The constitution of the
astronomer shows curious and interesting features. If he is
destined to advance the science by works of real genius, he must,
like the poet, be born, not made. The born astronomer, when placed
in command of a telescope, goes about using it as naturally and
effectively as the babe avails itself of its mother's breast. He
sees intuitively what less gifted men have to learn by long study
and tedious experiment. He is moved to celestial knowledge by a
passion which dominates his nature. He can no more avoid doing
astronomical work, whether in the line of observations or
research, than a poet can chain his Pegasus to earth. I do not
mean by this that education and training will be of no use to him.
They will certainly accelerate his early progress. If he is to
become great on the mathematical side, not only must his genius
have a bend in that direction, but he must have the means of
pursuing his studies. And yet I have seen so many failures of men
who had the best instruction, and so many successes of men who
scarcely learned anything of their teachers, that I sometimes ask
whether the great American celestial mechanician of the twentieth
century will be a graduate of a university or of the backwoods.
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