Invention: The Master-key to Progress

by Bradley A. Fiske

"The poet's eye in a fine frenzy rolling,
Glances from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven;
And as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen
Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name."

These lines suggest that the first step in invention is made almost without effort; that a picture, confused and dim but actual, is made by the imagination on the mental retina; and that, after that, the constructive faculties arrange the elements of the picture in such wise as to produce a clear and definite entity.

Regarded in this way, the inventor of mechanical appliances suddenly sees a confused and dim picture of an instrument or a mechanism (or a part of it) that he has never seen with his bodily eyes; the musical composer hears imperfectly and vaguely a new musical composition; the sculptor sees a statue, the painter sees a new combination of objects and colors producing a new effect, and the poet feels the stirring in him of vague, but beautiful, or powerful or inspiring thoughts. If now the picture is allowed to fade, or if the constructive faculty is not able to make it into an actuality, or if the picture has not in itself the elements which the state of civilization then prevailing make it possible to embody in an entity, no invention of a mechanical appliance is made, no plan of campaign, no musical composition, no statue, no painting, no poem is produced.

If, however, the constructive effort develops successfully the conception that the imagination made, and if the circumstances of time and place are all propitious, then the art of making fire at will is born, or Bonaparte's suggestion at Toulon is made, or the strains of Beethoven's music inspire the world, or the statue of Moses is carved, or the Immaculate Conception is pointed, or Hamlet is written, or the electric telegraph binds the peoples of the earth together.

The inventor in mechanics, the sculptor, the painter, the novelist and the poet embody their creations in material forms that are enduring and definite, and constitute evidences of their work, which sometimes endure throughout long periods. The architect and the constructing engineer are able similarly to produce lasting and useful monuments to their skill; but it can hardly be declared that their work is characterized by quite so much of originality and invention, because of the restrictions by which the practice of their arts is bound. It is, in fact, hard to conceive of a bridge very different in principle or design from bridges that had been built before; and while it is not difficult to conceive of an engine different in principle and design from previous ones, yet we realize that the points of novelty in such an engine would be attributable more to invention than to engineering. This is because the arts of engineering and architecture rest on principles that have long since been proved to be correct, and on practices that are the results of long experience; whereas one of the main characteristics of invention is novelty.

It is true that many of the most important inventions have been made by engineers; but this has been because some engineers, like Ericsson, have been inventors also. But it is also true that only a small proportion of the engineers have made original inventions; and it is equally true that many inventions have failed—or have been slow in achieving success—because of lack of engineering skill in construction or design. These facts show that the work of the inventor is very different from that of the engineer, and that the inventor and the engineer are very different people, though an engineer and an inventor sometimes live together inside of the same skin. In fact, it is by a combination of inventive genius and engineering talent in one man that the greatest results in invention have been achieved; though great results have often followed the intimate cooperation of an inventor and an engineer, the two being separate men.

It is in the latter way that important advances have usually been made; and it is somewhat analogous to the way in which authors and publishers, actors and managers, promoters and capitalists cooperate.

But while the individuals whose inventions have taken the form of new creations, such as novel machines and books and paintings, have received the clearest recognition as men of genius, may not the inventive faculty be needed in other fields and be required in other kinds of work? If an instrument is produced by the joint exercise of imagination and constructive talent, is not every puzzle worked out, and every problem solved, and every constructive work accomplished by the similar exercise of those same faculties?

It may seem obvious that this question should be answered in the negative, and so it unquestionably should be. But there always has been much cloudiness as to what constitutes invention in our own minds; and it must be admitted that the dividing line is not immediately obvious between invention and the art of meeting difficulties with resourcefulness, or between invention and the act of solving any of the perplexing riddles of our daily lives.

It may be declared with confidence, however, that the difference between invention and any one of these other acts is that, while invention ends in performing such acts, it begins with an exercise of the imagination. A man who designs an engine to fulfil a stated purpose, who solves any problem whatever that is presented to him from outside, simply accomplishes a task that is given to him to accomplish; whereas, while the inventor accomplishes a similar task, he does it as a second step in a task that was not given him to accomplish, but that he himself had pictured to himself. The act of inventing consists of three separate acts—the act of conceiving, the act of developing, and the act of producing. Of these three acts, that of conceiving is obviously not only the first, but also the most important, distinctive and unusual.