36
JANE Μ. OPPENHEIMER
rather than descriptive studies, in the light first of what is now called
classical experimental embryology (which, though it is fashionable to
consider it old fashioned, was contemporary in its origins with Einstein
and Freud), and next of the descriptive analytic studies which are now
attempting to relate the visible effects of morphogenesis to the biochemical processes and mechanisms which are their concomitants. It
would seem quite justifiable to maintain that the elucidation of this principle on an experimental and analytical basis is alone—quite aside from
any of the contributions which embryology may have made towards the
development of concepts in other now vigorous fields of biology—very
much worth the labors of a mere half century.
The first paragraph of this essay spoke somewhat guardedly of the
generalization that the ideas of the present are to be understood only in
the light of their precursors. This is a dictum which is accepted as
absolute by a number of writers in the field of the history of science, but
it remains, unfortunately, to justify its validity to many scientists. One
real difficulty is, of course, that if it is to be exalted to the rank of an
axiom, greater historical reliability is required than is now attainable.
It is a far cry from the ferments of Sachs and Driesch, for instance, to
the particular protein groups studied by Ebert, and our evidence is inadequate as to the full pattern of thoughts and influences that may or
may not have intervened in 60 years. Spemann has expressed well, in
the quotation cited above (p. 11), the impossibility of knowing even
the source of one's own specific ideas.
But there are further hazards to surmount beyond the inevitable uncertainties of historical certitude. Geoffrey Scott wrote a book a number
of years ago (1914; second edition reprinted in 1954) which was essentially a history of taste, in which he evaluated the aesthetic judgments placed on Renaissance architecture by later centuries. In a perceptive chapter, The Biological Fallacy, which for a number of reasons
deserves to be read thoughtfully by every historian of biology, he suggests some very profound and perplexing problems about the study of sequences of ideas which raise grave doubts as to the value of the philosophy of evolution as applied to the study of a succession of styles in
art. So far as art is concerned, he worries as to how this may have
diminished, for instance, the engrossment of men's thoughts with style
itself, in contrast to its history; and thus, by implication, man's very
creativity. But he even goes so much further than this as to question
the actual relations of the ideas to each other. In considering, for instance, the sequence between Brunelleschi, the herald as he names him,
and Bramante, the achiever, and Bernini the fall, he concludes that "to
JANE Μ. OPPENHEIMER
rather than descriptive studies, in the light first of what is now called
classical experimental embryology (which, though it is fashionable to
consider it old fashioned, was contemporary in its origins with Einstein
and Freud), and next of the descriptive analytic studies which are now
attempting to relate the visible effects of morphogenesis to the biochemical processes and mechanisms which are their concomitants. It
would seem quite justifiable to maintain that the elucidation of this principle on an experimental and analytical basis is alone—quite aside from
any of the contributions which embryology may have made towards the
development of concepts in other now vigorous fields of biology—very
much worth the labors of a mere half century.
The first paragraph of this essay spoke somewhat guardedly of the
generalization that the ideas of the present are to be understood only in
the light of their precursors. This is a dictum which is accepted as
absolute by a number of writers in the field of the history of science, but
it remains, unfortunately, to justify its validity to many scientists. One
real difficulty is, of course, that if it is to be exalted to the rank of an
axiom, greater historical reliability is required than is now attainable.
It is a far cry from the ferments of Sachs and Driesch, for instance, to
the particular protein groups studied by Ebert, and our evidence is inadequate as to the full pattern of thoughts and influences that may or
may not have intervened in 60 years. Spemann has expressed well, in
the quotation cited above (p. 11), the impossibility of knowing even
the source of one's own specific ideas.
But there are further hazards to surmount beyond the inevitable uncertainties of historical certitude. Geoffrey Scott wrote a book a number
of years ago (1914; second edition reprinted in 1954) which was essentially a history of taste, in which he evaluated the aesthetic judgments placed on Renaissance architecture by later centuries. In a perceptive chapter, The Biological Fallacy, which for a number of reasons
deserves to be read thoughtfully by every historian of biology, he suggests some very profound and perplexing problems about the study of sequences of ideas which raise grave doubts as to the value of the philosophy of evolution as applied to the study of a succession of styles in
art. So far as art is concerned, he worries as to how this may have
diminished, for instance, the engrossment of men's thoughts with style
itself, in contrast to its history; and thus, by implication, man's very
creativity. But he even goes so much further than this as to question
the actual relations of the ideas to each other. In considering, for instance, the sequence between Brunelleschi, the herald as he names him,
and Bramante, the achiever, and Bernini the fall, he concludes that "to