The Competitiveness of Nations in a Global Knowledge-Based Economy
Michael Polanyi
The Stability of
Beliefs
British Journal for the Philosophy of Science, 3
(11
Nov. 1952, 217-232
Content |
§1
Two ways of holding beliefs
§5 Systems of not explicitly asserted
beliefs
§11 Assimilation and adaptation
HHC: titling
and index added |
§1 Two ways
of holding beliefs
There
are two ways of holding beliefs. Some
are held by the explicit profession of certain articles of faith, as the
Apostles’ Creed when recited in the words of the Book of Common Prayer. The other form of belief is held
implicitly by reliance on a particular conceptual framework by which all
experience is interpreted.
The
process of philosophic and scientific enlightenment has shaken the stability of
beliefs held explicitly as articles of faith. To assert any belief uncritically has come to
be regarded as an offence against reason. We feel in it the danger of obscurantism and
the menace of an arbitrary restriction of free thought. Against these evils of dogmatism we protect
ourselves by upholding the principle of doubt which rejects any open
affirmation of faith. For the past three
centuries the principle of doubt has been continuously at work on the
elimination of all uncritical affirmations of faith.
Unfortunately,
the protracted application of this cure has had results rather similar to those
experienced recently in the therapeutic use of penicillin. The first dramatic successes could not be
repeated in subsequent cases, for the diseases to which penicillin was applied
have shown a tendency to transform themselves into forms that are resistant to
the drug. Indeed, the net result of a continued
process of antibiotic and chemical therapy may be merely to breed out a new
race of germs completely resistant to all drugs known to man. Similarly, the continued application of doubt
seems to have converted all forms of faith into implicit beliefs, ensconced in
our conceptual framework, where they elude the edge of our scepticism.
1. Paper read to the
Philosophy of Science Group on 6 March 1952.
217
Examples
of these modern highly doubt-proof beliefs are Marxism and the Freudian
doctrine, both of which are especially protected against doubt by the fact that
they themselves claim to be embodiments of scepticism.
I shall quote two passages to illustrate
the adhesive power of these modern interpretative frameworks by which they
retain the allegiance of their followers.
My party education had equipped my mind with such
elaborate shock-absorbing buffers and elastic defences
that everything seen and heard became automatically transformed to fit a
preconceived pattern. [1]
The system of theories which Freud has gradually
developed is so consistent that when one is once entrenched in them it is
difficult to make observations unbiased by his way of thinking. [2]
The
first of these statements is by a former Marxian, the second by a former
Freudian writer. At the time when they
still accepted as valid the conceptual framework of Marx or of Freud - as the
case may be - these writers would have regarded the interpretative powers of
this framework as evidence of its truth; only when losing faith in it did they
feel that its powers were excessive and specious. We shall see the same difference reappear in
our appraisals of the interpretative power of different conceptual systems, as
part of our acceptance or rejection of these systems.
In
this paper I shall try to illustrate the elementary principles by which a
conceptual framework retains its hold on the mind of a person believing in it. I shall mention magical beliefs and Soviet
doctrines, both of which I reject, and align them with scientific beliefs which
I accept. I thus examine the same or
similar mental operations in the one case from the outside critically, and in
the other from the inside, uncritically.
This
is a conscious affront on my part to the critical tradition of modern thought
and is bound to shock some readers. It
may be proper therefore to define briefly the general grounds on which I stand
and mention previous writings in which they are explained.
I
hold that the propositions embodied in natural science are not derived by any
definite rule from the data of experience, and that they can neither be
verified nor falsified by experience according to any definite rule. Discovery, verification and falsification proceed
according to certain maxims which cannot be precisely formulated and still
1. A. Koestler, The God that
Failed, London, 1950, p. 68
2. Karin Homey, New
Ways in Psychoanalysis, London, 1939, p. 7
less
proved or disproved, and the application of which relies in every case on a
personal judgment exercised (or accredited) by ourselves. These maxims and the art of interpreting them
may be said to constitute the premises of science, but I prefer to call them
our scientific beliefs. These premises
or beliefs are embodied in a tradition, the tradition of science. The continued existence of science is an
expression of the fact that there exists a group of people (customarily
described as scientists) who are agreed in accepting one tradition, and that
they trust each other to be informed by this tradition. But for the continued coherence of scientific
opinion which governs scientific life, the meaning of such terms as a ‘scientific
statement’ or ‘a scientist’ would lose most of their present connotations and find
their meaning reduced to little or nothing. The whole idiom of science in which its interpretative
framework is expressed would lose its character of a living and authoritative
language. [1]
Holding,
as I do, this conception of science and accepting science as true, I must call
science a belief which I share. This accreditive expression can be expanded indefinitely by
giving my reasons for believing in science and elaborating the nature of this
belief; but it can never be exhaustively justified by statements of fact.
I
must pass over the epistemological problems which arise at this point, by
merely mentioning that, contrary to the traditional usage, I propose to
introduce the word ‘belief’ in place of the word ‘knowledge’, with the
intention of keeping always open in our minds a broad and patent access to the
personal origins of our convictions. By
this conceptual reform I hope eventually to eliminate the difficulties inherent
in the various theories of truth, whether they rest on correspondence,
coherence or utility. I trust this
general statement of my position may induce readers to bear with this discourse
a little longer, as I proceed with it now.
The
several ways in which different people comprehend the world are reflected in
the variety of languages in which they express themselves. Of course language manifests a belief only if
we use its words with the implied acceptance of their appositeness. People who do not believe in oracles, witchcraft
or magic may yet speak of oracles, witchcraft and magic, but they mean so-called
oracles, witchcraft and magic, putting these words mentally in inverted
1. Most of these
statements are to be found in my Science, Faith, and Society, 1946. For their elaboration, see Logic of
Liberty, 1951 and “Scientific Beliefs “, Ethics, 1951.
219
commas.
The use of a language expresses belief
in a conceptual framework only if its words are used confidently, without any
implied qualifications of unbelief, such as the quotation marks would stand
for. The language may then be said to
form an idiom of belief.
The
fact that primitive people hold distinctive systems of beliefs by practising peculiar modes of interpretation which are
inherent in their conceptual framework and are reflected in their language, was
first stated with emphasis by Levy-Brühl earlier in
this century. The more recent work of
Evans-Pritchard on the beliefs of Azandel has borne
out and has given further precision to this view. The author is struck by the intellectual force
shown by the primitive African in upholding his belief against evidence which
to the European seems flagrantly to refute them. An instance in point is the Zande belief in the powers of the poison-oracle. The oracle answers questions through the
effects on a fowl of a poisonous substance, called benge.
The oracle-poison is extracted from
a creeper gathered in a traditional manner, which is supposed to become
effective only after it has been addressed in the words of an appropriate
ritual. Azande
- we are told - have no formal and coercive doctrine to enforce belief in
witch-doctors and their practice of the poison-oracle, but their belief in
these is the more firmly held for being embedded in an idiom which interprets
all relevant facts in terms of witchcraft and oracular powers. Of this Evans-Pritchard gives various
examples.
Suppose
that the oracle in answer to a particular question says ‘Yes’, and immediately
afterwards says ‘No’ to the same question. In our eyes this would tend to discredit the
oracle altogether, but Zande culture provides a
number of ready explanations for such self-contradictions. Evans-Pritchard lists no less than eight
secondary elaborations of their beliefs by which Azande
will account for the oracle’s failure. They may assume that the wrong variety of
poison had been gathered or a breach of taboo committed, or that the owners of
the forest where the poisonous creeper grows had been angered and revenged
themselves by spoiling the poison; and so on.
Evans-Pritchard
describes further the manner in which Azande resist
any suggestion that benge may be a
natural poison. He often asked Azande what would happen if they were to administer oracle-poison
(benge) to a fowl without delivering an
address, or if they were to administer an extra portion of poison to a fowl
which has recovered
1. E.
E. Evans-Pritchard, Witchcraft, Oracles and Magic among the Azande, Oxford, 1937.
from
the usual doses. The Zande
- he says - does not know what would happen and is not interested in what would
happen; no one has been fool enough to waste good oracle-poison in making such
pointless experiments which only a European could imagine. Indeed, were a
European to make a test which in his view proved Zande
opinion wrong they would stand amazed at the credulity of the European. If the fowl died they would simply say that it
was not good benge, the very fact of
the fowl dying being proof of this.
This
blindness of Azande to the facts which to us seem
decisive is sustained by remarkable ingenuity. ‘They reason excellently’ (says
Evans-Pritchard) ‘in the idiom of their beliefs, but they cannot reason
outside, or against, their beliefs because they have no other idiom in which to
express their thoughts.’
§5 Systems
of not explicitly asserted beliefs
With
this illustration in mind, we may try to analyse more
generally the power of language to embody and firmly to uphold a system of not
explicitly asserted beliefs. A language
may be defined as a collection of recurrent utterances which carry every time
the same or a similar meaning. We may
estimate that of the 2000 to 3000 English words in common usage today, each
occurs on the average a hundred million times in the daily intercourse of
people throughout Britain and the United States. In a library of a million volumes using a
vocabulary of 30,000 words, the same words will recur on the average more than
a million times. A particular vocabulary
of nouns, verbs, adverbs and adjectives thus appears to constitute a definite
theory of all subjects that can be talked about. It postulates that these subjects are all
constituted of comparatively few recurrent features, to which the nouns, verbs,
adverbs and adjectives refer. The theory
is somewhat similar to that of chemical compounds. Chemistry alleges that millions of different
compounds are composed of a small number - less than a hundred - of always
identical chemical elements. Since each
element has a name and characteristic symbol attached to it, we can write down
the composition of any compound in terms of the elements which it contains. This corresponds to writing down a sentence in
terms of a certain language.
So
long as we use a certain language, all questions that we can ask will have to
be formulated in it and will thereby confirm the theory of the universe which
is implied in the vocabulary and structure of the language. It follows that we cannot state without self-contradiction
within a language any doubt in respect to the theory implied by the language. The only way to dissent from the theory of the
universe
221
implied
in a language is to abandon some of its vocabulary and to learn to speak a new
language instead. This does in fact
happen when primitive people who believe in witchcraft,
etc., are gradually converted to the European conception of universal
causation.
The
resistance of an idiom of belief against the impact of adverse evidence, which
would impel it to modify its conceptual framework in favour
of alternative conceptions, may be regarded under three headings, each of which
is illustrated by the manner Azande retain their
beliefs in the face of situations which in our view should invalidate them. Some analogous cases can be readily adduced
also from other systems of beliefs.
The
stability of Zande beliefs is due in the first place
to the fact that objections to them can be met one by one. This power of a system of implicit beliefs to
defeat valid objections one by one is due to the circularity of such systems. By this I mean that the convincing power
possessed by the interpretation of any particular new topic in terms of such a
conceptual framework is based on past applications of the same framework to a
great number of other topics not now under consideration; while if any of these
other topics were questioned now, their interpretation in its turn would
similarly rely for support on the interpretation of all the others. Evans-Pritchard observes this for Zande beliefs in mystical notions. ‘The contradiction between experience and one
mystical notion is explained by reference to other mystical notions.’
The
circularity of the theory of the universe embodied in any particular language
is manifested in an elementary fashion by the existence of a dictionary of the
language. If you doubt, for example,
that a particular English noun, verb, adjective or adverb has any meaning in
English, an English dictionary dispels this doubt by a definition using other
nouns, verbs, adjectives and adverbs, the meaningfulness of which is not
doubted for the moment.
So
long as each objection is defeated in its turn, its effect is to strengthen the
fundamental convictions against which it was raised. ‘Let the reader consider (writes Evans-Pritchard)
any argument that would utterly demolish all Zande
claims for the power of the oracle. If
it were translated in Zande modes of thought it would
serve to support their entire structure of belief.’ Thus the circularity of a conceptual system
tends to reinforce itself by every contact with a fresh topic.
Circularity
operates by divided roles when a number of persons holding the same set of
pre-suppositions mutually confirm each other’s
false
interpretation of experience. Take the
following story of a South African explorer, L. Magyar, collected by Lévy-Brühl who regards it as typical. [1] Two African natives, S.
and K., go to the wood to gather honey. S. found four big trees full of honey, whilst
K. could find only one. K. went home
bewailing his ill luck, while S. had been so fortunate. Meanwhile S. had returned to the wood to bring
away the honey, was attacked by a lion and torn to pieces.
The
relatives of the lion’s victim at once went to the soothsayer to discover who
was responsible for his death. The
soothsayer consults the oracle several times and declares that K., jealous of S.’s rich harvest of honey, assumed the form of a lion in
order to avenge himself. The accused
denied his guilt strenuously and the chieftain ordered the matter to be settled
by the ordeal of poison. ‘Matters then
followed their usual course’ - says the explorer’s account – ‘
the ordeal was unfavourable to the accused, he
confessed and succumbed to torture… The accusation appears quite natural to the
soothsayer who formulates it, the prince who orders the trial by ordeal, the
crowd of bystanders and to K. himself who had been transformed into a lion, in
fact to everybody except the European who happens to be present.’
It
is clear to us that K. had not actually experienced turning into a lion and
tearing S. to pieces, and so at first he denied having done so. But he is confronted with an overwhelming case
against himself. The interpretative
framework which he shares with his accusers does not include the conception of
accidental death; if a man is devoured by a lion there must be some effective
reason behind it, such as the envy of a rival. This makes him an obvious suspect and when the
oracle, which he has always trusted, confirms the suspicion he can no longer
resist the evidence of his guilt and he confesses having turned into a lion and
having devoured S. This closes the
circle of the argument and confirms the magical framework in which it was
conducted, and it thus enhances the powers of this framework for assimilating
the next case which will come under its purview.
Communists
who have experienced the procedure which leads to confessions in Russian
sabotage trials have described a similar circularity. A person who according to Western conceptions
is entirely innocent, will confess to acts of sabotage because he shares the
fundamental assumption of his accusers that if a boiler explodes, or a train is
derailed, somebody has been guilty of sabotage. As in the magical framework, the conception of
accidental damage is excluded. The
prisoner will
1. Cf. Lévy-Brühl, The “Soul”
of the Primitive, London, 1928, p. 44
223
usually
resist the accusation to start with, but when it is persistently borne in upon
him from all sides by the examining magistrate and by the evidence extorted
from his former associates, he begins to give way to the convincing power of
the case against himself. So he eventually connives in construing against
himself any oversight he may have committed—or even any silent discontent he
may have harboured— into an act of conspiracy, until
he is so covered with guilt in his own eyes that he agrees to atone for it by
signing a confession.’ On the grounds on which he had habitually condemned
others he must now condemn himself—and thus close the circle which once more
confirms these grounds and makes them stronger than ever for the next occasion.
To
the stabilising power of circularity we may add
secondly the capacity of a well developed interpretative framework to supply
secondary elaborations to its beliefs which will cover almost any conceivable
eventuality, however embarrassing this may appear at first sight. Scientific theories which possess this
self-expanding capacity are sometimes described as epicyclical, in allusion to
the epicycles that were used in the Ptolomean and
Copernican theory to represent planetary motions in terms of uniform circular
motions. All major interpretative
frameworks have an epicyclical structure which supplies a reserve of subsidiary
explanations for difficult situations. The epicyclical character of Zande beliefs was shown above by the ready availability of
eight different subsidiary assumptions for explaining a point-blank
self-contradiction in two consecutive answers of an oracle. Again we may find analogies in contemporary
affairs. The Polish underground leader Stypulkovsky who published his experiences in Soviet Russia
recalls that of twelve Poles accused together, he alone refused to confess. This contradiction, however, strengthened
rather than weakened the Soviet case; for his denial of the charge was taken to
confirm the genuineness of the confessions given by the other accused and thus
made the evidence against him stronger than it would have been had he also
confessed.
Thirdly,
the stability of Zande beliefs is seen to rest on the
fact that any new alternative conception would have to be built up on a series
of supporting facts which can only be adduced one by one. A new conception like that of natural
causation would require numerous relevant instances for its proper
understanding. But these instances
cannot accumulate in the minds of people if each of them is disregarded in its
turn for lack of the concept which would lend significance to it.
1. Cf. Weissberg, Conspiracy of Silence, London, 1952, pp.
128, 202, 318, 352
The behaviour of Azande whom
Evans-Pritchard tried to convince that benge
was a natural poison which owed none of its effectiveness to the
incantations customarily accompanying its administration, illustrates the kind
of contemptuous indifference with which we normally regard things of which we
have no conception. ‘We feel neither
curiosity nor wonder’ writes William James, ‘concerning things so far beyond us
that we have no concepts to refer them to or standards by which to measure
them.’ The Fuegians
in Darwin’s voyage, he recalls, wondered at the small boats, but paid no
attention to the big ship lying at anchor in front of them. [1] This third defence mechanism of implicit beliefs may be called the
principle of suppressed nucleation. It
is complementary to the principle of circularity. Circularity protects an existing system of
beliefs against doubts arising from any adverse piece of evidence, while
suppressed nucleation prevents the germination of any alternative concept on
the basis of any single new piece of evidence.
Circularity,
combined with a readily available reserve of epicycical
elaborations and the consequent suppression in the germ of any rival conceptual
development, lends a degree of stability to a conceptual framework which we may
describe as the measure of its completeness. We may speak of the completeness or
comprehensiveness of a language and the system of conceptions reflected by it -
as we do in respect to Azande beliefs in witchcraft -
without in any way implying approval of the system as a true belief.
§11 Assimilation
and adaptation
We
do not share the beliefs of Zande in the power of
poison-oracles and we reject a great many of their other beliefs, by discarding
mystical conceptions and replacing them by a naturalistic explanation. But we may question whether our rejection of Zande superstitions is the outcome of any general principle
of doubt. If such a principle exists, it
should be possible to detect it in the first place within science which the
adherents of the principle of doubt regard as the best example for the
operations of this principle.
Every
important discovery affects the existing interpretative framework of science in
two ways. It strengthens some hitherto
accepted scientific beliefs by confirming them, and weakens, modifies or entirely
1. Principles of
Psychology, vol. 2, p. 110. A more
recent instance of this occurred when Igor Guzenko,
cipher clerk of the Soviet Embassy in Canada, tried in vain for two days in
succession (5th and 6th September 1945) to attract someone’s attention to
the document of the Soviet Atomic Espionage which he was showing round in
Ottawa at the risk of his life.
225
replaces
others, by the incorporation of new matter which contradicts or lies outside
the score of hitherto accepted conceptions. Thus science may be said to advance by the assimilation
of fresh topics within its existing system and by the adaptation of
its existing system to the nature of fresh topics; the first is a conservative
act, the second a process of reform. Every scientific discovery is conservative in
that it maintains and expands the system of science as a whole, and to this
extent confirms the scientific view of the world and strengthens its hold on
our minds; but no major discovery can fail also to modify the outlook of
science, and some, like those of gravitation or the circulation of the blood,
or like those of the genes, quanta, radioactivity, relativity have changed it
profoundly.
Might
it not be true then to say that the assimilative process merely conserves
science, while the true innovations consist in the adaptive process by which
the framework of science is reformed? This
sounds plausible, but it is not true. The power to expand hitherto accepted beliefs
far beyond the scope of hitherto explored implications is an eminent force of
discovery. It is this force which sent
Columbus in search of the Indies across the Atlantic. His genius lay in taking literally and as a
guide to practical action that the earth was round, which his contemporaries
held vaguely and as a mere matter for speculation. The ideas which Newton elaborated in his Principia
were widely current in his time; his work did not shock any strong beliefs
held by scientists, at any rate in this country. But again his genius was manifested in his
power of casting these vaguely held beliefs into a concrete and binding form. As another example we may take the atomic
theory of matter which was first introduced into modern science by John Dalton
in 1805 for the explanation of the laws of chemical combination. The theory was soon universally accepted; yet
80 years later Van’t Hoff met with considerable
opposition by deriving from it the asymmetrical arrangement of the four
different substituents attached to a carbon atom. Though he had thus merely envisaged in
concrete terms what was implicit in notions generally accepted at his time, he
was jeered at by the great Kolbe (1877) for having borrowed Pegasus from the
stables of the Veterinary Academy at which he was then an instructor. The advent of modern atomic physics, starting
with the discovery of the electron by J. J. Thompson, was due to repeated
flights of scientific imagination which derived new aspects of Dalton’s theory,
far beyond its previously apparent perspectives. One of the greatest discoveries of this age,
that of the diffraction of X-rays
by
crystals (in 1912) was conceived by a mathematician, Max von Laue, by the sheer power of believing more concretely than
anyone else in the current theories both of crystals and X-rays.
The
assimilative power of an existing scientific framework thus appears no less
creative and offers no less scope for the application of scientific genius,
than its capacity to sprout into new and entirely unexpected forms. Indeed the conservative and the reforming
aspects of discovery remain always combined; we have assimilation to the extent
to which new conceptions form an extension of the old and innovation in so far
as the new stands in contrast to the old.
What
room does such a picture leave for the operation of a principle of doubt? Is doubt perhaps a true guide to scientists in
choosing whether to lean more towards ‘assimilation’ or ‘innovation’? Does not the proverbial scientific caution
teach scientists to be harder to convince than are other people?
The
opinion is widespread. But the exercise
of special caution is not peculiar to the scientist. The practice of every art must be restrained
by its own form of caution. The
precision of the lawyer, the poet’s fastidiousness, the sculptor’s touch, are
as many restraints by which these various professions are guided. Naturally, the scientist is also trained to
exercise his own manner of restraint, as part of his distinctive art, which is
the art of discovery. Caution is
commendable in science, but only in so far as it does not hamper the boldness
on which all progress in science depends. And there is no rule to tell us at the moment
of deciding the next step in research what is truly bold and what merely
reckless, and we can therefore have no rule either how to distinguish at such a
moment between doubt which will curb recklessness and will qualify as true
caution, and doubt which cripples boldness and will stand condemned as
unimaginativeness or dogmatism.
We
call ‘caution’ only that kind of doubt which we consider to be, or to have
been, reasonable. Hence ‘doubt’
described as ‘caution’ acknowledges our appreciation of a successful operation
of doubt, without telling us how to achieve such success. We call it true boldness on the part of
Einstein that he accepted uncompromisingly Mach’s critique of the concept of
absolute motion while we praise his caution in rejecting Mach’s critique of the
reality of atoms. But no principle of
doubt could have told him to accept the one and reject the other. ‘Caution’ is a form of approval, masquerading
as a rule of procedure.
227
There
is one instance on record - by which I may demonstrate this point - of a
scientist who tried to apply the principle of doubt in an explicit form. This was the Swedish professor Cleve to whom Svante Arrhenius, then a student,
first presented his theory of electrolytic dissociation. Arrhenius has told
the story how Cleve said ‘This is very interesting’, and then ‘Goodbye’. Later Cleve explained that there were so many
theories formed and these were almost certain to be wrong, for after a short
time they disappeared and therefore by reasoning on statistical lines he
concluded that Arrhenius’ theory would not exist long
either. [1]
Resistance
against the conceptual reform suggested by Arrhenius
was widespread and violent among chemists, who thought it absurd to assume that
free particles of highly reactive metals like sodium or potassium could float
about in water without instantly decomposing it. Yet in a few years’ time electrolytic
dissociation became so firmly accepted, that its further history offers an
excellent example for the extraordinary stability of scientific conceptions in
the face of invalidating factual evidence. Arrhenius had
postulated a chemical equilibrium between the dissociated and the undissociated forms of an electrolyte in solution. From the very start the measurements showed
that this was true only for weak electrolytes like acetic acid, but not for the
very prominent group of strong electrolytes, like common salt or sulphuric acid. For
more than 30 years the discrepancies were carefully measured and tabulated in
textbooks, yet no one thought of calling in question the theory which they so
flagrantly contradicted. Scientists were
satisfied with speaking of the ‘anomalies of strong electrolytes ‘, without
doubting for a moment that their behaviour was in
fact governed by the law that they completely failed to obey. I can still remember my own amazement when,
about 1919, I first heard the idea mooted that the anomalies were to be
regarded as a refutation of the laws postulated by Arrhenius
and to be explained by a different theory. Not until this alternative conception (based
on the mutual electrostatic interaction of the ions) was successfully
elaborated in detail, was the previous theory generally abandoned.
Contradictions
to current scientific conceptions are often disposed of by calling them
‘anomalies’. This is among the most handy assumptions in the epicyclical reserve that is
available for the adaptation of any theory, in the face of adverse evidence. We have seen how Azande
make use of similar adaptations to meet the inconsistencies of
1. E. N. da C. Andrade, Encyc.
Brit. 14th ed., article on Arrhenius.
poison-oracles.
In science this process has often proved
justified by subsequent re-interpretations of the original theory which
explained the anomalies.
Another
example may illustrate the reverse case, namely when a series of observations
which at one time were held to be important scientific facts, were a few years
later completely discredited and committed to oblivion, without ever having
been disproved or indeed newly tested, simply because the conceptual framework
of science had meanwhile so altered that the facts no longer appeared credible.
Towards
the end of the last century numerous observations were reported by H. B. Baker [1] on the power of intensive drying to stop
some normally extremely rapid chemical reactions and to reduce the rate of
evaporation of a number of commonly used chemicals. Baker went on publishing further instances of
this drying effect for more than thirty years. [2] A large number of
allegedly allied phenomena were reported from Holland by Smits
[3] and some very striking demonstrations
of it came from Germany. [4]
H.
B. Baker could render his samples unreactive
sometimes only by drying them for periods up to 3 years; so when some author [5] failed to reproduce his results it was
reasonable to assume that they had not achieved the same degree of desiccation.
Consequently, there was little doubt at
the time that the observed effects of intensive drying were true and that they
reflected a fundamental feature of all chemical change.
Today
these experiments, which aroused so much interest from 1900 to 1930, are almost
forgotten. Text-books of chemistry which
thoughtlessly go on compiling published data still record Baker’s observations
in detail, merely adding that their validity ‘is not yet certainly established’
or that ‘some [of his] findings are disputed by
1. Journal of the
Chemical Society of London, 1894, 65, 611.
2. Cf. ibid., 1922, 121, 568 ; 1928, Pt. I.,
1051
3. Smits,
The Theory of Allotropy (1922). Baker’s experiments are referred ito (p. vii) as ‘the most beautiful means of establishing
the complexity of unary phases’ postulated by the author.
4. Coehn
and Tranim, Ber. deutsch. Chem. Ges.
1923, 56, 458 ; Zeitsch.
f. Phys Chem. 1923, 105, 356; 1924, 110, 110; and Coehn and Jung, Ber. deutsch. Chem
Ges. 1923, 56, 695.
These authors reported the stopping
of the photochemical combination of hydrogen and chlorine by intense drying.
5. F. A. Phulbrick, Textbook of Theoretical and Inorganic
Chemistry, revised edition London, 1949, p. 215.
229
later
workers, but the technique is difficult.” [1]
But active scientists no longer take any
interest in these phenomena, for in view of their present understanding of
chemical processes they are convinced that most of them must have been
spurious, and that, if some were real, they were likely to have been due to
trivial causes. This being so, our
attitude towards these experiments is now similar to that of Azande towards Evans-Pritchard’s suggestion of trying out
the effects of oracle-poison without an accompanying incantation. We shrug our shoulders and refuse to waste our
time on such obviously fruitless enquiries. The process of selecting facts for our
attention is the same in science as among Azande, but
I believe that science is more often right in its application of it.
This
last sentence may sound curious and yet it is meant to give you a serious
sample of what I believe to be the correct way of reflecting on the difference
between Zande magic and the teachings of science. Science and magic are both comprehensive
systems of beliefs, possessing a considerable degree of stability, and a
comparison of the two systems has shown that the convincing powers of both are
derived from similar logical properties of their conceptual frameworks. Yet the two achievements of stability are not
on par, but are mutually exclusive. If
you accept one system you cannot hold the other, and we today overwhelmingly
accept science. The critical movement of
the last 300 years has tried to sanction the acceptance of science while
avoiding any explicit declaration of faith, which was contrary to its basic programme. I believe
that this attempt has failed because it is logically mistaken, and that,
consequently, it can never succeed at all. I hold that we have good reasons for
preferring science to magic or astrology, or (what is of greater practical
importance) to the perversion of science imposed by Stalinism on the
territories under Communist rule. But I
suggest that these reasons can never be adequately stated without a personal
affirmation of belief on the part of the speaker.
We
may recognise this by reflecting on the foregoing
analysis of the stability of beliefs. No
extension of this preliminary sketch into further detail could break through
its logical limitations: it would remain a study of other people’s beliefs. It might describe in further detail the way
beliefs are upheld in the face of occurrences which, to a person not holding
these beliefs, would appear to contradict them, and
1. J. R. Partington, General and Inorganic Chemistry, 1946,
p. 483. Thorpe’s Dictionary of
Applied Chemistry, Article “Benzene and its Homologues” (1947) reports
Baker’s ‘interesting discovery’ without any qualification.
perhaps
it might explore also the historic and social antecedents which led to the
establishment of certain beliefs within a particular society. But however far we pursued the study of other
people’s beliefs this would never indicate whether we held these beliefs to be
true or illusory and, if so, on what grounds we decided this.
At
any rate, there would be no possibility of indicating this if we refrained from
smuggling into our description of the way beliefs are held, expressions which
imply affirmations of our own beliefs. The
confusion of the two is sanctioned by common usage. Phrases like ‘it is commonly agreed’ or ‘it
will hardly be doubted’ are literally statements about what people are supposed
to believe or not expected to doubt, yet they are commonly understood as
declaring the certainty of the beliefs in question. Or take words like ‘
science’ and ‘scientist’. A
neutral analysis of science as a system of beliefs should always use the word
‘science’ and ‘scientist’ in quotation marks, in the way the Soviet Academy
refers to bourgeois ‘science’ and bourgeois ‘scientists’. The confident use of any expressions including
the word ‘science’, or its derivatives like ‘scientific method’, ‘scientific
observation’, ‘natural law’, etc., convey the writer’s belief in a certain body
of allegations, in the rightness of a certain procedure for arriving at such
allegations and of confirming them, without his ever having taken the
responsibility for affirming this belief. The use of the scientific idiom by writers on
scientific method establishes in fact from the start a tacit understanding
between them and their readers on the trustworthiness of the method which they
are setting out to analyse.
Writers
on the nature of science who unquestioningly believe
in science and may assume the same of their readers, will find no difficulty in
carrying out an analysis of science in objective terms. They may define science as the simplest
description of the facts or the most economical survey of sense data; they may
pretend that science is not concerned with the truth or that it only makes
provisional statements so as to provide stimulus for new experiments. They may say that science is a free creation
of the mind, forming part of a conventional game, or that its value lies
entirely in its usefulness. As long as
everybody is tacitly agreed about the nature of science and implicitly accepts
the authority of science, it may not become apparent that statements of this
kind only refer to certain formal aspects of science which do not account for
its authority. I suppose there should be
no difficulty for a positivistically inclined member
of the Zande tribe to
231
describe
the system of magic accepted by Azande as the
simplest description of the facts, or as the most economical survey of sense
data, or as a conventional framework valued for its usefulness.
The
situation is different once a system of beliefs is fundamentally challenged. It must then be defended on its true grounds. I suggest that for this purpose our beliefs,
including our belief in science, will have to be declared explicitly, in
fiduciary terms.
University of Manchester
Manchester 13
232
The Competitiveness of Nations
in a Global Knowledge-Based Economy
May 2003