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July 1, 1956— June 30, 1957







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Library of Congress Catalog Card No. 3-16716 THE LORD BALTIMORE PRESS, INC., BALTIMORE, MARYLAND






Mount Wilson and Palomar Observatories 37

Committee on Image Tubes for Telescopes 77

Department of Terrestrial Magnetism 81

Geophysical Laboratory 149

Department of Plant Biology 253

Department of Embryology 297

Department of Genetics 357

Department of Archaeology 405




Report of the Executive Committee xv

Report of Auditors xvii Abstract of Minutes of the Fifty-Ninth Meeting of the Board of Trustees xxxiii

Articles of Incorporation xxxv

By-Laws of the Institution xxxix



PRESIDENT Caryl P. Haskins

BOARD OF TRUSTEES Walter S. Giflford, Chairman

Barklie McKee Henry, Vice-Chairman

Robert Woods Bliss, Secretary

James F. Bell Robert Woods Bliss Lindsay Bradford Omar N. Bradley Walter S. Giflord Crawford H. Greenewalt Caryl P. Haskins Barklie McKee Henry Ernest O. Lawrence Alfred L. Loomis Robert A. Lovett Keith S. McHugh Margaret Carnegie Miller Henry S. Morgan Seeley G. Mudd William I. Myers Henning W. Prentis, Jr. Elihu Root, Jr. Henry R. Shepley Charles P. Taft Juan T. Trippe James N. White Robert E. Wilson

TRUSTEES Continued


Barklie McKee Henry, Chairman Robert Woods Bliss Lindsay Bradford Walter S. GifTord Caryl P. Haskins

Robert A. Lovett Henry S. Morgan Henning W. Prentis, Jr. Henry R. Shepley


Lindsay Bradford, Chairman Walter S. Gififord Alfred L. Loomis Henry S. Morgan Henning W. Prentis, Jr. James N. White


Elihu Root, Jr., Chairman Walter S. Gifford Crawford H. Greenewalt William I. Myers


Keith S. McHugh, Chairman Alfred L. Loomis Juan T. Trippe


Lindsay Bradford, Chairman Barklie McKee Henry Henry S. Morgan


Seeley G. Mudd, Chairman Crawford H. Greenewalt Elihu Root, Jr.


Alfred L. Loomis, Chairman Margaret Carnegie Miller William I. Myers Charles P. Taft


Ernest O. Lawrence, Chairman Barklie McKee Henry Henning W. Prentis, Jr. Robert E. Wilson


Henry R. Shepley, Chairman James F. Bell Robert Woods Bliss Juan T. Trippe




Daniel Coit Gilman, 1902-1904 Robert Simpson Woodward, 1904-1920

John Campbell Merriam, President 1921-1938; President Emeritus 1939-1945 Vannevar Bush, 1939-1955



Wayne MacVeagh



Andrew W. Mellon



Roswell Miller



Darius O. Mills



S. Weir Mitchell



Andrew J. Montague



William W. Morrow



William Church Osborn



James Parmelee



Wm. Barclay Parsons



Stewart Paton



George W. Pepper



John J. Pershing



Henry S. Pritchett



Gordon S. Rentschler



David Rockefeller



Elihu Root



Julius Rosenwald



Martin A. Ryerson



Theobald Smith



John C. Spooner



William Benson Storey



Richard P. Strong



William H. Taft



William S. Thayer



James W. Wadsworth



Charles D. Walcott



Frederic C. Walcott



Henry P. Walcott



Lewis H. Weed



William H. Welch



Andrew D. White



Edward D. White



Henry White



George W. Wickersham



Robert S. Woodward



Carroll D. Wright



Alexander Agassiz George J. Baldwin Thomas Barbour John S. Billings Robert S. Brookings John L. Cadwalader William W. Campbell John J. Carty Whitefoord R. Cole Frederic A. Delano Cleveland H. Dodge William E. Dodge Charles P. Fenner Homer L. Ferguson Simon Flexner W. Cameron Forbes James Forrestal William N. Frew Lyman J. Gage Cass Gilbert Frederick H. Gillett Daniel C. Gilman John Hay Myron T. Herrick Abram S. Hewitt Henry L. Higginson Ethan A. Hitchcock Henry Hitchcock Herbert Hoover William Wirt Howe Charles L. Hutchinson Walter A. Jessup Frank B. Jewett Samuel P. Langley Charles A. Lindbergh William Lindsay Henry Cabot Lodge Seth Low

Under the original charter, from the date of organization until April 28, 1904, the following were ex officio members of the Board of Trustees: the President of the United States, the President of the Senate, the Speaker of the House of Representatives, the Secretary of the Smithsonian Institution, and the President of the National Academy of Sciences.





813 Santa Barbara Street, Pasadena 4, California

Mount Wilson Observatory organized in 1904; George E. Hale, Director 1904-1923, Honorary Director 1923-1936; Walter S. Adams, Director 1924-1945. Unified operation with the Palomar Observatory of the California Institute of Technology began in 1948.

Ira S. Bowen, Director; Horace W. Babcock, Assistant Director

Halton C. Arp Walter Baade William A. Baum Arthur D. Code Armin J. Deutsch

Jesse L. Greenstein Milton L. Humason * Rudolph L. Minkowski Guido Munch Seth B. Nicholson *

Donald E. Osterbrock Robert S. Richardson Allan R. Sandage Olin C. Wilson Fritz Zwicky



2801 Upton Street, N. W., Washington 8, D. C.

Organized in 1906, opened in 1907; Arthur L. Day, Director 1909-1936; Leason H. Adams, Acting Director 1936-1937, Director 1938-1952; George W. Morey, Acting Director 1952-1953.

Francis R. Boyd, Jr. Felix Chayes Sydney P. Clark, Jr. Gordon L. Davis Gabrielle Donnay Joseph L. England Hans P. Eugster

Philip H. Abelson, Director

Joseph W. Greig Gunnar Kullerud George W. Morey * J. Frank Schairer George R. Tilton Hatten S. Yoder, Jr.

Staff Associate Gordon J. F. MacDonald

Visiting Investigators Henry Faul David B. Stewart


5241 Broad Branch Road, N. W., Washington 15, D. C.

Organized in 1904; Louis A. Bauer, Director 1904-1929; John A. Fleming, Acting Director 1929-1934, Director 1935-1946.

L. Thomas Aldrich Ellis T. Bolton Roy J. Britten Bernard F. Burke Dean B. Cowie John W. Firor

G. N. Cohen E. H. Creaser || W. C. Erickson K. L. Franklin I

♦Retired June 30, 1957. % Resigned in 1956. § On leave of absence.

Merle A. Tuve, Director

Scott E. Forbush John W. Graham Norman P. Heydenburg Ellis A. Johnson t Richard B. Roberts

Visiting Investigators

H. Lawrence Heifer

J. J. Leahy

F. T. McClure**

Howard E. Tatel Georges M. Temmer § Ernest H. Vestinetl Harry W. Wells George W. Wetherill

G. F. Pieper Irena Z. Roberts H. Weaver

|| Term of appointment completed in 1956.

j[ Resigned in 1957.

** Term of appointment completed in 1957.


STAFF Continued



Stanford, California

Desert Laboratory, opened in 1903, became headquarters of Department of Botanical Research in 1905; name changed to Laboratory for Plant Physiology in 1923; Daniel T. MacDougal, Director 1906-1927. Reorganized in 1928 as Division of Plant Biology, including Ecology; Herman A. Spoehr, Chairman 1927- 1930 and 1931-1947, Chairman Emeritus 1947-1950. Name changed to Department of Plant Biology in 1951.

William M. Hiesey Donald W. Kupke * Harold W. Milner Malcolm A. Nobs James H. C. Smith

C. Stacy French, Director

Visiting Investigators Per Halldal Wolf Vishniac

Investigator Engaged in Post-Retirement Studies Jens C. Clausen

Research Fellows F. J. F. Fisher Paul H. Latimer Kazuo Shibata


Wolfe and Madison Streets, Baltimore 5, Maryland

Organized in 1914; Franklin P. Mall, Director 1914-1917; George L. Streeter, Director 1918-1940; George W. Corner, Director 1941-1955.

David W. Bishop Bent G. Boving Robert K. Burns Robert L. DeHaan Elizabeth M. Ramsey Royal F. Ruth

James D. Ebert, Director

Consultant George W. Bartelmez

Special Investigators Vincent J. De Feo Seymour Katsh Malcolm S. Steinberg

Research Associates Arthur T. Hertig Chester H. Heuser Samuel R. M. Reynolds


Cold Spring Harbor, Long Island, New Yor\

Station for Experimental Evolution opened in 1904; name changed to Department of Experimental Evo- lution in 1906; combined with Eugenics Record Office in 1921 to form Department of Genetics. Charles B. Davenport, Director 1904-1934; Albert F. Blakeslee, Director 1935-1941.

Alfred D. Hershey Berwind P. Kaufmann Barbara McClintock Margaret R. McDonald George Streisinger

Milislav Demerec, Director

Special Investigators Elizabeth Burgi Helen Gay Sheila Howarth X Etta Kafer § Andrej W. Kozinski

Ernest L. Lahr Joseph D. Mandell Atif Sengiin % Jun-ichi Tomizawa Sibergina Wagenaar t

* Resigned September 21, 1956.

t Term of appointment completed during the report year.

§ Resigned during the report year.


STAFF Continued



10 Frisbie Place, Cambridge 38, Massachusetts

Department of Historical Research organized in 1903; Andrew C. McLaughlin, Director 1903-1905; J. Franklin Jameson, Director 1905-1928. In 1930 this Department was incorporated as a section of United States history in a new Division of Historical Research; Alfred V. Kidder, Chairman 1930-1950. Name changed to Department of Archaeology in 1951.

Tatiana ProskouriakofF Karl Ruppert * Anna O. Shepard

Harry E. D. Pollock, Director

Edwin M. Shook t A. Ledyard Smith Robert E. Smith

Gustav Stromsvik § }. Eric S. Thompson


of Carnegie Institution of Washington

William A. Arnold, Oak Ridge National Laboratory

Louis B. Flexner, University of Pennsylvania

Willard F. Libby, University of Chicago

Paul W. Merrill, Mount Wilson Observatory

John von Neumann, || Institute for Advanced Study

Hans Ramberg, University of Chicago

C. E. Tilley, Cambridge University

Evelyn M. Witkin, State University of New York

♦Retired in 1956.

X On leave of absence.

§ Retired in 1957.

|| Died February 8, 1957.

STAFF C ontinued


Caryl P. Haskins President

Paul A. Scherer

Executive Officer

Samuel Callaway

Assistant to the President

Ailene J. Bauer

Director of Publications

Dorothy R. Swift * Editor

Lucile B. Stryker

Associate Editor

Earle B. Biesecker

Bursar; Secretary-Treasurer, Retirement Trust

James W. Boise

Assistant Bursar; Assistant Treasurer, Retirement Trust

James F. Sullivan

Assistant to the Bursar

Richard F. F. Nichols

Executive Secretary to the Finance Committee

Retired June 30, 1957.







It does not matter what a man does; so long as he does it with the attention which affection engenders, he will come to see his way to something else. After long waiting he will certainly find one door open, and go through it. He will say to himself that he can never find another. He has found this, more by luck than cunning, but now he is done. Yet by and by he will see that there is one more small, unimportant door which he had overlooked, and he proceeds through this too. . . . Then after years but probably not till after a great many doors will open up all round, so many and so wide that the difficulty will not be to find a door, but rather to obtain the means of even hurriedly sur- veying a portion of those that stand invitingly open. Samuel Butler in Alps and Sanctuaries of Piedmont and the Canton Ticino

What is a Golden Age ? What echoes of the Age of Pericles, of Renaissance Italy and the Low Countries and Scandinavia, of Elizabethan England, mark each as a flood tide in the vast, slow surge of human intellectual development ? Will such flood tides come again ?

It is interesting to notice, as James Joll has recently done, some of the char- acteristics that these ages had in common. All of them were times of fervent intellectual excitement, when major new creations and new experiences and viewpoints were just coming to wide notice and were on the threshold of gen- eral acceptance. In all of them one can sense a vigorous address to new ideas when indeed opening vistas, half-seen, made of ideas precious coin. All of them were eras of some physical security and at least some political and or- ganizational stability. But in all of them, too, stability and security were far from complete, and there is the flavor of a partnership of disorder and hazard with vitality and creativeness. None of them, clearly, were especially "com- fortable" times in which to live, in the sense that static and secure environments may be comfortable. And yet, as Joll has significantly pointed out, men knew that they were living in great times. The adventurous in all these periods would probably have admitted perhaps bitterly resented the danger and the insecurity and the muddled opacity of their days. But if hard pressed probably no one of them would have admitted a wish to be born in any other era.

Will such times come again? It is hard to imagine that they will not. Indeed, though we hear our own age criticized as static and as anti-intellectual often enough, perhaps we ourselves are the restless, insecure, anxious, vital participants in an era of contemporary intellectual development that other men sometime, somewhere, may well look back upon as golden too.

If we are in fact witnessing the earlier phases of another era of turbulent change, when viewpoints shift rapidly and radically, serving as the anvils for new ideas, we must expect it to differ in many respects from similar periods in the past. One striking difference will be that we cannot hope to localize it geographically. The interlocked character of the present world, the growing



similarity of all its cultures, the universality of its communication, must make meaningless any such designation as an Athenian or an Elizabethan age. But possibly we can characterize it in terms of subject matter, of the loci of ideas with which it is especially concerned. Prominent among such domains, clearly, will be the natural sciences.

Such a situation is not new, of course, for ideas in these fields have figured in the conceptual revolutions of all the Golden Ages. Aristotle and Plato and Socrates all lived in or close to the times of Periclean Athens; Galileo and Copernicus, Da Vinci and Vesalius were of Renaissance Italy, Francis Bacon and William Harvey were of Elizabethan England. But, as any new Golden Age will be impossible to localize geographically, so will its contributions of scientific ideas be derived over a wide and sometimes rather inchoate intellec- tual front. We can already see vivid examples of this development. And if we compare the current product of the natural sciences over the world for any single year, not only in volume and diversity of source but in scope of conse- quences, with the whole product of a Periclean Age, we are all but forced to conclude that, half-unknowing, half-unrealizing, we are living in proximity to one of the most astounding Golden Ages of all time.

Surely our age shares many characteristics with the earlier golden times. There is the relative physical safety and comparative political stability over much of the face of the globe. There is the wide feeling of insecurity, the deep-lying anxiety, the sense of confusion, not unlike the earlier times in its general character even though, to us at least, its causes seem far more complex, more massive, more intractable. But there is likewise the same intense concern with new ideas and new concepts, the same eagerness for widened vistas of understanding. And there is another and an important characteristic of such times in which our age also seems typical.

The classical Golden Ages were intensely concerned with the problem of communicating the new ideas that were being born in such profusion. In all of them there was a preoccupation with the problems of education. All of them were times for the establishment of special schools of thought and of great centers of learning, from the Peripatetics to the College of Merton to Padua to Paris. In this characteristic, too, our age resembles the earlier ones, even if groping, as yet, toward developments of educational concepts com- parable to theirs.

In the field of communication in its most general sense, however, our age confronts a challenge of almost new dimensions, perhaps nowhere more poignant than in the natural sciences.

Diversity of approach is the very lifeblood of the scientific effort. Science enlists men of the most unlike temperaments and talents. It unites workers whose gifts are primarily descriptive with workers whose understanding and


approaches comprehend symbolism and techniques of the most abstruse and involved character. Bonded in a common effort are men whose talents are primarily synthetic with men so keenly and entirely analytical that synthesis may have little meaning for them. United are investigators of deeply theoretical bent with investigators of primarily mechanical skills. And since in every in- vestigation the observer and his "real" world are in some sense in equilibrium, scientists with divergent gifts and interests, even when concerned with the same problem, necessarily labor in partly different universes.

It is not only the observers that differ widely in their characteristics, under the common rubric of scientists. The subject matter diverges even more. Scien- tific disciplines vary enormously among themselves in their degree of sophisti- cation and in their intricacy. The attitudes, the modes, the ways of "picking up the stick," to use Butterfield's expressive phrase, even the underlying atti- tudes and aspirations of the work, may be almost unrecognizably different in a mature, well cultivated, highly differentiated discipline on the one hand and in an exploratory one, still in its primarily descriptive phase, on the other. And though the newer disciplines must always be in some measure rooted in the old, and though it is probable that the tested approaches of older fields always have some relevance for the newer ones, the transfer is far from literal. To accomplish it successfully requires talent and sophistication in the investigator, and, above all, that wisdom and sense of proportion that can come only from broad experience and a flexible viewpoint.

These profound diversities among investigators and within the structure of science are characteristic and immeasurably precious. But they also harbor all the dangers of fragmentation and pose the most serious challenges to com- munication within the very core of the scientific effort. The compartmenting of subject matter is a constant threat to the unity of science, and many factors promote it. Mere growth of vocabulary and specialization of terminology in a given field to the point where its jargon becomes unintelligible not only to the layman but even to an investigator working in a nearly adjacent area raise practical barriers to understanding, barriers that may be formidable.

But there is a more serious aspect to such failures of communication. Words are basically the coin of ideas, and to some degree their generators never entirely their consequences. So it is not uncommon to find that not only the words but also some basic concepts governing workers in one field may be unintelligible to those in another. A particularly vivid historical example of this situation is presented in the notion, once quite widely held, that the thermo- dynamic laws underlying life processes must differ in some essential way from those in force in the nonliving world an idea whose untenability has only been generally recognized in rather recent years.

Differences of language and concept tend to be powerfully reinforced by many of the social factors governing scientific work. The desire of a scientist


to live and talk with those who will understand what he means, the pragmatic influences that inevitably make him seek professional identification with others in his immediate field, have their great strengths, both for the investigator and for his work. For the investigator, such association means immediate identifica- tion of interest and the satisfaction that only group activity can bring. For the research, it means the exposure of every man's work to intimate and continuing criticism by his peers in the same general subject area the only critical estimate that can be truly meaningful or can really maintain the standards of the field. Yet there is a profound debit in this process too. At its worst it can harden an incipient conventionalism, and can raise the most serious barriers to com- munication within the body of science, powerfully reinforcing that separation of fields which, unchecked, leads to unbridled specialism with all its attendant ills.

These challenges to communication within the framework of science are severe enough. But today a further, and to some extent an intractable, threat of fragmentation is posed by the very magnitude of the scientific effort itself and by the tremendous volume of scientific publication that necessarily goes with it. This is a threat which has been increasing with immense rapidity over the half -century span of the Carnegie Institution. It is the worse because it is not only the sheer volume of paper, of titles, of content that must be dealt with. Some progress has been possible here through modern aids to storing and sorting information, and intensive research could doubtless carry their effec- tiveness much further.

But the hard core of the problem remains. It is the basic challenge to com- munication that lies in all the diversity of the natural sciences. It is the effective "addition" and the fruitful synthesis of ideas even in one field of work, and much more generally the transfer of idea-systems from one field into another, that, successfully met, may lead to major innovations of viewpoint.

Communication of this sort the counterweight to the forces of fragmenta- tion in science can be greatly aided by environments of a very particular kind. There have been notable examples of them in every scientific age in the great universities, and, more recently, in the great research institutes. They have comprised communities of investigators, working together in a common mode but in divergent fields, in continuous converse, in sympathy and in rivalry, without predetermined goal, without overcommitment as a body to any given sector of nature or to any one approach to the natural world. From such en- vironments has come a goodly proportion of the real conceptual advances of science.

As the forces of fragmentation and diversity in science are clearly more powerful, the barriers to interchange evidently higher and more formidable, in our own day than in any other age, this kind of communication within sci- ence is more important now than it has ever been. It may, indeed, be one of


the most important aspects of the whole scientific effort if conceptual advance is to continue and to accelerate.

The creation of such an environment is a task to which the Carnegie Institu- tion of Washington is dedicated, and for which it is unusually well equipped. The scientific community that is the Institution includes among its members almost the full range of gifts and attitudes that has been described. The scien- tific fields to which it addresses itself in the various Departments range from the primarily descriptive to the primarily analytical, from the pioneer to the more sophisticated. Yet by virtue of the mobility of its organization and its community of spirit, neither workers nor fields are isolated. Rather the reverse is true, so that fields of the most divergent character are sometimes included within the working frame of a single Department and even within the purview of a single investigator. These circumstances, and the fact that the whole of the Institution's work is pointed toward the end of uncommitted research, fit it peculiarly to assist in the major task of scientific synthesis.

The Institution has accomplished much in this direction, and its task in the future will be yet greater. Notably in the fields of astronomy and physics, and of physics, chemistry, geology, and biology, syntheses of concept and subject matter which have been and are being achieved contribute significantly not only to the breakdown of barriers between those fields but to the creation of new fields fields that then lie open to be tilled.

Substantive work of this kind must always remain the most enduring basis for leadership by the Institution in this task. But there are other avenues too. Symposia, carefully considered, painstakingly organized, and sensitively timed, can be exceedingly fruitful in scientific synthesis and in the generation of new concepts, especially if they conjoin fields that are subtly related and bring together scientists from America and abroad who would normally foregather seldom if at all. A number of such symposia have been organized by various members of the Institution staff, and additional ones are contemplated.

The geographic dispersion of the several Departments of the Institution and the location of many of them near universities bring further opportunities to assume the role of a "crossroads" in the scientific effort, through the many kinds of informal working arrangements that are possible between the staff of the Institution and of these and other educational establishments. These potentialities have been considerably explored. They must be developed yet further.

Finally, the various fellowship programs, augmented now by the first of the Vannevar Bush Fellowships from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, offer splendid opportunities to bring investigators to the Institution for varying periods of training, of collaborative work, or of independent creative activity. The newest, and one of the most exciting, of these programs has been designed to further the work of mature and senior investigators of distinction in the


various fields of Institution interest, both at home and abroad. Its initiation last year was made possible by a generous gift from the Carnegie Corporation of New York. Guests are currently expected from Holland, Denmark, and Great Britain, as well as from the United States, to be with the Institution for varying periods.

Such are some of the challenges to communication presented by the formi- dable diversities characteristic of the scientific effort. But there is a yet more important message which must be kept vivid if the promise in our scientific age is to be wholly realized. It is that of the deeper unities that underlie all the diversities of the scientific mode the unities of value, of standard, of goal, of motivation.

To assume that human communication must always be in words, or even that it must always take place at the level of consciousness, is an undue restric- tion of viewpoint. Indeed, there is much to suggest that the kinds of communi- cation which have had the most profound significance in human affairs have often been neither wholly conscious nor entirely verbal. They have come in- stead through the most powerful of all media the sharing of a common experience or a common view, simply and grandly symbolized. The sun and the moon and the stellar firmament, that all men could see and equally know, must have provided such symbols to innumerable human groups far more remote in time than the great societies of Peru or Minoa or the Nile. J. Z. Young has drawn attention to the enormous power of the mountain or the hilltop, first natural, then man-made as the tumulus or mound or pyramid or temple, as a towering symbol of communication in ancient societies, and it is hard to conceive the whole structure and orientation of Renaissance Europe apart from the glory of its cathedrals, or to reconstruct that society in imagina- tion without them.

If communication of the most profound sort can thus be nonverbal, it can also, of course, be largely divorced from material stimuli, a situation well illus- trated by many highly evolved systems of religious belief. Few bonds of com- munication can have been stronger, for instance, or can have had a more important influence on the cohesiveness and the world view of a whole people, for good and for ill, than that Augustinian concept of knowledge and research that so dominated early Puritan America. As Perry Miller has described, its essence was that men must believe in order to know; that the conclusions of all possible investigations about the world are already given in advance of the search ; that the most that right reasoning can possibly do is to arrive at them again by a parallel course and illuminate them in detail ; that since reason is in any case fallible and likely to fall short of even this secondary goal, it may be wisest to forego reasoning altogether. No one can deny the power of such a concept as an instrument of communication, as an integrating and stabilizing


force or, in some measure, as a powerful brake to action and to originality in the society of its day.

But its very opposite, the approach to nature typified by the sweep of the scientific revolution of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries the deep-lying belief that all knowledge about the world is not given in advance of the in- vestigation, that there still are new and profoundly beautiful and exciting regions of nature and of the relation between nature and the observer that are accessible to reason and experiment and have not yet been laid bare, that the effort to explore them may offer spiritual and emotional rewards comparable to the most exalting of experiences in other fields this approach has long since proved itself a mode of communication at least equal in its sweep, more flexible and perhaps more viable, and, above all, conducive to positive action, to the growth of ideas, and to human joy. And so the whole orientation of scientific research can be considered in one sense a powerful symbol, as shining and as dominating in its way as the simpler symbols of the sun or moon, and in this context as much nonverbal, as much the sensed epitome of a shared, and ac- cepted, and dedicated way of life.

The symbol itself is now some three centuries old. It has not dimmed in those three hundred years, but it has changed extraordinarily in form. From its very beginning, moreover, it has been in one sense a dual symbol, and this duality has become emphasized in recent years, especially in our own country. Neither profound philosophy nor practical experiment was new to the seven- teenth century, nor, for that matter, to the Greeks. What gave the scientific revolution its novel character and power what in fact represented the very genesis of science was that for the first time these two strands were effectively entwined. Science was philosophy joined to practical experiment. And in the early conjunction there was an implicit realization that the concept must come first, that experiment must serve as the trap for lines of evidence already vaguely conjectured, that, in the suggestive simile of H. S. Harrison, experiment is experience sharpened to a point less divining rod than digging stick.

Had scientific research not been so eminently successful in a practical sense, or were our pragmatic genius as a people less, it might not be so important to make sure, in our day, not only that the symbol of the scientific way stays bright, but that the strands do not become unwound. In the event, it remains essential to recall the distinction and the interdependence between the strands science as a way of getting things done, and science as a way of life and a view- point of the world. The first component needs little further emphasis than its own extraordinary achievements already bring. But the second, and inherently the more basic, element does require constant reaffirmation among us that it may retain all the vitality and the allegiance and the comprehension that are essential to its vigor. The task of such reaffirmation is especially important not only because this is the more subtle as well as the more fundamental side of


science, and therefore less casually appreciated, but also because it is in constant danger of being overwhelmed by its lusty partner and so lost to view.

This is the task to which, above all, the Carnegie Institution is dedicated. It is the most essential duty of the Institution to communicate, in virtue of its own mode and its own being, the essential verities of the scientific way that are too easily forgotten. On one side lie the joy and the underlying human values of the road of the investigator, the compelling life challenge that is offered to the seeker after ideas about the natural world, whoever and wherever he may be. On the other lie the great unities of approach and of preparation that bind those dedicated to the scientific path: the requirements of verifi- ability; the discipline of parsimony; the emphasis on individual effort with its exacting demands of preparation and dedication, of originality and imagina- tion, of the maintenance of style. These are not new parameters for the best in living. They are as old as civilized humanity. But the scientific mode offers one of the means by which those priceless elements, so often confused or threatened with destruction in a crowded world, can be assured their proper and their permanent place. No era which lacks them or to which they have been lost can be great, whatever may be its other assets. Our time has no more precious heritage than these qualities and few tasks more essential than to defend and reaffirm them.



As always, selection of the year's researches for inclusion in this review must be in large measure arbitrary. It cannot imply that those described here are necessarily more or less important, more or less striking, more or less signifi- cant in the last analysis, than other programs going forward beside them which might have been included. They are simply to be considered as representative examples of the work carried on during the year in the various programs of the Institution. The reader who is interested in these programs in greater detail is referred to the fuller individual reviews of the various Departments that follow.

The Mount Wilson Observatory has pioneered for many years in the study of stellar magnetic fields. The first definite indication of them was obtained in the sun by Hale in 1908, using the then newly completed spectrograph of the 60-foot solar tower on the mountain. Hale's finding that many of the lines of the spectra of sunspots were split into components which had the charac- teristic polarization of a Zeeman pattern provided firm evidence of the existence of such fields. But subsequent search for a general magnetic field of the sun gave such erratic results that Hale himself was never satisfied with the con- clusiveness of the work that followed.

Almost forty years later the problem was attacked at the Observatory in a somewhat different way. The considerable velocity of axial rotation attributed to nearly all the A-type stars suggested to Horace W. Babcock that these stars might show relatively large magnetic fields. Early in 1946 he made spectro- graphs observations of one such star, 78 Virginis, and discovered a general magnetic field of between one and two thousand gauss. Since that finding, some hundreds of stars have been under observation with the coude spectro- graph of both the 100-inch and the 200-inch telescopes on Mount Wilson and Palomar. Thousands of measurements of stellar magnetic fields have been made, and these have been collected for publication during the present year. Eighty-four of the listed stars show definite evidences of magnetic fields, 55 are probably magnetic, and a further 55 show no indications of a coherent magnetic field.

In 1952, encouraged by these results, Harold D. Babcock and Horace W. Babcock returned to the older problem of the magnetism of the sun. With a solar magnetograph constructed to take advantage of improved gratings and recent advances in photoelectric techniques installed at the Hale Laboratory in Pasadena, evidence has been obtained of magnetic fields of the order of one gauss over large areas of the sun's surface. Since this finding, a second improved magnetograph has been completed for the 150-foot solar tower on Mount Wilson, and, starting with the end of this report year, a daily record of the distribution of the magnetic field of the sun's surface is being made. The


results should be of great interest, especially in view of the fact that evidence from many sources increasingly suggests that magnetic fields are of wide occurrence and probably play a much larger role in astronomical phenomena than has hitherto been supposed.

Problems of stellar evolution continue to occupy a central position in the research of the Observatories. One of the important and intriguing aspects of this field is the question of the evolution of the chemical elements in stellar systems. G. R. Burbidge and F. Hoyle, with Dr. W. A. Fowler and Dr. E. M. Burbidge, of the Kellogg Radiation Laboratory of the California Institute of Technology, have continued their work on the synthesis of elements in the stars. Eight nuclear processes are found to be necessary to account for the known abundances of the 327 isotopes recorded in the solar system. The great- est portion of the energy production of stars is due to the "burning" of hydrogen (in a nuclear sense), producing helium. When the reaction occurs in a mixture of hydrogen with other elements, it can result in the building of isotopes of carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, fluorine, neon, and sodium. In the second process, the nuclear burning of helium fuel produces C12, and, by further a-particle addition, O16, Ne20, and perhaps Mg24. In the third pattern, the a process, through charged-particle interactions, builds the remaining four-structure nuclei Mg24, Si28, S32, A36, Ca40, and probably Ca44 and Ti48. The fourth pattern, the e process, builds the elements from vanadium through nickel, comprising the iron peak on the abundance curve. It takes place at very high temperatures and densities. The a process and the e process are both thought to take place shortly before the explosion of a star as a supernova. The fifth process (the s process) is a slow neutron-capture chain, thought to occur in the interiors of red giant stars. The r process, a rapid neutron-capture chain, is believed to take place in supernovae, and to build uranium and thorium, together with a num- ber of lighter isotopes. The seventh route of synthesis, the p process, is a proton- capture or photoneutron process which is also thought to occur in some super- novae. The eighth path of synthesis, the x process, is not as yet fully elaborated. It may be responsible for building deuterium, lithium, beryllium, and boron, elements that are unstable in hydrogen burning in stellar interiors. Work on the nature of the x process is continuing.

One of the most striking features of far outer space is the great clouds of gas that occupy it. The sources of these clouds may be various. Some of them are thought to represent the remains of great cosmic explosions, such as those of supernovae. Two programs have substantially increased our knowledge of these gaseous nebulae during the past year. In one of them Osterbrock has taken advantage of the fact that the relative intensity of two forbidden lines of O II near X3727 varies markedly with density in the range of densities found in these objects. Observations of these lines have made possible direct deter-


minations of the densities (and of the masses) of the Crab Nebula, the nebula in Orion, and several planetary nebulae.

In the second program Munch and Wilson, using a multislit technique, have obtained high-dispersion spectrograms from which the detailed distribution of velocities through a large object such as the Orion nebula can be measured. Large and abrupt changes in velocity have been observed, suggesting shock- wave phenomena rather than a simple turbulence.

In the last report it was mentioned that the year had been an active one in the comparatively new field of the study of celestial objects as radio sources. These investigations have been continued in several directions