"I meant it generally, but if you ask in whom I am most interested at present, I must answer: Dostojewski!" He repeated the name several times with increasing emphasis. And, as if to deal a mortal blow at every conceivable objection, he added: "Dostojewski gives me more than any scientist, more than Gauss!" "If, Professor," said I, after a pause that may easily be accounted for--"if you mention in the same breath the names of two such powerful but essentially different intellects, you open the way to a discussion that cannot be settled by a mere positive assertion. It is possible to admire intensely Dostojewski as one who moulds personalities and who analyses the inner struggles of the soul, and yet to deny him perpetual fame. This depends on individual judgment, and, as for my own, I believe that Dostojewski, in spite of his direct artistic appeal, will not have his name perpetuated through the centuries like that of many another member of Parnassus. It seems to me to be a more important matter whether a common measure can be found for Art and Discovery at all. Perhaps the test of how far a work can be replaced may be regarded as valid for each. When you say that Dostojewski gives you more than Gauss, this probably corresponds with the feeling that without Dostojewski you would have no 'Karamasoffs' and hence would lack a certain life-value that cannot be replaced. But if Gauss had failed to produce one of his fundamental theorems of Algebra, probably some other Gauss would have appeared, who would have achieved this result. According to this, then, our instinct increases the value of a work of art, as we feel that we are dependent on one being alone for its creation." "But this is only to be admitted conditionally," said Einstein, "for the best that Gauss has given us was likewise an exclusive production. If he had not created his geometry of surfaces, which served Riemann as a basis, it is scarcely conceivable that anyone else would have discovered it. I do not hesitate to confess that to a certain extent a similar pleasure may be found by absorbing ourselves in questions of pure geometry." "Perhaps we may use a different characteristic as a means of comparison," I suggested, "namely, the permanency of the impression produced on the subject receiving it. For example, a fine piece of music never loses its influence. We can listen to the first movement of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony a hundred times, and, although we know at every beat what will follow, the state of pleasure continues unweakened; indeed, it might rather be said that the expectation of pleasure increases from one hearing to the next."