efficiency. Mr Scott is indifferent to it. Possibly a more extended experience of practice might lead both of these writers to modify their views. The best modern architecture does not ignore the past, it could not do so if it tried, but it realises how much it owes to it. Neither does it, nor can it, ignore efficiency. Buildings must answer the purpose for which they are built, but that purpose must be given a generous interpretation. An architect does not think he has solved the problem of architecture because his building stands up, keeps the wet out, and is practically convenient. The difference between the architect and the mere builder is that the architect takes the consideration of plan and construction which are common to both of them, and by thought and imagination transmutes them into terms of æsthetic value. New forms and combinations of forms will develop themselves out of new conditions, but this does not mean that where we are dealing with problems which have been perfectly solved in the past, we are to turn our backs on those solutions. We stand in the arts in the same relation to the past as we do in relation to the written and spoken word. We possess a certain inherited and acquired equipment; the vital point is what use we make of that equipment, whether we are content to make a merely mechanical use of it, or whether by our own efforts and enthusiasm we fashion out of it a richer instrument for the expression of thought.

Now, it is obvious that if a man is to make the most of this inheritance, he must acquaint himself with its full extent; he must learn to discriminate between what is of permanent value and what is worthless. The weak point of modern training since the war seems to me that students are encouraged to neglect the enormous heritage of the past, and to concentrate their attention on purely modern work, usually American, itself a more or less skilful pastiche of older work. There is little fear of our returning to the revivalism of the 19th century, but there does seem to me a real danger of our young men turning their backs on the art of the past, very greatly to the detriment of their technique. Crude and ignorant brutality is not the same thing as strength, and fireworks are not to be mistaken for the flash of genius.

In the arts there seems to be no solution of the

perennial problem-who is to say what is good and what is bad in art? The old French Academy spent year after year in the attempt to define 'le bon goust,' and one has to admit with regret that their efforts were unsuccessful. It is a problem that has vexed all thinkers since the days of Aristotle. He referred all such questions to the man of knowledge and enlightenment, and this at least is better than the paralysing verdict of 'quod semper quod ubique quod ab omnibus,' which seems to put a stop to any independent judgment of the past. Yet it is not entirely satisfactory, the men of judgment sometimes differ, and the layman is set the further difficulty of deciding which he is to follow. For the artist himself the problem is less difficult. Every sincere artist who has studied his art and acquired his own technique, inevitably builds up his own conviction as to what he is aiming at, and how he is to set out to reach his ideal. However inarticulate he may be in formulating his ideals, they will be found at the back of all his work. Consciously or unconsciously he will strive to reach certain absolute standards, and the exhortations of his critics will leave him unperturbed. My own view of architecture, both now and in the future, is that the deliberate search after originality is futile. The wind bloweth where it listeth.' These things will come of their own or not at all.

REGINALD BLOMFIELD.

Art. 2.-BIOLOGY AND SOCIAL HYGIENE.

MEDICAL advice in regard to individual health and social hygiene we are familiar with and grateful for, but what can Biology have to say? Yet would it not be strange if the science of organic life had no counsel for us in our endeavour after more life and better life? We hope to show that it has much to suggest, but just because human society is more than a herd of mammals, we give prominence at the outset to the warning that the biological outlook is necessarily partial, and requires to be supplemented and corrected by psychological and sociological considerations. We must take an all-round view. Thus we cannot separate the healthy body from the healthy mind, and all our biological ambitions seek realisation within a social phase-the outcome of an industrial and palæotechnic age-which is much stronger than the individual. The biologist as such has not directly to do with mental training, yet the attention given to his counsel depends largely on education. The value of biological advice might be greatly increased if people 'changed their mind.' Similarly what is biologically desirable is not always socially desirable. As Sir Francis Galton always insisted, biologists must respect the existing state of social sentiment. The biologist as such is not directly concerned with improvements in social organisation, and yet he knows that the edge is taken off his advice by obstacles that are social rather than organismal. While the biologist must hold to his ideals, he must anticipate the difficulties of realising these in the present-day psychological and sociological conditions.

What, then, is the biologist's task in relation to social hygiene? He sees around him diverse aggregates and integrates of men, women, and children with varying degrees of healthfulness and with diverse natural inheritances. Has he any suggestions towards betterment? He sees a great variety of activities and inactivities, some much less wholesome than others, has he, as biologist, any suggestions towards amelioration? He sees a variety of environments, plus and minus again, from the hillside to the slum, has he, as biologist, any suggestions

towards improving or holding fast that which is good, even towards making the best of the worst? In other words, the biological prism for the analysis of life has these three sides, Organism, Function, Environment; or, in human terms, Folk, Work, Place. The hope is that some practical progress may reward clearer understanding.

In looking towards the future we are grateful for what has been achieved in the past. It is a notable fact that the average expectation of life in England increased by over ten years between 1871-80 and 1910-12 (Newsholme). There have been great advances in sanitation and preventive medicine, and from time to time there have been waves of enthusiasm towards better health. But the progress that has been made is to the credit of Medicine rather than of Biology, and even if one recalls how zoologists have joined the ranks of Medicine in fighting such diseases as malaria and sleeping sickness, to mention only two, one is bound to say that the help came from parasitologists, entomologists, and the like, rather than from biologists in the stricter sense. The contributions from biology are more difficult to specify, because they relate to clearer thinking rather than to practical advances. But it would be unwarranted pessimism to say that the biological study of heredity and environment, of sex and reproduction, has been without influence on human welfare. There is a large contribution even in the fundamental idea that stable progress must take account of the three sides of Life-Organism, Function, and Environment; Folk, Work, and Place.

We all recognise that there is considerable soundness and wholesomeness in ourselves and others. The facts forbid pessimism, but they do not encourage complacency. Keeping away from problems of social organisation, which are not for the biologist as such, we must all recognise that there are grave reasons for taking counsel together. What is wrong that we wish to help to put right? In the first place, there is far too much actual disease, which may be biologically described as disturbance of the normal routine of the body. When the ordinary processes of metabolism get out of hand, and occur out of place, out of time, and out of tune, that spells some sort of disease. Biologically speaking, we Vol. 246.-No. 487.

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may distinguish constitutional diseases, occupational diseases, and parasitic diseases, and though the second and third are being resolutely and successfully tackled, there is still far too much of all three. Constitutional diseases, such as some forms of epilepsy and diabetes, appear to be due to inborn or germinal defects or disturbances, and the big fact, that should make us think, is that they are practically unknown in Wild Nature when man does not interfere. The chief reason for this is that if they show face in Wild Nature they are nipped in the bud. Natural Selection is all for health, but man has departed from this regime, without as yet substituting anything as good.

Occupational and habitudinal diseases, such as might be illustrated by lead-poisoning and extreme obesity, are likewise practically unknown in Wild Nature, though common enough among domestic animals. The chief reason is to be found in Nature's stern selection for health and sharp intolerance of bad habits. A rat may live in a sewer, but it is not an unhealthy rat. Most animals, save parasites, have a deeply rooted objection to deteriorative environments and functionings.

As to microbic diseases, such as tuberculosis and malaria, which are so rife in mankind, one must admit the possibility of epidemics' in Wild Nature, but there is not much proof of their occurrence except when man has intruded. It is possible that the horses which used to be so abundant in America were exterminated by some Trypanosome carried by some fly, but this is only a speculation. It is possible that some microbic disease hastened the puzzlingly rapid disappearance of the Passenger Pigeon, but this has not been proved. We venture to say that microbic diseases are very unusual in Wild Nature.

The critic may remind us of microbic and fungoid disease in salmon, of a kind of diphtheria among woodpigeons, of the pebrine that is so fatal to silkworms, of 'foul brood' among hive-bees, and so on through a long list, but in most cases it will be found that the conditions of these animal diseases are not those of Wild Nature, but of human interference. There is a well-known bacterial disease among sandhoppers, well known because such an occurrence is so unusual; but here, again, we