It is the purpose of this note to comment on some important problems which have been already vividly discussed by several authors. Besides the well known former discussions of Schrödinger and J. v. Neumann I should like to mention here especially H. Margenau's article, “Critical Points in Modern Physical Theory,” (3) which strongly influenced my present discussion.

For many years now a “principle of uncertainty” has played a major role in all discussion of the problem of scientific law as description of nature. That this principle had its origin in the efforts of science to describe nature is entirely appropriate; that it has had so immediate an effect on philosophic thought is inevitable.

It is also inevitable that questions should be raised concerning the meaning of certainty and its reference to descriptive law. Such questions are bound to occur to one who is concerned about the kinds of law in terms of which nature might be described. If these kinds can be considered to be two, one “mechanical,” the other “statistical,” it appears to be an easy step from the assertion of a principle of uncertainty which requires that the description of elemental processes and facts of nature be statistical—in terms of probabilities, that is—to a further assertion that after all a strictly mechanical description of nature is impossible, since the observational data which constitute its material are approximate and probable, and because the laws which provide the formal element of that description can never be more than approximately or probably true. It is concluded, then, that no element of certainty attaches to the so-called mechanical laws, any more than to others that are avowedly statistical. When a prediction is based on either sort of law, it is taken to be a prediction that an event will probablyoccur.

Although the application of social science to practical problems of policy and action is still in its early stages, a large body of experience has been accumulated. Social science has been applied, in diverse spheres and with diverse results. The experience is there, but it has not been systematically reviewed and codified. Consequently, no one knows the present status of applied social science or, more importantly, its potentialities.

No final statement can be made regarding the relations between science and policy-making. Knowledge, values, and techniques are interrelated, cumulative, and constantly changing. They are derived from man's responses to the complicated interactions between physical, biological, and cultural phenomena. Final answers are impossible because the answers themselves are part of the world and therefore are factors in changing it. We see through a glass darkly, whether it be the giant glass of Palomar or the eye-piece of the electron microscope.

A physical theory is a construction of thought which is founded on experience so as to constitute knowledge of the natural world. Propositions in physics are constituted of concepts which express the properties and processes of the physical world. For purposes of record and communication concepts are designated by the terms of a language, such as mathematical symbols, and philosophical discussion may be based on linguistic forms. In this essay, however, the element of discussion will be the concept as a mode of thought through which are grasped the attributes of physical things and the relations exemplified in physical processes. The present philosophical analysis of a physical theory, quantum mechanics, is to be carried out by critical analysis of its basic concepts. In particular, the program is to show that in quantum mechanics the concept of physical object exhibits the characters of discontinuity, complementarity, and relativity.

In their adversely critical attitude towards administrative agencies, many lawyers and judges disclose a distrust of the expert, the specialist. That distrust is curious, for the position of our profession in society rests on the fact that we ourselves are specialists.

In the famous colloquy (perhaps partly apocryphal) which is said to have occurred about three hundred years ago between King James I and Judge Coke, the King remarked that, if “law was founded upon reason, he and others could reason as well as the judges,” and Coke loftily replied that lawsuits “are not to be decided by natural reason, but by the artificial reason and judgement of the law, which law is an art that requires long study and experience before that a man can attain to the cognizance of it.” The King, an intelligent amateur, was angered, for doubtless he saw that, as McIlwain observes, “if ... the law was to be supreme, at the same time a mystery open only to the initiated, it is clear that, if the claim of the lawyers were to be admitted, the supreme authority would be their exclusive possession.” Demos, now King, sometimes echoes James’ anger at the idea of a government of lawyers, not of men.

Perhaps the strangest controversy in the history of logic is that over the fourth figure of the syllogism. There was never any argument as to what syllogisms are valid, but merely as to how they should be arranged. Aristotle had divided syllogisms into figures according to whether the middle term was subject of one premiss and predicate of the other, or predicate of both premisses, or subject of both. Theophrastus and Eudemus subdivided the first figure into those moods in which the middle term was subject of the major premiss (and predicate of the minor) and those moods in which the middle was predicate of the major premiss (and subject of the minor). The latter moods were termed indirect. Galen said they constituted a separate figure; and so the controversy started. It has continued to the present with many writers objecting to the fourth figure, generally on grounds that it does not represent a genuine process of thought, and even ascribing this objection to Aristotle. The issue has been joined by writers who believe that it does represent a genuine process of thought.

The social scientist is now applying his knowledge and skills in various fields. But in the American trade-union movement he faces unusual problems. His challenges are essentially those of determining how to serve, and how to implant a belief in the value of his findings and reports. There is no widespread acceptance of the conclusion that he can make a real contribution. He is still not considered necessary or likely to be useful in the routine operation of the union or in the development of its policy and tactics. Progress has been made during the last few years in securing his admission to the staff of unions. But much pioneering work has still to be done to obtain frank acknowledgment of his potential usefulness and free acceptance of his experimental, inquiring and critical approaches.

There is a sense in which a philosophic theory can be confirmed. We may ask what its effects were on the development of scientific theory,—did it clarify ideas and help open up new areas of research, or did it constrain the work of science? In this essay, we shall try to judge the significance of dialectical materialism from this standpoint. We shall be concerned with the bearing of this philosophy on scientific work, especially in the Soviet Union.

Now dialectical materialism is not a “philosophy” in the same sense which the word has when applied to, let us say, logical empiricism. The difference is evident when a writer like Haldane asks, for instance, how far scientific discoveries have verified the principles of dialectical materialism.' We could not ask in a similar way whether scientific discoveries have confirmed the principles of logical empiricism. For the latter affirms no factual propositions concerning the world; it enunciates solely the principle of verifiability, and there is clearly no scientific discovery which could possibly refute the requirement of verification. If it makes sense to ask how far scientific discoveries verify dialectical materialism, then the latter must obviously contain factual propositions concerning nature which should be stated in a way to permit of confirmation of rejection.

The present moment is a portentous one in the history of human relations. Only yesterday the armies of half the world were locked in a death struggle with the armies of the other half. And even now, as the representatives of the various governments gather together in attempts to organize an international State, the shadow of a weapon that threatens to end all life upon this earth lies athwart their deliberations. The moment with which we are faced is the more portentous because of the persistent hope man vainly entertains that a world of wholeness and peace will somehow issue out of these two warring and divided half-worlds. Even the student of behavior fondly believes that out of this divided world an undivided peace will come. Along with the rest of mankind even the seasoned psychiatrist fails to see that the overwhelming impetus to man's behavior—to his feeling and thinking—now stems from a social artifact of division. He does not see that, owing to a discrepancy in man's mental and social processes, the artificial world man has created is necessarily a world of conflict. In this hour of universal confusion and discord it would appear that we who study the problems of human adaptation are confronted with nothing less than a false, unilateral principle of motivation affecting the organism of man throughout.

The philosophy of quantum mechanics has often been conceived by physicists as a collection of dogmas concerning what can be measured, observed and known. To this branch of dialectics the present paper does not attempt to contribute, chiefly because it is written from the conviction that no part of science, nor any philosophy, can safely predict what may be feasible or knowable. Rather, this brief essay endeavors to expose the epistemology of quantum physics in a way which allows it to be recognized as an extension of the ordinary processes of cognition, as the continuation of a line which starts in sensory perception, leads straight through the methods of classical physics into quantum mechanics and shows no signs of terminating even there.

In the acute social crisis of our time many people are turning to social science for the solution of our social problems. Society seems to be saying, in effect, “Scientific methodology in the natural sciences and their accompanying technologies has brought us to the brink of extinction; let it save us through the social sciences and their technologies.” The great foundations, governmental agencies, business organizations, and the universities are repsonding to this demand by directing increasing amounts of money and personnel to activities dealing with human relations, intergroup relations, and social “problems” generally.

Another critical analysis of the intellectual antecedents or the logical structure of Thorstein Veblen's thought is hardly needed. Since his death—iconoclasm's reward is often posthumous—a goodly number of such studies has appeared. I do not intend to add to the pile, but rather to analyze Veblen's work as representative of the response of “intellectuals” to specific ideologies and to ideology in general. This is a subject that has not received the direct attention it deserves, and, to my knowledge, Veblen has never been studied in this connection.

By “ideology” I mean a system of beliefs that presents value-judgments as empirical truths in order to justify, with or without conscious intent, a particular socio-economic group's claim to material and prestigial rewards. The valuejudgments in an ideology fall into two categories: those which have to do with a hero-subject, individual or group, whom the ideologue believes worthy of the rewards, and those which concern a villain-subject, individual or group, whom the ideologue believes unworthy. To win general acceptance of these valuejudgments an ideology also contains a set of reality-statements. These, in purporting to tell the “truth” about the world—about men, nature, God—serve to objectify, and thus justify, the choice of the hero and villain-subjects.

Modern physics, which had its beginnings in the inclined-plane experiments of Galileo, deals with the measurable aspects of the world about us. The laws and definitions of classical physics are, at least superficially, differential equations in which each variable represents the result of a particular kind of measurement. These variables are usually called physical quantites. Starting from a few general laws and definitions we can derive formally further relations between the physical quantities and their rates of change in space and time. If the original definitions are self-consistent and the original laws accurate, the relations we derive from them should enable us to predict what the numerical result of a certain measurement will be whenever certain other measurements have yielded specified numerical results.

In some ways, I think, the analytic method in philosophy and science suffers from an embarrassment of riches. It has too many distinctions—in the sense that any distinction which is infirm, but which is yet carted about along with the necessary apparatus of a method, is (at its most innocuous) superfluous. In these pages I propose to examine one such distinction.

A principle which is subscribed to by almost all of the “analysers” with whose work I am acquainted is that which is constituted by a certain kind of dichotomization between what we may for the present loosely characterize as the “formal” and the “non-formal.” Sometimes this distinction is presented as one existing between the “formal sciences” and the “non-formal sciences”; more frequently, perhaps, it is taken as a distinction holding between certain kinds of expressions, i.e., analytic and synthetic statements. It will be the thesis of this paper that there are good reasons for believing that this distinction in either of its forms is not a cogent one.

In October 1946 the U. S. Government summoned the representatives of Labor and Management to meet in Washington to try and find a basis for cooperation which would make possible increased productivity. For two days two hundred of the outstanding individuals in this field talked and debated. The results were hardly worth the efforts. The most appropriate summary of the “results” of these meetings was provided by Fortune magazine when it characterized the whole affair as a “meaningless squabble.“

A brief analysis of the processes of measurement common to any science reveal a paradox. This paradox is encountered when one tries to make clear how formal statements are related to experience in such a way that factual statements, such as statements about measurements, result. I believe that this paradox bears an analogy to the “fallacy of the third man” which disturbed Plato. Be that as it may, this paradox has not been satisfactorily solved in modern times, although a full comprehension of the processes of measurement would require its solution. In this paper I wish to do nothing more than present a statement of the difficulty.

There should be no disagreement with the proposal for research into the role of applied social science in the formation of policy. The relation between social science and the formation of social policy and social action is, in fact, one of the more important areas of study in the general field of social control. The outline for research prepared by Mr. Merton constitutes a good framework for the investigation of important aspects of the relationship between social science and the world of practical affairs. But there is room for vigorous disagreement with a fundamental assumption about the role of applied social science with which he starts, and there are various broad considerations of importance in framing the proposed study which merit mention or greater elaboration. It is to these matters that this essay is addressed.

So obviously and blatantly real is the world around us—our own bodies and all things within reach of our senses—that from time immemorable man has tended to give it exclusive status—to feel that things in and related by space are the only realities. Such a belief is adequate for all practical affairs, but philosophers have always recognized that something is lacking in it. The very statement of the existence and reality of the external world brings in a second element: the mind that recognizes and admits it; the agent that by its own consciousness establishes the contrast of internal and external. This mind—the group of all our interrelated mental faculties, conceptions, and perceptions, and our consciousness of them—is definitely not something external, not something in space that can be handled physically, and studied in its mechanical and geometrical relationships. It is completely invisible, intangible, and inaudible, and obviously we neither taste nor smell it. It forms no part of the external world, and yet the very fact that we are conscious of the world is a tacit recognition of the mind that perceives it. An inevitable dualism seems to result between the internal mind and the external world it perceives, between the subjective and the objective.