From: jns@roissy.umd.edu (J. N. Shaumeyer)
Newsgroups: soc.motss
Subject: searching for truth
Date: 28 Mar 1993 23:45:01 GMT


"On the Non-Existence of Scientific Method"
by Karl Popper

As a rule, I begin my lectures on Scientific Method by
telling my students that scientific method does not exist.
I add that I ought to know, having been, for a time at
least, the one and only professor this non-existent
subject within the British Commonwealth.

It is in several senses that my subject does not exist,
and I shall mention a few of them.

First, my subject does not exist because subject matters
in general do not exist.  There are no subject matters;
no branches of learning--or, rather, of inquiry: there
are only problems, and the urge to solve them.  A science
such as botany or chemistry (or say, physical chemisty,
or electroshemisty) is, I contend, merely an administrative
unit.  University administrators have a difficult job
anyway, and it is a great convenience to them to work on
the assumption that there are some named subjects, with
chairs attached to them to be filled by the experts in
these subjects.  It has been said that the subjects are
also a convenience to the student.  I do not agree: even
serious students are misled by the myth of the subject.
And I should be reluctant to call anything that misleads
a person a convenience to that person.

So much about the non-existence of subjects in general.
But Scientific Method holds a somewhat peculiar position
in being even less existent than some other non-existent
subjects.

What I mean is this.  The founders of the subject, Plato,
Aristotle, Bacon and Descartes, as well as most of their
successors, for example John Stuart Mill, believed that
there existed a method of finding scientific truth.  In
a later and slightly more sceptical period there were
methodologists who believed that there existed a method,
if not of *finding* a true theory, then at least of
ascertaining whether or not some *given* hypothesis was
true; or (even more sceptical) whether some given hypothesis
was at least 'probable' to some ascertainable degree.

I assert that no scientific method exists in any of these
three senses.  To put it in a more direct way:

   (1) There is no method of discovering a scientific
       theory.  
   (2) There is no method of ascertaining the truth of 
       a scientific hypothesis, i.e., no method of verification.  
   (3) There is no method of ascertaining whether a hypothesis 
       is 'probable', or probably true.

Having thus explained to my students that there is no
such thing as scientific method, I hasten to begin my
discourse, and we get very busy.  For one year is hardly
enough to scratch the surface of even a non-existent
subject.

I am a rationalist.  By a rationalist I mean a man who
wishes to understand the world, and to learn by arguing
with others.  (Note that I do not say a rationalist holds
the mistaken theory that men are wholly or mainly rational.)
By 'arguing with others' I mean, more especially,
criticizing them; inviting their criticism; and trying
to learn from it.  The art of argument is a peculiar form
of the art of fighting--with words instead of swords,
and inspired by the interest of getting nearer to the
truth about the world.

I do not believe in the current theory that in order to
make an argument fruitful, the arguers must have a great
deal in common.  On the contrary, I believe that the more
different their backgrounds, the more fruitful the
argument.  There is not even a need for a common language
to begin with: had there been no tower of Babel, we should
have had to build one.  Diversity makes critical argument
fruitful.  The only things which the partners in an argument
must share are the wish to know, and the readiness to
learn from the other fellow, by severely criticizing his
views--in the strongest possible version that can be
given to his views--and hearing what he has to say in
reply.

I believe that the _so-called method of science consists
in this kind of criticism_.  Scientific theories are
distinguished from myths merely in being criticizable,
and in being open to modifications in the light of
criticism.  They can be neither verified nor probabilified.

My critical--or, if you prefer, my heretical--attitude
influences, of course, my attitude towards my fellow
philosphers.

You will all know the story of the soldier who found that
his whole battalion (except himself, of course) was out
of step.  I constantly find myself in this entertaining
position.  And I am very lucky, for, as a rule, a few of
the other members of the battalion are quite ready to
fall into step.  This adds to the confusion; and since
I am not an admirer of philosophical discipline, I am
content as long as enough members of the battalion are
sufficiently out of step with one another.

Some of the things which put me out of step and which I
like to criticize are:

(1) Fashions: I do not believe in fashions, trends,
tendencies, or schools, either in science or in philosophy.
In fact, I think that the history of mankind could well
be described as a history of outbreaks of fashionable
philosophical and religious maladies.  These fashions
can have only one serious function--that of evoking
criticism.  Nonetheless I do believe in the rationalist
tradition of a commonwealth of learning, and the urgent
need to preserve this tradition.

(2) The aping of physical science:  I dislike the attempt,
mady in fields outside the physical sciences, to ape the
physical sciences by practising their alleged 'methods'--
measurement and 'induction from observation'.  The doctrine
that there is as much science in a subject as there is
mathematics in it, or as much as there is measurement or
'precision' in it, rests upon a complete misunderstanding.
On the contrary, the following maxim holds for all
sciences: Never aim at more precision than is required
by the problem in hand.

Thus I have no faith in precision: I believe that simplicity
and clarity are values in themselves, but not that
precision or exactness is a value in itself.  Clarity
and precision are different and sometimes even incompatible
aims.  I do not believe in what is often called an 'exact
terminology':  I do not believe in definitions, and I do
not believe that definitions add to exactness; and I
especially dislike pretentious terminology and the
pseudo-exactness converned with it.  What can be said
can and should always be said more and more simply and
clearly.

(3) The authority of the specialist: I disbelieve in
specialization and in experts.  By paying too much respect
to the specialist, we are destroying the commonwealth of
learning, the rationalist tradition, and science itself.

To conclude, I think that there is only one way to
science--or to philosophy, for that matter: to meet a
problem, to see its beaury and fall in love with it; to
get married to it, and to live with it happily, till
death do ye part--unless you should meet another and even
more fascinating problem, or unless, indeed, you should
obtain a solution.  But even if you do obtain a solution,
you may then discover, to your delight, the existence of
a whole familty of enchanting thought perhaps difficult
problem children for whose welfare you may work, with a
purpose, to the end of your days.

[The complete "Preface, 1956" to _Realism and the Aim of
 Science_, by Karl R. Popper.]


