Michael Faraday’s Method of Working.
With no mathematics beyond simple arithmetic, Michael Faraday displayed powers of experiment and generalization so extraordinary that in these respects he stands at the same height as Newton himself. In the life of Michael Faraday, by Dr. J. H. Gladstone, we are given his account of the great physicist’s method of working:—
“The habit of Faraday was to think out carefully beforehand the subject on which he was working, and to plan his mode of attack. Then, if he saw that some new piece of apparatus was needed, he would describe it fully to the instrument maker with a drawing, and it rarely happened that there was any need of alteration in executing the order. If, however, the means of experiment existed already, he would give Anderson, his assistant, a written list of the things he would require, at least a day before—for Anderson was not to be hurried. When all was ready, he would descend into the laboratory, give a quick glance round to see that all was right, take an apron from the drawer, and rub his hands together as he looked at the preparations made for his work. There must be no tool on the table but such as he required. As he began his face would be exceedingly grave, and during the progress of an experiment all must be exceedingly quiet; but if it was proceeding according to his wish, he would commence to hum a tune, and sometimes to rock himself sideways, balancing alternately on either foot. Then, too, he would often talk to his assistant about the result he was expecting. He would put away each tool in its own place as soon as done with, or at any rate as soon as the day’s work was over, and he would not unnecessarily take a thing away from its place. No bottle was allowed to remain without its proper stopper; no open glass might stand for a night without a paper cover; no rubbish was to be left on the floor; bad smells were to be avoided if possible; and machinery in motion was not to be permitted to grate. In working, also, he was very careful not to employ more force than was wanted to produce the effect. When his experiments were finished and put away, he would leave the laboratory, and think further about them upstairs.
“It was through this lifelong series of experiments that Faraday won his knowledge and mastered the forces of nature. The rare ingenuity of his mind was ably seconded by his manipulative skill, while the quickness of his perceptions was equalled by the calm rapidity of his movements. He had indeed a passion for experimenting. This peeps out in the preface to the second edition of his ‘Chemical Manipulation,’ where he writes, ‘Being intended especially as a book of instruction, no attempts were made to render it pleasing, otherwise than by rendering it effectual; for I concluded that, if the work taught clearly what it was intended to inculcate, the high interest always belonging to a well-made or successful experiment would be sufficient to give it all the requisite charms, and more than enough to make it valuable in the eyes of those for whom it was designed.’
“He could scarcely pass a gold leaf electrometer without causing the leaves to diverge by a sudden flick from his silk handkerchief. I recollect, too, his meeting me at the entrance to the lecture theatre at Jermyn Street, when Lyon Playfair was giving the first, or one of the first lectures ever delivered in the building. ‘Let us go up here,’ said he, leading me far away from the central table. I asked him why he chose such an out-of-the-way place. ‘Oh,’ he replied, ‘we shall be able here to find out what are the acoustic qualities of the room.’
“The simplicity of the means with which he made his experiments was often astonishing, and was indeed one of the manifestations of his genius. A good instance is thus narrated by Sir Frederick Arrow:—‘When the electric light was first permanently exhibited at Dungeness, on 6th June, 1862, a committee of the Elder Brethren, of which I was one, accompanied Faraday to observe it. Before we left Dover, Faraday showed me a little common paper box and said, “I must take care of this; it’s my special photometer,”—and then, opening it, produced a lady’s ordinary black shawl pin (jet, or imitation, perhaps)—and then holding it a little way off the candle, showed me the image very distinct; and then, putting it a little further off, placed another candle near it, and the relative distance was shown by the size of the image.’
“In lecturing to the young he delighted to show how easily apparatus might be extemporized. Thus, in order to construct an electrical machine, he once inverted a four-legged stool to serve for the stand, and took a white glass bottle for the cylinder. A cork was fastened into the mouth of this bottle, and a bung was fastened with sealing wax to the other end: into the cork was inserted a handle for rotating the bottle, and in the centre of the bung was a wooden pivot on which it turned: while with some stout wire he made crutches on two of the legs of the stool for the axles of this glass cylinder to work upon. The silk rubber he held in his hand. A japanned tea cannister resting on a glass tumbler formed the conductor, and the collector was the head of a toasting fork. With this apparently rough apparatus he exhibited all the rudimentary experiments in electricity to a large audience.”