Some recent and historical writers in the philosophy of science have concerned themselves with a certain problem which seems to occupy, at least in the minds of those who have written about it, a position of peculiar importance. Whether the problem is really as significant as its authors maintain need not be decided here; certainly many writers in this area have either neglected it or made only vague allusions to it. It can best be described as the problem of the development of science, and it is usually solved in terms of a certain theory that science passes in its growth, either naturally or under the control of conscious logical techniques, through various “stages” or “phases.” For some strange reason these levels are usually exactly three in number. One would like to believe that this number is not a magic one, but empirically demanded by the actual way in which the sciences develop. But the fact that the descriptions of these stages in the writings of the various authors appear to agree only in their triplicity, and not in content, would incline one to believe otherwise. There is, in fact, the slight suspicion that the number three has been preferred to the number two simply because a triad may be ordered in a way in which a couple may not, and to the number four or any larger number merely because of the preference for simplicity over complexity.

The question of the relationship of the making of value judgments in a typically ethical sense to the methods and procedures of science has been discussed in the literature at least to that point which e. e. cummings somewhere refers to as “The Mystical Moment of Dullness.” Nevertheless, albeit with some trepidation, I feel that something more may fruitfully be said on the subject.

1. The Problem. The purpose of this paper is twofold. One aim is to examine briefly the criteria basic to the notions of the culture area and the language area; the second is to indicate a method which would allow for the construction of systems which could profitably be compared and held correlate in any problem involving, on the historical level, the development and diffusion of cultural and linguistic patterns, and, on the synchronic level, the precise nature of that complex of human behavior patterns, linguistic and non-linguistic, which is characteristic of man in society.

Language is the primary fact which concerns contemporary philosophy. Men have been speaking and writing for a long time, but it is only recently that the task of philosophy has been said to be the analysis of language. Ethical perplexities, social anxieties, the nature of scientific knowledge, religious speculations, are held not to be directly the problems of the philosopher. They enter his study by way of a domain of languages and sub-languages. This preoccupation with language is itself an unusual phenomenon in our intellectual history. It challenges the sociologist of philosophic ideas for an explanation, and it leads one to wonder upon what evidence philosophers have accepted the doctrine of linguistic primacy.

1. Introduction. It is generally admitted that a large part of man's knowledge is based on inductive arguments. Hence any philosophical theory concerning the nature of inductive arguments constitutes an epistemological theory. Any such philosophical theory of induction must, if it is to be satisfactory, take adequate account of Hume's criticism of inductive arguments. One way of treating his criticism is to say that the validity of inductive arguments is in an important sense relative to some broad factual assumptions about the general nature of the universe and that these general factual assumptions are presupposed in a certain way by the users of inductive arguments (8, 10). Let us call any theory of this general type a postulate theory of induction.

1. Outline of the Project. This paper is intended to be a progress report on a project in philosophy of science. The immediate stimulus of this report is the eightieth birthday of E. A. Singer, Jr., who was the inspiration of the project, and, needless to say, though responsible for the whole is not responsible for the misconceptions in the specific parts.

The present article is written by a theoretical physicist who, for some time, has endeavored to trace the origin of the concepts and principles of quantum theory to an empirical background broader than that afforded by delicate optical and mechanical experiments on a microphysical scale involving the microconstant h. In particular he tried to reduce the dominant role of probability in modern physics to irrefutable evidence of a quite general nature. As long as quantum probability is deduced from experience with seemingly uncontrollable micro-mechanisms—think of radioactive disintegration as the most typical example—there will always be the objection that one day we still may find a hidden causality behind those small scale gambling devices called atoms, although one example of an exactly predictable atomic event would make present-day quantum theory untenable. In order to dislodge the remaining classicists from their fortress of doubt one may try to show that quantum probability is not an alibi for a temporary impotence of predicting microphysical events, but is a positive conclusion drawn from experience of a most general type, namely, from the principle of continuity, the basic tenet of the philosophy of Leibniz.

The book of Bergson (1) underlying the present study appeared in 1896. It is entitled “Matter and Memory” and is a philosophical disquisition into the relation and mutual limitations of organic life and inert matter. Bergson proposes to deal with this very general problem under the special aspect of a theory of the functioning of the human brain and the mechanism of ordinary memory. Such use of the inductive method, which starts from a special problem in order to arrive at results that might be generalized later, might endear him to the exact scientist who has a healthy skepticism toward pure generalities. But let us for a moment remain in the realm of generalities in order to better circumscribe the subject: Few people would agree to an entirely mechanistic interpretation of organic life; hence there should be some point in biology at which the deviations from pure mechanism appear explicitly and in their fulness. For the present we shall adopt an intentionally oversimplified mode of expression. Let us say that mechanistic description is causal and that as our analysis progresses we must eventually arrive at a point where we can no longer trace the causal chains in their entirety. At that point we must replace causal “classical” physics by quantum mechanics and form our pictures of microscopic realities of organic matter in terms of the latter. Some of the pertinent problems have been pointed out by the present writer (4) among others, following earlier suggestions by Niels Bohr (2). Suffice it here to say that certain processes of the atomic scale going on in a complex system such as the organic tissue essentially escape detailed observation that would allow us to determine the continuity of an entirely causal nexus. It is possible to make such observations, but they result in physical destruction of the very coherence of the organic tissue upon which the biological functioning depends. Bohr describes this condition by the term “generalized complementarity.” We cannot enter into a discussion of these problems here; let us adopt deliberately the oversimplified and somewhat vague expression that at some point indeterminacies become significant in the microscopic processes that take place in the organic body. We shall try to limit ourselves in this paper to the simplistic notion of a multiplicity of indeterminate events inserted (in a very crude manner of speaking) into the play of molecular reactions that constitute the functioning of the organism from the viewpoint of the physicist and chemist.

When in the course of our work we are uncertain, we sometimes become more concerned with our methods than with the content of our problems. We then try to clarify our conceptions and tighten our procedures. And as we re-examine studies that we feel have turned out well, we create conscious models of inquiry with which we try to guide our own work-in-progress.

The term “value” has a wide range of current usage in philospohy and the sciences. Descriptively, a man's “values” may refer to all his attitudes for-or-against anything. His values include his perferences and avoidances, his desire-objects and aversion-objects, his pleasure and pain tendencies, his goals, ideals, interests and disinterests, what he takes to be right and wrong, good and evil, beautiful and ugly, useful and useless, his approvals and disapprovals, his criteria of taste and standards of judgment, and so forth.

We propose to take issue with a neo-behaviorist (19) upon what might seem to be a minor detail, and about which we are sure that, upon reflection, he would not differ from us. It has to do with the use of the word experience in a basic postulate of behaviorism. Even if by a hair's breadth this implies something categorically different from behavior, then, it seems to us, the essential meaning of behaviorism has been missed.

When people talk about the “present crisis,” they probably mean some significant turning point in history. If they fear or resent it, it is a dangerous crisis, anti-American, anti-Christian, and antidemocratic. If they welcome it, they may call it the “wave of the future,” or some kind of a “deal,” new, square, or fair; prosperity is just around the corner. Only unwanted change produces the “dangerous crisis.”

A survey of the literature on the problem of the synthetic a priori soon reveals that the term “analytic” is used in a narrower and a broader sense. In the narrower sense, a proposition is analytic if it is either a truth of logic or is logically true. By saying of a proposition that it is logically true, I mean, roughly, and with an eye on the problem of the relation of logical categories to natural languages, that when defined terms are replaced by their definientia, it becomes a substitution instance of a truth of logic. And a truth of logic can be adequately characterized for present purposes as a proposition which occurs in the body of Principia Mathematica, or which would properly occur in a vermehrte und verbesserte Auflage of this already monumental work. If we now agree to extend the convenient phrase “logically true” to cover truths of logic as well as propositions which are logically true in the sense just defined, we can say that an analytic proposition in the narrower sense is a proposition which is logically true.

Although Whitehead did not develop a general theory of meaning, his most systematic account of topics related to meaning is found in his discussion of ‘symbolic reference’ (4), (5). But these latter discussions, however basic they might be in terms of Whitehead's theory of symbolism, yet constitute but a small part of the general theory of meaning that is implicit in the philosophy of organism, as a whole.

1. Introduction. Nowadays metaphysics is so far out of fashion, with scientists at any rate, that a few words of justification may be required for putting it in relation with science, as in this paper.

Metaphysics is nothing occult, nor is it necessarily dogmatic or allied to theology. Strictly, it is a science itself, the science of being. But since a large section of being—even the whole of it, according to some metaphysics—consists of phenomena, and since the ostensible business of natural science is with phenomena, a distinction has to be made. The use of ‘metaphysics’ in this paper is restricted to the non-phenomenal mode of being. More explicitly, it is restricted to formal and general things, such as category, class, variable, relation, order. General words, which I take to be all the words except certain proper names, are, accordingly, metaphysical signs; and the metaphysical matrix is by no means limited to science but extends to all discourse in which there are general terms.

1. Introduction. It is an amazing thing that, unlike pebbles, clouds and stars, the smallest building stones of Nature—the electrons, the protons and the neutrons—are all completely uniform. There seems to be a necessity in Nature for systems of a very special form, and one can wonder now what kind of necessity this is. I believe that this can only be a mathematical necessity, that consequently the principle of Nature is a mathematical one. How else could Nature obey the mathematical laws of physics if it were not because of her own principle? It can be argued that these mathematical laws, like Newtonian mechanics, the classical theory of electromagnetism and the quantum theory of the electron are all some form of beginner's luck, and that continued investigation will reveal Nature as more and more mysterious and irrational. If that were true, one might as well give up the pursuit of physics completely! But on one hand modern physics has discovered what we believe to be the elementary particles of the material world, and on the other hand it comes out that at least a part of these elementary forms obey mathematic laws to a very high degree of accuracy.

While recent studies have shed some light on the significance of the electrical activity of the nervous system, there has been no adequate explanation for the wave formation or synchronization of this electrical activity. Adrian (1) sums up the problem. “The origin of the 10-a-second rhythm is still uncertain, though the evidence points to some widespread organization, probably involving the central masses as well as the cortex. There are abundant nervous connexions for coordinating the beat, and when the rhythm is well developed it is possible to record impulse discharges in phase with it passing to and fro in the nerve fibers of the white matter below the cortex. But in some areas no impulse could be detected entering or leaving the cell layers, though the potential waves keep more or less in step with those elsewhere. There is no proof that the waves are kept in phase by some means which does not involve nervous signalling, for impulses in axons of small diameter might well be missed, but it is not altogether unlikely that the synchronization is due in part to a direct electrical influence of one group of nerve cells on another. Gerard and Libet have shown that synchronization can occur between the two halves of a frog's brain cut in two and then placed in contact, and more recently Arvanitaki has shown that individual nerve cells may influence one another if they are brought close together in a conducting medium. At all events there are many examples of synchronized rhythmic activity in large collections of nerve-or-muscle cells. In the optic ganglion of the water beetle, for instance, there may be both a slow rhythm when the eye is in darkness and a rapid one when the eye is exposed to a bright light. The change from a slow to a fast rhythm is curiously reminiscent of that in the cerebral cortex when a sensory stimulus abolishes the 10-a-second rhythm and substitutes one at 40–60 a second. Such resemblances in preparations of quite different structures may be quite fortuitous, but they make it difficult to resist the suggestion that the rhythms of the brain may be dependent on the general properties of cell masses rather than on any special anatomical arrangement of them. Whatever its origin, the 10-a-second rhythm of the cortex corresponds to the resting, drowsy, or inattentive state and there is no such uniform pulsation when the brain is alert.”

The following statement from James’ 1884 essay in Mind (12) is repeated in his later work (10, pp. 100–101) and appears often in secondary sources as a summary of his celebrated theory of the emotions:

D'Arcy Thompson looked upon himself as a follower of Aristotle in biology, and was an erudite student and translator of biological writings of the Stagyrite. A number of Aristotle's chief terms are to be found in Thompson's masterpiece, On Growth and Form, although these terms—such as ‘cause,’ ‘form,’ ‘movement,’ and the like—undergo some change, generally a contraction, of meaning. But as a tireless investigator of living bodies of all sorts, Thompson developed his own methods for manipulating his concepts, and it is my hope to indicate briefly but critically what the methods are. In so doing, it will be profitable to make comparisons with certain other biologists of past and present, to point up the issues more sharply.

During my recent work on machine translation (3), I have come across many problems of a linguistic nature that should be of general methodological interest. Some of these problems have never been treated extensively before. Others that have been discussed previously appear now in a different and rather interesting light.