what this amounts to, we run no risk of deceiving ourselves about the range of the results it gives us.
We have had hitherto prophets of evil. They blithely reiterate that all problems capable of solution have already been solved, and that nothing is left but gleaning. Happily the case of the past reassures us. Often it was thought all problems were solved or at least an inventory was made of all admitting solution. And then the sense of the word solution enlarged, the insoluble problems became the most interesting of all, and others unforeseen presented themselves. For the Greeks a good solution was one employing only ruler and compasses; then it became one obtained by the extraction of roots, then one using only algebraic or logarithmic functions. The pessimists thus found themselves always outflanked, always forced to retreat, so that at present I think there are no more.
My intention, therefore, is not to combat them, as they are dead; we well know that mathematics will continue to develop, but the question is how, in what direction? You will answer, 'in every direction,' and that is partly true; but if it were wholly true it would be a little appalling. Our riches would soon become encumbering and their accumulation would produce a medley as impenetrable as the unknown true was for the ignorant.
The historian, the physicist, even, must make a choice among facts; the head of the scientist, which is only a corner of the universe, could never contain the universe entire; so that among the innumerable facts nature offers, some will be passed by, others retained.
Just so, a fortiori, in mathematics; no more can the geometer hold fast pell-mell all the facts presenting themselves to him; all the more because he it is, almost I had said his caprice, that creates these facts. He constructs a wholly new combination by putting together its elements; nature does not in general give it to him ready made.
Doubtless it sometimes happens that the mathematician undertakes a problem to satisfy a need in physics; that the physicist or engineer asks him to calculate a number for a certain application. Shall it be said that we geometers should limit ourselves to awaiting orders, and, in place of cultivating our science for our own delectation, try only to accommodate ourselves to the wants of our patrons? If mathematics has no other object besides aiding those who study nature, it is from these we should await orders. Is this way of looking at it legitimate? Certainly not; if we had not cultivated the exact sciences for themselves, we should not have created mathematics the instrument, and the day the call came from the physicist we should have been helpless.
Nor do the physicists wait to study a phenomenon until some urgent need of material life has made it a necessity for them; and they are right. If the scientists of the eighteenth century had neglected electricity as being in their eyes only a curiosity without practical interest, we should have had in the twentieth century neither telegraphy, nor electro-chemistry, nor electro-technics. The physicists, compelled to choose, are therefore not guided in their choice solely by utility. How then do they choose between the facts of nature? We have explained it in the preceding chapter: the facts which interest them are those capable of leading to the discovery of a law, and so they are analogous to many other facts which do not seem to us isolated, but closely grouped with others. The isolated fact attracts all eyes, those of the layman as well as of the scientist. But what the genuine physicist alone knows how to see, is the bond which unites many facts whose analogy is profound but hidden. The story of Newton's apple is probably not true, but it is symbolic; let us speak of it then as if it were true. Well then, we must believe