do with its potentialimpact upon teaching programs, especially thosefor medical students. We believe that this matteris important enough to deserve special attention,since it should figure importantly in other decisions about the future of the basic medical sciences. The University of Chicago expresses as itsgoal in medical education the training of innovative practitioners and, in particular, persons destined for careers in academic medicine. In support of these goals, the University offers a traditional faculty appointment policy of excellencewithout regard to teaching specialty, and a curriculum in which emphasis is laid upon a scholarlyapproach to medical science. The organization ofthe School of Medicine is consonant with thesepurposes, especially in the unique arrangementthat makes the School a part of a Division ofBiological Sciences.In such an organization, the basic medical science departments have a special role. To be sure,they represent particular research disciplines; butin an important sense they are also the main custodians of medical education. In an environmentin which many courses are put together from disparate departmental elements, departments likeAnatomy are unique sources for the more closelyorganized instructional efforts required in teaching pre-clinical students of medicine. In short,they develop and nurture the teaching of keycourses instead of merely commissioning it. We do not believe the difference between these twoprocesses is adequately appreciated elsewhere inthe Division. In response to questions about thefate of particular elements in the medical schoolcurriculum under some proposed rearrangement,we were repeatedly assured that the teachingwould somehow "get done," or even that therewere better ways to do it than the present ones. Inno case, however, were we offered specific programs or solutions, nor even any evidence thatextended thought had been devoted to the problem. At present the Department of Anatomy hasresponsibility for teaching Gross HumanAnatomy and for Histology, and plays a majorrole in the interdisciplinary course in Neurobiology. Compelling intellectual arguments for theredistribution of the Department would have tobe brought before we would recommend placingthese important academic responsibilities in theuncertain charge of a coalition still to be organized.The Department of Anatomy and Special AreasIt was a special part of our charge to investigaterelationships between the Department ofAnatomy and three areas in the Division ofBiological Sciences: Cell Biology, EvolutionaryBiology, and Neurobiology. In this section weassess the strengths of the Anatomy Departmentin each area, and briefly evaluate how each mightbest develop greater strength in the Division as awhole.Cell Biology. Historically an area of greatstrength in the Department, cell biology is nowunder-represented on its faculty; graduate students in this field, as well as faculty, wish it werebetter developed, and some blame the presentcircumstance on the Chairman's preference forfunctional morphology, In our view, other factorsare responsible. In the first place, development ofcell biology as a specialty in the Department wasdeliberately deferred for several years, in the mistaken expectation that the nascent Laboratory ofCell Biology would develop that specialty instead. When that failed and appointments did become possible (at the end of the 1960s), some ofthe expansion opportunities had been lost. Second, the Chairman had to develop new facilities.We find he did this well, local criticisms to thecontrary. Third, the age structure of the Department was a deterrent to the making of tenure appointments: two senior faculty members in thearea retire in the coming year. Finally, strong representation of cell biology in the Department ofBiology made duplication an important problem.IllThe result of all this has been a group withinAnatomy that is not as strong as one would wish,but which can be strengthened in the near future.One of the difficulties in specifying a direction forthese improvements lies in the fact that cell biology means different things to different people.There are, in at least six departments at The University of Chicago, faculty members who callthemselves cell biologists. In our view the bestrelationship between cell biology and the rest ofAnatomy is to be found nearest the supracellularlevel — that is, in fields concerned with relationsbetween cellular activities and tissue structure, orwith tissue interactions in morphogenesis. Suchan appointment strategy would leave Biologywith the responsibility for biochemical cytologyand subcellular biology.Neurobiology. The present group ofneuroanatomy, after an immediately upcomingretirement, will consist of one senior and twonon-tenured faculty members. It must provide essentially all the teaching in neuronal morphologyfor medical students and for graduate training inrelated areas, including biopsy chology, and mustalso play a major role in the development of anactive interdisciplinary research focus in theneurosciences. It is too small to do the first two,and not distinguished enough to accomplish thelatter.It is important to report here new stirrings thatsuggest the emergence of neurobiology as a majorarea of graduate training and scholarship. Although it has had distinguished neurobiologists onits faculty in the past two decades, Chicago hasnever had organized strength in the discipline. Atpresent there is not even a committee to regulategraduate training. But the realignment of Physiology and Pharmacology, and one or two new appointments, have refreshed the hope that theneeded cooperation will emerge.If these moves are to be successful, newstrength in the neuroanatomical sciences will beessential, because much of the current excitementin neurobiology — unlike that of past periods— depends upon revolutions in our understandingof structural relationships in the nervous system.We believe that a substantial strengthening of thisdiscipline in the Department of Anatomy wouldbe a great encouragement toward further development of neurobiology elsewhere in the University. We think that, although leadership maybe invested in a particular department, other unitsshould share to the extent that their specialtiesand appointment opportunities permit. The plan should be broad enough to encompass bio-psychology as well as the elements lying withinthe Divisional boundary proper.Evolutionary Biology. The group of functionalmorphologists in the Department of Anatomyplays a major role in graduate training, both in theDepartment and through the Committee onEvolutionary Biology. This area is one of TheUniversity of Chicago's great strengths, and appointments in other areas should take advantageof that fact. The size of the departmental representation in this area, however, is adequate,and we would not recommend expanding it.Graduate training in the discipline seems soundand vigorous, though we note that the Committeedesign does not guarantee, as it well might, thatdoctoral students will develop adequate knowledge of modern evolutionary theory and population biology.IV. RecommendationsGiven the Department of Anatomy's history, itscurrent problems, and its opportunities, theCommittee carefully considered three possibleoptions for the future: first, retention of the statusquo; second, reassignment of the Department;third, continuation of the basic structure with newleadership. For reasons given above, we rejectedthe second alternative. Choosing between thefirst and third was more difficult. In the end, although we found no compelling reasons having todo with the performance of the present chairmanfor rejecting the status quo, we were impressedby the following facts:1. Through retirement and resignation alone, itwill be possible to add five new appointments tothe Department in the next year. An unparalleledopportunity therefore exists to make a dramaticforward step.2. The crystallization of new organizations inother basic medical science departments offersnew scope for interrelating departmental activities.3. New areas, rather than the ones so successfully developed in the Department over the pastdecade, require strengthening in the immediatefuture.We think that the circumstances favor movingin a new direction. An extremely attractive opportunity exists that may or may not recur soonfor attracting a major appointment from the outside, and giving the new appointee the lead inoverseeing a new phase in the Department's de-112velopment. We think that an overly detailedsketch of the candidate's interests in advance of asearch would be a mistake — certainly for thisCommittee, and perhaps even for the University.We do think it important that the new person beable to play a leading role in developments between departments, as well as within the Department of Anatomy. Given the generally understood intention to increase strength inneurobiology, it would seem to us logical to thinkof neuroanatomy as one field that might meet bothrequirements.In conclusion, we emphasize that the tensionsnow present in the Department of Anatomy arenot entirely unhealthy. To the extent that theyrepresent personality conflicts and misunderstandings they are unfortunate; to the extent thatthey represent failures of communication theycan and should be corrected. But to a considerable degree we came to regard them as the vigorous, sometimes sharp by-products of well-meaning and serious concerns about theDepartment's future and its mission.The present situation represents a real opportunity. The Chairman has built well, and the De-During Winter Quarter, 1975, I investigated over80 complaints and referred about the samenumber of complainants to other areas wherethey could be helped. Of the 80 complaints I investigated, about 70 were solved to the student'ssatisfaction. The number of complaints this quarter is an increase over prior years and reflects anincreasing awareness, I hope, of the existenceand utility of the Ombudsman's Office.The general purpose of the Ombudsman'sOffice is to investigate specific complaints without superseding the University's regular remedialprocesses. Often this amounts specifically to re- partment has emerged with unusual strengths insome areas. Yet largely for historical reasons itnow needs to alter somewhat the direction of itsdevelopment. The Division will soon have a newDean, and has new departmental organization intwo other basic science areas. These circumstances dictate a close look at the pattern of activities within the Division, and suggest a morecoordinated kind of academic planning that takesaccount of clustering of strengths across departmental lines. The Chicago environment is basically encouraging to that kind of building, and wehave tried to suggest ways in which we think thatdevelopment of the Department of Anatomy canplay a critical role in it.W. Maxwell Cowan, Washington University (St.Louis)Don W. Fawcett, Harvard Medical SchoolPaul Gross, University of RochesterDonald Kennedy (Chairman), Stanford UniversityWalle J. Nauta, Massachusetts Institute ofTechnologyDavid B. Wake, University of California, Berkeleyducing friction between parts of the Universityand the student with the general effect of improving the quality of life in the University community. I have been successful at solving many student problems, but I can solve only those whichare brought to my attention.The problems brought to my active attentionfall into three principal categories. First are theproblems which the student could have possiblybrought directly to an instructor or administratorto have solved. In these cases, if I judged that theproblem could be difficult or that the student hadalready been troubled enough, I intervened. TheREPORT OF THE STUDENT OMBUDSMANFOR THE WINTER QUARTER, 1975113second group consists of those problems whichonly an Ombudsman, or someone like an Ombudsman, could solve. These were cases, bothadministrative and academic, which involvedrules which are good in principle but whose application in particular cases would bring hardship.In these cases it is necessary to bend normal practices. Third were specific cases where the rules orpolicies are open to question. In these cases Ihave made recommendations for policy change.The first group of students are those who havevalid complaints but do not require a policychange to be satisfied. Some students come intomy office because they simply do not know whereto turn. Other students come into my office because one thing too many has happened to them;they are, if you will, "on the brink." One studentunder pressure at exam time came in with anacerbic complaint about a vain attempt on the eveof examinations to chase down a minibus. Oftenfeelings are irritated by problems associated withmoney. Several students, for example, wished toknow how to handle library fine problems.Another problem students had throughout bothAutumn and Winter Quarter was recurring latepaychecks. One student who worked in a medicallaboratory in November was not paid untilMarch. This example is outstanding only becauseof the four-month delay, but over a dozen students had checks delayed by a month or more.Secretaries, in general, are to blame in thesecases; either they do not fill out employmentforms in time or they fill out the forms incorrectly.Clerical error should not be responsible for suchnegligence on the part of the University; an employee at the Comptroller's Office should begiven the responsibility of insuring that studentscan receive emergency checks if the secretariesfail to fill out forms. Another area of continuedconcern to students has been federally insuredloans. The government promises to return its approval and "guarantee" of loans recommendedby the University in three weeks, but it virtuallynever succeeds in returning them until eight or tenweeks have passed. Added to governmental delayis the delay on the part of the University officeswhich handle federally insured student loans.Sometimes a month will pass between the time astudent fills out the requisite forms and the timethe forms are sent to the government offices. Inone case this quarter, a student added to the delayand confusion by twice attempting to cancel afederally insured loan request, then changing hermind and asking for a loan because of a personalfinancial squeeze. Needless to say, the money could not come through on time, so the studenttook out a University emergency loan to coverher expenses. Twelve weeks later she came to myoffice. Her money still had not come through, andher University loan deadline was nearing. An understanding student accounts administrator extended the loan due date and allowed the studentto borrow additional money. This problem wouldnot have been so serious if mechanisms for providing federal loans worked more smoothly.Of the type of problems that can be solved onlyby my intervention or through an office such asthe Ombudsman's, there are two subdivisions:administrative and academic difficulties. Suchproblems encompass the majority of casesbrought to my attention and are usually solved tothe mutual satisfaction of student and faculty oradministrator.Administrative difficulties are often caused byone of several general reasons. Sometimes someone simply fails to explain the regulations whichcan satisfy a student's concern. At other times anadministrator will be inflexible when it is obviously wiser to bend rules which cannot fairly beapplied without exception. Occasionally studentscome to my office after a run through a bureaucratic obstacle course. And lastly students complain about administrative services which are notup to par.Early this quarter several students weredissatisfied with an explanation of why they werestopped from playing basketball in Ida Noyescourt shirtless. A women's athletic instructor toldme the question was not one of ethics but the factthat the gym smelled a lot more when men wentshirtless than when they did not.Many problems which come to the Office arebest solved by changing University habits orbending regulations. Lately, nonsmokers havebecome vehement in their demands for fresh air,and as a result of their complaints through thisOffice there is a new nonsmoking section inHutchinson Commons.Inflexibility in hardship cases suggests thatregulations themselves may be bad. When onestudent reported that she had lost her $30 mealticket booklet early in the quarter, the HousingOffice refused to make any reimbursement. Theydid that, even though they believed her storyabout the loss and the amount of loss, becausethey considered the lost meal tickets as lostmoney. Further, since there was no way of verifying claims, the housing official worried that refunding students whose stories seemed plausible,but not others, would amount to an inconsistent114policy. This is a legitimate concern, but thereshould be some other way to keep track of thebooklets or to minimize student's potential loss.The Housing Office claims that it would be toodifficult to keep track of student tickets bynumber; to tell cashiers not to accept certainnumbers when the ticket have been reported lost.One thing the Housing Office could to is to distribute one quarter's meal tickets in three smallbooklets instead of one so that a student who losta booklet would suffer less of a loss.Sometimes it is not actual policies or ruleswhich need to be bent but policies which existonly in the heads of administrators. One marriedstudent, for example, complained that for variousreasons, including the fact that his second- storyapartment had been burglarized, he wanted tomove to an available apartment exactly like his onthe sixth floor of the same building. He was toldby a manager of Married Student Housing, however, that "horizontal moves" were not permitted. The student pointed out to me that he wishedto move vertically, not horizontally. When I called the administrator, he decided that the movewould be allowed after all and said that the student had misunderstood. The open apartment inquestion had by that time already been taken. Inanother case, a student told me that the menu ofthe C Shop and its prices were listed only incompletely and somewhat illegibly on a small blackboard. He wondered whether a standard typeboard would be put in its place. When the responsible administrator was called, he declared thatthere would be a menu put up but only after somedelay, since it would be necessary to find a menuboard which fit into "the C Shop decorum."As I have mentioned, a number of studentcomplaints about student services were broughtto my office primarily because students did notknow where else to turn. One of these complaintsconcerned the campus security force. I might addthat expressions of gratitude toward security faroutweigh complaints, but trouble spots do exist.Security has established an "umbrella service"by which a security car will drive alongside awalking student to see him safely through HydePark. One student complained, however, that oneSaturday night at 12:30 when she called securityfor umbrella protection, the security dispatchergruffly told her to catch a minibus. Theminibuses, of course, do not run past 12:30 onSaturday nights, a fact that certainly the dispatchers, if not every security guard, shouldknow.Some student service related problems which are best solved by the Ombudsman's Office fallinto the academic area. The LanguageLaboratories, for example, have now cut backtheir hours because of budgetary limitations. Onestudent remarked that because of curtailed evening hours, working students would have greaterdifficulty getting to labs. Because of the budgetary difficulties, though, nothing could be doneabout this problem. General academic difficultieshave continued this quarter with students seemingly more achievement-conscious than ever.Grading conflicts have continued at the samehigh level as last quarter. In one case of a disputed grade, an instructor in social science declared that he would allow the student's paper(which determined his grade) to be read by threeother instructors. Then, if they did not agree thatthe original grade reflected the quality of thestudent's work, he would change the grade.One difficulty which deserves general discussion is the much-touted problem of gradeinflation. A recent8 graduating class of a prestigious eastern university boasted an honor rolecontaining almost 90 percent of the class. In suchextreme cases the value of grades as qualitativeindications of the student's work is obviously decreased. Students in our College and at other institutions less affected by grade inflation wonderwhether they will be at a disadvantage in applyingto graduate or professional school.As previously mentioned, most problemswhich I handle are those which can be solvedwithout consideration of policy change. By far themajority of such cases are solved to everyone'ssatisfaction. But students also have problemswhich they elect to do nothing about; perhapsthey find it unlikely that pointing out the problemto an instructor, an administrator, or the Ombudsman will help them. A student, bitterly upsetover the alleged incompetence and impersonalityof one area of the University, told me that manystudents had bad experiences with the same area.Yet as far as I know, few, if any, of these studentscomplained. I believe that if a student feels trulywronged by an area of the University he shouldcall it to the attention of somebody. The obligation extends beyond his own interests; it is for thebenefit of the entire community that all its partsfunction well. Some students may feel that although minor rules will be bent and small adjustments made, the University will not change whatthey see as an offending policy. But there areproblems which call for policy change and aresuccessfully solved.Of the cases involving consideration of policy115change, I shall mention three of the most important. One problem is the mechanism by which itwas determined that there should be a basicmathematics requirement for common core physical science. A second is the lack of generalreflection about the proliferation of special fees toenable particular areas of the University to become more financially self sufficient. Third, although some much needed minor improvementshave been made, the University must add majorathletic facilities in order to meet the demand of agrowing community, and one more conscious ofathletics. *Students have not been hesitant in complainingabout the apparent policy change which nowstipulates that Mathematics 100-1-2 is requiredfor all common core physical science courses.Over a dozen students have said that they thoughta prerequisite for a common core course was unfair, particularly when this further restricted theirprograms by up to three courses. As I mentionedin my Autumn report, the College in the recentpast offered a physical science course in which"the mathematics necessary for the developmentof the topics will be reviewed and discussed"(College Announcements, 1972). Also, as I mentioned in my last report, the decision to requirethe basic mathematics sequence was not decidedon the College level but unilaterally by the Physical Sciences Collegiate Division. Exceptions tothe requirement have been made by the Collegefor those students whose formal petitions werefavorably received. But this policy has affectedmore students than could ever petition. Approximately 130 entering freshmen and transfer students who failed to place out of mathematics 102were affected by this policy in 1974-75. Thenumber of students failing to place beyondmathematics 102 has increased dramatically overthe past few years, and the present figure of 130 isabsolutely alarming. This idea is what may haveprompted the Physical Sciences Collegiate Division to establish its prerequisites. The Divisionfelt, perhaps, that the number of exceptional students who could not handle the mathematics levelconsidered proper for common core physical sciences had now become of unwieldly size.I think. that this policy, however wise, shouldnot be held valid until a College- wide committee,the College Curriculum Committee, passes judgment on it. The question of a prerequisite for acommon core course deserves this attention.Meanwhile, I suggest that the physical sciencesfollow the policy stated in the 1972 CollegeAnnouncements. If the College decides that there should be a mathematics prerequisite for commoncore physical sciences, it should state this in thegeneral discussion of the common core in theCourse Brochure for Entering Students and theCollege Announcements. At present it doesneither; the mathematics prerequisite is statedonly in the physical science course descriptions.The major problem of special student fees continues to be a concern of students. One personcomplained that all students had to pay a threedollar fee just for the use of Bartlett Gymnasium,not including locker privileges. He wonderedwhat his tuition was meant to cover, since athletics is an area where large groups of studentsbenefit. New fees are being added from time totime in order to help each area of the Universitypay for itself or possibly to have only those students who benefit from a service pay for it insteadof raising the tuition generally. This is not necessarily the wisest policy. Fees certainly cause students discomfort, especially in areas where having no fee is the tradition, but in the end moststudents fall within a close distance of the averagefee paid. The comfort of the student communityshould be considered when the decision is madebetween raising money by tuition or by variousspecial fees.The monumental problem which many studentsand even faculty continually complain about isthe condition of the athletic facilities. No majorbuilding has been added since the field house, already a venerable structure. The current Campaign for Chicago, if successful in its athleticgoals, will provide over $5 million for thedouble-decking of the field house and other majorimprovements. Certainly the additional athleticfacilities will be needed since current usage of aseverely limited resource is increasing and sincethe University envisions expanding its enrollment. Smaller, less expensive improvementshave been made and this progress should continue. The varsity tennis courts on the quadrangles were resurfaced last quarter, a boon to tennisenthusiasts.I am also pleased to report that significant plansare in progress for improving the women's athletic facilities in Bartlett Gymnasium. The inequities between the condition of men's andwomen's facilities in Bartlett, until recently exclusively for males, has diminished. Although Iwrote in my last report that the "allocation ofseveral hundred dollars for hair dryers was considered a prohibitive cost," this is one of the improvements the University now plans to make.Other improvements include laying a tile floor in116the women's locker room, providing showerdoors, and increasing the number of lockers.Such modest changes help improve the qualityof the athletic facilities at the University, andthese efforts should continue. But in the end, theneed for major improvements must be met; athletic facilities have their proper place in the life ofa University community and this place must beprovided.Joseph P. KiernanADDENDA TO THE REPORT FOR THEWINTER QUARTER, 1975Dear Mr. Kiernan:I am writing to call to your attention gross misstatements in your Student Ombudsman's reportfor the Autumn Quarter, 1974, printed on pp.31-32 in The University of Chicago Record, February 26, 1975. The topic concerns "unfairness ingrading" and involves a chemistry professor (me)and a student in his Chemistry 105 class. Let metell you in print some of what I tried to tell youover the phone about the practices in my courseand the ONE-student incident.Facts on Grading and Re-Grading Examinations1 . The Graders of the Examinations are Laboratory Assistants in the course, graduate students inthe Department of Chemistry. They attend thelectures and are responsible for a Laboratory Section and Discussion Section.2. The grading of each Examination is discussed with the Graders prior to the Examination. An effort is made to anticipate the multitudinous ways a question may be answered.3 . The Examination papers are returned to thestudents at the end of the next lecture. Copies ofthe answers are posted outside the Auditoriumand are "On Reserve" in the Chemistry Library.4. At the time the Examination papers are returned, an announcement is posted on the blackboard stating the procedure for regrading.a. The paper is to be looked at by the Laboratory Assistant to see if there is valid complaint.(In some cases, the Laboratory Assistant did notagree with the student but the student still wentthrough the rest of the procedure.) b. An appointment is to be made to see me inmy office for regrading. I set aside some 10-12hours at assorted times in order to minimizeconflicts in student schedules.c. A "last-chance" regrading date is posted,about one week after return of the papers. (Thestudents are reminded of this on the "last-chance" day.)5. After each Examination, some fifteen students see me for regrading. The mistakes in grading vary from simple arithmetic mistakes on thepart of the Grader to his inability to decipher ameaningful answer from a maze of formulas,numbers, and "chicken-scratches." Some two-thirds of the students who see me have theirgrades raised. (One of the ground rules is that agrade is never lowered!)Facts on the ONE-Student Episode You WroteAbout1. The student made an appointment to see meon the afternoon of the last regrading day (Fridayof the sixth week of the Quarter).2. The Examination in question was the second one-hour Examination (fifth week).3. He did not appear nor did he call.4. He made another appointment to see me onthe following Monday. He kept this appointmentand asked to have his paper regraded. Rathercavalierly, he said that he forgot the appointmenton Friday although he was aware that Friday wasthe last day for regrading his paper. I refused tolook at his paper.5. The student saw you and you called me asking me to change my mind since you thought thestudent had suffered an injustice. I didn't agreewith you and tried to tell you what I've writtenabove, obviously with little success. The reason Itold you that I would not see the student on thismatter is that unless the students and I kept tosome fixed schedule, the infringements on mytime would make it impossible for me to dischargemy teaching and research responsibilities. (I havenever turned away ONE student who had a validexcuse for not seeing me during the specifiedperiod.)Now to your report on this matter.1. You mention an incident involving "the injustice of a chemistry professor who refused to correct a laboratory assistant's miscalculation of thestudent's score because the student had missedan appointment for that purpose." I've stated thefacts above. Whether or not the allegation youmake that I ". . . refused to correct a laboratory117assistant's miscalculation . . ."is correct I don'tknow because I did not look at his paper anddon't know that there was a miscalculation. Idon't know how you know.2. You say, "The instructor felt that 'thefloodgates would be open' to all the other students who might have had their grades miscalculated and wanted their scores corrected." This isnot what I felt at all. You simply refused to listento what I said. Every student has a right to havehis paper regraded if there is evidence that it wasnot properly graded in the first place. I have neverworried about "floodgates" because I think it isour responsibility to treat students fairly andshould it happen (although it never has) that thereis wholesale misgrading, then I am prepared toregrade each and every paper. In fact, before Ireturn Examination papers, I inspect a randomsample to see if grading by the laboratory assistants is unfair or poor. On two occasions, I regraded whole sections of an Examination becauseI was not satisfied with the grading.3. Your moralizing that "In a relatively smallcollege such as this, one would expect more froman instructor (much less a full professor)" is insulting to me. I believe that students have manyrights and I respect them. The faculty has rights,too, and I expect the students to respect them.4. Your speculation "But maybe the laboratory assistant had actually misadded all the papers so that the proverbial floodgates would beopen and permit a veritable deluge of premedicalstudents to drown the professor in their pleas fora recalculation" is so gratuitously hostile andmalicious that I wonder what purpose your effortserves. It has never happened that all of the papers were misadded or misgraded. Should it everhappen that we mistreat the students on awholesale basis, I am prepared, since I think it ismy duty and responsibility, to rectify the mattermyself by spending as much time as necessary todo that job right. And why do you denigrate ourpremedical students? I have no evidence thatthese students see me more frequently on regrading than the others.5. Coming back now to the first sentence ofthat paragraph, "Perhaps the financial crisis isresponsible for introducing rigid attitudes whereinformal relationships once held sway." I don'tknow what this has to do with the incident inquestion anyway. It is very possible that I amrigid and inflexible and demand certain consideration from my students. Why you associate thefinancial crisis of the University, which is serious,with my behavior I can't possibly understand. In summary then, Mr. Kiernan, I cannot comment on any of the other items you mention inyour report since I have no personal knowledgeof these other matters. All I can say is that yourreport of the incident concerning one student inmy class is totally distorted. Your responsibilityas Student Ombudsman requires that you properly state the facts. You have certainly been delinquent in this case.Sincerely,Nathan SugarmanProfessor in the Department of Chemistry , theEnrico Fermi Institute, and the CollegeI would like to correct the statements made in myAutumn Ombudsman's Report concerning agrading complaint in a chemistry course. I failedto report at that time that the instructor had set adeadline for grade reconsideration requests, andfurther, that students were given adequate warning of that deadline. The student who said his testscore was miscalculated made an appointmentwhich fell on the deadline date, but he did notkeep the appointment nor did he call. The following week he saw the professor, who declined toconsider a grade change. All students who see theinstructor before the regrading deadline haspassed are given consideration and their gradesare often raised.I apologize for my incomplete statements and Iregret any embarrassment I may have causedeither the professor or the student.Joseph P. KiernanTRUSTEE ELECTIONTwo new members have been elected to TheUniversity of Chicago Board of Trustees. Theyare:Joseph A. Burnham, President, Marshall Field& Company.Mrs. J. Harris Ward, civic leader, foundingpresident of the University Women's Board, andChairman of the Visiting Committee to theDepartment of Music.118UNIVERSITY DIRECTOR OF FINE ARTSAPPOINTEDThe Provost and Acting President has appointedMr. Herbert L. Kessler, Associate Professor andChairman of the Department of Art, to thenewly-created position of University Director ofFine Arts. The new position was established withthe intention of bringing together under one individual, responsible to the Dean of the Division ofthe Humanities and to the Provost, the efforts inthe field of the fine arts, including the direction ofthe various galleries and studios of the University.UNIVERSITY DISCIPLINARYCOMMITTEE, 1975-76 IISidney Davidson, ChairmanBenjamin BloomAlfred HellerNancy HelmboldDonald N. LevineIIIMartin E. Marty, ChairmanPatrick BillingsleyPastora CaffertyRory W. ChildersDonald F. LachIVDavid M. Bevington, ChairmanPeter R. HuttenlocherTetsuo NajitaAlfred L. PutnamDiana T. SlaughterIPeter Dembowski, ChairmanIssac AbellaLeslie J. DeGrootPeter PashigianErica Reiner Roger H. Hildebrand, ChairmanWalter D. FacklerDonald A. FischmanFruma GottschalkKenneth PrewittTHE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO RECORDOFFICE OF THE VICE PRESIDENT FOR PUBLIC AFFAIRSRoom 200, Administration BuildingHXM9ooXooomftoftE80QoI^1o z"0 X — om £ c 3i3J P •o^5 ¦< 3,JP>8of ZS5• r- W 5 o<s32z o I-* o m•^ — Oco 3