Thomas Kuhn’s Revolutions: A Historical and an Evolutionary Philosophy of Science? 9781472525680, 9781472530493, 9781474219457, 9781472530400

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Thomas Kuhn’s Revolutions

Also available from Bloomsbury The Bloomsbury Companion to the Philosophy of Science, edited by Steven French and Juha Saatsi The History and Philosophy of Science: A Reader, edited by Daniel J. McKaughan and Holly Vande Wall Kuhn’s ‘The Structure of Scientific Revolutions’: A Reader’s Guide, John Preston Philosophy of Science: Key Concepts, Steven French Philosophy of Science: The Key Thinkers, edited by James Robert Brown

Thomas Kuhn’s Revolutions A Historical and an Evolutionary Philosophy of Science? James A. Marcum

Bloomsbury Academic An imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

LON DON • N E W DE L H I • N E W YOR K • SY DN EY

Bloomsbury Academic An imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc 50 Bedford Square 1385 Broadway London New York WC1B 3DP NY 10018 UK USA www.bloomsbury.com BLOOMSBURY and the Diana logo are trademarks of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc First published 2015 © James A. Marcum, 2015 James A. Marcum has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the Author of this work. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers. No responsibility for loss caused to any individual or organization acting on or refraining from action as a result of the material in this publication can be accepted by Bloomsbury or the author. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. ISBN: HB: 978-1-4725-2568-0 PB: 978-1-4725-3049-3 ePDF: 978-1-4725-3040-0 ePub: 978-1-4725-2208-5 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Marcum, James A. Thomas Kuhn’s revolutions: A historical and an evolutionary philosophy of science?/James A. Marcum. pages cm 50th anniversary of Thomas Kuhn’s Structure of scientific revolutions. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-1-4725-3049-3 (pb) – ISBN 978-1-4725-2568-0 (hb) – ISBN 978-1-4725-2208-5 (epub) – ISBN 978-1-4725-3040-0 (epdf) 1. Kuhn, Thomas S. Structure of scientific revolutions. 2. Science–Philosophy. 3. Science–History. I. Title. Q175.K953M37 2015 501–dc23 2015010321 Typeset by Deanta Global Publishing Services, Chennai, India

Contents

Preface  vi Acknowledgments  ix

PART ONE  The road to Structure  1 1 2

Who was Thomas Kuhn?  3 How did Kuhn arrive at Structure?  29

PART TWO  Kuhn’s historical philosophy of science  53 3 4

What is The Structure of Scientific Revolutions?  55 Why did Kuhn revise Structure?  74

PART THREE  Kuhn’s paradigm shift  103 5 6

What was Kuhn up to after Structure?  105 What is Kuhn’s evolutionary philosophy of science?  134

PART FOUR  Kuhn’s impact  155 7

What is Kuhn’s impact on the history and philosophy of science and on the natural sciences?  157 8 What is Kuhn’s impact on the behavioral, social, and political sciences?  201 Epilogue  232 Notes  243 Bibliography  257 Index  279

preface

Thomas Kuhn (1922–96), although trained a physicist at Harvard University, became a historical philosopher of science through the influence and support of Harvard’s president—James Conant. In 1962, Kuhn’s renowned work, The Structure of Scientific Revolutions (Structure—which is Kuhn’s preferred abbreviation for the monograph), was published in Otto Neurath’s International Encyclopedia of Unified Science. Kuhn’s monograph helped to inaugurate and promote a revolution—the historiographic revolution—in the latter half of the twentieth century, by providing a new image of science in which periods of stasis (normal science) are punctuated with paradigm shifts (scientific revolutions). Kuhn’s revolution not only had an impact on the discipline of history and philosophy of science (HPS) but on other disciplines as well, including sociology, education, economics, political science, and even science policy. My first encounter with Kuhn was as a research associate at Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) in early 1982. A friend, Phil Kenas, had recently lent me a copy of Structure, but upon first reading it, I was unable to appreciate the image of science presented in it because of my experience as a scientistin-training. I then learned that Kuhn was at MIT and would be teaching a course on the nature of scientific knowledge, during the spring semester. I approached Kuhn about taking the course, and he graciously permitted me access to it. While taking Kuhn’s course, I began to appreciate his image of science—one that was dynamic as opposed to the static image I had learned through my scientific training. From my experience in that course and from a continued relationship with Kuhn, I gradually switched from a career in the biomedical sciences to one in philosophy of science. My personal recollection of Kuhn is a man who cared deeply not only for the subject matter of his adopted discipline but also for his students and colleagues. Since Kuhn’s death in 1996, the secondary literature on his philosophy of science has continued to escalate. General surveys and analysis of his philosophy—as well as Structure—have appeared during the first decade of the twenty-first century (Andersen 2001a; Andersen et al. 2006; Bernardoni 2009; Bird 2000; D’Agostino 2010; Davidson 2006; Fuller 2000a; Gattei 2008; Hung 2006; Kuukkanen 2008; Marcum 2005; Maricle 2008; Nickles 2003a; Onkware 2010; Preston 2008; Sharrock and Read 2002; Torres 2010). In addition, studies focusing on specific themes arising from Kuhn’s work have also been published since

PREFACE

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his death, for example, paradigm (Kindi 2012; von Dietze 2001; Wray 2011a), incommensurability (Bird 2008; Demir 2008; Favretti et al. 1999; Hoyningen-Huene and Sankey 2001), and postmodernism and postnormal science (Funtowicz and Ravetz 2003; Koertge 2000; Kuntz 2012; Sardar 2000). Finally, Structure celebrated its fiftieth anniversary in 2012 with a fourth edition, including a preface by Ian Hacking (Bird 2012; Collins 2012; Dear 2012; Kaiser 2012; Rees 2012).1 In addition, numerous symposia and conferences were held—along with published editorials and commentaries—to commemorate Structure’s golden anniversary (Gordon 2012; Grube 2013; Kindi and Arabatzis 2012; Wray 2012).2 One of the more recent developments in Kuhnian studies pertains to Kuhn’s shift toward the end of his career from a historical philosophy of science to an evolutionary one (Kuukkanen 2012; Marcum 2012; Wray 2011b). The primary aim of the present book is to situate that shift—or “evolutionary turn”—vis-à-vis Kuhn’s maturation of his philosophy of science from the 1951 Lowell lectures to an unfinished manuscript, Words and Worlds: An Evolutionary View of Scientific Development (Words and Worlds).3 Besides the present book’s primary aim, a secondary aim is to provide a comprehensive introduction of the development of Kuhn’s philosophy of science. To that end, I focus initially on Kuhn’s historiographic revolution—the “historical turn”—and on questions surrounding it, and then on the “evolutionary turn” and its associated revolution. What are Kuhn’s historiographic and evolutionary revolutions? How did they come about? What impact did they have on science’s image, and why? What, if any, are their future in both academia and society? At the heart of the answers to these questions is the person of Kuhn himself, i.e. his personality, his pedagogical style, and his institutional and cultural commitments, and the intellectual and social contexts in which he practiced his trade. I take a developmental approach to Kuhn’s ideas, in which I map in detail the unfolding of his ideas, from the historical work on physical theory and the Copernican revolution in the 1950s to reflections on an evolutionary philosophy of science (EPS) in the late 1980s and early 1990s. Rather than present Kuhn’s ideas as finished products, I attempt to capture them in their formative process—cut off only by his death. By following the development of Kuhn’s ideas, a more accurate representation of them is possible. Kuhn resisted writing an autobiography, as his secretary Ms. Carolyn Farrow once told me. I hope this book reflects how he might have structured an autobiography. In the first part of the book, the intellectual and the personal background to Kuhn’s life and work is reconstructed and discussed—particularly as it paved the road to Structure’s publication in 1962. To that end, I explore in the first chapter Kuhn’s familial and pedagogical contexts, which shaped his personal character and professional career. Kuhn’s early scholarship in the history of science—the “historical turn”—is scrutinized in the next chapter, especially the role of the 1951 Lowell lectures in Structure’s genesis. In the

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next part of the book, I discuss Kuhn’s influential monograph, Structure, and its critics. In the third chapter, I outline Structure’s major themes, including the paradigm concept and paradigm shift, normal and revolutionary science, and the incommensurability thesis (InT). In the fourth chapter, I review various criticisms leveled against Kuhn’s monograph, especially during the important London colloquium held in 1965. I also examine Kuhn’s response to these criticisms in “Postscript—1969,” a work intended as an addendum to the revised edition of Structure. In the third part of the book, Kuhn’s own scholarly paradigm shift—an “evolutionary turn”—is investigated and discussed. His scholarly work during the 1970s and 1980s—his most productive years—are explored in an initial chapter, culminating with a final chapter on the replacement of a historical philosophy of science with an evolutionary one. In the last part of the book, I examine Kuhn’s impact on various academic disciplines. First, I explore in the seventh chapter the impact Kuhn had on HPS and the natural sciences, and then in the eighth chapter his impact on the behavioral, social, and political sciences. In an Epilogue, I discuss various issues arising from Kuhnian studies, along with their future. The book’s main thesis is that Kuhn was a major participant and contributor to the historiographic revolution of the mid-twentieth century, in contrast to Steve Fuller’s thesis that Kuhn was a mere bystander—if not victim—of the times. Not only has Kuhn’s historical philosophy of science influenced HPS, but it has also shaped the very understanding and image of science itself. But, to focus only on Kuhn’s historical philosophy of science and its revolution is to envision a truncated view of Kuhn’s overall philosophy of science and the direction it began to take in the late twentieth century—EPS and its revolution. Kuhn’s impact then is not just one revolution but two revolutions. The influence of these revolutions transcend the boundaries of the HPS community to include other professional communities as well, such as sociologists, economists, political scientists, educators, and even policymakers and politicians. Although the book is primarily an introduction to the development of Kuhn’s historical philosophy of science and its replacement with an evolutionary one, it is also a sustained argument that establishes the above thesis and strives to interpret and situate Kuhn and his philosophy within a larger academic framework than simply HPS.

Acknowledgments

It is a privilege to acknowledge and thank the people and institutions, who helped and supported me during the production of this book. I acknowledge Baylor University’s generous gift of a sabbatical, during which much of the research and initial writing was accomplished, and Baylor’s philosophy department, with its chair Robert Baird, for the funds to visit the Kuhn Papers at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT). I thank Nora Murphy and her staff at the MIT archives for their invaluable assistance with the Kuhn Papers, and Colleen Coalter and the staff at Bloomsbury for their superb editorial assistance. I also thank Ron Anderson, Richard Burian, Ernan McMullin, Mary Jo Nye, Michael Ruse, and Fred Tauber for their support and encouragement of the project. To my children Margaret (aka Meg) and Meredith, I am grateful for their love and indulgence. Finally, I dedicate this book to Phil Kenas and Tom Kuhn, who helped me find the road.

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PART ONE

The road to Structure In the first part, I explore the road Kuhn took during his career—especially with respect to Structure’s publication. To that end, I explore in the first chapter the contextual background proximal to Kuhn’s life and work. That background includes Kuhn’s early personal and family life, as well as his matriculation to Harvard College. While at Harvard, Conant was influential in transforming Kuhn from being a physicist to being a historical philosopher of science. The chapter continues by charting his professional career at academic institutions, including the collegial scholars who influenced his intellectual development, until his death in 1996. In the part’s final chapter, I review and reconstruct Kuhn’s early work in HPS prior to Structure’s publication in 1962. The approach is developmental and dynamic, since many of the ideas found in the 1962 monograph are present embryonically in Kuhn’s early work. Rather than reconstructing Structure as a finished product, then, I approach it as “in process”—much like Kuhn analyzed texts in the history of science and how he envisioned science and its knowledge unfolding developmentally or revolutionarily—and later evolutionarily. To that end, I begin with an undergraduate essay on metaphysics and physics and then

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turn to a letter Kuhn wrote to the Harvard general education committee, in which he discussed the main tenets for a new image of science. Next, I initially discuss Kuhn’s 1951 Lowell lectures and the themes he introduced in them that eventually appeared in Structure. In addition, a Guggenheim fellowship is briefly examined to demonstrate the development of his thinking about the nature of scientific methodology. I then cover Kuhn’s book on the Copernican revolution and its significance for the development of a historical philosophy of science. Finally, I examine three essays, especially one in which he articulated an “essential tension” between normal scientific practice and revolutionary upheavals, crucial for Structure’s emergence.

Chapter one

Who was Thomas Kuhn?

Chapter Summary

K

uhn‘s personal biography and the events of his adolescence are surmised initially in this chapter. Then the crucial years as a student, as both an undergraduate and a graduate student, at Harvard University are examined, along with Conant‘s impact on Kuhn‘s early professional career. I also explore the impact of other thinkers on Kuhn‘s intellectual development, including Alexandre Koyré, Willard Quine, Ludwik Fleck, among others. Next, I discuss his appointments at Berkeley, along with his association with Paul Feyerabend, and then at Princeton, including his friendship with Carl Hempel. Finally, the chapter concludes with his appointment at MIT in which he underwent a “linguistic turn.” In particular, I map the development of his professional career as Kuhn moved toward Structure and then away from it, especially from a historical to an evolutionary philosophy of science. Importantly, I embed Kuhn‘s personal context and intellectual development in the cultural milieu of the times.

I The early years During the year that Moritz Schlick moved from Kiel to Vienna, Kuhn was born in Cincinnati, Ohio, on July 18, 1922.1 He was the first of two children born—a brother Roger was born several years later—to Samuel (Sam) L. and Minette (née Stroock) Kuhn. His father was a native Cincinnatian and his mother a native New Yorker. The family, according to Kuhn, was “certified Jews. Non-practicing Jews. My mother’s parents had been practitioners, not Orthodox practitioners. My father’s parents had not” (2000, p. 266).

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When Kuhn was six months old, the family moved to New York. But other members of the Kuhn family, including a favorite aunt, Emma (née Kuhn) Fisher, Sam’s younger sister, remained in Cincinnati. Aunt Emma was a source of inspiration for Kuhn. During the Second World War, she opened her home to Guenther, a young German Jewish refugee. Kuhn inscribed his copy of Structure to her accordingly, “For Emmy—who as Aunty Emma— helped me find what I was and liked.” Kuhn’s father, Sam, was a hydraulic engineer trained at Harvard and MIT prior to the First World War. He entered the war, and served in the Army Corps of Engineers. According to Kuhn (2000), these were the best years of his father’s life. After the war, Sam left the armed services and returned to Cincinnati with his recent bride to help his mother, Setty (née Swartz) Kuhn, who was recently widowed. His father’s career, after moving to New York, was a disappointment. But, Kuhn admired his father and considered him one of the brightest people he knew, next to Conant. Kuhn’s mother, Minette, was a liberally educated person, who on occasion did professional editing. She came from an affluent family and her stepfather was a lawyer. Minette’s biological father died from tuberculosis shortly after her birth. Although Kuhn thought his mother more of an intellectual than his father, in that she was well read, he considered her not as bright as his father. Kuhn recalled that everyone claimed he took after his father and his brother after his mother. But he later recognized that the opposite was true, when reflecting on why he went on to study theoretical rather than experimental physics. Minette took an active interest in her son’s career, and she read and discussed his books with him. Kuhn’s early education reflected the family’s liberal progressiveness. In 1927, Kuhn began his education as a kindergartener at the progressive Lincoln school in Manhattan. “Progressive education,” according to Kuhn, “was a movement which . . . emphasized subject matter less than it emphasized independence of mind, confidence in ability to use one’s mind” (2000, p. 257). By Kuhn’s own admission, he was taught to think independently, but little content accompanied that thinking. He remembered that by the second grade, for instance, he was unable to read proficiently to the consternation of his parents. Beginning in the sixth grade, his family moved to Croton-on-Hudson, a small town about 50 miles from Manhattan; and, the adolescent Kuhn attended the progressive Hessian Hills School. According to Kuhn, left-oriented radical teachers, who taught the students to be pacifists, staffed the school. While at the school, Leon Sciaky—a mathematics teacher—was an inspiration for him. When Kuhn left the school after the ninth grade, he thought of himself as a bright and independent thinker. After spending an uninspired year at the preparatory school—Solebury—in Pennsylvania, Kuhn spent the remaining years of high school at Taft—a Yale-preparatory school in Watertown, Connecticut. Kuhn was even less enthusiastic about Taft, but he felt that “these schools gave me more formal training” (2000, p. 258).

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He graduated third in a class of 105 students and was inducted into the National Honor Society. For his schoolwork in mathematics and science, he received the prestigious Rensselaer Alumni Association Medal. Kuhn wrote a number of student essays while at Taft on various topics, ranging from student strikes to tariffs. One essay, entitled “Some things about E—,” captured Kuhn’s struggle to articulate the concept of quality or the nonquantifiable—a struggle that plagued him for the rest of his life. The essay is obviously about Aunt Emma. After describing certain ineffable features of his aunt, Kuhn ends the essay writing, “She has other qualities I would like to express, but I can’t seem to catch and untangle them. I wish I could!” (Kuhn Papers, box 1, folder 2, p. 2). This essay must be contrasted with essays on technological devices. For example, in essays on the telegraph relay switch and on the icebox, Kuhn provides both accurate and modestly detailed descriptions and drawings, with little anxiety expressed over them. He also exhibited interest in literature. In an essay, “Character portrayal in The Case of Sergeant Grisha,” Kuhn analyzed insightfully the development of a character (Kuhn Papers, box 1, folder 2). This revealed his early ability to place himself within a text and explore the development of its characters—an ability that would serve him well when he shifted from science to its history.

II The Harvard years Undergraduate education Kuhn later recalled that during grammar and high school he “had almost no friends. I was isolated. . . . I was quite unhappy about it. I wasn’t a member of the group and I wanted terribly to be a member of the group” (2000, p. 261). All of that was to change for him when he matriculated to Harvard College in the fall of 1940, following his father’s and uncles’ footsteps. At Harvard, Kuhn was to acquire a sense of himself socially, by participating in various organizations. During the first year at Harvard, Kuhn took a yearlong course in philosophy. In the first semester, he studied Plato and Aristotle; while in the second semester, he studied Descartes, Spinoza, Hume, and Kant. Although he found these thinkers stimulating and challenging, Kant was a “revelation” for him, especially the Kantian categories and synthetic a priori. Later in his career, Kuhn called himself “a Kantian with movable categories” (Kuhn 2000, p. 264). He intended to take additional philosophy courses but could not find the time. He did, however, attend several of George Sarton’s lectures on the history of science but found them “turgid and dull” (Kuhn 2000, p. 275). Kuhn wrote several undergraduate essays that revealed an early interest in metaphysics. One such essay was “An analysis of causal complexity,”

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which he wrote for a philosophy course taught by D. C. Williams, during the 1945 fall term. As Kuhn wrote, The essay represents an attempt to analyse (sic) the notion of cause so as to eliminate from it those elements which are irrelevant to a metaphysically reasonable formulation of scientific law and an effort to investigate the possible epistemological grounds of the remaining concept. (Kuhn Papers, box 1, folder 3, p. 1) Kuhn drew upon the work of Russell and Hume to complete the task. Williams found the essay acceptable but in need of further development. Kuhn wrote two other essays on metaphysical issues for an English course, taught by Mr. Davis. The first, “An Analysis of the Metaphysical Lyric, ‘Death’,” was on John Donne’s metaphysical poem, in which Kuhn compared the poem’s structure to Donne’s development of the notion of death and concluded that the poem is not great because it does not inflame the passions as do other literary works (Kuhn Papers, box 1, folder 3). In comments on the essay, the instructor pointed out to Kuhn that great poems need not always excite the passions. In the second essay,“The metaphysical possibilities of physics,” Kuhn asked the question of whether physics is capable of discovering and formulating an exhaustive conception of the universe. To answer it, Kuhn proposed a two-step investigation. The first was to determine the nature of the data, and whether the data could yield a finite amount of information about the universe. Obviously, a finite amount of information would be conducive to comprehending it, rather than an infinite amount. The second step was to determine the relationship between concepts and data/information. That relationship is derivative. “They [concepts] are generalizations made,” according to Kuhn, “to fit the data” (Kuhn Papers, box 1, folder 3, p. 10). This led Kuhn to the questions of “how are they derived and to what extent are they logically necessary?” (Kuhn Papers, box 1, folder 3, p. 10). But, he had no answers. In the essay, Kuhn also addressed the question of how many concepts can be derived from data and information. In principle, Kuhn believed a limited number of concepts are possible. However, they may not provide the necessary knowledge about the world, only that the world is knowable. The problem was to pick out the right concept from the derived concepts to explain the data. But, Kuhn felt confident that even if there were an infinite number of concepts derived from the data, physicists would eventually arrive at one to explain the universe even though there would always be some question concerning its veracity. “But if this investigation, correctly performed, yielded the possibility of but one concept,” concluded Kuhn, “we would believe that science could in time arrive at a picture of the universe, and that that picture would be an image of the reality” (Kuhn Papers, box 1, folder 3, p. 11).

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During the first year at Harvard, Kuhn was torn over majoring in either physics or mathematics. After seeking his father’s counsel, he chose physics because of greater career opportunities. Interestingly, one of the attractions of both mathematics and physics was their problem-solving traditions (Kuhn 2000, p. 261). In the fall of Kuhn’s sophomore year, the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor and Kuhn expedited his undergraduate education by going to summer school. The physics department focused on teaching predominantly electronics, and Kuhn followed suit. He did not have a course in relativity until graduate school. Also during his sophomore year, Kuhn underwent another radical transformation. The atrocities perpetrated in Europe during the Second World War—especially by Hitler—horrified him. Kuhn experienced a crisis, since he was unable to defend pacifism despite having been trained a pacifist. The outcome of this crisis was that he became an interventionist, which was the position of many at Harvard—especially Conant, its president from 1933 to 1953. The episode left a lasting impression on Kuhn. In a Harvard Crimson editorial, he supported Conant’s effort to militarize the universities in the United States. The editorial, of course, came to the attention of the administration, and eventually Conant and Kuhn met—an experience Kuhn relished and never forgot. Their relationship was cordial, although Kuhn found Conant reticent. Kuhn graduated from Harvard College with an S.B. (summa cum laude) in the spring of 1943, and he was invited to present the Phi Beta Kappa address. In the address, he began by affirming the importance of a liberal arts education. The issue he confronted in it was his generation’s skepticism, especially after the two world wars. Although he provided no solution to dispel the skepticism, he did turn to the tradition in which Harvard indoctrinated him and his classmates, especially as it related to the humanities. As Kuhn told his fellow classmates, “It is thus most of all from the sense of being part of a tradition that we can turn from the edge of nihilism with a positive faith, a faith which causes us to say, we will not depart from the way of life we have learned here” (Kuhn Papers, box 1, folder 3, p. 2). He concluded the address quoting from a Crimson editorial entitled L’Envoi, which identified the basis of this way of life as “Veritas.”2 After graduation, Kuhn worked for the Radio Research Laboratory located in Harvard’s biology building, at the top of its north wing. He was an assistant to John van Vleck, who later received the 1977 Nobel Prize in physics. Kuhn worked on radar counter technology, which procured for him a deferment from the draft. After a year, he requested a transfer to England and then to the continent, where he worked in association with the U.S. Office of Scientific Research and Development. This trip was Kuhn’s first abroad, and the experience invigorated him. For example, he was in France when Charles de Gaulle entered Paris. However, Kuhn came to realize that he did not enjoy radar work, which led him to doubt whether he wanted to continue as a physicist. But, the doubt did not dampen his enthusiasm for

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or belief in science. During this time, Kuhn had the opportunity to read on the philosophy of science. He read classics such as Russell’s Our Knowledge of the External World and P. W. Bridgman’s The Logic of Modern Physics, along with writings by Carnap and Frank.

Graduate school After Victory in Europe Day in 1945, Kuhn returned to Harvard. As the war abated with the dropping of the atomic bombs on Japan, he activated an earlier acceptance into graduate school and began studies in the physics department mostly for pragmatic reasons. However, since he had taken so many physics courses as an undergraduate Kuhn convinced the department to allow him to take philosophy courses during his first year. “I took two courses [relational logic and metaphysics],” remembered Kuhn, “and I realized that there was just a lot of philosophy I hadn’t been taught, and didn’t understand” (2000, p. 273). Kuhn again chose the pragmatic path and focused on physics. While a graduate student, he was also a tutor at Kirkland House. In 1946, Kuhn passed the general examinations and received a master’s degree in physics. He then began dissertation research on theoretical solid-state physics. Kuhn’s dissertation advisor was van Vleck and the dissertation title was, “The cohesive energy of monovalent metals as a function of their atomic quantum defects.” In 1949, Kuhn received a doctorate in physics. On November 27, 1948, Kuhn married Kathryn Muhs. She was born in Reading, Pennsylvania, in 1923, and graduated from Vassar College in 1944. The Kuhns had three children: Sarah (b. 1952), Elizabeth (b. 1954), and Nathaniel (b. 1958). Kuhn’s wife was instrumental in and supportive of his career, typing out his doctoral dissertation when first married and encouraging his passion for scholarly work. In appreciation, Kuhn called her “his favorite epistemologist” (1977a, p. v). He also expressed in Structure his appreciation and gratitude to his family not only for their support and encouragement but also for their intellectual contributions. Kuhn had a warm and caring relationship with his three children to whom he dedicated his last book with the inscription, “For Sarah, Liza, and Nat, my teachers in discontinuity” (1987a, p. v). In 1943, Conant assembled a committee to examine general education at Harvard. After the committee issued a report, “Objectives of a general education in a free society,” a précis of it appeared in the September 22, 1945 issue of the Harvard Alumni Bulletin, along with the opinions of twelve Harvard professors and others on it. Kuhn was selected to represent the student perspective. In an essay, “Subjective view,” he acknowledged that the report pointed in the right direction because the increased scientific facts obtained within the last century cannot be taught through traditional means. But, the success of the general education reform, Kuhn argued, depends on

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professors who are “undoubtedly both scholars and teachers, but such men are rare. Far more numerous are the inspiring teachers whose scholarship lacks profundity and the profound scholars whose teaching lacks appeal. The University may have to increase the proportion of its staff in the first of these categories,” he concluded, “if the general education program is to realize the maximum of its great potential” (1945, p. 30). One of the impetuses for revision of general education was Conant’s and others’ desire to educate the public about science and its role in the prosperity of the modern world. Moreover, politicians of American domestic policy realized that an educated populace about science would be more sympathetic for funding scientific research. Science was the new front line for Americans, as Vannevar Bush so aptly articulated in “Science: the endless frontier” (1945). “During the immediate postwar years,” as Kuhn explained later, “there was much discussion of what every educated voter ought to know about science, and there were numerous experiments with special science courses for the non-scientist” (1984a, p. 30). Conant’s approach was through the history of science, which was unique compared to approaches taken at other universities. Although Kuhn had high regard for science, especially physics, he was unfulfilled as a physicist and continually harbored doubts during graduate school about a career in it. He had chosen both a dissertation topic and an advisor to expedite obtaining a degree or “walking papers” (2000, p. 274). But, he was to find direction for his career through an invitation from Conant in 1947 to help prepare a historical case-based course for upper-level undergraduates. Conant (1947) had recently outlined a strategy to educate the American populace via the history of science in the 1945–6 Dwight H. Terry lectures at Yale, eventually published as On Understanding Science. Kuhn accepted the invitation to be one of two assistants for Conant’s course. At our first meeting, Conant turned to me and said: “I can’t imagine a General Education course in science that doesn’t have something about mechanics in it. But I’m a chemist, I can’t imagine how to do that! You’re a physicist, go find out!” (Sigurdsson 1990, p. 20) And with that assignment, Kuhn undertook a project investigating the origins of seventeenth-century mechanics, a project that would transform his understanding of the nature of science. The transformation came, as Kuhn recounted on a number of occasions, on a “memorable (and very hot summer) day” in 1947 as he struggled to understand Aristotle’s idea of motion in Physics. From an interview with Kuhn, John Horgan narrated the event accordingly, “Kuhn was pondering this mystery, staring out his dormitory window (‘I can still see the vines and the shade two thirds of the way down’), when suddenly Aristotle ‘made sense’” (1997, p. 42). The problem was that Kuhn tried to make

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sense of Aristotle’s idea of motion using Newtonian assumptions and categories of motion. Once Kuhn realized that he must read Aristotle using the assumptions and categories contemporary when Physics was written, suddenly Aristotle’s idea of motion made sense. From this experience, Kuhn formulated a hermeneutical method for the history of science, in terms of the following methodological maxim. When reading the works of an important thinker, look first for the apparent absurdities in the text and ask yourself how a sensible person could have written them. . . . When those passages make sense, then you may find that the more central passages, ones you previously thought you understood, have changed their meaning. (1977a, p. xii) Kuhn’s insight into approaching and reading a text from a previous scientific era was also to form the backbone of InT. As Kuhn concluded years later from the experience, “It was untranslatability rather than translatability that I increasingly saw in studying the history of science” (Sigurdsson 1990, p. 20).

Harvard society of fellows After the transforming experience, Kuhn realized that he wanted to shift careers to HPS. His interest was not strictly history of science but philosophy, for he felt that philosophy was the way to truth and truth was what he was after (2000, pp. 277–9). To achieve that goal, Kuhn asked Conant to sponsor him as a junior fellow in the Harvard society of fellows. Harvard had recently initiated the society to provide young and promising scholars freedom from teaching for three years to develop a scholarly program. The fellows meet formally once, and informally several times, a week to dine and discuss ideas. Kuhn’s colleagues stimulated him professionally, especially a senior fellow named Quine. At the time, Quine was publishing a critique on the distinction between the analytic and the synthetic, which Kuhn found reassuring for his own thinking. In the fall of 1948, Kuhn began as a fellow but had to finish the doctoral dissertation in physics first. However, once the dissertation was completed the fellowship provided him the opportunity to retool as a historian/ philosopher of science. Kuhn took advantage of the opportunity and read widely over the next year and a half in the humanities and sciences. Just prior to the appointment as a fellow, Kuhn was also undergoing psychoanalysis. Although the analyst acted rudely and irresponsibly, Kuhn was able to appropriate the technique—“to climb into other’s heads”—for historical research (2000, p. 280). Although psychoanalysis was instrumental in shaping Kuhn’s ability to climb inside another’s head, this ability came to him predominantly from

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Alexandre Koyré’s historical work. At Bernard Cohen’s recommendation, Kuhn read in 1947 Koyré’s Etudes Galiléennes and “loved them. I mean,” he testified later, “this was showing me a way to do things” (2000, p. 285). In a review of Koyré’s work, Kuhn testified to Koyré’s impact on the development of the history of science. “Within a decade of their appearance,” wrote Kuhn, “they and his subsequent work provided the models which historians of science increasingly aimed to emulate. More than any other scholar, Koyré was responsible for . . . the historiographical revolution” (1970a, p. 67). For Kuhn, Koyré represented a different kind of historian from historians like Sarton. According to Kuhn, Sarton “was a Whig historian and he certainly saw science as the greatest human achievement and the model for everything else” (2000, p. 282). Kuhn’s interest in history of science was not to produce a chronology of scientific discoveries or list of the people responsible for them but to reconstruct the process and practices by which scientific knowledge develops. Besides Koyré’s intellectual history, Kuhn was also significantly influenced by the Johns Hopkins’ intellectual historian A. O. Lovejoy—whom he cited in Structure. Through a footnote in Reichenbach’s Experience and Prediction, Kuhn came across another influential thinker—Fleck. Although Kuhn claimed he did not obtain much from reading Fleck’s Entstehung und Entwicklung einer wissenschaftlichen Tatsache, he “certainly got a lot of important reinforcement. There was someone who was, in a number of respects, thinking about things the way I was, thinking about the historical material I was” (2000, p. 283). But, Kuhn did not find Fleck’s notion of “thought collective” useful but rather repulsive, although Fleck’s work, along with a remark by another fellow Francis Sutton, helped Kuhn to appreciate the role of the “sociology of the scientific community” (1964, p. ix). Kuhn was also influenced by other thinkers whom he read or met during his tenure as a Harvard fellow. Other fellows introduced him to the writings of Gestalt psychologists, including Kurt Koffka, Wolfgang Köhler, and Max Wertheimer, and to Benjamin Whorf’s work on language and worldviews. In the summer between the second and third years of the fellowship, he traveled to Europe. In England, he met Mary Hesse and Alistair Crombie, among others. In France, he met Gaston Bachelard. Unfortunately, the meeting with Bachelard was held in French much to Kuhn’s consternation. He also read Hélène Metzger’s work on the history of chemistry. Furthermore, he read Anneliese Maier’s work in the history of science. As Kuhn testified in Structure’s Preface, these thinkers showed Kuhn “what it was like to think scientifically in a period when the canons of scientific thought were very different from those current today” (1964, p. viii). During the last year of Kuhn’s fellowship, Conant ceased teaching the history of science general education course. Kuhn, along with a colleague Leonard Nash—a well-known and respected chemistry teacher at Harvard— took over the course. The student numbers plummeted, however, and Kuhn found himself over preparing and anxious about teaching—an anxiety that

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would plague him for the rest of his career and spill over into his scholarship. According to Karl Hufbauer (2012), students initially found Kuhn’s lectures less than inspiring compared to Nash’s lectures, but over the next few years, students came to appreciate the detail Kuhn put into his lectures. In a March 8, 1950 letter, a trustee of the Lowell Institute, Ralph Lowell, invited Kuhn to deliver the 1951 Lowell lectures (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 10). John Lowell, Jr., founded the institute in 1836 and opened it to the public three years later. Although previous lecturers were well-known luminaries, such as Alfred North Whitehead, by the time Kuhn was invited the lecturers were usually drawn from the Harvard fellows. Kuhn agreed to deliver a series of eight lectures during March 1951, on Tuesdays and Fridays (except Good Friday on March 23) at 8:00 p.m., at the Boston Public Library in Copely square. On February 17, 1951, an advertisement for the lectures appeared in the Boston Globe, which read “What are the problems of scientific research today?????” (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 10). On the day the Globe advertisement appeared, Kuhn wrote a letter to Ralph Lowell claiming that the advertisement “bears no relation to the announced title of either the series or the individual lectures” (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 10, February 17, 1950[1] letter to Lowell). The misleading newspaper advertisement, which was the result of an overly ambitious commercial copy editor, was eventually corrected. But, a flyer was also distributed at the same time as the advertisement and asserted, “In a world in which science’s quest for physical theory has already had results that promise to change the course of history, the fate of mankind may depend upon solving the problems of research” (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 10). Upon learning about the flyer, Kuhn wrote another letter to Lowell complaining that such sensationalism was responsible for the deplorable reputation of HPS. The goal of the lectures, as Hanne Andersen contended, was to demonstrate that “the reigning view of science was altogether wrong” (2001a, p. 4). Kuhn was now on his way to developing a theory of science distinct from the traditional view, but he realized that more historical research was needed before he could articulate it fully for publication.

Harvard faculty In the same year as the Lowell lectures, Harvard appointed Kuhn as an instructor and the following year as an assistant professor. In a letter to David Owen, chair of the university’s general education committee, Kuhn outlined a research project along with teaching interests. First, he noted that he was to deliver the Lowell lectures on issues in scientific methodology, which he then planned to publish as a book on revising the history of motion up to the time of Isaac Newton. Besides history of science, Kuhn informed

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the committee that he was also engaged with philosophical problems over the nature of science, especially with a new image of science as a process than simply as a repository of information. Kuhn’s primary teaching duty was in the general education curriculum, where he continued to teach the course, Natural Sciences 4, with Nash. He eventually taught other courses in the history of science. It was during this time that Kuhn developed one of his favorite undergraduate courses in the history of science, “The rise of scientific cosmology: Aristotle to Newton,” which he taught for many years. In the course, Kuhn started out by getting people to read Aristotelian texts and talk about what motion was like and what the so-called laws of motion were and why that was not the thing to call them, and did a certain amount of medieval material and then wound up with Galileo and a little bit of Newton. (2000, p. 288) He also utilized course preparation time to conduct research on scholarly projects. For example, he handed out in class chapters of the Copernican book. However, he found class preparation time consuming and often detracted from writing. A significant part of Kuhn’s reason for developing a new image of science was the misconceptions of science held by the public. He blamed the misconceptions on introductory courses that stressed the textbook or the problem-solving nature of science as a static body of knowledge. After discussing this state of affairs with colleagues and Conant, Kuhn provided a solution: an accurate image of science. The key to an accurate image, insisted Kuhn, was its history, which displays the creative and dynamic nature of science rather than merely chronicling scientific achievements. In the early 1950s, Charles Morris invited Kuhn to write a monograph on the history of science for the International Encyclopedia of Unified Science at Cohen’s suggestion, after another person was unable to do it (Kuhn 2000, p. 292).3 The proposed title of the monograph was The Structure of Scientific Revolutions. In 1953, Kuhn applied for a Guggenheim fellowship to supplement a half-year leave of absence, which Harvard often granted to untenured faculty within the first five years of service to the university. In the application, he proposed to finish a 120,000-word book on the Copernican revolution and to write the monograph on scientific revolutions for the Encyclopedia. He started the fellowship in 1954, but he did not finish the Copernican book until several years later and the scientific revolutions monograph until almost a decade later. In 1956, Harvard denied Kuhn tenure because the tenure committee felt the book on the Copernican revolution was too popular in its approach and analysis. The Copernican book—as Kuhn admitted in his Guggenheim fellowship application—represented a synthesis of current scholarship.

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“I have used monographs and sources in the field, but I do not, in this book,” he explained, “mean to add to them” (Hufbauer 2012, p. 457). However, he did claim that the narrative was to some extent unique. Interestingly, Kuhn also acknowledged in the fellowship application that Structure too was a work of synthesis like the Copernican book. But I should hope that the monograph were an important synthesis. The ideas are original in this context; they are drawn from a variety of fields not normally treated together; and they contribute to a more realistic appraisal o[f] scientific theories—a major desideratum. (Hufbauer 2012, p. 459) In other words, he firmly believed that the image of science in Structure was a more accurate depiction of the process of science.

III Mid career The Berkeley years A friend of Kuhn, who was also a tutor at Harvard’s Kirkland House, knew the chair of the philosophy department at the University of California at Berkeley, Steven Pepper. Kuhn’s friend told Pepper that Kuhn was seeking an academic position. Pepper’s department was searching for someone to establish a program in HPS. It eventually offered Kuhn a position in philosophy; and, he was later asked if he wanted an appointment in the history department. Kuhn accepted both positions and in 1956 joined the faculty at Berkeley as an assistant professor. The historian, Hunter Dupree, was also hired at the same time to assist in establishing the program. Since courses could not be cross-listed, Kuhn taught courses in both departments. He taught a yearlong survey course in the history of science, which he organized not chronologically but according to scientific practices. Kuhn used the course material to write the essay, “Mathematical versus experimental traditions in development of physical science” (1976a). Kuhn also taught a course in philosophy, beginning with Aristotle and concluding with Newton, and a seminar on various topics depending on the strength and interests of students. Kuhn met in the philosophy department Stanley Cavell, a soul mate who replaced Nash. Kuhn and Cavell had met earlier, when they were both fellows at Harvard. Cavell was an ethicist and aestheticist, whom Kuhn found intellectually stimulating and with whom he could discuss issues in half sentences (Kindi 2010). Cavell also introduced Kuhn to Wittgenstein’s notion of language games in which the meaning of terms is fixed. Kuhn also developed a professional relationship with Feyerabend. They often

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met to discuss ideas “in the now defunct Café Old Europe on Telegraph Avenue [Berkeley, CA] and greatly amused the other customers by their friendly vehemence” (Feyerabend 1970, p. 198). Kuhn gave Feyerabend a draft of Structure but Feyerabend “was terribly upset by this whole business of dogma, rigidity, which of course is exactly counter to what he believed himself” (Kuhn 2000, p. 310). Kuhn credited both Cavell and Feyerabend in the Preface of Structure for their assistance in formulating and articulating its ideas. Kuhn’s book on the Copernican revolution appeared in 1957, published by Harvard University Press. In it, Kuhn presented a narrative in which he argued that both astronomical and nonastronomical factors shaped the revolution. Kuhn was well on his way to formulating an image of science that was different from its “received” view. On October 23, 1956, while arriving on the Berkeley campus, Kuhn presented a paper, “Role of measurement in development of science,” at the university’s social science colloquium. Kuhn revised the paper during the spring of 1958 and delivered it the following year at a conference on the “History of quantification in the sciences.” He introduced the notion of normal scientific practice, albeit in terms of measurement. “The second section, Motives for Normal Measurement, was a product of those revisions,” Kuhn recalled later, “and its second paragraph contains the first description of what I had, in its title, come very close to calling ‘normal science’” (1977a, p. xvii). The paper was eventually published in Isis (Kuhn 1961).4 Although he was aware for several years of periods of scientific practice governed by tradition that punctuated revolutions, their importance, in terms of a notion of “normal science,” eluded him. But once Kuhn had the insight into normal science by the end of the summer in 1959, the transition from “The function of measurement” to Structure’s section 4, “Normal science as puzzle solving,” was straightforward. In 1958, the university promoted Kuhn to associate professor and granted him tenure. Moreover, having completed the initial historical research, Kuhn was now ready to return to the philosophical issues that first attracted him to historical research on the sciences. He spent a year, beginning in the fall of 1958, as a fellow at the Center for Advanced Study in the Behavioral Sciences at Stanford, California. His intention was to write a draft of Structure, but he ran into a problem concerning the nature of the intervals between revolutions. The year Kuhn spent at the center, which was filled with social scientists, was critical for resolving the problem. What struck Kuhn about the relationships among these scientists was their inability to agree on the fundamental problems and practices of their disciplines. Although natural scientists do not necessarily have the right answers to every question, they do agree about fundamentals. This difference between natural and social scientists led Kuhn to the paradigm concept. Although Michael Polanyi visited the center, while Kuhn was in residence, and gave a lecture on tacit knowledge, Kuhn claimed that the approach he took in Structure did not focus on propositional knowledge as Polanyi’s approach did. Within a year

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and a half, beginning in the summer of 1959, he was able to complete a draft of Structure. The initial fruit of Kuhn’s labor, however, was a paper entitled, “The essential tension: tradition and innovation in scientific research,” which he presented at the Third University of Utah Research Conference on the Identification of Creative Scientific Talent, held at the Peruvian Lodge in Alta, Utah, from June 11 to 14, 1959. The conference was part of a movement at the time to identify the features and predictors of creativity, in order to expedite scientific discovery and advancement. The movement was the brainchild of Calvin Taylor and sponsored by the National Science Foundation (NSF). A steering committee invited participants from a variety of disciplines and occupations, who had contributed to the criteria, predicators, external conditions, and development of scientific creativity. Attendees presented papers in an informal manner, and committees, which were composed of attendees, explored different aspects of scientific creativity. Kuhn participated on a committee examining the environmental conditions of scientific creativity. The importance of “The essential tension” paper was the introduction of the paradigm concept. “That concept had come to me a few months before the paper was read,” as Kuhn admitted later, “and by the time I employed it again in 1961 and 1962 its contents had expanded to global proportions, disguising my original intent” (1977a, p. xviii). In the paper, Kuhn’s use of paradigm was more constrained and less ambiguous than its use in Structure. In the monograph, the paradigm concept reflects a traditional meaning in language pedagogy. Just as students learn a language by declining nouns and conjugating verbs, so students learn science by solving standard or textbook problems. Kuhn later claimed he used the term properly in the paper, as compared to the monograph, for paradigm is limited to scientific consensus especially in terms of scientific models (2000, p. 299). Now, he had the two poles of a scientific epistemology: one of episodic change (innovation), the other of stasis (tradition). For him this generated a tension in which scientists practice their trade. From July 9 to 15, 1961, after just completing the draft of Structure, Kuhn participated in a symposium, “The structure of scientific change.” The symposium, held at the University of Oxford and under the auspices of the Royal Society’s International Union of the History and Philosophy of Science, was directed by the well-known historian of science, Crombie. In introductory remarks, Crombie discussed the importance of and the problems associated with scientific change, especially in terms of internal and external factors, for both historians and philosophers of science. Kuhn delivered a paper, “The function of dogma in scientific research,” which represented a revision of “The essential tension” paper and which contained material from the first-third of the Structure draft, including the paradigm concept. Rupert Hall and Polanyi provided commentaries on Kuhn’s paper, which were followed by a discussion of the paper involving

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Bentley Glass, Stephen Toulmin, and Edward Caldin. Kuhn gave closing remarks.5 In 1962, Structure was published in the second volume of Neurath’s International Encyclopedia of Unified Science. Carnap served as its editor. The monograph was well received initially, as evident from contemporary reviews, although many reviewers criticized the ambiguous formulation of the paradigm concept. While these reviews exposed Structure to a wider audience than the history and philosophy communities, participation in a 1965 international philosophy colloquium in London thrust Kuhn onto center stage in the historiographic revolution. Moreover, it is fitting, as John Heilbron noted, that Structure was birthed at Berkeley, which was the one of the important centers of the academic revolution—as part of the BerkeleyCambridge axis—during the 1960s. Finally, Kuhn also published another important paper in the same year as Structure. The paper, “Historical structure of scientific discovery,” appeared in the prestigious journal Science, a publication of the American Association for the Advancement of Science, and represented a précis of the monograph. In all, Kuhn was gaining national and international reputation throughout the decade. After the publication of Structure, Kuhn was invited by his doctoral advisor, van Vleck, to direct a project to collect materials on the history of quantum mechanics. The impetus for the project was the “immortality” of its “heroes.” “With ever increasing frequency the physicist in his middle years has asked his colleagues,” as Kuhn and his colleagues penned the motivation for undertaking the project, “what can we do to capture the great dialogs and the great moments before they fade away?” (Kuhn et al. 1967, p. vi). In August 1960, Kuhn, along with Dupree, Charles Kittel, John Wheeler, and Harry Woolf, met in Berkeley to discuss the project’s organization. They wrote a preliminary proposal, and a revised proposal was prepared the next month. Wheeler next met with Richard Shryock, from the American Philosophical Society, and a joint committee of the American Physical Society and the American Philosophical Society on the History of Theoretical Physics in the Twentieth Century was formed to sponsor and develop the project. The duration of the project was from July 1, 1961 to June 31, 1964, with its first and last years conducted in Berkeley and the middle year in Europe. The NSF funded the project. Kuhn’s colleagues on the project were Heilbron, Paul Forman, and Lini Allen. Their duties were to interview the physicists who participated in the transition from classical to quantum physics during the early twentieth century, including especially Niels Bohr, and to collect and deposit at different locations the published articles of these physicists, along with their unpublished manuscripts, letters, notebooks, and autobiographical remembrances. The project’s staff also conducted around 175 interviews with the physicists, from February 1962 to May 1964. Kuhn found the interviewing process frustrating because the interviewees either could not remember important details or thought the interviewer’s questions were

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irrelevant to the science. Kuhn admitted later that he had reservations about the type of information the project would generate about the discoveries (Sigurdsson 1990, p. 23). In the same year that Structure was published, Kuhn moved the family to Copenhagen, Denmark, where he directed the archival project. The collected material was deposited at the library of the American Philosophical Society in Philadelphia and at the library of the University of California in Berkeley, with a less complete collection deposited at the Bohr archive in Copenhagen. In 1967, the American Philosophical Society published a catalog of the archival material as Memoir 68 (Kuhn et al. 1967). Besides the catalog, Kuhn published two historical studies related to the project. The first was an article on the origins of the Bohr atom, coauthored with Heilbron (Heilbron and Kuhn 1969). The article, as Kuhn recalled later, was inspired by the quantum project—especially “when we read Bohr’s 1913 paper, in preparation for interviewing him” (Sigurdsson 1990, p. 24). The second published study was a book on Planck’s black-body radiation theory and the origins of quantum discontinuity (Kuhn 1987a). In 1960, The Johns Hopkins University offered Kuhn a position as full professor at a substantially higher salary. Although he found the offer attractive, he decided to remain at Berkeley since he had been there for only a few years and found colleagues stimulating. However, he used the offer to negotiate for expansion of the program at Berkeley and the administration agreed to hire another faculty member. In 1961, Kuhn was made full professor, but only in the history department. Members of philosophy department voted to deny him promotion in their department, a denial that angered and hurt Kuhn tremendously. Years later in an interview, Kuhn confessed that the hurt “has never altogether gone away” (2000, p. 302). Eventually, he took a position elsewhere.

The Princeton years While in Copenhagen, Kuhn received an offer to join the faculty of Princeton University. Princeton had recently inaugurated a HPS program. The program’s chair was the well-known historian of science, Charles Gillispie. The program was staffed by another historian of science, John Murdoch, and two philosophers of science, Carl Hempel and Hilary Putnam. Upon returning to the United States in 1963, Kuhn and his wife visited Princeton. Kuhn decided to accept the offer, and he joined the faculty in 1964. He felt Princeton would provide the necessary resources for him professionally. Kuhn developed a close relationship with Hempel, and they taught jointly a philosophy of science course. “Tom’s ideas have influenced my thinking in various ways,” testified Hempel later, “and have certainly contributed to my shift from an antinaturalistic stance to a naturalistic one” (1993, p. 8). In 1967, Kuhn became the program’s director; and in the following year, he

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was appointed the Moses Taylor Pyne Professor of History. From 1972 to 1979, he was also a member of the Institute for Advanced Study. In late 1964, Imre Lakatos asked Kuhn to participate in an international colloquium in the philosophy of science, organized jointly by the British Society for the Philosophy of Science and the London School of Economics and Political Science. The organizing committee included the British logician William Kneale as chair and Lakatos and Popper, among others. The committee invited Kuhn to participate in a session, “Criticism and the growth of mathematical and scientific knowledge.” The initial plan was for Lakatos to deliver a critical paper on Popper’s philosophy vis-à-vis Kuhn’s philosophy of science. Kuhn was then to follow with critical remarks on Lakatos’s paper. Kuhn accepted with the condition that Lakatos supply Kuhn a draft of the paper by March of the following year (Kuhn Papers, box 23, folder 9, November 9, 1964, letter). Lakatos did not provide the draft by March but instead wrote to Kuhn in mid-June that he was withdrawing from the conference and would not present another paper again until he had completed an overdue book manuscript. Feyerabend, who was also to participate in the colloquium, refused to attend and proposed to send a paper to be read by proxy. However, the committee rejected Feyerabend’s proposal and invited John Watkins in his stead. Moreover, the committee decided to invite Popper to present a paper so he would not chair the session, rather Hall would replace him as chair (Kuhn Papers, box 23, folder 9, June 18, 1965, letter). When Kuhn learned of the changes, he found them “shocking” and in a return letter resigned from the conference. Although Kuhn acknowledged that some of the changes were beyond Lakatos’s control, “what does, however, upset and offend me deeply,” wrote Kuhn, “is your behavior” (Kuhn Papers, box 23, folder 9, June 23, 1965, letter, p. 2). Kuhn felt that Lakatos should have had the courtesy to consult him earlier about the changes. After correcting the issues to Kuhn’s satisfaction, the colloquium went on as scheduled for July 13, 1965, at Bedford College in London. Kuhn initially presented a paper, “Logic of discovery or psychology of research?” Watkins then delivered a paper commenting on Kuhn’s paper, with Popper chairing the daylong session. Popper also presented a paper criticizing Kuhn, as did several other members of the philosophy of science community, including Toulmin, Pearce Williams, and Margaret Masterman. The papers from the colloquium, including additional papers by Lakatos and Feyerabend along with Kuhn’s reflections on his critics, were not published until five years after the conference (Lakatos and Musgrave 1970). After Structure’s publication, Kuhn’s paradigm concept came under considerable criticism, especially from historians and philosophers of science. Interestingly, especially to Kuhn, those outside the discipline of HPS were more receptive to the concept and to Structure. As the sixties ended, Kuhn’s monograph was becoming increasingly popular, especially with student radicals who believed Kuhn liberated them from the tyranny and

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oppression of tradition. Kuhn took to heart his critics and began to revise the paradigm concept. In an unpublished lecture, “Paradigms and theories in scientific research,” delivered at Swarthmore College on February 19, 1967, Kuhn attempted to clarify the paradigm concept by introducing the notion of “professional matrix” (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 14). Frederick Suppe and Alan Donagan organized a symposium on the structure of scientific theories, which was held at Urbana, Illinois, from March 26 to 28, 1969. The organizers invited luminaries in the sciences and in HPS, including Cohen, Hempel, Putnam, Dudley Shapere, Patrick Suppes, among others. The organizers also invited Kuhn, who presented a paper, “Second thoughts on paradigms.” In the paper, Kuhn defined paradigms in terms of disciplinary matrix and exemplars. Suppe provided commentary, followed by a discussion among Kuhn, Shapere, Suppes, Putnam, Sylvain Bromberger, and Peter Achinstein. Besides addressing the paradigm concept in the reflection paper for the published volume of the 1965 London colloquium, the 1967 Swarthmore lecture, and the 1969 Urbana symposium paper, Kuhn also added a “Postscript—1969” to a revised edition of Structure, which appeared in 1970, in which he again defined paradigms in terms of “disciplinary matrix” and “exemplar.” The postscript was a temporary measure prior to a true second edition of Structure. Although Kuhn labored toward such an edition, it never materialized (Kuhn Papers, box 4, folder 14, “Towards a second edition”). “I came to realize,” Kuhn admitted in an interview, “that I didn’t have anything more to say in the same general vein” (Wade 1977, p. 145). In the late 1960s and the early 1970s, Kuhn addressed methodological issues in HPS. In the Isenberg lecture, “The relations between the history and the philosophy of science,” presented at Michigan State University, on March 1, 1968, Kuhn contended that the history of science and the philosophy of science should remain separate enterprises. The journal of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences, Dædalus, sponsored a special issue in 1971 called, “The historian and the world of the twentieth century.” The issue contained papers delivered at meetings held in Princeton and Rome, funded by the Ford Foundation. In prefatory remarks to the published papers, the editor commented on the transformation of historical scholarship since the 1920s and 1930s. “Many of the most important changes have come about through developments internal to the specific historical disciplines themselves; others reflect changes—intellectual, social, and political—taking place in society” (Graubard 1971, p. v). Kuhn was invited, along with other prominent historians such as Arthur Schlesinger, to contribute a paper to the special issue. Stephen Rousseas, director of Science, Technology and Society Program at Vassar College, invited Kuhn to participate in a symposium focusing on Structure (Kuhn Papers, box 5, folder 9, May 31, 1973 letter). Rousseas wanted Kuhn to address the application of paradigm to disciplines like the

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social sciences. As he told Kuhn, Structure was used in the program, with students and sociologists supportive of it, but philosophers and scientists, of a positivist bent, suspicious of it. Kuhn could not accept the original invitation but did accept for the fall of 1974. Kuhn delivered a lecture, “Puzzles vs. problems in scientific development,” on November 4 and then participated in a seminar the next day. The visit to Vassar was less than a success, at least from Kuhn’s perspective. In a letter to Rousseas, Kuhn wrote, “The trip to Vassar was for me a nightmare, unlike and far more severe than any I have encountered in a large number of similar trips to college campuses during the past ten or more years” (Kuhn Papers, box 5, folder 9, December 9, 1974 letter, p. 1). The nightmare was Kuhn’s perception that he had no responsibility or obligation to correct the misuse and misunderstanding by others of the ideas in Structure. He characterized his host’s attitude toward him as, “You have done your job; leave the rest to us; and don’t rock the boat” (Kuhn Papers, box 5, folder 9, December 9, 1974 letter, p. 2). Kuhn considered this a moral issue and resented the attitude of his host. He thought it smacked of “anti-intellectualism.” The director responded to Kuhn noting that the college had a long list of distinguished speakers who were gracious even though the discussions were often frank and intense (Kuhn Papers, box 5, folder 9, December 20, 1974 letter). Kuhn also responded to critics over the issue of rationality in science, especially in terms of theory choice. He grappled with it in a Franklin  J. Machette lecture, presented as a session of the Furman University colloquium in philosophy of science, “The limits of reason in the science and the humanities,” held on November 30, 1973. Two other sessions also constituted the colloquium, in which Joseph Agassi and John Compton delivered papers. In the Machette lecture, “Objectivity, value judgment, and theory choice,” Kuhn asserted that accuracy, scope, and fruitfulness function in theory choice not only as objective criteria but also as subjective values. John Post from Vanderbilt served as commentator. Kuhn also came under criticism from Hempel concerning the rationality of science. The two philosophers had begun discussion of this issue earlier when they were at Princeton and continued it at the 10th Chapel Hill colloquium in philosophy, held from 8 to 10 October 1976. At the colloquium, Hempel delivered a paper, “Scientific rationality and rational reconstruction,” in a session titled the same, on October 9. For Hempel, Kuhn’s reliance on psychological and sociological dimensions of scientific practice was insufficient to account for the growth of scientific knowledge. He argued that rational standards are also required for evaluating that growth, especially with respect to the goals and methodology of science (Hempel Papers, box 55, folder 9, p. 21). Kuhn followed with comments on Hempel’s paper, and Bromberger from MIT moderated the exchange.6 Another issue Kuhn tackled during the 1970s was scientific growth and progress, particularly in terms of scientific revolutions. On the evening of

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November 29, 1976, Kuhn delivered the Agnes A. and Costantine E.A. Foerster lecture, “Does knowledge ‘grow’?,” at the University of California in Berkeley. He shared the podium with Stefan Amsterdamski from the Institute of Science at the Polish Academy of Sciences in Warsaw, who delivered a lecture earlier in the day, “Reflections on science and human rationality.” Amsterdamski had published the previous year Between Experience and Metaphysics: Philosophical Problems of the Evolution of Science in which he discussed the nature of scientific growth. Kuhn had read Amsterdamski’s book in preparation for the talk and wrote to him in advance of the meeting. “You will know already,” confided Kuhn to Amsterdamski, “that I am in wholehearted agreement with most of your book” (Kuhn Papers, box 5, folder 14, June 29, 1976, p. 1). However, Kuhn was concerned over Amsterdamski’s criticism that Kuhn was ambiguous in the use of the notion of scientific revolution (Amsterdamski 1975, ch. 6). Because of the ambiguity, Amsterdamski charged Kuhn with not distinguishing adequately between revolutions in specific scientific disciplines—local revolutions—and those in science as a whole—global revolutions, which he claimed rarely occur in science (Amsterdamski 1975, pp. 160ff). In response, Kuhn argued Amsterdamski had missed an important point. “I doubt that there are such things as global revolutions in the sciences,” explained Kuhn, “excepting on occasions when the sciences are caught up in a transformation of thought that extends widely outside of the realm of the sciences altogether” (Kuhn Papers, box 5, folder 14, June 29, 1976, p. 2). Kuhn was invited to participate in a conference, “Metaphor and thought: an interdisciplinary conference,” held from September 26 to 29, 1977, at the University of Illinois in Urbana-Champaign, Illinois. The National Institute of Education sponsored the conference, and Andrew Ortony was chair of the organizing committee. Kuhn participated in “Session IV—The role of metaphor in conceptual change,” on the morning of the 28th. The session’s chair was David Shwayder, from the philosophy department at the UrbanaChampaign campus. Richard Boyd delivered the main lecture on metaphor and theory change, with Kuhn and Zenon Pylyshyn, from the psychology and computer science departments at the University of Western Ontario, serving as discussants. In the 1970s, Kuhn began a detailed historical analysis on Planck’s development of the novel theory of black-body radiation, which was published in 1978 as Black-Body Theory and the Quantum Discontinuity, 1894-1912.7 The book was not well received either by historians and philosophers or by physicists. Historians and philosophers were disappointed because Kuhn did not explicitly frame the historical narrative in the terms of Structure. Interestingly, Kuhn later acknowledged that he could not do history and philosophy simultaneously. He often focused initially on the historical narrative and then on the philosophical relevance (Kuhn 2000,

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p. 314). Physicists were critical of Kuhn’s reconstruction and interpretation of the science. Moreover, Kuhn ignored social influences on the development of Planck’s ideas, which annoyed the sociologists of science. However, he considered the Planck book “the best study in conceptual change I’ve done” (Sigurdsson 1990, p. 24). Kuhn responded to critics in a journal article, “Revisiting Planck,” which was later published as an “Afterword” in a revised edition of the book in 1987. The response’s purpose was to summarize the book’s major technical points and to address its relationship to Structure. In 1978, Kuhn became a fellow at the New York Institute for the Humanities. In September of that year, his marriage to Kathryn ended in divorce and, while she remained in Princeton, Kuhn decided to leave and soon accepted a position at MIT. Moreover, Kuhn turned his attention away from history of science to philosophy of science. At MIT, Kuhn took a “linguistic turn” in his thinking, reflecting his new environment, which would have a major impact on subsequent work, especially on InT (Gattei 2008).

IV Late career In 1979, Kuhn was appointed a professor in MIT’s Department of Linguistics and Philosophy, which was housed in wooden military barracks built during the Second World War. In 1983, he was appointed the Laurance S. Rockefeller Professor of Philosophy, the first to hold the position. And in 1982, Kuhn married Jehane Burns, whom he had met at a dinner party in 1979. During the eighties and early nineties, Kuhn was still engaged with issues associated with Structure, including scientific development, theory choice, and especially InT. He wrote a number of papers on these issues, particularly on a linguistic and taxonomic framework—that reflected the impact of his new academic environment—for explicating and defending incommensurability. Specifically, Kuhn was to undergo another turn—an “evolutionary turn”—that would result in a second revolution in terms of his philosophy of science.8 In November 1980, Kuhn delivered a series of three lectures at the University of Notre Dame Perspective lectures. The title of the lectures, “The nature of conceptual change,” reflected a return to the philosophical issues emerging from Structure. In the first lecture, he revisited the nature of scientific revolutions. The lecture was revised and presented at the third annual conference of the Cognitive Science Society in 1981 and later published as “What are scientific revolutions?” In the next two lectures, he turned to a linguistic formulation of InT, examining the linguistic elements of revolutionary change and the relationship between language,

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on the one hand, and causal theory and necessary truth, on the other. Kuhn developed these ideas further in a paper, “Commensurability, comparability, and communicability,” which he delivered at the biennial meeting of the Philosophy of Science Association (PSA), held in Philadelphia from October 29 to 31, 1982. Philip Kitcher and Hesse provided commentary, to which Kuhn responded. Achinstein invited Kuhn to deliver the 1983 Alvin and Fanny Blaustein Thalheimer lectures at The Johns Hopkins University’s philosophy department (Kuhn Papers, box 23, folder 22, March 2, 1983 letter). Tradi­ tionally, the Thalheimer lecturer gave a series of three lectures in the spring. Full honorarium carried a stipulation that the lectures be subsequently published, with Thalheimer lectures noted in a subtitle. Kuhn was unable to accommodate to the spring schedule but agreed to deliver a series of four lectures from November 12 to 19, 1984. In the series, “Scientific development and lexical change,” Kuhn extended the ideas delivered in the Notre Dame Perspective lectures.9 He proposed to cover material that was to appear in a forthcoming book. However, he was unable to publish it and never received the balance of the honorarium. Kuhn continued to pursue the “linguistic turn” toward an articulation of InT in subsequent lectures and articles. At the 65th Nobel Symposium in August 1986, Kuhn presented a paper, “Possible worlds in history of science.” Arthur Miller and Tore Frängsmyr provided commentary, to which Kuhn responded. In the paper, Kuhn developed further the notion of a lexicon. He refined it in “Dubbing and redubbing: the vulnerability of rigid designation,” which he delivered at the 20th Chapel Hill Colloquium in Philosophy, held from October 24 to 26, 1986. Arthur Fine provided commentary. In the mid to late 1980s, the Minnesota Center for Philosophy of Science sponsored an institute to address the question whether a new consensus, based on the work of Kuhn, Quine, Hanson, and others, was emerging in the philosophy of science to replace the older consensus of logical positivism. Kuhn participated in the institute with a revised version of the 1986 Chapel Hill paper. His paper, along with others, was published as volume XIV in the Minnesota Studies in the Philosophy of Science. He addressed InT again in the 1987 Shearman Memorial lectures at University College, London. In a series of three lectures, “The presence of past science,” he explored the regaining, portraying, and embodying of past science (Kuhn Papers, box 23, folders 30–32). Finally, Kuhn submitted a grant to the History and Philosophy of Science Program (Ronald Overman was director) of the NSF on August 1, 1989, for funding the project expenses of ($50,000) from January 1 to August 31, 1990. The project’s title was “Philosophy of scientific development.” Kuhn proposed to complete a book, Words and Worlds, which he had been working on for the past decade. Much of the material was taken from the Perspective lectures, Thalheimer lectures, and Shearman lectures.

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Kuhn continued to work on incommensurability, especially from an evolutionary perspective, in a pair of lectures he delivered at UCLA in April 1990. The first, “An historian’s theory of meaning,” was presented to the cognitive science colloquium, while the second, “A function of incommensurability,” to the philosophy colloquium. From 1989 to 1990, Kuhn was the PSA’s president. In October 1990, he delivered the presidential lecture, “The road since Structure,” at its biennial meeting, held in Minneapolis, Minnesota. In it, he discussed the various philosophical issues he was working on, especially InT. On May 18 and 19, 1990, a conference—or as Hempel called it, a “Kuhnfest”—was held in Kuhn’s honor at MIT, sponsored by the Sloan Foundation and organized by Paul Horwich and Judith Thomson. The conference speakers included Jed Buchwald, Nancy Cartwright, John Earman, Michael Friedman, Hacking, Heilbron, Ernan McMullin, Noel Swerdlow, Kuhn’s official biographer for the Biographical Memoir of the National Academy of Science, and Norton Wise. The papers reflected on Kuhn’s impact on the history and the philosophy of science. Hempel made a special appearance on the last day, and Kuhn followed with remarks on the conference papers. As he approached the podium after Hempel’s remarks, before a standing-room-only audience, Kuhn was visibly moved by the outpouring of professional appreciation for his contributions to a discipline, which he cherished, and from its members, whom he truly respected. The papers presented at the Kuhnfest were published several years later as World Changes: Thomas Kuhn and the Nature of Science, with Horwich (1993) as editor. For Kuhn, the discipline he believed he had helped spawn was a historical philosophy of science, which was the topic of a paper he delivered in November 1991, as the Robert and Maurine Rothschild Distinguished lecture, in Harvard’s history of science department. The title of the lecture, “The trouble with the historical philosophy of science,” belied another and final turn Kuhn had made—an “evolutionary turn.” As he noted in the lecture, the problem with the historiographic revolution was that it was unable to provide a philosophy of science to replace the one it demolished and to account for the growth of scientific knowledge. EPS was the answer for Kuhn in which incommensurability served as a selection force in the emergence and proliferation of novel scientific disciplines. Although he retired from teaching in 1991, becoming an emeritus professor, he continued to work on enunciating EPS. Kuhn did not train many graduate students and consequently left no school to continue his style of history and philosophy, much to his disappointment. The reason is most likely a constellation of factors, including Kuhn’s demand on students, the discipline’s direction, Kuhn’s amateur status, and professional invidiousness. For example, Errol Morris (2011)—a graduate student at Princeton during Kuhn’s tenure at the

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university—recounted the time Kuhn threw an ashtray at him, after Morris pressed him about the possibility of doing history of science if paradigms are incommensurable. However, Kuhn did have a significant impact on a number of students, especially as a mentor. Heilbron was his first student in the history of science, at Berkeley. He later became a noted historian of science and vice-chancellor of his alma mater. The second student was Paul Forman, although he finished his degree with another. Forman wrote an essay on Weimar culture and quantum theory, which Kuhn felt was the most engaging history of science since Koyré. At MIT, Kuhn only trained a few students who received master’s degrees and who were then asked to go elsewhere; and he influenced Buchwald, an undergraduate, to pursue a career in the discipline. During Kuhn’s career, he received a number of awards and accolades. He was the recipient of honorary degrees from around a dozen academic institutions, such as University of Chicago, Columbia University, University of Padua, and University of Notre Dame. He was also a member of the National Academy of Science—the most prestigious society for US scientists—and an honorary life member of the New York Academy of Science, as well as a corresponding fellow of the British Academy. He was also president of the History of Science Society from 1968 to 1970 and was awarded its highest honor, the Sarton Medal, in 1982. Kuhn was also the recipient of the Howard T. Behrman Award in 1977 for distinguished achievement in the humanities and of the celebrated John Desmond Bernal award in 1983. Besides the lectures already discussed, he also delivered dozens of other prestigious lectures and participated in numerous workshops, discussion groups, and conferences—simply too numerous to list. Kuhn died on June 17, 1996, in Cambridge, Massachusetts, after suffering for two years from cancer of the throat and bronchial tubes. He was an inveterate cigarette smoker for most of his life. On one occasion that dependency did not serve him well professionally, when meeting Popper in Kuhn’s Berkeley home in 1962. As Heilbron narrated the event, “The guest was allergic to smoke and the host was addicted to cigarettes. Communication across worldviews, never an easy matter, failed altogether owing to coughing fits on the one side and tobacco fits on the other” (1998, p. 510).

V Summary Kuhn’s educational experience certainly shaped his new image of science. For example, he took courses—especially as an undergraduate—that exhibited the static dimension of science. Even his graduate and postgraduate

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experience exposed Kuhn to the mundane and often mind-numbing practice of science. As Kuhn later described the experience with the Radio Research Laboratory, “I found that the sort of work I was doing something of a drag” (Sigurdsson 1990, p. 19). Kuhn’s experience with science was far from its cutting edge. In terms of philosophy of science, Kuhn admitted that he had an “everyday image of logical positivism,” meaning that he had not read or was trained extensively in it (2000, p. 306). When critics charged him with philosophical naiveté, they failed to appreciate Kuhn’s amateur status in the field. He was self-taught, as he openly acknowledged. If Kuhn had studied extensively the philosophy of science literature, “I probably would never have written Structure” (2000, p. 306). He was an amateur but that status often permitted him to cross disciplinary boundaries, which otherwise could not be traversed by those who are indoctrinated through oppressive dogmas and confined by restrictive boundaries. Finally, Kuhn was pained by those who misunderstood or misinterpreted him, especially by those with whom he desperately wanted to communicate— philosophers. Kuhn attempted to correct critics’ misunderstanding of his position or meaning, which was evident from the frequent use of the word “Look.” Horgan analyzed Kuhn’s use of the word: “Look,” Thomas Kuhn said. The word was weighed with weariness, as if Kuhn was resigned to the fact that I would misinterpret him, but he was still going to try—no doubt in vain—to make his point. Kuhn uttered the word often. (1997, p. 41) Indeed, Kuhn did use the word frequently when attempting to explain his position or meaning. At the end of his career, Kuhn was fastidious about controlling the public Kuhn. He seldom granted interviews and would only do so, if he could approve the script in advance (2000, p. 321).

Further reading 1 Andersen, H. (2001), On Kuhn, Belmont, CA: Wadsworth. An excellent introduction not only to Kuhn’s life but also to his historical and philosophical work. Although brief, the introduction is insightful and well balanced. 2 Bird, A. (2000), Thomas Kuhn, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. A critical introduction to Kuhn’s philosophy of science. Chapter topics include normal and revolutionary science, paradigms, world-change thesis, incommensurability thesis, and scientific progress. A final chapter examines Kuhn’s legacy.

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3 Sharrock, W. and Read, R. (2002), Kuhn: Philosopher of Scientific Revolution, Cambridge, UK: Polity. A careful analysis of Kuhn’s philosophy of science vis-à-vis his historical work on scientific revolutions. The authors also provide a thorough analysis of Kuhn’s incommensurability thesis. 4 Swerdlow, N. M. (2013), “Thomas S. Kuhn, 1922-1996.” Biographical Memoir, National Academy of Sciences USA, http://www.nasonline.org/publications/ biographical-memoirs/memoir-pdfs/kuhn-thomas.pdf. The official biography of Kuhn for the National Academy of Sciences USA.

Chapter two

How did Kuhn arrive at Structure?

Chapter Summary

I

n this chapter, the development of Kuhn‘s ideas concerning the nature of science are discussed, beginning with an undergraduate essay on metaphysics and physics and then with a letter to Harvard‘s general education committee, in which he outlined the central tenets for a new image of science and discussed future scholarly projects. Next, I examine the 1951 Lowell lectures—in which Kuhn presented the first full account of a general schematic for what would later appear in Structure. Then his Guggenheim fellowship is briefly explored, to demonstrate further development in his thinking about the nature of scientific methodology and the progress he was making on various projects. Kuhn‘s 1957 The Copernican Revolution is discussed and evaluated next, especially in terms of the development of his thinking about the nature of science and its progress. Finally, three essays are examined in which the mature ideas present in Structure are presaged.

I  “The metaphysical possibilities of physics”1 In an undergraduate essay, Kuhn asks the question of whether physics is capable of providing an exhaustive conception of the universe. After bemoaning the loss of physics’ philosophical foundations, Kuhn wrote, “Too seldom is it realized that physics is also a philosophical science searching for absolute truths concerning the nature and structure of the universe” (Kuhn Papers, box 1, folder 3, p. 1). To remedy this defect, Kuhn initially discussed a basic “hypothesis” that grounds physics: “sense impressions are a valid

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source of data” (Kuhn Papers, box 1, folder 3, p. 1). From these impressions are derived the physical concepts, such as cause, effect, time, and space. Kuhn relied on a construction metaphor to explicate the relationship between the data of sense impressions and the inferred content of concepts. “These concepts are the framework,” claimed Kuhn, “into which the scientist fits the data of sense impressions . . . using this [sic] data as bricks and the concepts as mortar’ (Kuhn Papers, box 1, folder 3, p. 3). Furthermore, the concepts are ‘fictions’ that change with time, only the data remain unchanged (Kuhn Papers, box 1, folder 3, p. 4). After briefly reviewing relativity theory and quantum mechanics, Kuhn concluded that the structure of physics, which is built upon the data of sense impressions, remains unaltered when newer concepts replace older ones. “The bricks remained,” as Kuhn explained the metaphor, “the mortar was renewed. These new fictions explained the old data as well as the new; without destroying the old structure they raised a new frame about which the bricks are still being layed [sic]” (Kuhn Papers, box 1, folder 3, pp. 5–6). “But we may still ask,” continued Kuhn, “to what will this lead? Do the fictions of physics approach nearer and nearer to the truth, and will the ultimate fiction thus correspond to the truth?” (Kuhn Papers, box 1, folder 3, p. 6). Kuhn’s answer was no and he defended it by invoking Einstein’s analogy of a person inspecting a watch. The watch’s outworking may be observed and studied, but the watch can never be opened to reveal its real inner workings. The best that can be done is to propose various concepts to explain the watch’s functioning and to determine the best one that accounts for as much of its working as possible. Although Kuhn acknowledged that the analogy is too simplistic for understanding the means by which physicists investigate the universe, yet he found it thought provoking. “Isn’t it possible,” asked Kuhn, “that by determining the nature and quantity of physical data and by investigating the way in which concepts are derived from data (or more rigorously, the manner in which given data necessitates certain concepts), we may find how many equally satisfactory concepts all data could yield?” (Kuhn Papers, box 1, folder 3, p. 8). To address the above question, Kuhn proposed a two-step investigation. The first was to determine the nature of the data and then whether the data could yield a finite amount of information about the universe. Obviously, a finite amount of information would be conducive to comprehending the universe than an infinite amount. The second step was to determine the relationship between concepts and data/information. As already stated, that relationship is derivative. “They are generalizations,” claimed Kuhn, “made to fit the data” (Kuhn Papers, box 1, folder 3, p. 10). But, this led Kuhn to the questions, “how are they derived and to what extent are they logically necessary?” (Kuhn Papers, box 1, folder 3, p. 10). Answers for which he had none. Finally, Kuhn addressed the question of how many concepts can be derived from data and information. In principle, he believed a specific answer was

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possible. But such an answer may not provide the necessary knowledge about the world, only that the world is knowable. The problem, for Kuhn, was picking out the right concept from all the concepts derivable to explain the data. He, however, felt confident that even though an infinite number of concepts are derivable from the data, physicists would eventually arrive at only one to explain the universe even though some question concerning its veracity would plague the scientific community. “But if this investigation, correctly performed, yielded the possibility of but one concept,” concluded Kuhn, “we would believe that science could in time arrive at a picture of the universe, and that that picture would be an image of the reality” (Kuhn Papers, box 1, folder 3, p. 11).

II Letter to Harvard’s general education committee Kuhn, in a letter to David Owen of Harvard’s general education committee, discussed a scientific methodology project and outlined plans for additional scholarly projects. In terms of methodology, Kuhn proposed “to examine selected scientific conceptual systems in an effort to determine their mental and perceptual, their intellectual and experimental sources” (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 10, January 6, 1951 letter, p. 1). The first source for the analysis of methodology was scientific knowledge as end-products. Although Kuhn recognized the importance of such an analysis, he thought that it was not the appropriate source for “normative judgments” of scientific research. Kuhn proceeded to discuss the traditional approach to scientific methodology and its associated induction problem. For example, textbooks generally present the experimental evidence first and then the theory or law that explain it, followed by additional evidence that confirm the explanation. However, this approach is “backwards,” according to Kuhn, and it inevitably leads to the induction problem. “For any discrete set of facts can be derived,” he argued, “from an infinity of distinct laws” (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 10, January 6, 1951 letter, p. 2). Kuhn contended that the traditional approach is founded on “an essential fallacy”: independent, objective facts are observed as apples picked from a tree. But, the notion of objective observation is “a contradiction in terms.” As he explained, Any particular set of observations in science (or everyday life) presupposes a predisposition toward a conceptual scheme of a corresponding sort; the “facts” of science already contain (in a psychological, not a metaphysical, sense) a portion of the theory from which they will ultimately be deduced. (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 10, January 6, 1951 letter, p. 3)

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The predisposition associated with a conceptual scheme acts as a filter to assist scientists in selecting relevant evidence and in rejecting irrelevant evidence. Kuhn’s methodological analysis could help, or so he promised, to “illuminate the nature of scientific activity” but not in a normative way: “It cannot ever venture to prescribe fruitful research procedures to the working scientist” (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 10, January 6, 1951 letter, p. 4). Rather, the value of Kuhn’s approach was pedagogical both for the practicing scientist and for the layperson. Moreover, his approach was not completely neutral toward the nature of knowledge, however, especially since epistemology held scientific knowledge in high regard. Finally, Kuhn then turned to future research projects. He first noted that he was soon to deliver the Lowell lectures on issues in scientific methodology, which he planned to publish. “With this manifesto behind me,” wrote Kuhn, “I should hope to turn my attention to certain of the more detailed research problems which proceed from this orientation toward methodological problems” (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 10, January 6, 1951 letter, p. 4). Specifically, he planned to write a book on revising the history of motion up to the time of Newton. According to Kuhn, his reading of that history “does not indicate that the ancients were bad scientists . . . but that the problem of motion was itself differently conceived in antiquity” (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 10, January 6, 1951 letter, p. 5). Besides the “semi-historical” research, Kuhn was also interested in a number of philosophical problems arising from his conception of the nature of science. “Those which most concern me at the moment,” confided Kuhn, “arise from the necessity of retrieving, within the broader conception of science as an activity in which facts and theories continually interact” (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 10, January 6, 1951 letter, p. 5).

III The Lowell lectures, “The quest for physical theory” In the first lecture, “Introduction: textbook science and creative science,” Kuhn cited the traditional or common (mis)perception, especially promoted by Karl Pearson, the scientist as the man in the highly starched, gleaming white coat who, in the laboratory as in the dentifrice ad, abandons all prejudice so that he may proceed first to a dispassionate analysis of all the facts and then to the formulation of the immutable law which govern them. (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 11, p. 3) Kuhn’s critique of this image of the scientist and the scientific method reflected Conant’s earlier rejection in Understanding Science of Pearson’s

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distorted image of science and its methods. Conant argued Pearson failed “in analyzing the processes of science” and overemphasized the “applicability of what he considers the scientific method” (1947, p. 112). “Now,” Kuhn declared, “I think that this picture of the scientist, and the correlated description of the method by which the scientist reaches his conclusions, is altogether mistaken wrong” (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 11, p. 3). Rather, Kuhn argued, “Prejudice and preconceptions are inextricably woven into the pattern of scientific research, and that any attempt to eliminate them would inevitably deprive this research of its fruitfulness” (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 11, p. 4). Kuhn assured the audience, as a once practicing scientist, he believed science produces useful and cumulative knowledge of the world, but that traditional analysis of science distorted the process by which scientific knowledge develops. What Kuhn was trying to do was to tie process (methodology) to product (epistemology). To that end, he distinguished between science as dynamic practice and as static body of knowledge. Moreover, he utilized the history of science to illustrate the process by which dynamic or creative science advances, rather than focusing on the finished products of science as promulgated in textbooks. Textbooks proclaim the immutable scientific law and marshal forth the experimental evidence to support the law, thereby concealing the very creative process that led to the law in the first place. Although Kuhn drew from studies in logic, language, and psychology to support dissent from this distortion, he drew mainly from the history of science. However, Kuhn rejected the traditional approach to the history of science in which legendary heroes derived natural laws from observations and facts, since it misrepresents and distorts science’s image. He concluded the lecture with a rhetorical question of whether an alternative history of science is available to provide an accurate image of science. In the next three lectures, Kuhn proposed an alternative historical approach to the traditional historical approach to science and its methodology. In the first of these lectures, “The foundations of dynamics,” he informed the audience that the traditional approach, which claims that Galileo rejected Aristotle’s physics because of experimental evidence, was a fallacy. Rather, Galileo rejected not only Aristotle’s physics as a science but also Aristotelianism as a philosophy. Although Galileo’s experimental evidence was necessary, it was insufficient; rather, the entire Aristotelian system was under evaluation, which also included its logic. Change that logic, and the evidence is now efficacious in dethroning the system. Kuhn then discussed Aristotle’s cosmos and its eventual rejection. Although Galileo was trained in Aristotelian physics, he represented a turning point from it, following a long tradition of logical and physical criticisms of it (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 11, pp. 11–13). In the next two lectures, Kuhn examined two additional cases to support the new historiography. In the first, “The prevalence of atoms,” he discussed the differences between the Greek and modern notions of atomism. In the

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second, “The principle of plenitude: subtle fluids and physical fluids,” he covered the change from a notion of subtle fluid to one of physical, ethereal, or electrical fluid.2 In the final four lectures, Kuhn proposed a new image of science based upon the alternative approach to the history of science. The image was dynamic and creative, in contrast to the static image of traditional, textbook science. In the first lecture, “Evidence and explanation,” he replaced the initial terms of prejudice and preconception, which he used in the first Lowell lecture. Specifically, scientists’ viewpoints are not just physical, such as cosmological, but also metaphorical, especially as “conceptual frameworks” (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 11, V-2a-3). Conceptual framework was a phrase Kuhn derived from Conant’s phrase, “conceptual scheme,” in Understanding Science (1947, pp. 18–19), and it presaged Kuhn’s later paradigm concept. These frameworks, Kuhn told the audience, serve a comprehensive function in the practice of scientists, especially in terms of suggesting not only problems but also the means for solving them. Science progresses, then, “by a series of circular attempts to apply differing orientations or points of view to the natural world” (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 11, V-3a-1). Kuhn’s new image of science was dynamic, as opposed to the static image provided by traditional historical analysis. Here was Kuhn’s first revolution in nascent form. Kuhn drew from psychology in the next lecture, “Coherence and scientific vision,” to defend the advancement of science through the predispositions of scientists. He discussed several examples of perceptual experiments from psychology (found later in Structure) and concluded, “The world of our perceptions is not uniquely determined by sensory stimuli but is a joint product of external stimulation and of an activity which we perform in organizing them” (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 11, VI-4-2). These predispositions allow people to negotiate the world and to learn from their experiences. Moreover, they enable them to see different things even though their stimuli are the same. They are, then, the means by which people compose their everyday “behavioral world,” as Kuhn called it. Finally, he drew from language studies and child cognitive development to support his position. Just as people live and work in a behavioral world, so scientists practice their trade in a professional world. But, this professional world (a precursor to Kuhn’s notion of normal science in Structure) is different from the everyday, behavioral world. First, it is complete since it supplies everything scientists need to operate effectively and efficiently in the production of scientific knowledge. Moreover, it can be changed due to an inadequacy or “anomaly,” which in turn may lead to “crisis.” Importantly, for Kuhn, “a crisis, by the recognition of an inadequacy in the older world, transforms experience as well as the mental category in terms of which we deal with experience” (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 11, VI-8-3). Finally, the predispositions or orientations informing the professional world of scientists are crucial for organizing it and therefore cannot be dispensed with easily. Rather, change in that world represents a foundational alteration.

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In the lecture, “The role of formalism,” Kuhn drew on logic and mathematics, especially in the physical sciences. Although logical systems are important for deriving meaning and for managing and manipulating scientific knowledge, scientific language—as natural—outstrips such formalization, even if such formalization is possible. In other words, Kuhn upended the tables on an important tool for the traditional analysis of science. By revealing the limitations of logical analysis, he demonstrated that logic was necessary but insufficient for justifying scientific knowledge. Logic, then, cannot guarantee the traditional, static view of science. But, he did not reject logic as an important tool for the analysis of the dynamic view of science. In the final lecture, “Canons of constructive research,” Kuhn continued to examine logical analysis, especially in terms of language and meaning. His position was that language is a way of dissecting the scientific professional, or even the behavioral, world in which scientists practice their trade. But, ambiguity or overlap exists in the meaning of that scientific world’s language. Certainly science strives to increase the precision of its terms, he informed the audience, but not to the point that ambiguity is eliminated. According to Kuhn, this has an important advantage for scientific practice. By providing “vague meaning fringes on scientific terms, and our research is always conducted within the area determined by these vaguer fringes” (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 11, VIII-6-2). And, it is from this area of research that new theories arise and become established. Kuhn then announced to the audience that scientific exploration might proceed in one of two ways. The first “may result in increasing the scope and precision of the existing meaning system” (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 11, VIII-6-4). He noted this type of activity occurs during periods when a particular orientation or predisposition is operating. This is the constructive period in scientific development. The second way represents the destructive period of scientific development, in which a newer meaning system replaces an older one. A crisis state, in which the older meaning system is no longer sufficient to guide research, precedes the destructive period. Disputes over the meaning of terms arise, with eventual divergence over their meaning. Kuhn claimed that these crisis periods lead to scientific revolutions, which, in turn, “terminate with new precise criteria for scientific meanings and frequently with new central cores of meaning for natural languages” (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 11, VIII-6-5). Scientific revolutions are “simultaneously destructive and creative of scientific orientation, behavioral worlds, and meaning systems” (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 11, VIII-6-5). Kuhn concluded the Lowell lectures by rehearsing the patterns of scientific activity he had explicated through historical cases, language acquisition, and the psychology of perceptions, in order to distinguish between dynamic or creative science and static or textbook science. But, this creative process is what also grounds textbooks science. “By increasing

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abstraction and increasing precision,” claimed Kuhn, “we can create within the pre-existing patterns of language and perceptions a summary of our most certain knowledge we call science . . . which we embody in scientific texts” (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 11, VIII-6-6). Finally, the perceptual and linguistic organizing structures are a deep problem surfacing over and again during the lectures. For Kuhn, they are impermanent and mutable. But without the organizing structures, there is no science, and with them only limited kinds of science. “So continuing progress in research,” concluded Kuhn, “can be achieved only with successive linguistic and perceptual re-adaptations which radically and destructively alter the behavioral worlds of professional scientists” (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 11, VIII-7-1). In sum, the Lowell lectures portended many of the issues and much of the terminology that Kuhn used in Structure. For example, as stated earlier, he used “anomaly” and “crisis” to discuss changes in the ideologies of practicing scientists. Moreover, as Hufbauer noted, Kuhn uses ‘paradigm’ in lectures 5 and 6, but does not define it “because he meant nothing more by this uncommon word than its standard meaning, ‘illustrative example’” (2012, p. 266, footnote 80). Mary Jo Nye, however, claimed that paradigm “was entering general philosophical debate in Great Britain and the United States as a consequence of Ludwig Wittenstein’s work and, in the natural science, the book On Understanding Physics (1938) by Wittenstein’s student William H. Watson” (2011, p. 240). Finally, other significant notions needed introduction, especially the notion of normal science, before he could articulate fully his new image of science in Structure.

IV Guggenheim foundation fellowship application In the “Plans for research” section of the Guggenheim fellowship application, Kuhn discussed a strategy for conducting two projects. The first was the narration of the Copernican revolution, beginning with early Greek thought and ending with Newton. Kuhn’s overarching goal was to identify both the requirements and results of the Copernican revolution. To that end, the strategy was to synthesize the best of two traditions and to avoid their errors in narrating the revolution. The first tradition, which Herbert Butterfield represented, approached the revolution as another chapter out of the history of ideas. It ignored the technical details of the revolution so that the reader is hard pressed to see why one would support either the Ptolemaic or the Copernican astronomical model. The other approach, which Robert Baker represented, stressed the technical details to such an extent that the Copernican system is presented in such modern garb that even Copernicus would not recognize himself. Kuhn’s intent was to avoid either extreme

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and to present a balanced account of the revolutionary transition from the Ptolemaic to the Copernican system. The second research project followed from the first; and in it, Kuhn proposed to examine the structure of scientific revolutions and their metaphysical basis. With respect to metaphysics, Kuhn replaced the Lowell lecture notion of “orientations” with a notion of “ideologies,” “which direct experimentation and which lend special plausibility to certain sorts of interpretations of experiments” (Hufbauer 2012, p. 458). With this metaphysical notion, Kuhn then developed an ontology for scientific theories or ideologies. At this time, historians of science intensely contested the nature of scientific theories. For Kuhn, their nature was rather expansive, compared to traditional understanding. Besides depicting the regularities of nature, scientific theories or ideologies also functioned to guide future research, to check the creative imagination, to limit the problems investigated by a community of practitioners, to ascertain the types of experiments and the measurement accuracy needed to solve the problems, and to determine the acceptable models and metaphors used to explain natural phenomena. “In short,” wrote Kuhn, “established theories necessarily serve the profession as a basis for those value judgments without which no research program can be initiated or conducted” (Hufbauer 2012, p. 458). Kuhn then proceeded to frame the discussion of scientific revolutions in terms introduced in the Lowell lectures. For example, revolutions are “destructive” and “constructive” at the same time. In other words, they are destructive in terms of eliminating older theories or ideologies while simultaneously constructive in terms of providing new theories or ideologies that sanction experimentation and explanations not approved by older ones. Kuhn maintained that this view of science supports a profoundly different notion of progress in science compared to the traditional view. “Science, then,” concluded Kuhn, “does not progress by adding stones to an initially incomplete structure, but by tearing down one inhabitable structure and rebuilding to a new plan with the old materials and, perhaps, new ones besides” (Hufbauer 2012, p. 459). Finally, Kuhn mentioned possible issues that this new image of science might raise, which he planned to address as the project unfolded. Specifically, he proposed to investigate historically the conditions within scientific communities that allow them to entertain and then ultimately to accept revolutionary ideologies or theories.

V The Copernican revolution In The Copernican Revolution, Kuhn declared he had identified an important feature of it, which previous scholars had missed: its plurality. What Kuhn meant by plurality was that although Copernicus’s De Revolutionibus “consists principally of mathematical formulas, tables, and diagrams,

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it could only be assimilated by men able to create a new physics, a new conception of space, and a new idea of man’s relation to God” (1957, p. vii). Kuhn was interested in the new world(s) Copernicus’s revolution prompted. A methodological corollary to this insight was Kuhn’s breach of institutional limits separating the physical sciences from the humanities, which gave the appearance that his book was really two books: “one dealing with science, the other with intellectual history” (1957, p. viii). “Scientific concepts are ideas,” according to Kuhn, drawing on Koyré, “and as such they are the subject of intellectual history” (1957, p. viii). Kuhn’s methodological insight was to combine history of science and intellectual history. Scientists have philosophical and even religious commitments, which are important for the development of scientific knowledge. Kuhn’s methodology was anathema to the logical positivists and empiricist, who believed that such commitments played little—if any—role in the development of scientific knowledge; and if involved, they hindered its development. The origins of Kuhn’s Copernican book were the lectures he delivered for a science course for nonmajors at Harvard. Kuhn’s strategy in the course was to situate the scientific information he wanted to teach students, within a historical and philosophical context. He defended the pedagogical strategy, claiming that students are better motivated to learn the material when they see the connections of science with cultural concerns in the foreground. According to Kuhn, “The technical facts and theories that they learn function principally as paradigms rather than as intrinsically useful bits of information” (1957, p. ix). Although he used the term paradigm, he did not expand upon it. But, the kernel of the paradigm concept was present and produced conceptual fruit in Structure. Moreover, Kuhn’s concern with the Copernican revolution was more than pedagogical but also professional. “If we can discover the origins of some modern scientific concepts and the way in which they supplanted the concepts of an earlier age,” wrote Kuhn, “we are more likely to evaluate intelligently their chances for survival” (1957, p. 4).

Ancient cosmology Kuhn began the reconstruction of the Copernican revolution by establishing the genuine scientific character of ancient cosmological schemes, especially the two-sphere cosmology composed of an inner sphere for the earth and an outer sphere for the heavens. Importantly for Kuhn, astronomical “observations in themselves have no direct cosmological consequences . . . [rather] conceptual schemes [like the two-sphere cosmology] derived from these observations do depend upon the imagination of scientists. They are subjective through and through” (1957, p. 26). Conceptual schemes exhibit three important features. They are comprehensive in terms of scientific predictions, there is no final proof for them, and they are derived from other schemes and never ex nihilo. Finally, successful conceptual schemes

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must perform two functions: logical and psychological. The logical function is determined in explanatory terms, while the psychological function in existential terms. Although the logical function of the two-sphere cosmology was problematic during the revolution, its psychological function afforded adherents “with a worldview, defining their place in the created world and giving physical meaning to their relation with the gods” (Kuhn 1957, p. 38). Such a position ran counter to that of the logical positivists. The major logical problem with the two-sphere cosmology was the movement and positions of the planets. In Almagest, according to Kuhn, It was Ptolemy who first put together a particular set of compounded circles to account, not merely for the motions of the sun and moon, but for the observed regularities and irregularities in the apparent motions of all the seven planets. (1957, p. 72) The conceptual scheme Ptolemy developed in the second century guided research for the next millennia. But problems surfaced with the scheme, and predecessors could only make limited ad hoc modifications to it. As Kuhn argued, the Ptolemaic “system of compounded circles was an astounding achievement. But it never quite worked” (1957, p. 73). Kuhn asked at this point in the narrative why the Ptolemaic system, given its imperfection, was not overthrown sooner. The answer, for Kuhn, depended on a distinction between the logical and the psychological dimensions of scientific revolutions. According to Kuhn, various conceptual schemes are available to astronomers to organize and account for the data logically. The difference among these schemes is their predictive power. Consequently, if an observation is made that is not compatible with a prediction then the scheme must be replaced. But, Kuhn contended, “Historically the process of revolution is never, and could not possibly be, so simple as the logical outline indicates” (1957, p. 76). Thus, he found the logical dimension of scientific revolutions inadequate to account for scientific change in larger, cultural terms. To understand revolutions fully required the psychological dimension.

Copernicus According to Kuhn, Copernicus overcame not only the logical function of the Ptolemaic system but also—and more importantly—its psychological function. Aristotle developed the latter function by wedding the two-sphere cosmology to a philosophical system. Through the Aristotelian notion of motion among the heavenly and earthly spheres, the inner sphere connected to and thereby depended on the outer sphere. In an era when man’s need to understand and control his fate immea­ surably transcended his physical and intellectual tools, this apparent

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celestial power was naturally extended to the other celestial wanderers. Particularly after Aristotle supplied a physical mechanism—the frictional drive—through which the heavenly bodies could produce terrestrial change, there was a plausible basis for the belief that an ability to predict the future configurations of the heavens would enable men to foretell the future of men and nations. (Kuhn 1957, p. 93) In other words, Aristotle forged an alliance between astronomy and astrology. And such an alliance, according to Kuhn, provided a formidable obstacle to change. But, change began to occur—albeit slowly. From Aristotle to Ptolemy, a sharp distinction arose between the existential angst of astrology and the mathematical precision of astronomy. By Ptolemy’s time, astronomy was less concerned with data interpretation and more with their prediction. On the one hand, this situation aided Copernicus in the understanding whether the movement of the earth was determined by predictive power. On the other hand, it hindered him in the understanding that the earth was still the center of the universe that afforded people existential consolation. The strands of the Copernican revolution included, then, not only the astronomical but also the theological, economic, and social. For example, Kuhn explored the cosmological reliance of Dante’s Divine Comedy on the Aristotelian-Ptolemaic cosmology and concluded, “Moving the earth may necessitate moving God’s Throne” (1957, p. 114). Other factors also paved the way for the Copernican revolution, including the Protestant revolution, navigation for oceanic voyages, calendar reform, and Renaissance humanism and Neoplatonism. Copernicus was the immediate inheritor of Aristotelian-Ptolemaic cosmological tradition and, except for the position of the earth, was closer to that tradition than to modern astronomy. Copernicus had—as it were—one foot implanted in the ancient tradition and the other headed for the modern tradition. Kuhn considered De Revolutionibus to be “a revolution-making rather than a revolutionary text” (1957, p. 135). Although the problem— planetary motion—Copernicus addressed was the same his predecessors addressed, his solution involved revising the mathematical model for that motion by making the earth a planet that revolves around the sun. Essentially, Copernicus maintained the Aristotelian-Ptolemaic universe but interchanged the earth for the sun. Although Copernicus eliminated major epicycles, he still employed minor ones with a result that the accuracy of planetary position was no better than that for Ptolemy’s systems. Kuhn concluded that Copernicus did not resolve the problem of planetary motion completely or truly.

The revolution Although Copernicanism did not resolve the problem of planetary motion, it “did convince a few of Copernicus’s successors that sun-centered

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astronomy held the key to the problem” (Kuhn 1957 p. 172). The reason for this conviction is aesthetic, according to Kuhn—“Copernicus’ arguments are not pragmatic. They appeal, if at all, not to the utilitarian sense of the practicing astronomer but to his aesthetic sense and to that alone” (1957, p. 181). Copernicus’s predecessors, convinced by the “neatness and coherence” of De Revolutionibus, completed the revolution. Importantly for Kuhn, the Copernican revolution did not occur overnight but by degrees. Kuhn defended this assessment, claiming the “extent of the innovation that any individual can produce is necessarily limited, for each individual must employ in his research the tools that he acquires from a traditional education, and he cannot in his own lifetime replace them all” (1957, p. 183). Initially, according to Kuhn, only a few supporters of Copernicus’s cosmology existed, including George Joachim Rheticus, Thomas Digges, and Michael Maestlin. Although the majority of astronomers accepted the mathematical “harmonies” of De Revolutionibus, after its publication in 1543, they rejected or ignored its cosmology. Tycho Brache, for example, although relying on Copernican harmonies to explain astronomical data proposed a system in which the earth was still the universe’s center. Essentially, it represented a compromise between ancient cosmology and Copernican mathematical astronomy. However, Brache recorded accurate and precise astronomical observations, which propelled other astronomers toward Copernicanism. Johannes Kepler was one of the first formidable defenders of it, who, Kuhn claimed, was “converted” while Maestlin’s student; and, Kepler’s “faith in it never wavered” (1957, p. 209). Although Kepler espoused Copernicanism, he was critical of it but extended its mathematical precision to solve the problem of planetary motion. The final player Kuhn considered in the revolution was Galileo, whose “astronomical work contributed primarily to a mopping-up operation, conducted after the victory was in sight” (1957, p. 220). Moreover, Galileo’s telescopic observations afforded not “proof” of but “propaganda” for Copernicanism (Kuhn 1957, p. 224). During the seventeenth century, according to Kuhn, Copernicanism gained acceptance with astronomers; and by century’s end astronomers achieved consensus. But, it still faced serious resistance from Christianity due to, argued Kuhn, “a subconscious reluctance to assent in the destruction of a cosmology that for centuries had been the basis of everyday practical and spiritual life” (1957, p. 226). Religious resistance continued long after the seventeenth century; but, as Kuhn noted, “old conceptual schemes do fade away” (1957, p. 227). Newton completed the Copernican revolution with a conception of the universe, which was “an infinite neutral space inhabited by an infinite number of corpuscles whose motions were governed by a few passive laws like inertia and by a few activity principles like gravity” (Kuhn 1957, p. 260). The Newtonian universe not only influenced astronomy but also other sciences and even nonsciences. For instance, it changed the nature of God

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to that of a “clockmaker, the Being who had shaped the atomic parts, established the laws of their motion, set them at work, and then left them to run themselves” (Kuhn 1957, p. 263). For Kuhn, Newtonianism’s influence on disciplines other than astronomy was an example of its “fruitfulness.” Scientific progress, concluded Kuhn, is not the linear process, as the logical positivists espoused, in which facts are stockpiled in a scientific warehouse. Rather, scientific progress is the repeated destruction and replacement of scientific theories or ideologies. Finally, just as the Copernican universe replaced the Ptolemaic one, so the Einsteinian universe is currently replacing the Newtonian one.

Reviews of the Copernican book In a review of The Copernican Revolution, Philip Wiener took Kuhn to task for a faulty notion of scientific progress, which he considered an important logical problem in the philosophy of science. Wiener argued that current scientific theories do not “destroy” previous theories, “if ‘destroy’ means eliminating them completely along with their confirmatory evidence,” but rather they “correct” them by situating them in an explanatory context (1958, p. 298). However, what Wiener failed to appreciate was the metaphorical dimension of Kuhn’s language. Kuhn used the term, destroy, and others like convert, fruitful, and successful, in a metaphorical sense (Westman 1994, p. 79). But Wiener was right in criticizing Kuhn for imprecise terminology, such as the term revolution. For Wiener, a logical continuity exists between the data of the previous theory and the more precise data and enlarged framework of the current theory; hence, a current theoretical “explanation is part of the cumulative growth of scientific explanations” (1958, p. 298). Although Wiener subscribed to a logical positivist notion of cumulative scientific progress, he appreciated Kuhn’s “historical turn” for the philosophy of science. For historians of science, Kuhn’s The Copernican Revolution was exemplary of contemporary historical scholarship that took into consideration the cultural context of science. “No other book so enables us to see,” Butterfield noted insightfully, “the intellectual hurdles that existed and to relive something of the process of actual scientific discovery” (1958, p. 656). Woolf concurred with Butterfield’s assessment and claimed Kuhn’s book is “a paradigm of synthesis and interpretation” (1958, p. 367). Doris Hellman congratulated Kuhn for the sensitive narration of the Copernican revolution, especially the documentation of its gradual unfolding. Although a number of historians identified factual errors within the narrative and questioned Kuhn’s historical and philosophical acumen, Hellman proclaimed that “we can certainly expect great things from him in the future” (1957, p. 220).

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Significance of the Copernican book Kuhn’s reconstruction of the Copernican revolution painted a radically different picture or image of science than that of logical positivists and falsificationists. The justification of scientific knowledge was not simply dependent on logical or objective factors but also included nonlogical or subjective factors. “The triumph of Copernicanism was a gradual process,” according to Kuhn, “and its rate varied greatly with social status, professional affiliation, and religious belief” (1957, p. 227). Moreover, he claimed, “the early Copernicans did not fully see where their work was leading” (Kuhn 1957, pp. 227–8). In other words, scientific progress was not a clear-sighted linear process aiming directly at the truth. Rather, unexpected contingencies may often divert and forestall the march of science. Furthermore, Copernicus’s revolution changed the way astronomers and non-astronomers viewed and experienced the world. Besides differing from logical positivists, Kuhn’s view of science put him at odds with Whig historians of science. These historians often distorted ancient cosmologies by degrading them as traditional myth or religious belief. Such a move was generally a rhetorical ploy on the part of the victors to enhance the status of the current scientific theory. But for Kuhn, the “older astronomical theories differed radically from the ones we now hold, but most of them received in their day the same resolute credence that we now give our own” (1957, p. 3). Only by showing how Aristotelian-Ptolemaic geocentric astronomy was authentic science could Kuhn argue that Copernican heliocentric astronomy invoked or initiated a radical transformation (or revolution). Finally, as Heilbron (1998, p. 508) noted later, nascent in Kuhn’s account of the Copernican revolution was the framework he eventually articulated in Structure. The successful Aristotelian-Ptolemaic conceptual scheme (paradigm) guided research for over a millennium but eventually failed to account for certain irregularities concerning planetary movement (anomalies). A new conceptual scheme, which differed radically (incommensurable) from the previous one, replaced the original conceptual scheme (paradigm shift or revolution)—but only after an intense struggle (crisis).3 Kuhn also stressed that Copernicus’s theory was accepted not simply for its predictive ability—for it was not as accurate as the original conceptual scheme—but for its nonempirical factors, such as the simplicity of Copernican’s system in which ad hoc modifications to account for the orbits of various planets were eliminated.

VI The emergence of Structure Although The Copernican Revolution was a significant advance in Kuhn’s articulation of a revolutionary theory of science, several issues needed

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attention before he was ready to publish it. What was missing from Kuhn’s reconstruction of the Copernican revolution was an understanding of how scientists function daily, when an impending revolution is not looming. That understanding emerged gradually in three papers written from the midfifties to early sixties.

“The function of measurement in modern physical science” Kuhn began the paper, providing a context for social scientists, by quoting Lord Kelvin’s dictum—“If you cannot measure, your knowledge is meager and unsatisfactory.” As Kuhn acknowledged, “Physical science is so often seen as the paradigm of sound knowledge” (1961, p. 161). However, he believed a problem exists with this view since the origin of measurement’s efficacy—along with its function—in the physical science is mythic. To resolve the problem, Kuhn approached it from a historical perspective concerning the “special efficacy” and the “actual function” of measurement in these sciences (1961, p. 162). Part of the reason for Kuhn’s concern over the efficacy and function of measurement in the physical sciences was the textbook tradition, which he believed perpetuates the myth about measurement and is thereby misleading. Kuhn compared textbook presentations of measurement to a machine in which scientists feed laws and theories—along with “initial conditions”— into the machine’s hopper at the top, they then turn a handle representing logical and mathematical operations, and exiting the machine’s chute in the front are numerical predictions. Scientists subsequently compare predictions to experimental measurements. The function of these measurements serves to test the theory, which is the confirmation function of measurement. Another function of measurement as presented in the textbook is exploration, in terms of generalizing laws and theories from measurements. This function, Kuhn claimed, is like running the above machine in reverse, except intuition aids logical and mathematical operations. Kuhn argued that the above functions are not why measurements are reported in textbooks; rather, measurements are in them to give students an idea of what the professional community believes is reasonable agreement between theoretical predictions and experimental observations. Reasonable agreement depends upon the approximate, not exact, agreement between theory and data, and it changes from one science to another. Moreover, external criteria are not available for determining reasonableness, only “the mere fact that [measurements] appear, together with theory from which they are derived, in a professionally accepted text” (1961, p. 166). Kuhn cautioned, especially those depending on the logical positivist tradition, that “though texts may be the right place for philosophers to discover the logical structure of finished scientific theories, they are most likely to mislead than

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to help the unwary individual who asks about productive methods” (1961, p. 167). Kuhn located the actual function of, and the motivations for, normal measurement for the physical sciences in the professional journal article, “which displays not finished and accepted theories, but theories in the process of development” (1961, p. 162). That function or motivation is neither detection of novel theories nor the confirmation of older ones. Discovery and exploratory measurements in the physical sciences instead are rare. The reason is that changes in theories, which require discovery or confirmation, occur during revolutions, which are also quite rare. Once a revolution occurs, moreover, the new theory exhibits only a potential for ordering natural phenomenon. To actualize that ordering is the function of measurement during what Kuhn called “the normal practice of science . . . [which consists of] a complex and consuming mopping-up operation that consolidates the ground made available by the most recent theoretical breakthrough and that provides essential preparation for the breakthrough to follow” (1961, p. 168). The motivation of normal measurement’s function is to tighten the reasonable agreement between predictions of the new theory and experimental observations. The textbook tradition is also misleading in terms of the effects of normal measurement. That tradition claims theories must conform to quantitative facts. “But in scientific practice, as seen through the journal literature,” argued Kuhn, “the scientist often seems rather to be struggling with the [quantitative] facts, trying to force them into conformity with a theory he does not doubt” (1961, p. 171). Such facts are not the “given” but the “expected,” and the scientist’s task is to obtain them. The obligation to obtain the expected quantitative fact is often the stimulus for developing novel technology. Moreover, this obligation bars the route from measurement to theory. “Numbers gathered without some knowledge of the regularity to be expected,” asserted Kuhn, “almost never speak for themselves” (1961, p. 175). Rather, meaningful measurement in the physical sciences generally requires a well-developed theoretical system. Besides the function of normal measurement in the physical sciences, Kuhn also examined the function of “extraordinary” measurement. This latter type of measurement exhibits discovery and confirmatory functions. When normal scientific practice—which consistently results in unexpected data or anomalies—leads to crisis, extraordinary measurement occasionally aids discovery to resolve it. “To the extent that measurement and quantitative technique play an especially significant role in scientific discovery,” Kuhn argued, “they do so precisely because, by displaying serious anomaly, they tell scientists when and where to look for new quantitative phenomena” (1961, p. 180). Besides discovery, crises also lead to the invention of new theories. Again, for Kuhn, extraordinary measurement played a critical role in this process. Theory innovation in response to quantitative anomalies leads to

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decisive measures for judging a novel theory’s adequacy, whereas qualitative anomalies generally lead to ad hoc modifications of theories. In scientific practice the real confirmation questions always involve the comparison of two theories with each other and with the world, not the comparison of a single theory with the world. In these three-way comparisons, [extraordinary] measurement has a particular advantage. (1961, p. 184) In other words, extraordinary measurement allows scientists to choose among competing theories vis-à-vis nature. Kuhn moved significantly closer toward a notion of normal science through an analysis of normal measurement, in contrast to extraordinary measurement, in the physical sciences. Kuhn’s conception of science continued to distance him from a logical positivist or falsificationist conception. However, the notion of normal measurement was not as robust as he needed for explicating adequately the notion of normal science. Importantly, Kuhn was changing the agenda for philosophy of science from the static picture of the logical justification of scientific theories as finished products in textbooks to the dynamic process by which scientists test theories and publish them into their professional journals. A robust notion of normal science is the revolutionary concept he needed to overturn the traditional view of science as a static body of knowledge (logical positivists) or as perpetually revolutionary (falsificationists).

“The essential tension” With the introduction of normal and extraordinary measurement, the step toward the notions of normal and extraordinary sciences in Kuhn’s new image of science was now immanent. Kuhn worked out those notions in “The essential tension.” He began by addressing the notion that creative thinking in science assumes a particular view of science, a view in which science advances through unbridled imagination and divergent thinking. Kuhn acknowledged that such thinking was responsible for some scientific progress, but he proposed that convergent thinking was also an important means of such progress. While revolutions, which depend on divergent thinking, are an obvious means for scientific progress, Kuhn contended that few scientists consciously design revolutionary experiments. Rather, most scientists engage in “normal research,” which is “a highly convergent activity based firmly upon a settled consensus acquired from scientific education and reinforced by subsequent life in the profession” (1959, p. 163). But, the occasional scientist may break with the tradition of normal research and replace it with a new tradition. Science, as a profession, is both traditional and iconoclastic and at times scientists practice it in a space created by this tension.

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Kuhn next introduced the term paradigm, while discussing the pedagogical advantages of convergent thinking, especially as exhibited in science textbooks. Whereas textbooks in other disciplines include the methodological and conceptual conflicts prevalent within the discipline, science textbooks “exhibit concrete problem-solutions that the profession has come to accept as paradigms” (1959, p. 165). Consequently, science education is the transmission of a tradition that guides the activities of its practitioners, which was very different from the progressive education of Kuhn’s youth. In science education, students are taught not to evaluate the tradition; whereas in progressive education, students are encouraged to engage and evaluate it. Kuhn’s early education certainly positioned him to see the stark contrast between these two pedagogical methods. Progress within normal research projects represents attempts to bring theory and observation into closer agreement and to extend a theory’s scope to new phenomena. “Under normal conditions the research scientist is not an innovator but a solver of puzzles,” observed Kuhn, “and the puzzles upon which he concentrates are just those which he believes can be both stated and solved within the existing scientific tradition” (1959, p. 170). Given the convergent and tradition-bound nature of science education and of scientific practice, how can normal research be a means for the generation of revolutionary knowledge and technology? For Kuhn, a traditional or mature science provides the background that allows practitioners to identify nontrivial problems or anomalies with a paradigm. “In the mature sciences,” according to Kuhn, “the prelude to much discovery and to all novel theory is not ignorance, but the recognition that something has gone wrong with existing knowledge and beliefs” (1959, p. 171). In other words, a scientific revolution is not possible without traditional science. In conclusion, Kuhn came full circle to the “essential tension” in scientific research: “The productive scientist must be a traditionalist who enjoys playing intricate games by preestablished rules in order to be a successful innovator who discovers new rules and new pieces with which to play them” (1959, p. 172). The challenge Kuhn argued was “to understand how these two superficially discordant modes of problem solving can be reconciled both within the individual and within the group” (1959, p. 172). But Kuhn cautioned that by focusing on the conditions for divergent thinking the conditions for convergent thinking may be ignored to a scientific community’s peril in terms of progress via normal research.

“The function of dogma in scientific research” The dogma paper Kuhn started by appealing to a common view of science as an objective and open-minded enterprise. Although this is the ideal, the reality is that often scientists already know what to expect from their investigations of

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nature. If the expected is not forthcoming, then scientists often struggle to find conformity between the expected and the observed. “Strongly held convictions that are prior to research,” claimed Kuhn, “often seem to be a precondition for success in the sciences” (1963, p. 348). These convictions represent the “dogmatism of a mature science,” as encoded in textbooks. Moreover, this dogmatism, which is so critical for the normal practice and advancement of science, defines the problems for the profession and the criteria for their solution. Although a community’s commitment to dogma is essential for participation in the community, dogma also serves as “an immensely sensitive detector of the trouble spots from which significant innovations of fact and theory are almost inevitably educed” (1963, p. 349). Kuhn next discussed the paradigm concept, which he now associated with scientific practice in general rather than simply with a model for research, as in “The essential tension.” He enlarged the paradigm concept to include not only a science’s previous scientific achievements but also its theoretical concepts, the experimental techniques and protocols, and even the natural phenomena. In short, a paradigm is the discipline’s body of beliefs or foundations. It is also open-ended in terms of additional problems to solve. Moreover, it is exclusive in its nature in that there is only one paradigm for a mature science. For Kuhn, paradigm demarcated science qua science: “It is hard to find another criterion that so clearly proclaims a field of science” (1963, p. 357). Finally, paradigm is not a permanent fixture of the scientific landscape, eventually it is replaced by another. Importantly, for Kuhn, when it is replaced the older paradigm is incompatible or incommensurable with the newer one. Having done paradigmatic spadework, Kuhn now discussed the notion of normal scientific research. Kuhn’s main thesis was that “scientists, given a paradigm, strive with all their might and skill to bring it into closer and closer agreement with nature” (1963, p. 369). The process of matching paradigm and nature also includes extending and applying the paradigm to new parts of nature. This does not necessarily mean discovering the unknown as it does the known or expected. In other words, a scientist engaged in normal, paradigmatic research is a puzzle-solver much like a chess player. Thus, scientists are committed to their paradigm and normally resist changing it. A paradigm provides the map needed to investigate nature, without it scientific advancement would be minimal. However, a paradigm is an imperfect map, according to Kuhn, and it eventually fails to guide scientists over the natural terrain. A breakdown in a paradigm—or anomaly—is inevitable and leads to an unanticipated discovery. “After a first paradigm has been achieved,” claimed Kuhn, “a breakdown in the rules of the pre-established game is the usual prelude to significant scientific innovation” (1963, p. 365). But first breakdown leads to a crisis, in which a research community realizes that the accumulated anomalies indicate a serious problem with the paradigm. Scientists then begin to question their discipline’s fundamentals and to experiment outside

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the paradigm’s aegis. “Only under circumstances like these,” wrote Kuhn, “I suggest, is a fundamental innovation in scientific theory both invented and accepted” (1963, p. 367). He now had a clearer articulation of the tension between dogma and innovation than previously. “Scientists are trained to operate as puzzle-solvers from established rules,” concluded Kuhn, “but they are also taught to regard themselves as explorers and inventors who know no rules except those dictated by nature itself” (1963, p. 368).

Discussion of dogma paper Although Rupert Hall (Hall and Polanyi 1963) was sympathetic to Kuhn’s paradigm concept, he proposed “intellectual framework” as an alternative to capture Kuhn’s intention. Moreover, Hall suggested that scientists’ resistance to innovation is a product not simply of their conservatism, but also of their lack of required perspective in detecting false information from the older paradigm infecting the newer one. He then discussed the paradox between dogma and innovation that Kuhn’s view of science engendered. After rehearsing Kuhn’s two solutions for the paradox, progress within an existing paradigm or paradigm replacement, Hall claimed Kuhn admitted that a paradigm is rarely complete and that scientists are seldom totally committed to it. For him this was a significant concession on Kuhn’s part. According to Hall, Kuhn’s notion of dogma in science was inconsequential for significant scientific progress and his defense of dogma was simply “an apology for weakness.” Kuhn agreed with Hall that scientists resist innovation because of insufficient information. But, according to the traditional view of science, under such conditions, scientists should not make any conclusions—even resist innovation. Moreover, commitment to a paradigm, for Kuhn, is not “an apology for weakness” but part of the scientist’s “tool kit” for practicing science. Toulmin took issue with Kuhn’s apparent paradox between dogmatism and innovation. He argued that Kuhn’s notion of dogma was unnecessary for scientific practice, thus dissolving the paradox. Toulmin noted an inherent ambiguity in Kuhn’s use of preconceived ideas and proposed a distinction to clarify their use. “One may have preconceived ideas,” insisted Toulmin, “in the sense of holding prejudged (prejudiced) beliefs; or alternatively in the sense of employing preformed concepts” (Glass et al. 1963, p. 383). Only in the former sense is science dogmatic in terms of being subjective and close-minded. In the latter sense, however, science is both objective and open-minded. He also took issue with the scope of Kuhn’s use of paradigm. Although he expressed no concern about a narrow use of the term, for example, basic concepts, Toulmin believed that the expanded scope might lead to prejudice, such as accepting authority uncritically. Kuhn disagreed with Toulmin’s distinction between “prejudged” and “preformed” concepts, since both facets of concepts must necessarily be present concomitantly to guide future research. As for the confusion over the narrow and broad senses of

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paradigm, Kuhn argued that the narrow sense is insufficient to account for theory assessment and that the broader conception is not the result of prejudice but of genuine conflict over data interpretation. In contrast to Kuhn, the geneticist Glass believed that contemporary scientists discuss the validity of their basics assumptions and that the rapid growth in scientific knowledge would marginalize the role of paradigms in contemporary science. But, what concerned Glass most were the implications of Kuhn’s view of science for pedagogy. I am appalled to think that, if Mr. Kuhn is right, we should go back to teaching paradigms and dogmas, not as merely temporary expedients to aid us more clearly to visualize the nature of our scientific problems, but rather of the regular, approved method of scientific advance. (Glass et al. 1963, p. 382) Kuhn, from personal experience, disagreed with Glass that scientists discuss their basic assumptions. Moreover, he emphatically denied that his analysis of scientific dogma is a prescription for how to teach science. He wholeheartedly supported contemporary educational reform. The physical chemist Edward Caldin appreciated Kuhn’s analysis of normal research but harbored reservations about it. “Scientists,” claimed Caldin, “are not committed even to conservatism, in the objectionable sense. Rather, they are concerned with a tradition, which develops and can be corrected” (Glass et al. 1963, p. 385). Moreover, he argued that these traditions are composed of multiple hypotheses, within a hierarchical structure. Besides general hypotheses, subsidiary ones also make up traditions, along with basics assumptions. The reason, then, why scientists hold on tenaciously to their traditions is that they make adjustments with respect to the subsidiary hypotheses. Kuhn did not respond directly to Caldin, although certainly the Kuhn of Structure would have insisted that eventually a crisis must ensue when ad hoc adjustments to subsidiary hypotheses no longer suffice. Possibly the Kuhn of the dogma paper had yet to grasp the insight of the latter Kuhn. Finally, Polanyi wholeheartedly endorsed Kuhn’s position of scientists’ commitments to paradigms, since he held to a similar position.“A commitment to a paradigm,” claimed Polanyi, “has thus a function hardly distinguishable from that which I have ascribed to a heuristic vision, to a scientific belief, or a scientific conviction” (Glass et al. 1963, p. 375). Moreover, he agreed with Kuhn that scientists must use caution when confronting anomalous evidence so as not to waste their time and resources. What Polanyi found lacking in Kuhn’s account, however, was how to demarcate between anomalous evidence that requires attention and that which does not. “Is there any rule,” inquired Polanyi, “for distinguishing between the two?” (Glass et al. 1963, p. 380). Of course, the answer was no. Polanyi concluded that he “can accept the excellent paper by Mr. Kuhn only as a fragment of an intended

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revision of the theory of scientific knowledge” (Glass et al. 1963, p. 380). Kuhn responded to Polyani’s question concerning rules for distinguishing between critical and noncritical anomalous data by noting that the burden is not on the individual scientist but on the community. He also agreed that the dogma paper is but a fragment of the solution to problems associated with the traditional view of science. The complete solution was soon to appear in Structure.

VII Summary Structure’s origins are certainly evident in Kuhn’s undergraduate experience at Harvard College, as the essay on the metaphysics of science indicates. Also, experience with physics research exposed Kuhn to a practice of science that differed significantly from the science logical positivists and falsificationists espoused. Kuhn continued to explore the philosophical issues in the practice of science through the history of science courses he taught at Harvard. With the Lowell lectures and the detailed analysis of the Copernican revolution, he introduced terms and concepts that eventually appeared in Structure. Finally, in the essays on measurement, the essential tension, and dogma, he refined and shaped these terms and concepts that eventually make up the 1962 monograph.

Further reading 1 Cedarbaum, D. G. (1983), “Paradigms,” Studies in History and Philosophy of Science, 14 (3): 173–213. An astute analysis of Kuhn’s paradigm concept and its developmental relationship to Fleck and Wittgenstein. Interviews with Kuhn and Putnam served as resources for the article. 2 Crombie, A. C., ed. (1963), Scientific Change: Historical Studies in the Intellectual, Social and Technical Conditions for Scientific Discovery and Technical Invention, From Antiquity to the Present, New York: Basic Books. Contains Kuhn’s paper “The function of dogma in scientific research,” including commentaries by Hall and Polanyi and discussion by Glass, Toulmin, and Caldin. 3 Hufbauer, K. (2012), “From student of physics to historian of science: TS Kuhn’s education and early career, 1940–1958,” Physics in Perspective, 14 (4): 421–70. A masterful reconstruction and analysis of Kuhn’s early education and his time at Harvard, as both a student and faculty member. 4 Kuhn, T. S. (1957), The Copernican Revolution: Planetary Astronomy in the Development of Western Thought, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. A history of astronomy from ancient astronomers to Copernicus, including Galileo and Newton, in which Kuhn teased out both the internal and external factors involved in the Copernican revolution.

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PART TWO

Kuhn’s historical philosophy of science Structure was not a single publishing event in 1962 but covered the years from 1962 to 1970. After its original publication, Kuhn was occupied for the rest of the 1960s addressing criticisms directed at the ideas contained in it, especially the paradigm concept and InT. During this time, he continued to develop and refine his new image of science. The end point was a second edition of Structure that appeared in 1970. The text of the revised edition, however, remained essentially unaltered, except for a few minor corrections, and only a “Postscript—1969” was added in which Kuhn addressed critics. Finally, Structure continued to dominate Kuhn’s thinking until the end of his life, whether in the form of historical or historiographic studies, or in the form of philosophical reflections on its major themes. Even the turn to EPS was in reaction to Structure and the historical philosophy of science contained therein. By tracing the development of Structure from its appearance in 1962, and its aftermath, to its second edition, a precise understanding of the monograph and a greater appreciation for its role in the historiographic revolution and Kuhn’s “evolutionary turn” are possible.

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Chapter three

What is The Structure of Scientific Revolutions?

Chapter Summary

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hat Kuhn proposed in Structure was a new image of science. According to the logical positivist‘s or falsificationist‘s view, science is a depository of accumulated facts, discovered by individuals at specific periods in history. One of the central tasks of the historian, given this view of science, was to answer questions about who discovered what and when. Even though the task seemed straightforward, many historians found it difficult and doubted whether these are the right kind of questions to ask concerning science‘s historical record. “The result of all these difficulties and doubts,” claimed Kuhn, “is a historiographic revolution in the study of science” (1964, p. 3). This revolution changed the sort of questions historians asked by revising the underlying assumptions about the approach to reading the historical record. Rather than reading it backward and imposing current ideas and values on the past, the texts and documents are read within their historical context, thereby preserving their integrity. The historiographic revolution had implications for how science is viewed; and the goal of Structure, according to Kuhn, was to cash out those implications. In this chapter, the genesis of Structure is examined first, followed by a discussion of the structure of Kuhn‘s monograph.

I The genesis of Structure Internal and external factors are often evoked to account for Structure’s genesis. Kuhn provided an account of the internal factors in Structure’s

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Preface and on other occasions. More recent accounts of its genesis pertain to external factors. For example, Jensine Andresen (1999) argued that Kuhn’s personal crises early in his life were responsible for the monograph’s genesis. Fuller (2000a) provided a controversial account involving the political and social forces that allowed Conant, along with Kuhn and others, to forge a new image of society based on science and its practice. Finally, Hufbauer (2012) offered a richly researched and magnificently textured narrative that combines both internal and external factors into a compelling explanation for Structure’s genesis.1 In Structure’s Preface, Kuhn rehearsed the conceptual events that led him to write the now classical monograph. Much of Kuhn’s narrative focused on the internal factors that influenced the development of his thinking as he strove to articulate a new image of science. Although he noted external factors, he did not elaborate on them, especially in terms of how they shaped his thinking. Rather, external factors were simply occasions that permit development of his ideas. For example, during a 1958–9 fellowship at Stanford University’s Center for Advanced Study in the Behavioral Sciences, he readily composed a chapter on scientific revolutions but struggled to complete a chapter on normal science until his insight into the pedagogical power of standard examples or the community’s “consensus” concerning solved problems, which he eventually called paradigms (Kuhn 1977a, pp. xviii–xix). Another example is the term incommensurability, which Kuhn claimed he learned the meaning of as a high school student (2000, pp. 298–9). In sum, Kuhn developed the impact of internal factors, like his insight into paradigmatic nature of normal science or incommensurability, in the reconstruction of Structure in contrast to external factors, which he simply noted. Andresen (1999) situated the origins of Structure, especially the notion of crisis and its associated extraordinary science, in the various personal and professional crises in Kuhn’s life. She began with Kuhn’s crisis over a shift from liberal pacifist to an interventionist at Harvard. In Kuhn’s undergraduate essay, “The war and my crisis,” Andresen noted his struggle during his “ideological conversion” from pacifist to interventionist as critical for his eventual articulation of the notion of conversion in Structure (1999, p. S47). She continued to reconstruct the various crises in Kuhn’s life and to illustrate their connection to themes emerging in Structure. She admitted that Kuhn’s inner crises “may be merely coincidental” with his use of crisis in Structure. “But it may also represent,” Andresen concluded, “the co-incidence of personal biography and professional-cum-scientific observation” (1999, p. S67). Hufbauer (2012) balanced both internal and external factors to explain the development of Kuhn’s ideas along the road to Structure. To that end, he examined Kuhn’s development within local and global contexts. Rather than stringing together a linear march of loosely associated ideas to Structure or invoking a direct connection between external factors and its

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origins, Hufbauer began with Kuhn’s early 1940s undergraduate essay on metaphysics and physics and a thank-you letter to Aunt Emma, in which Kuhn struggled with epistemological issues concerning the development of scientific knowledge, especially the relationship between data and concepts. In Kuhn’s 1940s goals for the Conant course and a book outline, Hufbauer continued to explore Kuhn’s concern with experiment and theory and his attempts to articulate the stages responsible for the emergence of scientific knowledge. In the1951 application for a Harvard faculty appointment and in the Lowell lectures, Hufbauer (2012) located Kuhn’s ambition to break with the traditional conception of science. In place of the textbook image of science, according to Hufbauer, Kuhn strove to formulate a new image of science. Kuhn’s image captured the cyclic nature of scientific development. The cycle originates in daily scientific practice—with its orientation to the world of natural phenomena—progresses through the crises that arise when those orientations are no longer adequate to account for the natural world to the revolution that ensues from the appearance of alternative orientations, and then culminates in the espousal of a new orientation. Finally, Hufbauer utilized Kuhn’s 1953 Guggenheim application to locate Kuhn’s shift to a revolutionary developmental view of science, although more work was needed to fashion the logical and mathematical dimensions of it. According to Hufbauer (2012), Kuhn continued to return to ideas and to rephrase and restructure them, using resources close to hand, until they accomplished what he wanted to communicate. For example, Kuhn took from Conant the historical resources needed to break away from the logical structure of the traditional view of science. Indeed, Kuhn’s reliance on resources close to hand was certainly evident throughout his career. For instance, he used the psychological resources from his tenure as a Harvard fellow to break from the theory neutrality of observation. And, even at the end of his career, Kuhn utilized the resources of MIT’s linguistic and philosophy departments to fuel a “linguistic turn” in his thinking. Limiting Structure’s origins to either internal or external factors fails to capture its complex developmental road.2

II The structure of Structure Just as Aristotle’s opening sentence of Metaphysics captures the essence of his work, so does Kuhn’s opening sentence of Structure capture its essence. “History, if viewed as a repository for more than anecdote or chronology,” wrote Kuhn, “could produce a decisive transformation in the image of science by which we are now possessed” (1964, p. 1).3 What Kuhn proposed to accomplish in the monograph was a new image of science, especially the process of science rather than its product. This image, claimed Kuhn, differed radically from the logical positivist’s or falsificationist’s image—what

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Putnam (1981) called the “received” view of science. The difference hinged on a shift from a logical analysis or explanation of scientific knowledge as finished product to a historical or natural description of scientific practices by which a community of practitioners produces scientific knowledge. In short, it was a shift from the subject (the product) to the verb (to produce). The historiographic revolution in the study of science’s record has implications for how science is viewed and understood philosophically, and Structure’s goal was to cash out those implications. “This essay aims,” insisted Kuhn, “to delineate that image by making explicit some of the new historiography’s implications” (1964, p. 3). He reassured the reader that the project is not doomed to failure. Rather he contended that the application of principles, such as the distinction between the context of discovery and the context of justification from the traditional view of science to historical analysis in which knowledge is gained, accepted, and assimilated have made them seem extraordinarily problematic. Rather than being elementary logical or methodological distinctions, which would thus be prior to the analysis of scientific knowledge, they now seem integral parts of a traditional set of substantive answers to the very questions upon which they have been deployed. (Kuhn 1964, p. 9) Kuhn was confident that the historiographic revolution avoided the vicious circle foisted upon the received view of science and thereby produced an apt image of science. The first edition of Structure contained a Preface and thirteen chapters, which did not change in subsequent editions. Structure’s overall organization is as follows. In the Preface, as noted earlier, Kuhn narrated the origins of the monograph from an autobiographical perspective. The first chapter contains an apologia for the role of history in reshaping the “received” view of science. The remaining twelve chapters are arranged thematically into three sections, although Kuhn did not divide them accordingly: the transition from preparadigm science to normal science, which covers chapters 2 through 5; the transition from normal science to extraordinary science, which covers chapters 6 through 8; and the transition from extraordinary science to new normal science, which covers chapters 9 through 19. Finally, the structure of Structure may be illustrated schematically, as follows: pre-paradigm science → normal science → extraordinary science → new normal science. The step from pre-paradigm science to normal science involves the convergence of community consensus around a single paradigm, where no prior consensus existed. This is the pattern for immature science, as it enters into the mature science pattern. The step from normal science to extraordinary science includes the community’s recognition that the reigning paradigm is unable to account for accumulating anomalies. A crisis ensues within the community from which extraordinary science emerges as

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community members search for a resolution to its paradigm problems. Once a community selects a new paradigm, it discards the old one and another period of new normal science ensues. This step represents a scientific revolution. The revolution or paradigm shift is complete and the whole cycle from normal science to new normal science through revolution is free to occur again.

From pre-paradigm science to normal science Pre-paradigm science “History suggests,” claimed Kuhn, “that the road to a firm research consensus is extremely arduous” (1964, p. 15). That road begins for a scientific community, with the identification of a natural phenomenon, which its members then investigate experimentally and explain theoretically. But members of that nascent community are often at cross purposes with each other; for each member may represent a school working from different foundations. Members operating under these conditions do not share theoretical concepts, experimental techniques, or phenomenal entities. Rather, each member or school is in competition for monetary and social resources and for the allegiance of the professional guild. An outcome of this lack of consensus is that all facts seem equally relevant to the problem at hand and fact gathering itself often appears random. A proliferation of facts ensues, with little progress toward solving problems under these conditions because of the competition among the various schools. The outcome, claimed Kuhn, appears to be “something less than science” (1964, p. 13). Kuhn called this state of affairs pre-paradigm (or immature) science. In other words, no single paradigm defines the discipline or dictates its practice. Rather, pre-paradigm science is nondirected and flexible, offering the community of practitioners little guidance. Kuhn illustrated the preparadigm pattern with the example of physical optics prior to Newton. Finally, the transition from pre-paradigm science to normal science is a one-time event, after which mature science cycles from normal science to a new normal science through a revolution or paradigm shift. Lastly, the acquisition of a paradigm represented Kuhn’s demarcation principle: “It is hard to find another criterion that so clearly proclaims a field a science” (1964, p. 22).

Paradigms The crucial step in the formation of normal science, according to Kuhn, is a scientific community’s adoption of a paradigm. Thus, the paradigm concept loomed large in Kuhn’s new image of science. He defined paradigm not only in terms of a community’s concrete achievements but also in terms

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of its “accepted examples of actual scientific practice—examples which include law, theory, application, and instrumentation” (Kuhn 1964, p. 10). A paradigm is certainly not just a set of rules or algorithms by which scientists blindly practice their trade. In fact, no easy way is available to abstract a paradigm’s essence or to define its features exhaustively. Rather, a paradigm is a concrete instance of a significant scientific accomplishment, such as Newtonian mechanics or Darwinian natural selection, which the professional community can easily recognize but cannot fully explain. “Lack of standard interpretation or of an agreed reduction to rules,” insisted Kuhn, “will not prevent a paradigm from guiding research” (1964, p. 44). A paradigm defines the family resemblance, à la Wittgenstein, of problems and procedures for solving them that are part of a single research tradition. Although rules are sometimes needed to guide research, according to Kuhn, they are not prior to paradigms. He was not claiming that rules are unnecessary for guiding research but rather that they are not always sufficient, either pedagogically or professionally. Kuhn compared paradigms to Polanyi’s notion of “tacit knowledge,” in which knowledge production depends on the investigator’s acquisition of skills that cannot be reduced to methodological rules. The nature of paradigms influences their transmission, especially pedagogically. Students are not taught paradigms in the abstract but always in the concrete in terms of applying or adapting previous solutions to solving new problems. A paradigm is akin to an accepted pattern or model of activity, “particularly of grammatical models of the right way to do things” (Kuhn 2000, p. 298). But, whereas the grammatical use of paradigm involves replication of a pattern, such as verb conjugation or noun declension, the scientific use of paradigm “is rarely an object of replication. Instead,” continued Kuhn, “like an accepted judicial decision in the common law, it is an object for further articulation and specification under new and more stringent conditions” (1964, p. 23). A paradigm allows scientists to ignore concerns over the discipline’s fundamentals and to concentrate on solving the problems at hand. Importantly, paradigms not only guide scientists in terms of identifying solvable problems, but they also prevent them from tackling unsolvable problems. Kuhn compared paradigms to maps that guide and direct the community’s investigations. But more importantly, “paradigms provide scientists not only with a map but also with some of the directions essential for map-making” (Kuhn 1964, p. 109). Only when a paradigm guides the community’s activities is scientific advancement or cumulative progress possible.

Normal science To achieve the status of a science, a discipline must reach consensus with respect to a single paradigm. That transition is realized when, during the

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competition involved in pre-paradigm science, one school makes a stunning achievement that catches the professional community’s attention. The achievement must exhibit two characteristics to effect the transition. First, the achievement must be “sufficiently unprecedented to attract an enduring group of adherents away from competing modes of scientific activity” (Kuhn 1964, p. 10). Second, it must be “sufficiently open-ended to leave all sorts of problems for the redefined group of practitioners to solve” (Kuhn 1964, p. 10). “To be accepted as a paradigm,” Kuhn contended, “a theory must seem better than its competitors, but it need not, and in fact never does, explain all the facts with which it can be confronted” (1964, pp. 17–18). By the term “better,” he meant that the candidate for paradigm status does a more effective and efficient job in determining the problems worth solving. The candidate paradigm, then, elicits the community’s confidence that the problems are solvable with precision and in detail. “Paradigms gain their status,” explained Kuhn, “because they are more successful than their competitors in solving a few problems that the group of practitioners has come to recognize as acute” (1964, p. 23). The community’s confidence in and acceptance of a paradigm is based on the “conversion” of its members, who now commit to the paradigm. Once consensus is achieved, Kuhn claimed scientists are now in the position to commence with the practice of normal science, which is “research firmly based upon one or more past scientific achievements, achievements that some particular scientific community acknowledges for a time as supplying the foundation for its further practice” (1964, p. 10). The prerequisites of normal science include a commitment to a shared paradigm that defines the rules and standards by which scientists practice their trade. Whereas preparadigm science is nondirected and flexible, normal or paradigm science is highly directed and rigid. Because of the directedness and rigidity, normal scientists are able to make the strides they do. The activity of practitioners engaged in normal science is paradigm articulation, or extension to new areas. When a new paradigm is established, it solves only a few critical problems that face the community. But it does offer the promise for solving many more problems. Moreover, much of normal science involves “mopping up,” in which scientists force nature into a conceptually rigid framework—the paradigm. Rather than being dull and routine, however, normal science is exciting and rewarding and requires practitioners who are creative and resourceful. Normal scientists are not out to make new discoveries or to invent new theories outside the paradigm’s aegis. Rather, they use the paradigm to articulate or understand nature more precisely and in detail. From the experimental end of this task, normal scientists go to great pains to increase the precision and reliability of their measurements and facts. They close the gap between observations and theoretical predictions, and they resolve ambiguities left over from the paradigm’s initial adoption. They also extend the scope of the paradigm by including

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phenomena not heretofore investigated. Much of their activity requires exploratory investigation, in which novel discoveries are possible but not unanticipated vis-à-vis the paradigm. To solve these experimental problems often requires considerable technological ingenuity and innovation on the part of normal scientists. Besides its experimental problems, normal science also has its theoretical problems, which obviously mirror its experimental problems. Normal scientists conduct theoretical analyses to enhance the match between theoretical predictions and experimental observations, especially in terms of increasing the paradigm’s precision and scope. “The need for work of this sort,” claimed Kuhn, “arises from the immense difficulties often encountered in developing points of contact between theory and nature” (1964, p. 30). Again, to address these problems successfully, not only do normal scientists need experimental ingenuity but also they require theoretical ingenuity. Importantly, Kuhn rejected the distinction between the rational and the empirical since “the problems of paradigm articulation are simultaneously theoretical and experimental” (1964, p. 33). Kuhn addressed an important motivational question concerning the normal scientist: “If the aim of normal science is not major substantive novelties—if failure to come near the anticipated result is usually failure as a scientist—then why are these problems undertaken at all?” (1964, p. 36). Although paradigm articulation—enhancing its precision and scope—is an important part of the answer, it cannot account for the scientist’s enthusiasm for the seemingly routine tasks of mopping up after a revolution. Such enthusiasm, argued Kuhn, is a result not of the anticipated result but of the path by which a scientist attains it. The real excitement of normal science practice, then, is the way in which scientists go about articulating the paradigm. Normal science is puzzle solving, and its practitioners are puzzlesolvers—not paradigm-testers. By puzzle, Kuhn meant the “special category of problems that serve to test ingenuity or skill in solution” (1964, p. 36). The paradigm’s power over a community of practitioners is that it can transform seemingly unsolvable problems into solvable puzzles through a practitioner’s ingenuity and skill. Besides the assured solution, Kuhn’s notion of puzzle also involved “rules that limit both the nature of the acceptable solution and the steps by which they are to be obtained” (1964, p. 38). He used rule in a broad sense of the term to indicate “established viewpoint” or “preconception.” Rules are often laws or theories, but they can also originate from instrumental preferences. Besides these rules of the game, as it were, there are metaphysical commitments, which inform a community as to the types of natural entities, as well as methodological commitments, which inform a community as to the kinds of laws and explanations. Rules are often necessary for normal scientific research, but not always. Normal science can proceed—and often does—in the absence of rules.

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From normal science to extraordinary science Anomaly Although scientists engaged in normal science do not intentionally strive for unexpected discoveries, such discoveries do occur. Paradigms are imperfect and rifts in the match between paradigm and nature are inevitable. For Kuhn, discoveries occur not only in terms of finding new facts but also with respect to formulation of novel theories. Both discovery of new facts and invention of novel theories begin with an anomaly. An anomaly is violation of paradigm expectations during the practice of normal science and can lead to unexpected discoveries. Detection of an anomaly, however, can only occur with respect to a paradigmatic background. For Kuhn, unexpected discovery is a complex process that includes the intertwining of both new facts and novel theories. Facts and theories go hand in hand, for discovery cannot be made by simple inspection. According to Kuhn, “Discovering a new sort of phenomenon is necessarily a complex event, one which involves recognition both that something is and what it is” (1964, p. 55). Since a discovery depends upon the intertwining of observation and theory, the discovery process takes time to integrate the novel or unknown with what is known. Moreover, the process is complicated because a scientific community often resists novelties based on its prior expectations. Due to allegiance to a paradigm, a community is loath to abandon it simply because of an anomaly or even several anomalies. In other words, it does not view an anomaly as counterinstance that falsifies a paradigm.

Crisis Just as an anomaly is critical for the discovery of new facts and phenomena, so is it essential for the invention of a novel theory. Although facts and theories are intertwined, the emergence of novel theories is the result of a crisis, “a period of pronounced professional insecurity” (Kuhn 1964, pp. 67–8). The insecurity is the result of the paradigm’s breakdown or inability to provide a solution to an anomaly or solutions to several anomalies. The professional or scientific community then begins to harbor questions about the ability of the paradigm to guide research, which has a profound impact upon the community’s conceptual stability. The chief characteristic of a crisis is the proliferation of theories. As members of a community in crisis attempt to resolve the anomalies, they offer more and varied theories to solve them. Interestingly, the problems responsible for the anomalous data are not necessarily new problems that arose after initial paradigm consensus but may have been present all along. This explains why anomalies lead to a period of crisis in the first place. The paradigm promises resolution of the problems but is unable to fulfill that promise. The overall effect is a return to a situation similar to pre-paradigm science.

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The proliferation of theories during crisis has an important philosophical implication for the underdetermination thesis. According to this thesis, more than one theory can be proposed to account for a given set of experimental observations. In other words, observations cannot be used to determine which theory to choose. Kuhn agreed, in part, with the thesis but he limited it to periods of crisis and pre-paradigm science. Underdetermination is not a problem for scientists engaged in normal scientific practice, because they have reached consensus concerning theoretical conceptions. This consensus allows them to make the outstanding advances they make. To do otherwise would be counterproductive and inefficient. “As in manufacture,” observed Kuhn, “so in science—retooling is an extravagance to be reserved for the occasion that demands it” (1964, p. 76). Later, Kuhn admitted that he found the weak form of underdetermination thesis defensible but not the strong form that “even with all possible evidence, the theories would still be underdetermined” (Sigurdsson 1990, p. 22). Closure of a crisis occurs in one of three possible ways, according to Kuhn. First, on occasion the paradigm is sufficiently robust to resolve the anomaly and to restore normal science practice. Second, a community of practitioners cannot resolve the anomaly even by the most radical method(s). Under these circumstances, it tables the anomaly until future investigation and analysis. Third, the community resolves the crisis by replacing the older paradigm with a newer one—but only after a period of extraordinary science.

Extraordinary science Kuhn stressed that the initial response of a community in crisis is not to abandon its paradigm. Rather, its members make every effort to salvage it using ad hoc modifications until the anomalies can be resolved, either theoretically or experimentally. The reason for this strong paradigm allegiance, claimed Kuhn, is that a community of practitioners must first have an alternative candidate to take the original paradigm’s place—for science, at least normal science, is possible only with a paradigm. And to reject a paradigm without a substitute is to reject science itself, which reflects poorly on the practitioners and not on the paradigm. Moreover, a community does not simply reject a paradigm because of a rift in the paradigm-nature fit. Kuhn insisted that nature does not play a role in paradigm decision during a crisis, but “that decision involves the comparison of both paradigms with nature and with each other” (1964, p. 77). His position was not relativistic outside the paradigm box. Kuhn’s aim here was to reject a naïve Popperian falsificationism. “No process yet disclosed by the historical study of scientific development,” asserted Kuhn, “resembles at all the methodological stereotype of falsification by direct comparison with nature” (1964, p. 77). Importantly, he was using historical facts to resolve a philosophical problem crucial to the

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falsificationist’s theory of science. Moreover, Kuhn claimed that philosophers who subscribe to this theory of science behave like scientists when confronted with anomalous facts. His point was not to downgrade science but to demonstrate the accuracy of his analysis of professional communities, either scientific or not, when confronted by falsifying evidence. In fact, Kuhn reversed the tables and claimed that counterinstances are essential for the practice of vibrant normal science. For without them, scientific development comes to a halt and science becomes an engineering tool. Counterinstances or anomalies are the puzzles of normal science. But if anomalies are the puzzles of normal science, how then can they lead to a crisis? Also, why would a community of practitioners explore anomalies to such an extent when they may portend disaster for its paradigm? Although Kuhn provided no general answer to these questions, he did offer several reasons for explaining the transition of a puzzle into a crisis-producing anomaly. First, a recalcitrant puzzle may raise questions about the discipline’s foundations. Moreover, an unsolved puzzle may raise issues about a paradigm’s practical application. Finally, the sheer length of time a community struggles with a puzzle may suffice to transform it into an anomaly. “When, for these reasons and others like them,” Kuhn concluded, “an anomaly comes to seem more than just another puzzle of normal science, the transition to crisis and to extraordinary science has begun” (1964, p. 82). The transition from normal science through crisis to extraordinary science involves two key events. First, the paradigm’s boundaries become blurred when a community of practitioners face recalcitrant anomalies; and, second, methodological rules relax leading to a proliferation of theories and ultimately to the emergence of a new paradigm. Often the relaxing of rules allows practitioners to see exactly where the problem is and how to go about solving it. This state of affairs has a tremendous impact upon the community’s practitioners, similar to that during pre-paradigm science. An extraordinary scientist, according to Kuhn, is a person “searching at random, trying experiments just to see what will happen, looking for an effect whose nature he cannot quite guess” (1964, p. 87). The reason for this erratic behavior is that scientists are trained under a paradigm to be puzzle-solvers not paradigm-testers. In other words, since normal scientists are not trained to do extraordinary science, they must learn as they go. For Kuhn, this type of behavior was more open to psychological rather than logical analysis. Moreover, during periods of extraordinary science, practitioners may even examine the philosophical foundations of their discipline. To that end, they analyze their assumptions, in order to loosen the old paradigm’s grip on the community and to propose alternative approaches to the generation of a new paradigm. Although the process of extraordinary science is convoluted and complex, a replacement paradigm may “emerge all at once, sometimes in the middle of the night, in the mind of the man deeply immersed in crisis”

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(Kuhn 1964, p. 90). Often the practice of extraordinary science itself, in terms of the interconnections among various anomalies, provides the source of inspiration of the new paradigm. Finally, whereas progress via normal science is a cumulative process, adding one paradigm achievement to the next, progress via extraordinary science is not. Rather, “it is a reconstruction of the field from new fundamentals, a reconstruction that changes some of the field’s most elementary theoretical generalizations as well as many of its paradigm methods and applications” (Kuhn 1964, p. 85). Quoting Butterfield, Kuhn claimed that the scientist who experiences a change in paradigms is like a person “picking up the other end of the stick” (1964, p. 85). That other end of the stick represents a scientific revolution.

From extraordinary science to new normal science Scientific revolutions The transition from extraordinary science to new normal science is through revolution. According to Kuhn, scientific revolutions are “non-cumulative developmental episodes in which an older paradigm is replaced in whole or in part by an incompatible new one” (1964, p. 92). They can come in two sizes: major revolutions, such as the shift from geocentric universe to heliocentric universe, or minor revolutions, such as the discovery of X-rays or oxygen. But, whether big or small, scientific revolutions exhibit the same structure: generation of a crisis through irresolvable anomalies and establishment of a new paradigm that resolves the crisis-producing anomalies. Scientific revolutions, according to Kuhn, are comparable to political revolutions. Just as a segment of a country’s populace believes the ruling government is unable to solve its pressing social and political problems, so a segment of a scientific community’s practitioners believes the ruling paradigm is unable to solve its crisis-producing anomalies. In both cases, action must be taken to resolve the situations. But, because of participants’ extreme positions, opposing camps become galvanized in their positions and communication between them breaks down. And, just as political recourse fails, so does scientific recourse. But Kuhn did note an important difference between political and scientific revolutions. Whereas for political revolutions force is often physical, for scientific revolutions, it generally represents circularity since supporters of a particular paradigm use that paradigm to defend it. In other words, the ultimate source for the establishment of a new paradigm during a crisis period is community’s consensus, i.e. when enough community members are persuaded by argument techniques and not simply by empirical evidence or logical analysis. Moreover, to accept a new paradigm, community practitioners must be convinced that the old paradigm can never solve the anomalies challenging it.

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Why persuasion loomed large in Kuhn’s scientific revolutions was that the new paradigm solves the anomalies the old paradigm could not. Thus, the two paradigms are radically different from each other, often with little or no overlap between them. Kuhn’s position was in contradistinction to the logical positivists and their followers, who “restrict the range and meaning of an accepted theory so that it could not possibly conflict with any later theory that made predictions about some of the same natural phenomena” (1964, p. 97). For Kuhn, the new theory can only be accepted if the community considers the old theory wrong. Kuhn defended the position against the criticism that an older theory is simply a special case of the newer theory, under specific conditions. The problem with the criticism, claimed Kuhn, is that to save theories in this way, their range of application must be restricted to those phenomena and to that precision of observation with which the experimental evidence in hand already deals . . . such limitation prohibits the scientist from claiming to speak “scientifically” about any phenomenon not already observed. (1964, p. 100) In other words, logical positivists cut off any further scientific development since anomalies would be inhibited methodologically. Moreover, the newer theory resolves the anomalies that the older theory cannot but to which it gave rise. The radical difference between old and new paradigms, such that the new is not derivative or an extension of the old, is the basis for InT. The origin of the thesis, according to Kuhn, dates to his high school days. A teacher gave him a two-volume calculus book, which laid out a proof for the irrationality of the square root of two. Kuhn took away from this early experience a meaning of incommensurability that he used later as a metaphor in terms of the incomparability between two competing paradigms. In essence, no common measure or standard is available to professional communities on opposite ends of a revolutionary divide by which to compare two paradigms. This is evident, claimed Kuhn, when looking at the meaning of theoretical terms. Although the terms from an older paradigm can be compared to those of a newer one, the older terms must be transformed vis-à-vis the newer ones. But, a serious problem arises with revising the older paradigm in transformed terms. The revised paradigm may have some utility, for example pedagogically, but it cannot guide the community’s research. The older paradigm is like a fossil; it reminds the community of its history but it no longer represents its future. An interesting feature of scientific revolutions, according to Kuhn, is their invisibility. What he meant by invisibility was that in the process of writing textbooks, popular scientific essays, and even the philosophy of science, the path to the current paradigm is sanitized to make the current paradigm appear as if it was in some sense born mature. Disguising the

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paradigm’s history is an outcome of a view, which sees scientific knowledge as complete and its accumulation as linear. The disguising serves the winner of the crisis by establishing its authority—especially as a pedagogical aid for indoctrinating students into the community of practitioners. But, as Kuhn labored to demonstrate, the growth of scientific knowledge is not the result of piecemeal changes to theories over time to fit the facts. Rather, it is the result of theories and facts emerging together. Another important effect of a revolution, related to a paradigm shift, is a change in the community’s view of science. According to Kuhn, “The reception of a new paradigm often necessitates a redefinition of the corresponding science” (1964, p. 103). The change in science’s image should be no surprise, since the older paradigm defines the nature of science. Change the paradigm and science itself changes, at least how members of a community practice it. In other words, a change in the scientific image is a result of a change in the community’s standards on what constitutes its problems and the solutions to those problems. Finally, revolutions transform the scientists from practitioners of normal science, who are puzzle-solvers, to practitioners of extraordinary science, who are paradigm-testers. Besides transforming science, revolutions also transform the world that scientists investigate.

Resolution of revolutions The establishment of a new paradigm resolves a scientific revolution and issues in a new period of normal science. With its establishment, Kuhn’s new image of a mature science comes full circle. Only after a period of intense competition among rival paradigms does the community choose a new paradigm and scientists once again become puzzle-solvers instead of paradigm-testers. The resolution of a scientific revolution is not a straightforward process that depends only upon reason or evidence. “The competition between paradigms,” contended Kuhn, “is not the sort of battle that can be resolved by proofs” (1964, p. 148). The reason proofs cannot resolve a revolution is because proponents of competing paradigms not only disagree about the relevant evidence for proofs, but they also disagree on the pertinent anomalies that need solving, since their paradigms are incommensurable. Another factor that leads to difficulties in resolving scientific revolutions is that communication among members in crisis is only partial. This is the result of proponents of the new paradigm initially borrowing theoretical terms and concepts, along with laboratory protocols, from the old paradigm. Although the competing paradigms share the same vocabulary and technology, the new paradigm gives new meaning and uses to them. The net result is that members of competing paradigms talk past one another. Moreover, the change in paradigms is not a gradual process in which

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different parts of the paradigm change piecemeal; rather, the change must be made quickly and completely. Convincing scientists to make such a radical transformation takes time. How then does one segment of the community convince another to switch paradigms? For members laboring for decades under the old paradigm, they may never accept the new paradigm. Their resistance to it “is not a violation of scientific standards but an index to the nature of scientific research itself . . . the assurance that the older paradigm will ultimately solve all its problems, that nature can be shoved into the box the paradigm provides” (Kuhn 1964, pp. 151–2). Rather, younger members are often those who accept the new paradigm through “a conversion experience that cannot be forced” (Kuhn 1964, p. 151). The basis for the conversion is faith in the potential of the new paradigm to solve future problems. By invoking the terms conversion and faith, Kuhn was not implying that arguments and reason are not operative in a paradigm shift. Indeed, the most common reason for accepting a new paradigm is that it solves the anomalies the old paradigm could not. However, as Kuhn noted, “The claim to have solved the crisis-provoking problems is . . . rarely sufficient by itself” (1964, p. 154). Aesthetic or subjective factors also play an important role in a paradigm shift, since the new paradigm solves only a few—but critically perceived—anomalies. These factors weigh heavily initially in a paradigm shift by reassuring the community’s members that the new paradigm represents the discipline’s future. But, Kuhn denied he was suggesting that “new paradigms triumph ultimately through some mystical aesthetic. On the contrary, very few men desert a tradition for these reasons alone” (1964, p. 158). From the resolution of revolutions, Kuhn derived several important philosophical points concerning the principles of verification and falsification. As he alleged, philosophers do not search for absolute verification anymore, since no theory can be exhaustively tested; rather, they calculate the probability of a theory’s verification. According to probabilistic verification, every imaginable theory must be compared to others vis-à-vis available data. The problem in terms of Kuhn’s new view of science was that theories are tested with respect to a given paradigm, and such a restriction precludes access to every imaginable theory. Moreover, Kuhn rejected instances of falsification because no paradigm resolves all the problems or anomalies facing it. Under these conditions, no paradigm would ever be accepted. For Kuhn, the process of verification and falsification must include the vagueness that accompanies theory-fact fit.

Changes of worldview One of the major impacts of a scientific revolution is a change to the world in which scientists practice their trade. Kuhn’s world-change thesis, as it is

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known, is certainly one of his most radical and controversial ideas, besides the associated InT. The issue is how far ontologically does the change go, or is it simply an epistemological ploy to reinforce the comprehensive effects of scientific revolutions. In other words, does the world really change or simply the worldview, i.e. a particular perspective of the world? For Kuhn, the answer relies not on a logical or even a philosophical analysis of the change but rather on a psychological analysis of it. Kuhn analyzed the change in the world or in the worldview of a scientist by analogizing it to a Gestalt switch. “What were ducks in the scientist’s world before the revolution,” claimed Kuhn, “are rabbits afterwards” (1964, p. 111). Although the Gestalt analogy is suggestive, it is limited to only perceptual changes and says little about the function of previous experience in such transformations. Previous experience is important because it influences what a scientist sees when making an observation. Moreover, with a Gestalt switch, a person can stand above or outside of it acknowledging with certainty that he or she now sees a duck or now a rabbit. Such an independent perspective, which eventually is an authoritarian stance, is not available to a community of practitioners; there is no answer sheet, as it were. “The scientist,” insisted Kuhn, “can have no recourse above and beyond what he sees with his eyes and instruments” (1964, p. 114). Because a community’s access to the world is limited to what it observes, any change in what it observes has important consequences for the nature of what is observed, i.e. the change has ontological significance. Thus, for Kuhn, the change a revolution brings about is more than simply seeing or observing a different world; it also involves living in a different world. The perceptual transformation is more than a reinterpretation of the data. “What occurs during a scientific revolution,” asserted Kuhn, “is not fully reducible to a reinterpretation of individual and stable data” (1964, p. 121). The reason is that the data themselves are not stable but change during a paradigm shift. Data interpretation is a function of normal science, while data transformation is a function of extraordinary science. That transformation is often a result of intuitions that “gather up large portions of that experience and transform them to the rather different bundle of experience that will thereafter be linked piecemeal to the new paradigm but not to the old” (Kuhn 1962, p. 123). A paradigm determines not only what laboratory protocols scientists practice but also what observations they make. Change the paradigm and not only are the laboratory protocols different but so are the observations. Hence, an observation is not so much “given” as it is “collected with difficulty” (Kuhn 1964, p. 126). Moreover, besides a change in data, revolutions change the relationships among data. “Practicing in different worlds,” concluded Kuhn, “the two groups of scientists see different things when they look from the same point in the same direction” (1964, p. 149). The world-change thesis—as it became known—also had important epistemological implications for Kuhn. Although traditional western science

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has searched for three centuries for stable and theory-neutral data or observations to justify theories, that search has been in vain. Kuhn expressed a desire to cling to this position but lamented that “it no longer functions effectively, and the attempts to make it do so through the introduction of a neutral language of observations seem to me hopeless” (1964, p. 126). All sensory experience is through a paradigm of some sort, even articulations of that experience. Hence, no scientist can step outside a paradigm to make an observation; it is simply impossible given the limits of human sensory physiology. “It is, however, only after experience has been determined,” argued Kuhn, “that the search for an operational definition or a pure observation-language can begin” (1964, p. 129), but, he cautioned, only with the recognition that sensory experience is fundamentally paradigm determined.

Progress through revolutions Kuhn first discussed the progress made in normal science, to contrast it with progress through revolutions. “In its normal state,” observed Kuhn, “a scientific community is an immensely efficient instrument for solving the problems or puzzles that its paradigm defines. Furthermore, the result of solving these problems must inevitably be progress” (1964, p. 166). For normal science, progress is cumulative in that the solutions to puzzles form a repository of information about the world. This progress is a function of the guidance a paradigm provides the community’s practitioners. Importantly, the progress normal science achieves in terms of articulating the paradigm or accumulating information is used to educate the next generation of scientists and to manipulate the world for human welfare. Scientific revolutions qua shifts in paradigms change all that. What, then, does the community of practitioners gain, vis-à-vis normal science progress, by going through a revolution or paradigm shift? Does it make any kind of progress in the traditional sense through its rejection of a previous paradigm and the fruit that paradigm bore during its tenure? Of course, the victors of the revolution claim that progress occurs through a revolution. To do otherwise would be to admit that science is incapable of getting at the truth. Rather, advocates of the new normal science strive to ensure that the larger scientific community views their winning paradigm as pushing forward a better understanding of the world. The progress a revolution achieves is twofold, according to Kuhn. The first is the successful solution of anomalies that a previous paradigm could not solve. The second is the promise to solve additional problems or puzzles that arise from these anomalies. Although progress involves the solution of these newer problems, it also consists of maintaining “a relatively large part of the concrete problem solving ability that has accrued to science through its predecessors” (Kuhn 1964, p. 169). However, argued Kuhn, revolutionary progress is not cumulative but noncumulative.

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But, does a community get closer to the truth, i.e. Popper’s notion of verisimilitude, by going through a revolution? For Kuhn, the answer is no. “We may . . . have to relinquish the notion, explicit or implicit, that changes of paradigms carry scientists and those who learn from them closer and closer to the truth” (Kuhn 1964, p. 170). According to Kuhn, the progress of science is not a directed activity toward some goal like the truth. Rather, it is a developmental process . . . a process of evolution from primitive beginnings—a process whose successive stages are characterized by an increasingly detailed and refined understanding of nature. But nothing that has been or will be said makes it a process of evolution toward anything. (Kuhn 1964, p. 169–70) Just as selection operates in the emergence of new species, so it functions in the emergence of new theories. And, just as species adapt to their environment, so do theories adapt to the world. Kuhn did not tender an answer to the question why this should be other than the world and the community that studies it exhibit “special characteristics” (1964, p. 173). Kuhn did not know what these characteristics were, but he concluded that the proposed image of science, like a new paradigm after a scientific revolution, exhibits the potential to resolve these problems. He then invited the next generation of philosophers of science to join him in this new philosophy of science incommensurable with its predecessors.

III Summary Years later, Kuhn stressed that Structure, at the time of its publication, was simply a sketch of a new image of science. He maintained the intention was not to provide a template for conducting historical or philosophical research. I’ve always said, assimilate this point of view and this way of doing it [i.e. stepping inside the historical context], and then see what it does for you when you try to write a history. . . . But it’s not going to be “Can you always locate a paradigm, can you always tell the difference between a revolution and a normal development?” It’s not meant to be applied that way. (Sigurdsson 1990, p. 23) Even in Kuhn’s own historical work, for example, on Planck’s research on black-body radiation, he did not employ the structure of Structure for conducting HPS. Whither then Kuhn’s new image of science? That question lies at the center of the criticism of historians and

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philosophers of science leveled against Kuhn’s monograph, and his response to their criticism.

Further reading 1 Hoyningen-Huene, P. (1993), Reconstructing Scientific Revolutions: Thomas S. Kuhn’s Philosophy of Science, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Probably the best reconstruction of Kuhn’s philosophy of science, which included personal conversations with Kuhn. 2 Kuhn, T. S. (2012), The Structure of Scientific Revolutions, 4th edition, Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. The fiftieth anniversary edition of Kuhn’s influential work, with addition of a helpful introduction by Hacking and a useful index. 3 Preston, J. (2008), Kuhn’s “The Structure of Scientific Revolutions”: A Reader’s Guide, London: Continuum. A comprehensive guide to key concepts in Structure, as well as an able analysis of its reception and influence.

Chapter four

Why did Kuhn revise Structure?

Chapter Summary

I

n this chapter, I discuss the reaction to Structure, which was at first congenial. Then, within a few years it turned critical, particularly when it came from philosophers. Shapere’s review of Structure is especially critical of Kuhn’s new image of science. Kuhn’s philosophy of science also became the focus of other critical reviews. For example, Israel Scheffler criticized Kuhn’s philosophy of science as subverting scientific objectivity. However, Kuhn’s severest criticism came during a 1965 philosophy of science colloquium held in London, with Popper as chair. Kuhn delivered a paper comparing his and Popper’s views of the growth of scientific knowledge, which was then followed by critical papers delivered by Popper and others. The chief criticisms focused on the paradigm concept and the notion of normal science. Kuhn’s response to critics are explored in the remainder of the chapter, in terms of a published paper to the 1965 London colloquium, an unpublished 1967 Swarthmore lecture, a published 1969 Urbana paper, and Structure’s “Postscript—1969.”

I Reactions to Structure From his recollection, Kuhn felt that the reactions to Structure were positive (2000, p. 307). However, his main concern was the tag of irrationalism. “I was not saying, however,” recounted Kuhn later, “that there aren’t good reasons in scientific proofs, good but never conclusive reasons” (Sigurdsson 1990, p. 21). He was also troubled with the charge of relativism, at least a pernicious kind. He believed that the charge was inaccurate because he

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proposed science does not progress toward a predetermined goal; but, like evolutionary change, one theory replaces another with a better fit between theory and nature vis-à-vis competitors. Kuhn later acknowledged that use of the Darwinian metaphor was a correct framework for discussing science’s progress. But he felt no one took that metaphor seriously at the time he suggested it. Finally, Kuhn was especially pleased with Koyré’s personal comments about Structure, particularly with the latter’s recognition that the former had done an exemplary job with the internal-external distinction (2000, pp. 286–8).

Reviews of Structure In 1962 and 1963, several dozen reviews of Structure appeared in a variety of journals, representing a disparate collection of academic professions, and are, for the most part, favorable to Kuhn’s new image of science. One of the first reviewers was his former chair at Princeton, Gillispie. In the review, which appeared in Science, Gillispie noted that Kuhn did not write a typical history of science text but one that offered a new image of science drawn from historical, philosophical, psychological, sociological, and scientific sources. Moreover, rather than representing a traditional philosophy of science text “in the usual Anglo-American sense of a study of logical problems found in scientific proceedings or systems . . . [it is] a sketch for a genetic philosophy of science” (1962, p. 1251). Although Gillispie was sympathetic to Kuhn’s new image of science, he questioned Kuhn for his circular definitions of terms like paradigm and normal science, i.e. a paradigm determines normal science, and normal science determines a paradigm. However, Gillispie commended Kuhn for situating scientific development in a Darwinian historiographic framework. Many reviewers focused on segments of Structure that overlapped with their own discipline—a focus not unexpected. For example, sociologists recognized Structure as a contribution to the sociology of knowledge, this was a recognition which Kuhn himself claimed for the monograph. Bernard Barber, a sociologist of science, lauded Kuhn’s attempt to present a “sociology of scientific discovery.” But he then branded Kuhn’s attempt “quasi-sociological,” because “his sociological analysis of the process of scientific discovery was not as theoretically explicit as we might wish it, nor does it include some sociological factors that would improve his analysis by enlarging it” (1963, p. 298). Although many of the early reviews of Structure were not extensively critical of Kuhn’s new image of science, the historian of science, Derek de Solla Price, presaged in a review that “we must expect a considerable polemic to develop from this classic” (1963, p. 294A). That polemic was on the immediate horizon. Beginning in 1964, critical reviews of Structure

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emerged and, more importantly, several full-length reviews appeared in professional philosophy and history journals. The most influential review among philosophers was Shapere’s poignant review in a 1964 issue of Philosophical Review.1 Shapere conceded that Kuhn convincingly demonstrated the problems associated with a philosophy of science based on a development-by-accumulation history of science. He situated Kuhn with other antipositivist philosophers of science, including Toulmin, Hanson, and Feyerabend. However, his concern pertained to certain issues, especially relativism, which arose from Kuhn’s paradigm concept and InT. Shapere detailed a number of problems with Kuhn’s paradigm concept. First, the concept was too imprecise. According to Shapere, “Anything that allows science to accomplish anything can be part of (or somehow involved in) a paradigm” (1964, p. 385). Next, he raised concern over the tail (paradigm) wagging the dog (Kuhn’s analysis of science), in that Kuhn’s enthusiasm for paradigm is “too strongly and confidently held to have been extracted from a mere investigation of how things have happened” (1964, p. 386). Shapere was also perplexed over the fact that although scientists cannot articulate paradigms satisfactorily, historians of science can recognize them by direct inspection of the historical record. In contrast to Kuhn, Shapere then argued that the distinction between “paradigms and different articulations of a paradigm, and between scientific revolutions and normal science, is at best a matter of degree, as is commitment to a paradigm” (1964, p. 388). Finally, he expressed concern that the expansive nature of a paradigm may obscure significant divergence among scientific practices and behaviors. Shapere, then, discussed what he considered a “deeper” problem with Kuhn’s paradigm concept, the change in meaning of terms during paradigm shift. Shapere was agitated by Kuhn’s argument that a fundamental change of a term’s meaning, such as the term “mass,” occurs after a scientific revolution (from Newton to Einstein). The real trouble with such arguments arises with regard to the cash difference between the saying, in such cases, that the “meaning” has changed, as opposed to saying that the “meaning” has remained the same though the “application” has changed. (1964, p. 390) Shapere believed Kuhn failed to make this subtle distinction. This problem led then to Shapere’s critique of Kuhn’s InT. If two competing paradigms are incommensurable, queried Shapere, if they disagree as to what the facts are, and even as to the real problems to be faced and the standards which a successful theory must meet—then what are the two paradigms disagreeing about? And why does one win? (1964, p. 391)

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He believed Kuhn had no ready answers for these questions. Moreover, he argued that Kuhn’s InT reduces scientific progress to mere change, which raises the issue of how scientists and historians can compare paradigms. The upshot of Shapere’s critique of both the paradigm concept and InT was the charge that Kuhn’s new image of science is relativistic. “For Kuhn,” wrote Shapere, “has already told us that the decision of a scientific group to adopt a new paradigm is not based on good reason; on the contrary, what counts as a good reason is determined by the decision” (1964, p. 392). He acknowledged that the appearance of this type of relativism was inevitable, given the direction of current historiography, and warned philosophers of science to cast a jaundice eye toward it, “until historians of science achieve a more balanced approach to their subject—neither too positivistic nor too relativistic” (1964, p. 393). Not only was Structure reviewed for professionals in academic literature but it was also reviewed for the public in popular literature. As regards popular scientific literature, Kuhn’s monograph received a particularly harsh review in Scientific American. The anonymous reviewer claimed that Kuhn’s central thesis was common knowledge and that he distorted it with his “relativism.” The reviewer also criticized Kuhn’s use of paradigm, as did many reviewers, and claimed that the effects of incommensurability “are at best wild exaggerations” (Anonymous 1964, p. 144). The review concluded with the statement that Structure is “much ado about very little” (1964, p. 144). Kuhn personally never forgot the treatment he received in its pages. A review of Structure also appeared in The Nation, along with reviews of another dozen books on various topics related to science. The reviewer was Philip Siekevitz, a biochemist from the Rockefeller Institute. Siekevitz focused on the community structure of Kuhn’s new image of science, especially a community structure that provides for open discussion and debate of issues germane to scientific advance. Interestingly, he linked Kuhn’s analysis of the scientific community’s paradigmatic structure with Gerard Piel’s analysis of democracy and science in Science in the Cause of Man. According to Siekevitz, “Just as science is based on the ‘paradigm’ subject to change, so is our democracy based on the Common Law, subject to constant reinterpretation” (1964, p. 148). For Siekevitz, the issue, as noted in the title of the review, “The necessity of popular science,” was how to motivate the public to read the popular science genre in order to become better citizens in a world increasingly dependent on science.

Letters After the publication of Structure, Kuhn received over the course of his career hundreds of letters. Most of them were supportive of the paradigm concept and their authors solicited assistance in applying the concept

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to their particular project or discipline. For example, one of the earlier requests was from R. A. McConnell, at the Department of Biophysics at the University of Pittsburgh, who wrote to Kuhn requesting help with a book proposal on parapsychology (Kuhn Papers, box 4, folder 15, April 4, 1963 letter). According to McConnell, Structure provided a basis for justifying parapsychology as a science. In addition, he sent Kuhn a précis of Structure, which he had written, and asked Kuhn to read it for faithfulness and accuracy to Kuhn’s ideas. Kuhn responded with a detailed three-page letter encouraging McConnell with the book project and assuring him that the précis of Structure was faithful and accurate (Kuhn Papers, box 4, folder 15, April 23, 1963). At times, Kuhn could not help the person seeking assistance; however, he still responded eventually. For example, in a letter Ralph Anspach, then an assistant professor in economics at San Francisco State College, wrote Kuhn beseeching assistance with a project on economic methodology (Kuhn’s Papers, box 4, folder 6, April 18, 1966). “I am not going to be able to be very helpful,” Kuhn wrote in return, “even now. Almost none of the material that has appeared since my book was published is likely to be of any real use to you” (Kuhn’s Papers, box 4, folder 6, May 9, 1966). Kuhn, however, did receive letters that were critical of Structure, especially of the paradigm concept. For example, Mendel Sachs, from the Department of Physics and Astronomy at the State University of New York, Buffalo, wrote Kuhn disagreeing with the role for paradigm in science. Sachs claimed it represented a bandwagon effect, which he felt prohibits rather than advances scientific progress (Kuhn’s Papers, box 4, folder 15, September 10, 1970). He then argued for an image of scientific practice similar to Feyerabend’s. In reply to Sachs, Kuhn wrote, “How does one tell a ‘bandwagon’ effect from a decision made by large numbers of individuals to turn their attention to what they individually believe to be a promising new area of research?” (Kuhn’s Papers, box 4, folder 15). Kuhn continued to receive correspondence concerning Structure, and its revised edition, throughout his career and patiently addressed it as best he could. He especially responded to critics, trying to help them see through the differences between their criticisms and what he was trying to say. The sheer volume of this correspondence alone witnesses to the importance and impact Kuhn’s monograph had not only on the history and the philosophy of science but also on other academic disciplines.

1965 London colloquium Kuhn’s “Logic of discovery or psychology of research?” The very title of Kuhn’s paper invites a comparison between Popper and Kuhn. Kuhn (1970b) defended not only the notion of normal science as

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genuine science, which advances scientific knowledge cumulatively, but also the distinction between normal and revolutionary science. He began with several similarities between their two philosophies of science. For example, both Popper and Kuhn view the development of scientific knowledge as a dynamic, revolutionary process. Although these similarities are “real and substantive,” attested Kuhn, fundamental differences exist between them analogous to a Gestalt switch in which two people view the same picture but one sees a rabbit, the other a duck. The arduous task for Kuhn was to help Popper and his students see what he saw when he looked at the historical record of scientific development and the growth of its knowledge. Kuhn attempted to assist Popper in the Gestalt switch by identifying Popperian locutions that Kuhn found inappropriate or unsuitable within a given context. The first Popperian locution that Kuhn tackled was “theory testing,” i.e. scientists propose theories that are then tested experimentally. Although Popper’s notion of theory testing differed from that of the logical positivists and appeared to be similar to that of Kuhn, Kuhn argued that scientists, particularly scientists engaged in normal scientific practice, do not test a theory to evaluate its correctness so much as to determine the normal scientist’s ingenuity as a puzzle-solver. For Kuhn, Popper’s notion of theory testing is not normal but extraordinary scientific activity. Moreover, the demarcation between science and nonscience is not the potential refutability of theories. For example, astrology, according to Kuhn, is not a science, not because it is not refutable but because it has no puzzles to solve. The next Popperian locution Kuhn examined is “learning from our mistakes,” i.e. the common method of trial and error or what Popper popularly referred to as “conjecture and refutation.” Again, Kuhn claimed that the mistakes scientists make are generally those made during the practice of normal science and involve an infraction of a paradigmatic rule. But the mistakes Popper refers to, according to Kuhn, are “out-of-date scientific theories,” and so, learning from mistakes ‘occurs when a scientific community rejects one of these theories and replaces it with another” (1970b, p. 11). Again, Popper, as Kuhn saw it, conflates normal and revolutionary science. Lastly, Kuhn examined the most important Popperian locution, “falsification” or “refutation,” i.e. when a theory fails a test it must be rejected. Kuhn acknowledged that Popper is not a naïve falsificationist, in that a single observation does not necessarily falsify a theory because the observation can be questioned or the theory modified; however, he contended that Popper may “legitimately be treated as one,” because the methodological bite of falsification is “conclusive disproof” (1970b, pp. 14– 15). Kuhn’s concern with Popper’s notion of falsification was that logical analysis of theory testing could not account completely for the development of scientific knowledge. For Kuhn, the paradigm concept serves to include the nonlogical elements critical for the development of such knowledge.

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Although Kuhn concluded that he had no ready answers for questions about scientific progress and theory choice, he believed that—in contradistinction to Popper’s philosophy of science that fails to answer them—he could “see the directions in which answers to them must be sought” (1970b, p. 19). The direction for answering questions about progress was to determine empirically how or the mechanism by which science advances, while the direction for answering questions about theory choice is to determine the values, such as simplicity and precision, which play a role in choosing a theory. Finally, for Kuhn, in agreement with Popper, the psychology of the individual scientist is not singularly determinant in scientific advancement; but, in contrast to Popper, Kuhn claimed that shared elements of the community, such as values, are important for such advancement. Finally, he invited Popper to join him in the quest for answering questions about scientific progress and theory choice. Kuhn believed that, although Popper appeared to be interested strictly in the logical generation and rejected the individual’s psychological role in the growth of knowledge, Popper did “inculcate moral imperatives in the membership of the scientific group” (1970b, p. 22).

Discussion Watkins (1970), who was Popper’s student at the London School of Economics and who eventually occupied Popper’s chair, delivered the invited reply to Kuhn’s lecture. He rejected Kuhn’s notion of normal science as an inaccurate conception of science. For Watkins, Kuhn’s normal science represented a period of “stagnation” in which a scientific discipline becomes mired in its tracks, with no means to proceed forward. Hence, contrary to Kuhn’s assertion that normal science provides the backdrop for the detection of anomalies, he argued that it is nothing more than a collection of untested metaphysical dogmas. Watkins went on to defend Popper’s notion of critical science by distinguishing between a sociological and a methodological analysis of science. Kuhn’s mistake was to discount the revolutionary advances because they are rare and to promote normal science because it is common. Moreover, he contended that Kuhn embedded the aberrant notion of science as normal science in a distorted notion of the scientific community. His strategy was to turn the table on Kuhn and to assist him to see through Popperian glasses that normal science is no science at all. Watkins’s final blow to Kuhn’s concept of normal science was that it could not be responsible for the emergence of revolutionary science. Inspection of the historical record of scientific development reveals that new theories emerge not all at once as a whole but over a lengthy period in response to continuous, critical challenges to a theory. Watkins credited Kuhn’s misconception to the comparison of the emergence of new theories to Gestalt switches. Scientists are not prisoners of a paradigm but free to

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reflect critically on it and to change it at any time. Finally, Kuhn’s concept of normal science, with its plodding and meticulous attention to detail, is applicable to any number of disciplines including Biblical exegesis and astrology. Popper (1970) continued the charge against Kuhn’s notion of normal science. He acknowledged that—in the first edition of Logic of Scientific Discovery—he did describe a type of science analogous to Kuhn’s normal science. But, he did not appreciate the distinction between it and extraordinary or revolutionary science and the problems the distinction raised for his analysis of science—for which he thanked Kuhn. However, Popper was not converted to Kuhn’s new image of science but rather he was galvanized in his old view. He then characterized Kuhn’s normal scientist as an unfortunate wretch: someone to be pitied and not admired, since he or she is someone who is poorly educated and trained not to think critically. Thus, rather than seeing normal science as normative or even descriptive of scientific practice, Popper saw it as a danger and threat, especially to his critical theory as to how science is or should be practiced. Popper then claimed that the history of science does not support Kuhn’s notion of normal science. He argued that Kuhn’s new image of science fits astronomy best but does not fit other sciences, such as contemporary biology. Most sciences do not have a single paradigm that determines scientific activity in a manner akin to normal science. Rather, for Popper “science is essentially critical; that it consists of bold conjectures, controlled by criticism, and that it may, therefore, be described as revolutionary” (1970, p. 55). But, he was not adverse to dogmatism. Popper’s dogmatism, however, differed from Kuhn’s, which undergirds normal science and is not part of the bold conjecture process that Popper advocated and promoted. Finally, Popper asserted that the notion of normal science is predicated upon a relativistic logic, which views rational discourse as existing only within a framework whose foundations cannot be examined critically. He insisted, however, that scientists could critically examine these foundations and break free of them. Popper’s main concern with Kuhn’s relativism was that it harbors irrationalism, in that scientists cannot rationally decide which framework to adopt. Toulmin (1970) also took issue with Kuhn’s concept of normal science in contrast to Popper’s notion of critical science, asserting that scientists are always free to challenge conceptual foundations. According to him, paradigms function similarly to Collingwood’s absolute presuppositions, in that paradigms are nonempirical assumptions about the natural world.2 Toulmin then disputed Kuhn’s distinction between the concepts of normal science and revolutionary science in terms of revolutionary discontinuities as absolute. He argued that the distinction is not absolute but a matter of degree. For him, absolute discontinuities, or incommensurable paradigms in Kuhn’s terms, cannot be the basis for revolutionary science or progress in science. For example, early-twentieth-century physicists, according to Toulmin, gave

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good reasons for accepting Einstein and abandoning Newton. He concluded that the revolutionary breaks between paradigms appear not so absolute, in that they occur with greater rapidity. In other words, revolutions are demoted from macro to micro events. And, with that demotion, they are viewed more like units of variation upon which selection acts. Lakatos (1970), a colleague of Popper at the London School of Economics, explored the Gestalt switch between Popper and Kuhn: science as continual critical assessment (duck) or science as paradigm commitment punctuated by paradigm shift (rabbit). One approach is rational (Popper), the other irrational (Kuhn). Lakatos believed that Kuhn’s view of revolutionary change was that it was something akin to a religious conversion and was appalled that Kuhn resorted to “mob psychology” to charge Popper with naïve falsification. He aimed to rescue Popper from Kuhn’s charge by explicating a sophisticated version of falsification, which Lakatos then proceeded to develop in terms of a view of science he called “scientific research programmes,” and in so doing justify rational progress or the role of criticism in the growth of knowledge. Feyerabend (1970), another student of Popper, claimed that Kuhn’s normal science is fit only for dogmatic and narrow-minded specialists. He was horrified by what he considered the logical outcome of Kuhn’s new image of science. As Feyerabend interpreted Kuhn, the way to scientific status for a discipline “is to restrict criticism, to reduce the number of comprehensive theories to one, and to create a normal science that has this one theory as its paradigm” (1970, p. 198). Such an image of science and its function, declared Feyerabend, cannot be supported historically. For him, science is a process in which scientists proliferate theories only to eliminate them tenaciously, a view of science he concluded trumps Kuhn’s normal science. Kuhn’s imprecise use of paradigm was one of the chief complaints by the colloquium participants. For example, Pearce Williams (1970), a Cornell historian of science known for his scholarship on Michael Faraday, charged that the “very universality of paradigm destroys a good part of its value in understanding the development of science” (1963, p. 183). However, in a creative and sympathetic analysis of Kuhn’s paradigm concept, Margaret Masterman (1970), from the Cambridge Language Research Unit, identified twenty-one senses of it. After identifying the different senses in which Kuhn used paradigm in Structure, she grouped them into three categories. Masterman’s first category was the metaphysical paradigm or “metaparadigm,” which provides the theoretical basis of scientific practice and includes a set of beliefs, a map, a standard, a metaphysical speculation or notion of an entity, an organizing principle that shapes perception, or a way of determining large areas of reality. The second category was the sociological paradigm, which directs the behavior of scientific communities and their members and includes a universally accepted achievement, a set of political institutions, or a device in common law. The final category was the artifact or construct paradigm, which involves concrete puzzle-solutions

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and includes a textbook or classic work in the discipline, a source of tools for conducting experimental investigation, a machine-tool factory, or a Gestalt figure. Masterman concluded her analysis inviting others to join in articulating further Kuhn’s paradigm concept. Lastly, Williams (1970) addressed the debate between Popper and Kuhn over the nature of science. He felt there were two approaches to resolving it. The first was sociological. But, he thought that such an approach was fraught with too many problems. The other was historical. But, again, he thought this approach was problematic. “We simply do not know enough,” claimed Williams, “to permit a philosophical structure to be erected on a historical foundation” (1970, p. 50). Finally, he castigated both Kuhn and Popper for not providing adequate and sufficient examples from the history of science to warrant their views of science.

Kuhn’s “Reflections on my critics” Kuhn (1970c) began with an interesting rhetorical ploy often used in conflict strategies. He conflated his identity by positing two Kuhns. The first Kuhn was the author of Structure, which Kuhn and Masterman discussed in their respective papers. The second Kuhn was the author of a monograph with the same title, which Watkins, Popper, Toulmin, Feyerabend, Lakatos, and Williams criticized in their respective papers. The two Kuhns might be called the incommensurable Kuhns, a product of “partial or incomplete communication—the talking-through-each-other that regularly characterizes discourse between participants in incommensurable points of view” (Kuhn 1970c, p. 232). Kuhn believed that he and his critics were talking past one another on three different sets of issues: methodology, normal science, and paradigm shift. With respect to methodology, Kuhn observed that critics saw his method as historical or social psychology and descriptive while their own method as logical and normative. Kuhn claimed that this was a misperception, since the participants in the colloquium engaged historical cases and the behavior of scientists both individually and collectively. Moreover, the divergence between descriptive and normative is indistinct. With respect to the historical dimension of his method, Kuhn wrote, “I began as an historian of science, examining closely the facts of scientific life” (Kuhn 1970c, p. 236). Kuhn’s defense of the social psychology dimension of his method relied on the insufficiency of rules to dictate human behavior. For theory choice, for instance, Kuhn reaffirmed that community “behaviour will be affected decisively by the shared commitments, but individual choice will be a function also of personality, education, and the prior pattern of professional research” (Kuhn 1970c, p. 241). Finally, for the descriptivenormative distinction, Kuhn argued that his new image of science had normative implications for the practice of science, with respect to improving scientific knowledge.

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Kuhn next defended the notion of normal science. He believed that the denial of normal science and classifying it as uninteresting compared to revolutionary or critical science are clever but misguided ploys. As for the nonexistence of normal science, Kuhn claimed that revolutionary science demands it. Moreover, the notion of revolution itself dictates against all science being revolutionary all the time. Normal science, with its period of stasis in which theories do not proliferate and scientists do not criticize their foundations, provides the scientific backdrop for revolutions to occur and to be recognized. The problem of recognizing normal science or of distinguishing between normal and revolutionary science requires an appropriate understanding of the scientific community. By knowing what a community deems valuable, then the question of whether a historical period of scientific research is revolutionary or normal can be answered. Moreover, normal science is palpable from history, asserted Kuhn, even from the cases critics used to deny its existence. Finally, for the coinage of science normal science is a necessary obverse to the revolutionary converse in that it provides the stasis required for detailed scientific progress. Kuhn then responded to the charges that his position concerning theory choice or paradigm shift depends on irrationalism, relativism, and mob rule. Kuhn categorically denied the charges. In his defense against the charge of irrationalism, Kuhn claimed, What I am denying is neither the existence of good reasons nor that those reasons are of the sort usually described. I am, however, insisting that such reasons constitute values to be used in making choices rather than rules of choice. (1970c, p. 262) Kuhn also contended that his evolutionary notion of scientific development is not relativistic; for in the selection of one theory over another one theory might be better for guiding scientific practice. However, in relation to truth Kuhn admitted that his position is relativistic. He agreed that a newer theory is “better” than an older one “as a tool for the practice of normal science,” but Kuhn denied that the newer theory captures the truth of reality (Kuhn 1970c, p. 264). Lastly, with respect to the charge of mob rule, Kuhn appealed to the fact that in terms of mob psychology a community of practitioners generally rejects its values; and, if a scientific community rejects its values, “then science is already past saving” (Kuhn 1970c, p. 263). Kuhn then turned his attention to the notion of incommensurability and to the nature of paradigms. To address critics, he framed the discussion of incommensurability in terms of translation: just as a translator cannot provide a literal translation of a text from one language to another, so scientists cannot compare competing theories point-for-point because no theory-neutral language is available to compare them. Some information, necessary for full communication, is always lost in translation. The sources

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of incommensurability, then, are two. First, for terms shared between two incommensurable paradigms, meaning changes in profound ways during a paradigm shift. Second, “languages cut up the world in different ways, and we have no access to a neutral sub-linguistic means or reporting” (Kuhn 1970c, p. 268). In other words, no adequate translational manual is available to translate or transpose an older theory into a new one because such manuals are predicated on specific theories that interpret the world differently. Finally, as for the paradigm concept, Kuhn accepted partial responsibility for the confusion surrounding its use in Structure. He credited Masterman for skillfully demonstrating its various uses. In a later interview, Kuhn acknowledged that she was on target in terms of the core meaning of paradigms: “She’s got it right! . . . A paradigm is what you use when the theory isn’t there” (Kuhn 2000, p. 300). In a 1966 letter, Kuhn wrote to Masterman, I could not be more delighted by your piece for Imre’s volume. It seems to me even clearer, more cogent, and occasionally deeper than the original, and you know that I liked that. I feel sure it will be effective with at least some of the people who have yet to be touched by the central tenets of our position, and I do not know what could possibly be asked. (Kuhn Papers, box 11, folder 41, June 1, 1966 letter) Although she proposed three categories for the uses of paradigms, Kuhn eventually divided them into two categories: disciplinary matrix and exemplars.

II  Structure revised Kuhn responded to the criticisms, especially against the paradigm concept, by clarifying the concept and by defending the new image of science, especially normal science. Much of the criticism devastated Kuhn personally, and he believed that he was misunderstood unfairly. But, he rose to the challenge of the criticisms to clarify the paradigm concept and to defend normal science.

1967 Swarthmore lecture In “Paradigms & theories in scientific research,” Kuhn confronted the problems associated with his philosophy of science—especially with the paradigm concept. He sought the audience’s indulgence, claiming that his remarks on revising the concept are provisional and tentative. However, Kuhn informed his listeners that he was making progress, “at least in discovering directions in which work must be done” (Kuhn Papers, box 3,

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folder 14, card 2). The Swarthmore lecture was important because it represented a transition from the initial response that Kuhn made to critics at the 1965 London colloquium, to the mature response, with respect to disciplinary matrix and exemplar, that he made in “Postscript—1969” to Structure’s second edition. Kuhn acknowledged the problems associated with Structure, particularly concerning the paradigm concept and the distinction between normal and revolutionary science. He reminded the audience that normal science represents “a tradition-bound activity in which people articulate theories and refine experiments to bring [the] two into closer and closer agreement” and that scientific revolutions pertain to those “episodes which are destructive of one tradition and constructive of a new one. Episodes after which some area of research is quite literally seen differently from the way it had been seen before” (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 14, card 3). He obviously did not abandon the earlier commitment to the normal-revolutionary science divide and its implications for scientific progress. For Kuhn, the demarcation problem was how “to tell in particular cases whether a given development should be described as a normal or a revolutionary advance” (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 14, card 3).3 For “big” revolutions, such as the Newtonian, Darwinian, or Einsteinian revolutions, no problem exists. But, such revolutions are rare and do not represent the bulk of scientific revolutions, which are generally smaller or locally restricted to a particular community of practitioners. Kuhn did acknowledge that for revolutions occurring in the smaller or local community, the distinction between normal and revolutionary advance can be problematic from the perspective of the larger professional and nonprofessional communities in that the revolution may appear as just the accumulation of normal scientific knowledge or it may simply be invisible. Nevertheless, to members of that local professional community, a revolution has occurred. Kuhn’s approach to the normal-revolutionary science demarcation problem was two-prong. He first focused on the composition of the various communities experiencing small revolutions, and he then examined their commitments. Kuhn next informed listeners: “If one wants to determine whether a particular development was revolutionary or not, or even to know quite what this sort of advance is, one must first determine the membership of the group which holds itself responsible for the area of knowledge in which the development occurs” (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 14, card 4). Here, he was yoking scientific progress to the composition of a specific professional community. By determining the community’s response to change in its knowledge or commitments, one can then determine whether it is a normal or revolutionary change. “If anything like a Gestalt switch occurs,” Kuhn told the audience, “it is they [members of the professional community] who experience it, and it may be only they. By the same token, they’re the bearers of norm[al] sci[ence]” (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 14, card 4). Thus, the solution to the demarcation between normal and revolutionary progress

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rests on identifying a community of practitioners in which a change occurs and then on determining whether the alteration is normal (cumulative) or revolutionary (incommensurable) in the community’s commitments. Kuhn subsequently tackled the problem of how to isolate and investigate local professional communities who are responsible for determining if a change represents normal or revolutionary advancement. He bemoaned the fact that sociologists have conducted little research to investigate these communities. Although he warned the audience that he did not base his remarks on any sociological investigation he had conducted, he did provide suggestions on how to examine these communities.4 Kuhn identified larger scientific communities in terms of specific disciplinary boundaries. For example, he classified the various communities with respect to physicists, chemists, biologists, etc. In addition, Kuhn divided these larger classificatory units into major subdivisions. For example, botanists, microbiologists, and zoologists compose the biological science communities. Determining these larger classificatory units of scientific communities, according to Kuhn, is unproblematic. One need simply identify the department in which individual scientists obtained their doctorates, the professional societies to which they belong, the professional journals in which they publish, and the professional meetings that they attend. Moreover, identifying scientific revolutions visà-vis these classificatory units is unproblematic, argued Kuhn, since these “major revolutionary episodes cut across groups as large as these” (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 14, card 5). The problem of demarcating between normal and revolutionary scientific advance arises at taxonomic levels of scientific communities smaller than larger divisions and major subdivisions. Moreover, even these smaller groups are sometimes too large to be practically useful for identifying myriad smaller revolutions that occur in science. Unfortunately, the task required for identifying smaller taxonomic units or communities requires new techniques. Kuhn informed the audience that this work is being carried out in the discipline of “sociology of science, a field in which substantial work is dreadfully [and] badly needed” (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 14, card 7). He then gave the example of two current techniques for getting at these smaller communities. The first was polling individual scientists through questionnaires about their fine-grain professional associations and research. Kuhn told the audience that he had just read a Harvard dissertation that represented a preliminary step along these lines. The second technique was footnote citation in the literature, in which members of the relevant community cite one another in specialized journals. Kuhn concluded the section of the lecture on scientific communities, telling listeners that the goal was to identify the smaller taxonomic groups, since he was convinced that “it is these groups—both in their individuality and in their interrelationships—which must be studied if we’re to understand the nature of scientific advance” (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 14, card 9). Kuhn was confident that understanding these communities and their commitments

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would support the distinction between normal and revolutionary science. On the one hand, “it’s the shared commitments of such a group that make normal science possible,” while on the other, “it’s some element in this body of commitments that is changed at times of revolution” (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 14, card 9). By identifying and explicating these commitments, he believed the demarcation problem that critics raised could be resolved. For him, these commitments were at the heart of the nature of science— whether normal or revolutionary—and its remarkable progress in understanding the natural world. Kuhn then turned to the professional commitments found in various scientific communities. Earlier in the lecture, Kuhn informed listeners that he wanted “to change the way in which the problem [concerning the demarcation between normal and revolutionary science] is discussed in the book [Structure]” (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 14, card 4). Kuhn admitted that part of the problem was the expansive nature of the paradigm concept articulated in Structure. He now wanted to narrow its scope. To that end, he focused on the commitments of the professional community. However, he was at a loss for what to call these commitments. “For the cluster of commitments which makes possible a group’s research,” Kuhn told the audience, “I need some phrase like the group’s professional Weltanschauung, or it’s [sic] ideology, or its special matrix of beliefs and values” (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 14, card 10). Kuhn settled, only provisionally, on the phrase “professional matrix.” This matrix of commitments is composed of various elements, including general statements about nature (theoretical and empirical laws), collective metaphysics, instrumentation and methodology, and the solved problems recognized by the community, as well as other commitments—which Kuhn did not specify in the lecture. Kuhn defined the first element of the professional matrix, theoretical and empirical laws, as “general statements about nature” (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 14, card 10). This element represented the formal dimension of the matrix and was the key to any community’s commitments. Much of a community’s epistemic power and influence, especially in terms of the public eye, arises from these commitments. What were crucial, according to Kuhn, in normal and revolutionary change was how a particular community defined various theoretical and technical terms, how it understood the relationship between them vis-à-vis laws, and how it connected these laws to natural phenomena. Kuhn identified the next element of the professional matrix as “the collective metaphysics of the group. Roughly speaking this consists of the entities and powers which appear in or are used to explain the laws” (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 14, card 13). Kuhn made two comments on this element. First, metaphysical commitments serve, according to Kuhn, “as guides to research and as parts of theories. Predictions follow from their existence that would otherwise be lacking” (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 14, card 13). Second, Kuhn remarked, “One need not have agreement on interpretation or

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even have an interpretation in order to have a scientific community” (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 14, card 13). “Thus,” Kuhn concluded, “whether or not a particular development is revolutionary for a group may on occasions depend on whether or not a particular metaphysical commitment is an essential element in their matrix of commitments” (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 14, card 14). In other words, radical changes in an entity or a force to explain a natural phenomenon often herald a scientific revolution for a particular scientific community. Kuhn identified the third element in the professional matrix as instrumental. This element not only includes the obvious technological and methodological dimensions of scientific practice and research, but also involves metaphysical commitments. “The techniques,” as Kuhn explained, “by which we choose to observe and measure the objects of our environment carry with them disguised commitments or expectations about what is and is not in the universe and about the way these things behave” (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 14, card 14). In other words, a community’s commitments to a specific ontology or to the kinds of entities and forces that populate or compose the natural world often dictate the type of technical instrumentation or protocols used to investigate that world. Kuhn came to the final element of the professional matrix—solved problems. He informed listeners that in Structure, he originally intended the term paradigm to denote these problems; and, his current effort to clarify the paradigm concept was to recapture that original intention. “These concrete problem solutions, both instrumental and mental,” to quote Kuhn, “are the items for which I’d now like to reserve the term paradigm” (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 14, card 17). What makes paradigm qua solved problems a critical feature of a scientific community’s commitments is that these problems are the means by which both science students and practicing scientists connect theories and laws to the natural world itself. Kuhn contrasted this approach to the approach of traditional philosophers of science who presume that the “process of attaching symbolic and verbal expressions to nature is entirely governed by definitions and rules, explicit or implicit” (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 14, card 16). Traditionally, philosophers of science claimed that correspondence rules mediate the connection. But, argued Kuhn, these rules are insufficient for the task. Often scientists do not have adequate definitions for the different symbolic expressions of a law to cover every concrete problem. How then can a particular problem be solved or the law connected to a particular part of nature? Since the correspondence rules are inadequate it appears that something is missing in what scientists know about the world, in order to explain it with their abstract symbols. But, Kuhn believed that the problem is not with the way scientists practice their trade but with the traditional view of science. “What is it then,” asked Kuhn, “which supplies the element we feel to be missing” (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 14, card 17). The answer is pedagogical—the solving of problems whether in the part of the textbook

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or on exams. “It’s in the doing problems,” noted Kuhn, “that a student acquires what substitutes for definitions and rules of application” (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 14, card 17). Although Kuhn acknowledged that definitions and rules do function in science, they cannot account completely for how scientists go about setting up problems and solving them. Often, scientists exhibit unanimity vis-àvis practice even though they may not entirely agree on the meaning of theoretical expressions. According to Kuhn, solved problems function by allowing scientists to see their way to solving new, unsolved problems. In other words, scientists recognize a similarity relationship between the solved and unsolved problems. Important in this process, Kuhn stressed, is “the learned perception of likeness or similarity [that] is prior to and does not imply the existence of a set of criterion [sic] which would provide a basis for the judgment of likeness” (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 14, card 18). Kuhn used an illustration of a child’s lesson in ornithology to clarify the process of problem solving through the similarity relationships between the solved problem and the unsolved one. The child and parent are walking through a park and the parent attempts to teach the child the differences among swans, geese, and pigeons. The parent points to the different classes of birds and then challenges the child to do likewise, reinforcing correct identifications and correcting mistakes. Through these processes of ostension and of reinforcement and correction, the child learns to discriminate among the three classes of birds. The consequences of this process are twofold. “First,” claimed Kuhn, “when one learns in this way from examples, one clearly does learn something about what terms like ‘swan’, ‘goose’, etc. mean. . . . But clearly that’s not all one’s learned. In learning meaning one’s also learned a good deal about what the world does and does not contain” (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 14, cards 23–24). “Second,” noted Kuhn, “this mode of learning allows quite naturally room for what I’ve previously called both normal and revolutionary change” (Kuhn Papers, box 3, folder 14, card 24). Thus, the set of solved problems qua paradigms provides the foundation for normal science practice and any fundamental change in these problems leads to scientific revolution or paradigm shift.

1969 Urbana symposium Kuhn’s “Second thoughts on paradigms” Kuhn admitted that Structure’s popularity was due to its “excessive plasticity,” i.e. people read the monograph with their own agenda and find in it what they wanted (1977b, p. 459). Kuhn acknowledged that the ambiguity of the paradigm concept was responsible for the plasticity and agreed with critics that the concept warrants clarification. To that end, he first noted the close association between a paradigm and a scientific community ascribing to it.

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He identified the association as circular (but not viciously circular, he asserted). “A paradigm,” Kuhn told the audience, “is what members of a scientific community, and they alone, share. Conversely, it is their possession of a common paradigm that constitutes a scientific community of a group of otherwise disparate men” (Kuhn 1977b, p. 460). In order to revise the paradigm concept, Kuhn claimed—as he did in the Swarthmore lecture— that the scientific community needs to be isolated and studied first. He then cited several recent studies by sociologists, who were investigating the social structure of scientific communities.5 Unfortunately, at the time of the paper, he maintained that the investigations were too preliminary to support a precise definition of a scientific community. He, therefore, relied on an intuition he felt is shared by scholars to define a scientific community. “A scientific community,” asserted Kuhn, “consists . . . of the practitioners of a scientific specialty” (1977b, p. 461). Members of these communities share goals, educational experience, literature, and conferences, in which there is full communication—although communication across community lines might be difficult at times. Predicated on the discussion of scientific communities, Kuhn was ready to turn his attention to second thoughts on the paradigm concept. He posed the following question: Let me now suppose that we have, by whatever techniques, identified one such community. What shared elements account for the relatively unproblematic character of professional communication and for the relative unanimity of professional judgment? (1977b, p. 462) He notified the reader that the original answer in Structure was paradigm. However, this usage of paradigm signified only one of two “senses” in the monograph. The first he called “global” or “all the shared commitments of a scientific group” (1977b, p. 460). As noted above, to understand global paradigms, the nature of scientific communities must be understood per se. For these global paradigms, Kuhn coined “the phrase ‘disciplinary matrix’. ‘Disciplinary’ because it is the common possession of the practitioners of a professional discipline; ‘matrix’ because it is composed of ordered elements of various sorts, each requiring further specification” (1977b, p. 463). The disciplinary matrix is the professional milieu that guides a scientific community’s practice and alterations in any one of its elements may “result in changes of scientific behaviour affecting both the locus of a group’s research and its standard of verification” (Kuhn 1977b, p. 463). He acknowledged that there are many different constituents of disciplinary matrix used in Structure, but he focused on three of them in the paper: symbolic generalizations, models, and exemplars. As symbolic generalizations, paradigms are the formal components of a disciplinary matrix. For a discipline such as physics, practitioners generally employ generalizations about natural phenomena in symbolic form, such as

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F = ma. However, practitioners can also use words to express generalizations. In biology, Kuhn cited the example of Rudolph Virchow’s dictum, “omnis cellula e cellula” or “all cells come from cells.” These generalizations allow the community’s practitioners to use logic and mathematics to solve their puzzles, and they are indicators of their command of nature. But, the question arises of how to connect these symbolic generalizations to nature. Correspondence rules, in terms of basic statements, are incapable, claimed Kuhn; rather, he proposed “that an acquired ability to see resemblances between apparently disparate problems plays in science a significant part of the role usually attributed to correspondence rules” (1977b, p. 471). This ability is acquired through education and apprenticeship, and it grounds normal science practice. Thus, detailed progress is only possible during times of normal science in which scientists are free to pursue technical puzzles about nature-theory fit rather than arguing about metaphysical principles or which instrumentation to use or how to interpret data, etc. As models, paradigms—as Kuhn briefly noted—are the community’s “preferred analogies” that can serve as heuristics to guide research or as metaphysical or ontological commitments to ground research (1977b, p. 463). On the one hand, models function heuristically in that they provide a ready means for examining what natural phenomena might be like. On the other hand, they may function metaphysically—as he pointed out in the Swarthmore lecture—in that scientists describe not what natural phenomena are like but what they are. He gave the example of a body’s heat, which scientists describe as its kinetic energy. As exemplars, paradigms represent the second or “particular” sense of the concept as articulated originally in Structure. They are “concrete problem solutions, accepted by the group as, in a quite usual sense, paradigmatic” (Kuhn 1977b, p. 463). In other words, exemplars provide the template for solving additional problems sanctioned by the older paradigm. He went on to discuss the function of exemplars within the disciplinary matrix— as he did in the Swarthmore lecture—in terms of connecting symbolic expressions to nature and contrasting exemplars to sense-datum language and correspondence rules. The scientist’s ability to see similarity is not due fundamentally, stressed Kuhn, to a set of procedural rules that dictate the solution; rather, the “basic criterion is a perception of similarity that is both logically and psychologically prior to any of the numerous criteria [such as procedural rules] by which that same identification of similarity might have been made” (1977b, p. 472). The principle of perception of similarity can be applied directly to the solution of a new puzzle vis-à-vis an old one. Kuhn used the same illustration of a child’s lesson in ornithology to clarify the principle of perception of similarity, except ducks have replaced pigeons. The basis for the lesson, claimed Kuhn, is that “part of the neural mechanism by which [the child] processes visual stimuli has been reprogrammed” (1977b, p. 474). Importantly, the child learns the lesson without the aid of correspondence rules but rather with a “primitive perception of similarity

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and difference”; and, the knowledge learned “can thereafter be embedded, not in generalizations or rules, but in the similarity relationship itself” (1977b, pp. 475–7). Thus, shared examples and not necessarily rules are responsible for processing either stimuli or data. “Shared examples can serve,” Kuhn concluded, “cognitive functions commonly attributed to shared rules. When they do, knowledge develops differently from the way it does when governed by rules” (1977b, p. 482).

Suppe’s comments and Kuhn’s response Suppe argued that Kuhn’s clarification of the paradigm concept in terms of disciplinary matrix and exemplars runs “the risk of being ‘too nearly all things to all people’ . . . [and] have an intuitive appeal which prompts uncritical acceptance and invites the sorts of self-defeating plastic application which Kuhn deplores” (1977b, p. 484). He proposed to serve as a “foil” by which Kuhn may further clarify these specifications. Suppe began with Kuhn’s notion of exemplar. “The central thesis of Kuhn’s paper,” wrote Suppe, “is that it is from the study of these exemplars that one learns to apply symbolic generalizations to nature” (1977b, p. 485). The problem, he claimed, was that the bird-learning example Kuhn offered to illustrate exemplar acquisition through resemblance relationships is a “disanalogy.” Exemplars are more complex than simple ostensive definitions and require the ability to translate between experimental and theoretical languages, in order to connect symbolic generalizations to nature. Suppe also criticized Kuhn’s notion of the acquisition of resemblance relationship as a substitute for the received view’s notion of correspondence rules. The problem, according to Suppe, was that the latter rules also function to define partially terms of a symbolic generalization. Although Kuhn’s exemplars provide a similar service implicitly, he contended that the differences in the terms’ meaning could not be ascribed to resemblance relations. Other factors, such as unstated physical assumptions, are also required to provide the conceptual content of terms. Suppe then turned to Kuhn’s notion of disciplinary matrix and claimed that Kuhn’s rendering of it “is insufficiently precise and invites the sort of undesirable plastic employment that the paradigm experienced” (1977b, p. 495). Rather than define disciplinary matrix in terms of the activities and concepts of a general discipline, he proposed to define it in terms of the specialized groups of practitioners. Only at this level can a group’s disciplinary matrix be specified more precisely. Finally, Kuhn’s definition of theory as “a collection of symbolic generalizations with specific meanings attached to its constituent terms” also troubled Suppe (1977b, pp. 496–7). What troubled him was that any difference in a term’s meaning implies a different theory. Since Suppe assumed each member of a disciplinary group would have a faintly different resemblance-relation experience and thereby use a slightly different

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disciplinary matrix, the end-result would be a proliferation of theories. For Suppe, no community resembles a single individual. He concluded that “Kuhn’s claim that members of a disciplinary group share a common disciplinary matrix thus seems ultimately indefensible” (1977b, p. 498). For Suppe, the solution was to drop all mention of concepts such as paradigm, disciplinary matrix, and exemplar, since they obscure Kuhn’s important insights on the nature of science. In response, Kuhn began where Suppe left off. He insisted that he is not overpopulating the world with philosophical terms by introducing concepts such as disciplinary matrix and exemplar. Rather he is identifying important features of theories overlooked by the received view. “Surely philosophers have been aware of [concrete problem solutions’] existence,” pleaded Kuhn, “in which case my grouping them under the rubric ‘exemplars’ cannot have added a new entity to the discourse about science” (Kuhn et al. 1977, p. 501). Kuhn proceeded to correct Suppe’s misunderstanding of Kuhn’s notion of theory. “A theory consists, among other things,” asserted Kuhn, “of verbal and symbolic generalizations together with examples of their function and use” (Kuhn et al. 1977, p. 501). Moreover, Kuhn claimed that Suppe’s fears about theory proliferation are unfounded, since it is not the consequence of learning through exemplars but of language learning in general. Kuhn next commented on Suppe’s claim that the ornithology illustration for resemblance relationships was too simplistic to account for scientific laws. Kuhn begged to differ, for he saw no reason in principle why the illustration cannot be used to support his position. He contended that more than words are learned during the process. Included among what is learned is, “what the world contains and about how the newly names entities behave” (Kuhn et al. 1977, p. 503). Kuhn next addressed Suppe’s charge of the disanalogy between the ornithology illustration and exemplar acquisition. He argued that the formulation of Suppe’s critique in terms of translation is defective. What Kuhn wanted to resist in Suppe’s move to translation was a syntactical analysis of science or, in other words, the analysis of the relationships between words. Rather he was concerned with semantic issues or, in other words, the issue of how to connect words to nature. Moreover, translation was a far richer activity for Kuhn and involved diagrams and especially laboratory demonstrations. Finally, Kuhn conceded that resemblance relationships do supply implicitly definitions of symbolizations but was unclear as to what “meaning” or “partial definition” is.

Discussion6 Shapere asked Kuhn two questions. The first was whether similarity relationships are discovered. If so, then he insisted Kuhn’s position was no different from the traditional position of pure observation. The second was whether the similarity relationships or exemplars are important “because the

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community picked them out, or does the community pick them out because there is some good reason to pick them out” (Kuhn et al. 1977, 507). The distinction was critical, according to Shapere, for the former lapses back into the relativism of Structure, while the latter vitiates the explanatory power of the sociological dimension of exemplars. Kuhn responded to the first question noting that there is no direct access to stimuli as “given” but only “to a data world that the community has already divided in a certain way” (Kuhn et al. 1977, p. 509). To the second question, he pointed out that his image of science is evolutionary. “In this sense” maintained Kuhn, “scientific development is a unidirectional and irreversible process, and that is not a relativistic view” (Kuhn et al. 1977, p. 508). Bromberger argued that Kuhn’s account of exemplar acquisition did not in principle rule out a role for correspondence rules. Rather Bromberger proposed that to explain the ability of the child to classify birds “is to assume not that the exemplar is common, but rather that the effect of the exemplar on that sort of organism is the formation and internalization of some sort of a rule which is then applied to other cases” (Kuhn et al. 1977, p. 510). He felt empirical investigation was needed to examine his proposal. Kuhn’s response was equivocal. On the one hand he agreed that there are rules that govern the processing of neural stimuli under unconscious control, but on the other hand correspondence rules are insufficient to account for exemplar acquisition. Suppes questioned Kuhn’s reliance on disciplines such as psychology to do philosophy of science. “As I read your paper,” claimed Suppes, “it seems to me that you want to suggest that the philosophy of science is really to become the psychology of science” (Kuhn et al. 1977, p. 511). And, he wanted to resist that move. Kuhn defended the use of psychology to do philosophy of science. He believed that other disciplines, including psychology and history, allowed him to address issues in the philosophy of science from an empirical perspective. Even though Kuhn was professionally a historian, he claimed that epistemological issues motivate his historical interests. According to Putnam, Kuhn’s exemplars played two roles. The first was that students learn to solve problems correctly. The second was that they learn to use what Putnam called “auxiliary statements” to solve problems. These statements, acting to define “boundary conditions,” serve to connect a theory to the natural world, rather than to correspondence rules. Kuhn responded that Putnam was simply putting new wine in old wine skins. “At the moment,” confessed Kuhn, “I cannot see that substituting auxiliary statements for correspondence rules is going to have any bearing on the problem I have been trying to raise” (Kuhn et al. 1977, p. 516). What Kuhn found problematic was Putnam’s attempt “to find linguistic forms to make explicit what is, in fact, tacitly embodied in the language-nature fit” (Kuhn et al. 1977, p. 516).

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Finally, Achinstein charged that Kuhn’s use of “uninterpreted formalism” has positivist overtones. Kuhn claimed that his interest in such formalism differs from that of the positivists in that he does not equate it with theory. “The process of matching exemplars,” according to Kuhn, “to expressions [such as ‘f  ma’ with ‘mg Sinq   m (d2s’/dt2)] is initially a way of learning to interpret the expressions. When you can do it for yourself, you have learned the interpretation” (Kuhn et al. 1977, p. 517).

Second edition of Structure “Postscript—1969”7 Kuhn began, as he did in the Swarthmore lecture and the Urbana paper, disengaging the scientific communities from paradigms and discussing an intuitive understanding of such communities that animated much of Structure’s early chapters. He stressed the importance of isolating and understanding the various communities for revising the notion of paradigm. And, he gave the same definition verbatim for scientific community that he gave in the Urbana lecture, i.e. a scientific community is a collection of practitioners who share a common life, for science is a community-based activity. Moreover, scientific communities are hierarchical and vary in size, often defined by its subject matter, with the smallest and more specialized communities representing the basic taxonomic units or schools. Practitioners may often belong to more than one unit. From these units, communities expand to include the largest unit: all natural scientists. Kuhn concluded that scientific communities are “the producers and validators of scientific knowledge” (1970d, p. 178). Kuhn contended that understanding the smaller taxonomic schools of scientific practice is imperative to understanding the distinction between normal and revolutionary science, especially since these schools represent “community-based activities. To discover and analyze them,” continued Kuhn, “one must unravel the changing community structure of the sciences over time” (1970d, pp. 179–80). Local revolutions that occur for the smaller communities are just as significant, Kuhn assured the reader, as larger global revolutions. Importantly, scientific revolutions—whether global or local— represent changes in a community’s commitments, to which he turned his attention. After delineating the structure of a scientific community, Kuhn asked, “What do its members share that accounts for the relative fullness of their professional communication and their relative unanimity of their professional judgments?” (1970d, p. 182). The answer, obviously, is a paradigm or a set of them. Citing Masterman’s paradigm taxonomy, Kuhn conceded that the original use of paradigm in Structure was too ambitious and now needed further taxonomic analysis. He also acknowledged that scientists use the

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notion of theory to account for their practice. Nevertheless, Kuhn protested that the use of theory by traditional philosophers of science “connotes a structure far more limited in nature and scope than the one required here. Until the term can be freed from its current implications, it will avoid confusion to adopt another” (1970d, p. 182). To that end, he suggested a “global” use of paradigm as “disciplinary matrix,” which he defined in almost the same terms used in the Urbana paper. Paradigms qua disciplinary matrix govern their shared community life and not the subject matter. Kuhn listed the components of the matrix—although he warned the reader the list was certainly not complete—to include symbolic generalizations, metaphysical commitments and models, values, and exemplars. As in the Urbana paper, Kuhn began with symbolic generalizations and defined them in the terms used in that paper. However, he also discussed the relationship of these generalizations to natural laws and, in so doing, bridged both the Swarthmore lecture and the Urbana paper. “These generalizations look like laws of nature,” claimed Kuhn, “but their function for group members is not often that alone” (1970d, p. 183). He now included the insights articulated in the Swarthmore lecture to distinguish two functions for symbols that scientists use to formulate laws. The first was legislative, in which scientists employ symbols not simply to represent and understand the behavior of natural phenomena but also to manipulate them logically and mathematically.8 The second function was definitional, in which scientists use symbols to define some aspect of a natural phenomenon. Kuhn insisted that these definitions could change dramatically over time, in order to explain via natural law a new phenomenon. Kuhn next discussed the second element of the disciplinary matrix, a community’s metaphysical commitments. In his elaboration of these commitments, he combined previous comments from both the Swarthmore lecture and the Urbana paper, especially in terms of models. Models are now part of the metaphysics of scientific practice and include heuristic devices for guiding research or ontological formulae for carving up the world. Models within this metaphysical context also “help to determine what will be accepted as an explanation and as a puzzle-solution” (1970d, p. 184). Thus, metaphysical commitments of a particular scientific community are important in defining what the instrumental practices of its members look like, from sanctioning what puzzles need solving to providing the necessary criteria for determining whether a puzzle-solution is acceptable. They certainly reinforce Kuhn’s commitment to the normal-revolutionary science divide, since for normal science this element is stable while for revolutionary science it is changing.9 The next element of the disciplinary matrix—values—was added to Kuhn’s discussion of the community’s commitments, although he initially defended the function of values for scientific practice in the London paper. Values are a vital element in the community’s matrix of commitments because they function to provide a sense of community during times of normal

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science and are particularly important during periods of revolutionary change. Kuhn discussed two important functions of values, although he acknowledged others—such as the social utility of science. The first function pertained to predictions, such as accuracy, quantitativeness, margin of acceptable error, and consistency. The second function involved evaluating theories, especially with respect to puzzle formation and solution, in terms of simplicity, plausibility, and coherence. An important characteristic of values as shared commitment is their application. According to Kuhn, “The application of values is sometimes considerably affected by the features of individual personality and biography that differentiate the members of the group” (1970d, p. 185). He realized that his position on values caused critics, such as Shapere and Scheffler, to charge him with subjectivity and irrationality.10 Kuhn addressed this charge, arguing that value judgments in any discipline are critical determinants of community behavior regardless of individual appropriation and that individual appropriation of values serves important functions in the community such as distributing risks. Far from being subjective and irrational, Kuhn’s role for values assured science’s success by affording a certain amount of plasticity to its practice. In other words, shared values are critical not only for determining or regulating group behavior but also for serving science by avoiding turbulent periods of research through distribution of risk vis-à-vis anomalous results.11 The last element of the disciplinary matrix was the exemplar. In contrast to the Urbana paper, he offered a definition that avoided using the term paradigm and hence he dodged a certain circularity associated with the Urbana definition. According to Kuhn, exemplars are “the concrete problem-solutions” that are generally located in pedagogical and professional literature (1970d, p. 187). For undergraduates, exemplars are the standard puzzles and their solutions found at the end of textbook chapters, in examinations, and in laboratory manuals. For graduate students and practicing community members, exemplars also include the puzzles and their solutions contained in the professional literature. According to Kuhn, scientific knowledge is not localized just within theories and rules so that students simply apply them to solving problems. Rather it is localized within exemplars so that as students learn the puzzle solutions shared by the community, they “are learning consequential things about nature. In the absence of such exemplars, the laws and theories [students have] previously learned would have little empirical content” (1970d, p. 188). In other words, through exemplars students learn the vocabulary and concepts along with natural phenomena. The two go hand in hand. And, he emphasized, through exemplars and the similarity relationships they engender, students and scientists learn substantial things about the natural world, in that “nature and words are learned together” (Kuhn 1970d, p. 191). Kuhn admitted that exemplars resemble Polanyi’s tacit knowledge, “which is learned by doing science rather than acquiring rules for doing

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it” (1970d, p. 191). But, he denied that such knowledge is subjective and irrational. First, science is not simply an individual activity but a product of a community’s practitioners who share a common set of standards, problems, techniques, and solutions. This common life is not based simply on subjective intuition of a given individual but on the community’s tried and tested experience, i.e. a shared exemplar. Kuhn next turned to clarifying InT and his notion of theory choice. He denied that he advocated theory choice as irrational. Reason is important for theory choice, argued Kuhn, but it is not simply a logical activity; rather, it functions as a value that can be applied differently to debates over theories. Thus, logic is required but it is not sufficient. Moreover, since competing theories use the same terms but ascribe different meanings to them, they are incommensurable. Given the absence of an algorithm for theory choice and incommensurable theories, the only recourse for changing a community member’s allegiance to a theory is through persuasion. And, to be an effective persuader one must be an effective translator. By translating an older theory into a newer one, the translator allows community members to experience the new theory and thereby set the conditions for their conversion to it. Moreover, Kuhn objected to the charge of relativism for his position. He believed that there is progress, similar to that seen in the evolution of species, but he denied that evolved theories explain nature better in terms of truth. Finally, Kuhn addressed two reactions to Structure in terms of the nature of science. The first pertained to the conflation between descriptive and normative approaches to science. Kuhn claimed that such a charge with respect to contemporary philosophy is not damaging, since philosophers, such as Cavell, recognized situations in which these approaches are mixed. Thus, Kuhn’s descriptive new image of science has normative consequences for scientific practice. The second reaction was the appropriation of his new image to areas outside the natural sciences. Simply because these sciences and the disciplines outside of them share a similar developmental structure, it does not mean that they are cut from the same cloth. The scientific community is different from other disciplinary communities and scientific knowledge reflects the structure of that community.

Reviews The second edition of Structure, along with Kuhn’s London and Urbana papers, received considerable attention and was reviewed in various professional journals. The two most widely influential reviews were by Alan Musgrave and by the previously mentioned critic Shapere. In “Kuhn’s second thoughts,” Musgrave (1971) critiqued the three essays in which Kuhn had responded to critics. He took up first the nature of the scientific community and noted the difference between Kuhn’s approach and that of sociologists: Kuhn considered the community’s scientific activities. But Musgrave recognized several shifts in Kuhn’s position, based on Kuhn’s theoretical

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analysis of the microcommunity’s structure. First, microrevolutions can occur between macrorevolutions, without a preceding crisis period within the affected community. Second, normal science may constantly be in a state of crisis because anomalies bring into question the reigning paradigm. Finally, normal science could be conducted in the presence of metaphysical controversy. But this raised the question for Musgrave, “So what are the paradigms, consensus upon which remains a pre-requisite for normal research?” (1971, p. 291). After reviewing Kuhn’s attempts to clarify the paradigm concept by introducing the notions of disciplinary matrix and exemplar, Musgrave answered the above question in terms of Kuhn’s notion of exemplars. But, he distrusted the answer and criticized Kuhn’s reliance on an analogy between students solving textbook problems and scientists conducting research. Musgrave rejected the analogy, since the answer to the textbook problem is known but there is no pre-known answer for the practicing scientist conducting original research. He also reviewed Kuhn’s denials over the charge of irrationality and relativism ascribed to his earlier positions. But, Musgrave admitted that he was “unconvinced” by Kuhn’s arguments and was “disappointed” by Kuhn’s response to critics. “I find,” confessed Musgrave, “the new, more real Kuhn who emerges in it but a pale reflection of the old, revolutionary Kuhn” (1971, p. 296). In a review published in Science, Shapere also claimed that Kuhn distanced himself from the radical parts of the first edition of Structure. After rehearsing the two common criticisms of that edition—ambiguity of the paradigm concept and relativism—Shapere confined his remarks to Kuhn’s “Postscript—1969” and the closing essay in Criticism and Growth of Knowledge. He appreciated Kuhn’s efforts to bring clarity to the paradigm concept through the distinction between disciplinary matrix and exemplar. “This distinction, however,” argued Shapere, “is of little help to those who found the earlier concept of ‘paradigm’ obscure” (1971, p. 707). The problem, argued Shapere, is not that readers of the 1962 Structure did not recognize paradigm’s primary function as concrete puzzle-solution, but that Kuhn failed to provide adequate clarification on the relationship of paradigm qua exemplar to paradigm qua disciplinary matrix and on how paradigm qua exemplar guides scientific research. Shapere then turned to the charge of relativism. He admitted that Kuhn’s evolutionary spin on theory change as articulated in the postscript (and in Kuhn’s earlier remarks to Shapere at the Urbana symposium) was not relativistic; “but it is a far cry from Kuhn’s first-edition attack on the view of scientific change as a linear process of ever-increasing knowledge” (1971, p. 708). Although Shapere acknowledged that Kuhn claimed there are “good reasons” for persuading a group to choose a particular theory, he was appalled that Kuhn equated these reasons with values. For Shapere, such a claim made recourse to reason “gratuitous” and concluded that Kuhn’s

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position is “as relativistic, as antirational, as ever” (1971, p. 708). Finally, Shapere ended with a question reminiscent of the one he asked Kuhn at the Urbana symposium, “Do scientists . . . proceed as they do because there are objective reasons for doing so, or do we call those procedures ‘reasonable’ merely because a certain group sanctions them?” (1971, p. 709). Shapere claimed that Kuhn’s position is the latter, for the community of practitioners is the locus of rationality.

III Summary Kuhn remained committed to the notion of normal science and its cumulative march toward paradigm articulation, i.e. solving more and more difficult puzzles sanctioned by the community’s prevailing set of commitments or disciplinary matrix and thereby adding to the store of exemplars that the community’s members use for pedagogical and research purposes. For Kuhn, normal science is what scientists practice the majority of their time, until paradigm articulation begins to fail because of bedeviling anomalies. If the conditions are right, i.e. a new paradigm that solves significant anomalies is available, then a shift from an old paradigm to a new paradigm may ensue, leading to a scientific revolution—local or global—in which the way scientists practice their trade and even the world itself change substantially or even radically.12 Kuhn believed he was on the right road not only to clarify more precisely the paradigm concept but also to defend the notion of normal science and the demarcation between normal and revolutionary science; however, he was not there yet. He spent the rest of his professional career trying to complete the project, especially as it related to InT.

Further reading 1 Gutting, G., ed. (1980), Paradigms and Revolutions: Appraisals and Applications of Thomas Kuhn’s Philosophy of Science, Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press. A collection of essays that examines the impact of Kuhn’s work on philosophy, history of science, social sciences, and the humanities. 2 Lakatos, I. and Musgrave, A., eds (1970), Criticism and the Growth of Knowledge, New York: Cambridge University Press. Contains papers presented at the 1965 London colloquium, including those of Lakatos and Feyerabend, which were added later. 3 Scheffler, I. (1982), Science and Subjectivity, 2nd edition, Indianapolis, IN: Hackett. A sustained critique of Structure in terms of its subjectivity and relativism.

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4 Shapere, D. (1964), “Review: The Structure of Scientific Revolutions.” Philosophical Review, 73: 383–94. Probably the most influential and highly cited review of Structure, with over 300 citations according to Google Scholar. The review certainly set the agenda for Kuhn during the 1960s in terms of defending the main ideas in his monograph.

PART THREE

Kuhn’s paradigm shift During the 1970s and into the early 1990s, as Kuhn grappled with Structure’s critics, he underwent a paradigm shift in the image of science— from a historical to an evolutionary image. Kuhn continued scholarly work in the history of science, particularly on the Bohr atom and blackbody radiation theory. And, he reflected on the historiography of science and on the emerging discipline of HPS. Kuhn’s historical, historiographic, and metahistorical studies are examined in the fifth chapter to provide a background for the shift or turn to EPS. In the next chapter, the road leading to Kuhn’s turn to it is charted, followed by a reconstruction of his new image of science along with situating it in evolutionary epistemology. The culmination of the “evolutionary turn” was a sequel to Structure, Words and Worlds, which was not completed before his death in 1996.

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What was Kuhn up to after Structure?

Chapter Summary

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tructure’s success in attracting attention and in inciting the imagination, as well its failure in being understood properly, imprisoned Kuhn to spend the remainder of his career in efforts to explain and clarify his original intent and meaning. In this chapter, the specter of Structure, which was always before him—even when he tried to put it behind him—is discussed. To that end, Kuhn’s scholarship after Structure is examined in three sections: historical studies, historiographic studies, and metahistorical studies. Kuhn conducted two major historical studies after Structure. The first, in collaboration with Heilbron, was on the origins of the Bohr atom. The authors provided a revisionist narrative of Bohr’s path to the quantized atom. The second historical study resulted in another revisionist narrative but of Planck’s black-body radiation theory and the origins of quantum discontinuity. In the historiographic studies, Kuhn reflected on the significance of the historiography of science and provided critical analysis of the emerging discipline of HPS. Finally, in the metahistorical studies, he responded to critics concerning scientific development, theory choice, and InT.

I  Historical studies “The genesis of the Bohr atom” Heilbron and Kuhn provided a comprehensive, revisionist narrative of Bohr’s path to the quantized atom, beginning with the 1911 doctoral dissertation

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and concluding with a three-part paper, “On the constitution of atoms and molecules,” which appeared several years later. The intrigue of this historical case was that within a six-week period in mid-1912, Bohr moved from a position of little interest in models of the atom to one in which he produced a quantized model of J. J. Rutherford’s atom and applied that model to several perplexing problems. Heilbron and Kuhn explored Bohr’s sudden interest in atomic models. They proposed that his interest stemmed not from the need for a quantum theory that surfaced in his dissertation but from “certain specific problems with which he busied himself until the end of his year in England” (1969, p. 212). These problems guided Bohr in terms of both reading and research toward the potential of the atomic structure for solving these problems. In Bohr’s dissertation, Studier over Metallernes Elektrontheori, which was an extension of a 1909 master’s thesis and successfully defended on May 13, 1911, he carried out calculations, using Hendrik Lorentz’s principles of statistical mechanics, and conducted experiments on free electrons in metals. Bohr obtained conflicting and anomalous results. Most importantly, he discovered that free electrons did not contribute to the magnetic properties of metals. Unfortunately, investigation of the role of bound electrons was beyond his abilities at the time. However, as Heilbron and Kuhn concluded, the problem of the electron theory of metals, which arose in his dissertation, “focused his attention on the question of bound electron, which would ultimately become, for him, the problem of atomic structure” (1969, p. 223). In September 1911, Bohr traveled to Cambridge, England, where he studied with J. J. Thomson and performed research on the positive-ray, on which he had little success. In 1904, Thomson proposed a model for the atom but it was very inadequate. Bohr found, however, that Thomson’s model had little utility and he was hesitant about some of Thomson’s theoretical commitments. Bohr was enthused over the possible role of quantum theory in resolving his problem. In March 1912, Bohr left Cambridge for Manchester to study radioactivity with Rutherford. By the beginning of May, he completed an introduction to the field and began independent research on radium, which was no more successful than the research project in Cambridge. Although Bohr continued to reflect on the electron theory of metals, he eventually set it aside and engaged problems associated with Rutherford’s research program, particularly a-absorption. Rutherford had recently proposed a theory for atomic structure, which Bohr believed was the best theory to date and which agreed with his own research findings. According to Heilbron and Kuhn, “This was only the beginning of a transition, not a sudden conversion” (1969, p. 238). By June, Bohr was as enthusiastic about the atom as he once was about the electron. He abandoned laboratory work and spent all his time on the problem. Through calculations on absorption, Bohr became aware that classical mechanics was not applicable to the atom’s interior. As Heilbron and Kuhn wrote, “The new mechanics,

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whatever its form, would differ from the old in excluding a large portion of the electron orbits permitted by classical theory” (1969, p. 244). Using the hydrogen atom as a model, Bohr applied quantum conditions—what he called a special hypothesis, E  Kv, where E is electron’s kinetic energy, v is electron’s rotation frequency, and K is a universal constant—to secure the atom’s stability, which was a critical problem for previous atomic models. Bohr finished the absorption paper and presented it to Rutherford. He promised a sequel to address issues concerning Rutherford’s atomic model. Unfortunately, the sequel took longer than anticipated because Bohr was appointed an assistant to Martin Knudsen, the newly appointed professor of physics at the city’s university. Eventually, Bohr requested temporary relief from duties, after which wrote the paper on the atom’s structure, “On the constitution of atoms and molecules.” Bohr’s paper was the result of what Heilbron and Kuhn called a 1913 “February transformation.” Bohr’s reading a few months earlier J. W. Nicholson’s papers on the application of Planck’s constant to an atomic model initiated the transformation. Although Nicholson’s model was incorrect, it led Bohr along the right direction. Finally, Bohr—in a conversation with H. R. Hansen—obtained the last piece of the puzzle. After the 1913 transformation, Bohr completed the atomic model project and paper. As Heilbron and Kuhn concluded, “Like any revolutionary contribution to science, his ‘Constitution of Atoms and Molecules’ provided a program for research as well as a concrete research achievement” (1969, p. 283).

Black-Body Theory and the quantum discontinuity, 1894–1912 In Black-Body Theory, Kuhn reconstructed the transition from classical physics, in which particles pass through intermediate energy stages, to quantum physics, in which energy change is discontinuous. This transition has been traditionally attributed to Max Planck’s 1900 and 1901 quantum papers. According to Kuhn, this traditional account was inaccurate and the transition was initially affected by Albert Einstein’s and Paul Ehrenfest’s independent 1906 quantum papers. Kuhn’s realization of this inaccuracy was similar to the enlightenment he experienced when struggling with making sense of Aristotle’s notion of mechanical motion. His initial epiphany occurred while reading Planck’s 1895 paper on black-body radiation. Through that experience, he realized that Planck’s 1900 and 1901 quantum papers were not the initiation of a new theory of quantum discontinuity, but rather they represented Planck’s effort to derive the black-body distribution law based on classical statistical mechanics. Kuhn’s narrative for the origins of the notion quantum discontinuity began with Planck’s search in the late nineteenth century to understand

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black-body radiation in terms of the second law of thermodynamics. The result was Planck’s 1896 paper on a radiation-damped resonator. Kuhn then examined Ludwig Boltzmann’s statistical analysis of irreversibility, which had an impact on Planck’s research beginning in 1898. Planck appropriated Boltzmann’s analysis in the first stage of the black-body radiation theory’s development. The second stage of its development began in 1900 and yielded the derivation of the black-body distribution law. According to Kuhn, Planck introduced the constant h to account not for the resonator’s energy level but rather for its cell size. Consequently, Planck was not thinking in terms of the quantization of energy levels. Kuhn concluded the analysis with an examination of how Planck and his contemporaries understood the revised black-body theory, which reached maturity in 1906. Up to 1906, Planck did not discuss research on black-body radiation in terms of discontinuity. Kuhn turned to the proximate causes of the discovery of quantum discontinuity initiated by Einstein’s and Ehrenfest’s realization that the derivation of Planck’s black-body law required restricting resonator energy to discrete multiples. Although published in 1906, the notion of discontinuity was not generally recognized, at least by German physicists, until Lorentz’s 1908 lecture on the black-body radiation problem to an assemblage of mathematicians in Rome. At the time, both Einstein and Ehrenfest were relatively unknown and did not have Lorentz’s community stature. Kuhn next explored the events that led Lorentz to adopt discontinuity to resolve the black-body problem. By the end of 1910, most theoretical physicists followed Lorentz’s lead. The black-body radiation research program, however, afforded little guidance for resolving discontinuities at the quantum level and was subsequently dropped. Its successor was a research program focused on specific heat at low temperatures, which opened up new areas of research undertaken by an international community of practitioners. Kuhn concluded the study with an analysis of Planck’s “second” black-body theory, first published in 1911, in which Planck used the notion of discontinuity to derive the second theory. Rather than the traditional position that represented the second theory as a regression on Planck’s part to classical physics, Kuhn argued that it was the first time Planck incorporated into his theoretical work “a theory he never came quite to believe” (1987a, p. 254).

Reviews In the black-body radiation theory and quantum discontinuity historical study, Kuhn did not use the notions of paradigm, normal science, anomaly, crisis, or incommensurability, which he championed in Structure. Critics, especially within HPS, were chagrined. Commenting on the relationship between Structure and Black-Body Theory, Martin Klein lamented the missed opportunity of using the general theoretical framework from the former book to clarify and improve the understanding of a specific

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revolutionary change detailed in the latter book (Klein et al. 1979). Most reviewers commented on the absence; however, Peter Galison (1981) justified the absence, noting that Kuhn claimed he wears the hat of either a historian or philosopher but not both at once. As Galison went on to note, the traditional view of black-body radiation theory and quantum history—chiefly Klein’s and Hans Kangro’s work—served as a backdrop for Kuhn’s revisionist interpretation. Klein responded to Kuhn by criticizing Kuhn’s central thesis that Planck’s blackbody theory was “fully classical.” For Klein, Planck’s “final equation, the distribution law for radiation, does contain the energy element hv, and there is no getting around that nonclassical feature” (Klein et al. 1979, p. 432). Other scholars also questioned Kuhn’s central thesis. For example, Abner Shimony praised Kuhn’s analysis of Planck’s black-body radiation theory, but challenged Kuhn’s interpretation concerning Einstein’s contribution to wave-particle duality. In a comparison of Kuhn’s and Klein’s accounts of quantum discontinuity, Galison located the difference between them to Planck’s (mis)understanding of statistical mechanics and offered a third interpretation of the events. He proposed that Planck had missed the significance of quantum discontinuity for his research program because he did not examine the foundations of Boltzmann’s work. According to Galison, “It was just such a critical examination which would have been necessary for Planck to arrive at a correct view of the continuum problem” (1981, p. 82). He claimed that Planck was simply too preoccupied with other issues to think through completely the implications of his research vis-à-vis revising physics. Reviewers commented on the philosophical issues raised in Kuhn’s BlackBody Theory, especially with respect to Structure. Shimony, for example, commented on the use of rationality in the paradigm shift in contrast to an irrational conversion. “In making a claim for the rationality of the intellectual processes of leading investigators into the blackbody problem I am by no means,” wrote Shimony, “asserting that there is a rigid algorithm for scientific inference” (Klein et al. 1979, p. 437). He did acknowledge the role of “informal” approaches and strategies to scientific inference. Moreover, John Nicholas (1982) took the opportunity to criticize Kuhn’s notion of normal science in terms of Planck’s research on black-body radiation. Finally, Galison raised an issue concerning Kuhn’s historiography. He took issue with Kuhn’s claim that he wears two different hats when doing HPS. For Galison, an important thread exists connecting both Kuhn’s research in the history of science and in the philosophy of science. “Kuhn is searching,” claimed Galison, “for an account of scientific change by exhibiting a coherence in the work of pivotal scientists, a coherence within their works and a coherence with past exemplary problem solutions” (1981, p. 84). Although he deemed Kuhn’s historiographic approach yielded a sympathetic reading of the text that closely resembled the author’s original intention, Galison was concerned that such a reading may blind

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historians and philosophers to the incompleteness of ideas, assumptions, and solutions during periods of rapid scientific change. He believed the challenge facing historians and philosophers was how best to characterize these periods of change.

Kuhn’s response Kuhn bemoaned the book’s reception, even by its supporters, “as a misfit, a problem child, among my publications” (1984b, p. 231). However, he considered it his best historical study. Although Kuhn believed the evidence supported a revisionist account of the discontinuity story, he acknowledged the account “could be wrong. No single piece of available evidence demands it,” continued Kuhn, “and evidence incompatible with it could yet to be discovered. . . . As it stands now, however, evidence for the reinterpretation seems to me overwhelming” (1984b, p. 233). Kuhn contended the counterevidence rests upon a misunderstanding of Planck’s first derivation of the black-body distribution law. Planck distributed energy reflecting an average and not a maximization represented a shortcut in the derivation of the distribution law. Planck misled readers, claimed Kuhn, by taking a shortcut. Kuhn then responded to the historiographic and philosophical issues critics raised about Black-Body Theory vis-à-vis Structure. The historiographic issue Kuhn addressed in Black-Body Theory was the same issue he had introduced in Structure. In the latter book, he claimed that current historiography attempts to understand a previous period of scientific endeavor in terms of its contemporaries and not in terms of modern science. Kuhn’s concern was more than simply historical accuracy; rather, he was interested in recapturing the thought processes that led to a change in theory. Although Structure contained Kuhn’s articulation of the process of scientific change, the terminology in which he expressed it did not represent a ridged straight jacket for narrating history. Kuhn’s point was that the terminology and vocabulary used in Structure are not products, such as metaphysical categories, in which a historical narrative must conform; rather, they have a different metaphysical function as presuppositions toward a historical narrative as process. In this sense, Kuhn believed that the narrative of BlackBody Theory exhibited “the developmental schema that Structure provides” (1984b, p. 245). Kuhn’s major historiographic lesson in Black-Body Theory was to illustrate a methodological imperative historians must strive to heed when they “recapture the thought of a past generation of scientists. . . . Historians must approach the generation that held them as the anthropologist approaches an alien culture” (1984b, p. 246). Failure to heed this imperative is to engage in Whig or ethnocentric history. The philosophical or epistemological lesson of Black-Body Theory was yoked to the historiographic lesson, also articulated in Structure. Scientific progress is not simply a march toward truer

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understanding of natural phenomena; rather, it is an evolutionary process in which knowledge is selected under current pressures of argumentation and evidence. Although the connection between the historiographic and philosophic points may appear obvious, a corollary is not. “Entry into a discoverer’s culture,” claimed Kuhn, “often proves acutely uncomfortable, especially for scientists, and sophisticated resistance to such entry ordinarily begins within the discoverer’s own retrospects and continues in perpetuity” (1984b, p. 246). To this resistance, Kuhn turned his attention; for it formed part of the problem for historians to reenter and reconstruct the original world of discovery. The effect of resistance often begins with a distortion of the discoverer’s and contemporaries’ memories of the discovery event. For example, Bohr in recalling the development of the atomic model forgot about a passage in the original paper that discussed the quantized Rutherford atom. “Not always but quite usually,” observed Kuhn, “scientists will strenuously resist recognizing that their discoveries were the product of beliefs and theories incompatible with those to which the discoveries themselves gave rise” (1984b, p. 248). The distorted version of the original discovery is often justified by invoking the “confusion” of the participants in the original discovery, i.e. the fuzzy vision of an embryonic discovery that the discoverer eventually intuits. But the real confusion, according to Kuhn, was the result of internal contradictions in research outcomes. The reason scientists invoke inauthentic confusion to defend a distorted version of the discovery, according to Kuhn, is to mask the fact that the discoverer did not have an embryonic notion of the discovery and could not immediately solve the anomalies arising from research under the older theory. But, what is gained from distorting a discovery? Discoveries are the bricks scientists use to build an edifice, and a scientist’s reputation reflects the number of bricks personally contributed to the edifice. Revising (distorting) discoveries in terms of a discovery’s aftermath makes it easier to justify or credit the discoverer, even though, as Kuhn noted, tremendous debate often exists over the priority of a discovery. For Kuhn, the distortion damages both the image of science and the development of scientific knowledge. Under the distorted image, science is perceived as a cumulative, linear process that produces a continuous stockpile of scientific knowledge. According to Kuhn, however, science represents a complex process by which knowledge emerges from the assimilation of anomalies into a new way of doing science. The aim of the history of science, then, is not just getting the facts straight but providing philosophers of science with a more accurate image of science.

II  Historiographic studies Kuhn’s interest in historiography was evident in a number of papers after the publication of Structure. In these papers, he explored the historiographic

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issues related to the history of science proper, as well as to the impact the issues have for the relationship between the history of science and the philosophy of science. Kuhn fervently believed that the new historiography of science would prevent philosophers from engaging in the excesses and distortions prevalent within the traditional philosophy of science. Moreover, he envisioned the relationship in terms of history of science informing philosophy of science rather than the emerging integrated discipline of HPS. Thus, Kuhn rejected the emerging discipline, since the relationship is asymmetrical. Retrospectively, Kuhn saw the field as historical philosophy of science; however, he eventually rejected this philosophical approach for an evolutionary one—as discussed in the next chapter—since he believed it provided a better understanding of the nature of science and its development and progress.

“History of science” Kuhn, along with several other scholars, contributed to a “Science” entry in the 1968 edition of the International Encyclopedia of the Social Sciences. His section of the entry was on the history of science. In it, he covered the development of the field especially since 1950. Prior to then, history of science was a discipline occupied mostly by eminent scientists, who generally wrote heroic biographies or sweeping overviews of the discipline often for pedagogical purposes. This earlier history of science focused on, according to Kuhn, “the development of science as a quasi-mechanical march of the intellect, the successive surrender of nature’s secrets to sound methods skillfully deployed” (1968, p. 75). Within the past generation, historians of science, such as E. J. Dijksterhuis, Maier, and Koyré, developed a history of science that was simply more than chronicling science’s theoretical and technical achievements. A significant factor in that development was the recognition of institutional and sociological factors in the practice and development of science. An important consequence of the historiographic revolution was the differentiation between internal and external histories of science. Internal history of science was concerned with the development of the theories and methods scientists employed in practicing their trade. In other words, historians as internalists study the history of events, people, and ideas internal to science’s advancement. They attempt to climb inside the minds of scientists, as they push forward the boundaries of their discipline. As Kuhn advised, “The historian should ask what his subject thought he had discovered and what he took the basis of that discovery to be” (1968, p. 77). He recognized that the physical sciences dominated internalist accounts of science, because of their prestige, while for the biological sciences internalist accounts were less developed and for the social sciences they remained uncharted territory.

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External history of science concentrated on the social and cultural factors that impinged on the practice and development of science. Historians practiced three types of external history of science. The first was an analysis of institutional history, especially of scientific societies and organizations. The next was intellectual history, which examined the impact of scientific ideas on the development of Western thought. For Kuhn, this type of history represented a need to close the gap between histories of ideas and science. The third type was most recent and involved the development of science within a well-defined geographic location. An example of this type of history was the development of science in seventeenth-century England. Kuhn also discussed the debate that arose over the Merton thesis—named after the sociologist of science Robert Merton—which stated that the rise of science was the result of not only the transformation of problems and methods but also of Puritanism. For Kuhn, the distinction between internal and external histories of science mapped onto his pattern of scientific development. External or cultural and social factors were important during the science’s initial establishment. Once established, however, the problems practitioners of a mature science investigated were no longer influenced by those factors “but by an internal challenge to increase the scope and precision of the fit between existing theory and nature” (1968, p. 81). Although external factors do not affect a mature science’s problems, they do have an impact on other aspects of its development—for example, the timing of new technology or the recruitment of personnel. Importantly for Kuhn, the internal and external approaches to the history of science were not necessarily mutually exclusive but complementary. Finally, Kuhn addressed the relevance of the new history of science. The major impact of the new historiography was a clearer picture of science itself. Although the new history had little relevance for the actual practice of science, it would have an indirect impact. “Though a clearer grasp of the nature of scientific development is unlikely to resolve particular puzzles of research,” Kuhn concluded, “it may well stimulate reconsideration of such matters as science education, administration, and policy” (1968, pp. 81–2). The new history of science would also influence the philosophy of science by providing a new image of science distinct from the positivistic image, resulting in a different set of problems for philosophers to resolve. The final two disciplines to benefit from the new history of science were sociology and a new but closely related field “the science of science.”

“The relations between history and the history of science” In a lead article to a special issue of Dædalus, Kuhn’s main concern was on the future of the newly transformed history of science vis-à-vis traditional

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history. Although traditional historians recognized the importance of science in the development of Western thought, claimed Kuhn, they often ignored or resisted its importance with “damaging [effects], both to their own work and to the development of the history of science” (1971, p. 272). The reasons for this resistance included a traditional historiography of science that yielded a distorted image of science, which often misled historians. However, historians were partly responsible for the situation in which they found themselves, since a newer image of science had been available for some time. Kuhn’s goal was to enlighten these historians by discussing the recent revolution in the historiography of science, as well as advances in the sociology of science. Kuhn stated that history of science was “a discipline apart,” in that intellectual historians exhibited a separatist attitude and stance toward historians of science. This separatism influenced both traditional historical pedagogy and scholarship. The pedagogical consequence was often a superficial coverage of science, especially in terms of a lecture or two on the scientific revolution. The consequence for scholarship was over emphasis on the Prefaces of scientific works and disregard for their technical cores. Without a proper understanding of science’s technical core, questions concerning the development of Western thought went unanswered. Of course, Kuhn was aware of the overly technical nature of science, particularly modern theoretical physics, and did “not suggest that the historian should become a historian of science whenever scientific development becomes relevant to the topic he studies” (1971, p. 278). However, he wanted intellectual historians to be at least versed in the secondary literature of the more technical sciences; otherwise “what results is a decidedly misleading notion of the way in which scientific theories develop and impinge on their extrascientific environment” (Kuhn 1971, p. 279). From the intellectual historian, Kuhn turned his attention to the socioeconomic historian. Besides the intellectual milieu in which scientists practice their trade, Kuhn claimed the socioeconomic historian also has needs which the intellectual historian does not: some knowledge of the nature of technology as an enterprise, an ability to distinguish it from science, both socially and intellectually, and above all a sensitivity to the various modes of interaction between the two. (1971, p. 283) Science and technology were separate enterprises prior to 1870, with technology producing economic innovations, since then, “science has assumed a role which no student of modern socioeconomic development may responsibly ignore” (Kuhn 1971, p. 287). One of the major socioeconomic impacts of science was the emergence of the professional scientist, which, for Kuhn, was “the pivot of a second scientific revolution” (1971, p. 288).

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Kuhn maintained that historians of sciences, apart from traditional historians, were partly responsible for producing the gap between history of science and traditional history. He identified two traditions within the history of science that exhibited a separatist attitude and stance. The first was the tradition up to Sarton, in which science was viewed “as the triumph of reason over primitive superstition, the unique example of humanity operating in its highest mode” (Kuhn 1971, p. 289). According to Kuhn, this approach produced histories of science that were no longer valuable to current historians of science. The second tradition was composed of practicing scientists, who wrote internal histories of the technical progress of a specialty. This tradition’s problem was Whiggism. A more recent tradition was sensitive to the context in which scientists practice their trade. However, the histories produced by this tradition were mainly internalist, with little regard for the external factors that shape science. Although the separatist attitudes and stances of historians and of historians of science often led to hostility between members of the two disciplines, Kuhn was optimistic that rapprochement was possible. He saw several signs of change that supported his optimism. First, the growth of the history of science afforded the opportunity for enhancing communication between practitioners of the two disciplines. The diversity of histories of science, as seen in the inclusion of more recent historical periods and of subjects other than the physical sciences, may improve the accessibility of the history of science for traditional historians. Finally, younger historians of science were focusing on external factors that shape science, which should provide a more familiar approach for traditional historians. However, Kuhn was concerned that this final sign may be a mixed blessing.

“The relations between the history and the philosophy of science” Besides being interested in historiographic issues affecting the historians of science and those affecting the relationship between historians of science and traditional historians, Kuhn was also concerned about the historiographic issues affecting philosophers of science. In the Isenberg lecture, Kuhn addressed these issues, which were deeply personal. In an autobiographical introduction, Kuhn rehearsed the events leading him to the history of science, including the epiphany that the discipline raises issues for philosophical musing. Specifically, he tackled the separation between the history of science and the philosophy of science, followed by remarks on possible rapprochement between them. Although Kuhn considered himself a practitioner of both the history and the philosophy of science, he was keenly aware that no separate discipline as HPS existed for practical reasons. At the time, he was a member of the faculty in Princeton’s History and Philosophy of Science Program. The

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program was comprised of the two independent academic departments, and graduate students in the program received their degree either from the history department or from the philosophy department. For Kuhn, these two disciplines had separate pedagogical and scholarly goals. Crassly put, the goal for history is the particular while for philosophy the universal. Kuhn observed these differences in his graduate seminars, where history students’ papers were concerned with constructing a narrative of a key figure’s specific work while philosophy students’ papers were concerned with critically analyzing a key figure’s general thought. He compared the differences between the two disciplines to the duck-rabbit Gestalt switch. In other words, the two disciplines were so fundamentally different in terms of their goals for the analysis of science, that the resulting images of science were incommensurable. Moreover, to see the other discipline’s image required a conversion. For Kuhn, then, the history and the philosophy of science cannot be practiced at the same time but only alternatively, and then with difficulty. Kuhn then asked, “Given the deep and consequential differences between the two enterprises, what can they have to say to each other?” (1977a, p. 10). His answer had two parts. The first was the need of historians of science for philosophy as an analytic tool to reconstruct robust narratives of past science. But, he cautioned historians that contemporary philosophy of science provided a distorted image of science that might mislead them. The second part was the need of philosophers of science for history of science. Specifically, history of science could provide an alternative image of science. Rejecting the “covering law model” for historical explanation because it reduces historians to social scientists, Kuhn advocated a model based on an ordering of historical facts into a narrative similar to previous successful narratives—a model, Kuhn acknowledged, which is analogous to the one he proposed for puzzle solving under the aegis of a paradigm in the physical sciences. Historians of science, as they narrate change in science, provide an image of science that reflects the process by which scientific information develops, rather than the static image provided by philosophers of science in which scientific knowledge is simply a product of logic. Kuhn concluded that the history of science and the philosophy of science remain distinct disciplines such that historians of science could provide an image of science to correct the distortion produced by philosophers of science. However, the following years did not bear the fruit Kuhn anticipated.

“The histories of science: Diverse worlds for diverse audiences” Kuhn discussed three changes in the history of science, since he had become a historian of science in the mid-twentieth century. The first included a

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sudden growth in the membership of the discipline. The next change involved a shift in what he called “the field’s temporal center of gravity” (Kuhn 1986, p. 30). What he meant was that more historical cases were drawn from science after 1750. The final was “a great change in the balance between the intellectual and social historical studies” (Kuhn 1986, p. 30). The last change concerned him most in terms of the discipline’s identity and future. Members of an intellectual history of science were concerned with the history of scientific ideas. They are generally scientists, according to Kuhn, who “displayed the irresistible march of humanity towards objective truth, the inevitable triumph of reason and method over ignorance and superstition” (1986, p. 33). He claimed that such a view of science was no longer tenable on two counts. First, new scientific theories were now known to arise not from superstition but from older science. Second, “The social/ institutional history of science has shown that more than the interplay of observation and reason is important to an understanding of the shape and direction of scientific advance” (Kuhn 1986, p. 33). Rather, according to practitioners of this type of history of science scientific knowledge is “constructed.” Although Kuhn was sympathetic to the social/institutional history of science, he believed it left several important questions unanswered. These questions included, “What are the materials out of which these constructions are made?” or, more importantly from Kuhn’s perspective, “What is the relation between older constructions and their newer replacements, the relation that makes the latter seem much more powerful than the constructions they replace?” (Kuhn 1986, p. 33). Moreover, he found its stronger form as unsatisfactory as the intellectual history of science, since it too generated a distorted image of science. Kuhn believed that the polarity between these two approaches to the history of science created a “gap,” which he challenged historians of science to help fill. However, he cautioned colleagues that the task was not going to be easy, since the two approaches were so radically different from each other in terms of their methods, sources, and personalities. Kuhn’s own effort to fill that gap was through a “historical philosophy of science.”

III Metahistorical studies Scientific development During the 1970s, Kuhn pursued the notion of scientific development using three different approaches. The first was in terms of puzzles and problems in a 1974 lecture, which he delivered at Vassar College. Kuhn’s second approach to scientific development was in terms of the “growth” of its knowledge, which he expounded upon in the 1976 Foerster lecture. His

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culminating approach to scientific development was the analysis of three scientific revolutions, which composed the 1980 Notre Dame Perspective lectures.

1974 Vassar lecture Kuhn began the lecture, “Puzzles vs. problems in scientific development,” by recognizing that the enthusiasts Structure engendered among sociologists are “part of the audience that seemed most easily able to find in it anything they pleased” (Kuhn Papers, box 5, folder 9, pp. 2–3a). Kuhn blamed himself, however, because of a “bad mistake. . . . I sometimes think it the only truly stupid one” made in Structure (Kuhn Papers, box 5, folder 9, p. 3a). “I speak of the transition to maturity as the transition from the pre-paradigm to the post paradigm period, all of which now seems to me wrong” (Kuhn Papers, box 5, folder 9, p. 6). In Structure, he claimed that during the preparadigmatic period, each school had a particular paradigm. “But if that’s the case,” argued Kuhn now, “then the notion of paradigm, whatever it’s [sic] other virtues, is irrelevant to the transition from an underdeveloped to a developed or mature state” (Kuhn Papers, box 5, folder 9, p. 7). Kuhn was truly contrite for the mistake and endeavored, with moral fervor, to correct it in the lecture. To that end, Kuhn made a distinction between problems and puzzles. According to Kuhn, “Problems are vexing questions, often urgent ones, to which one scarcely knows what an answer would look like, much less how to go about finding one” (Kuhn Papers, box 5, folder 9, p. 8). Problems are of two types. First is the intellectual kind, which vexes not only scientists but also philosophers. Such problems include the nature of consciousness, life, or matter. The second type is more social in nature than intellectual, including such problems as environmental issues and world peace. “Nothing,” declared Kuhn, “about the existence of a problem guarrantees [sic] that there even is a solution” (Kuhn Papers, box 5, folder 9, p. 10). Moreover, problem solving is generally pragmatic, i.e. “try it and see if the problem disappears” (Kuhn Papers, box 5, folder 9, p. 10). Finally, according to Kuhn, it is the hallmark of an underdeveloped science. Kuhn then contrasted puzzles with problems. Puzzles occupy the attention of scientists involved in a mature science. Although they have guaranteed solutions, the methods for solving puzzles are not obvious. Scientists, who solve them, demonstrate their ingenuity and are rewarded by the community. Puzzle-solutions are also immediately evident to the community; no one debates whether they are correct because of “a shared body of rules” (Kuhn Papers, box 5, folder 9, p. 13). Just like problems, puzzles are also of two kinds. The first is the “exemplary” puzzle, in which a solution is known and is used to train students. The other puzzle type occupies practicing scientists, in which a solution is only potentially known. Thus, the goal of puzzle solving is not novelty but “to clarify existing theory, show how to extend it

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into areas where noone [sic] has made it work before, attempt to reconcile it with theories applied to other areas” (Kuhn Papers, box 5, folder 9, p. 15). With this distinction in mind, Kuhn envisioned the transition of a scientific discipline from an underdeveloped state to a developed one as “the transition from a problem-solving to a puzzle-solving tradition” (Kuhn Papers, box 5, folder 9, p. 8). Kuhn returned to the question about the scientific status of the social sciences vis-à-vis the paradigm concept. Kuhn articulated the question accordingly, “To what extent do my views of scientific development fit the social sciences?” (Kuhn Papers, box 5, folder 9, p. 16). The key to answering this question was “to know the extent and centrality of puzzle solving within the individual social sciences, and that is the question that has to be answered from the inside” (Kuhn Papers, box 5, folder 9, p. 16). Although Kuhn admitted he was an outsider in terms of the social sciences, he believed that parts of economics exhibit a puzzle-solving tradition. Kuhn was rather reluctant to identify such traditions with schools, such as behaviorism in psychology. The questions concerning such schools were whether the puzzles are “hard” and whether a practitioner can make “a reputation by solving one that other’s [sic] have tried and with which they’ve failed” (Kuhn Papers, box 5, folder 9, p. 18). Kuhn ended with a final question, “How does the transition from problem solving to puzzle solving get made?” (Kuhn Papers, box 5, folder 9, p. 19). The answer that many took from Structure was, adopt a paradigm. Kuhn found this answer to be “wrong” in that paradigms are not unique only to the sciences. But, does articulating the question in terms of puzzle solving help? Apparently not! “And to the person who persists, who wants to know what it would take to turn a given field to puzzle solving,” admitted Kuhn, “I’m going finally have to say that I haven’t a clue” (Kuhn Papers, box 5, folder 9, pp. 19–20). The only solace Kuhn could offer was that the person has a “PROBLEM!” (Kuhn Papers, box 5, folder 9, p. 20). His advice was to “try thing one after another, live with each and see how it works out, see if the problem goes away” (Kuhn Papers, box 5, folder 9, p. 20).

1976 Foerster lecture In “Does knowledge ‘grow’?,” Kuhn initially informed the audience that the answer to the question of whether scientific knowledge grows is equivocal. He believed that the question although “misphrased” was “interesting.” What interested Kuhn about the question was an alternative answer to the traditional answer that the growth of scientific knowledge is the piecemeal accumulation of facts. To shed light on the alternative answer, Kuhn engaged in an autobiographical account of how he came to understand Aristotle’s Physics. After rehearsing the events of that account and reconstructing the mechanism by which he came to understand it, he drew several conclusions. The first was that “the central pieces of Aristotelian physics lock together, lending each other mutual support” (Kuhn Papers, box 5, folder 14, p. 9).

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The second followed from the first: a set of the central ideas that interlock formed the “CORE of Aristotelian physics or of the Aristotelian world view” (Kuhn Papers, box 5, folder 14, p. 9). “Roughly speaking,” declared Kuhn, “the core of a theory is the group of its parts that can’t be removed or changed individually without creating havoc in a large part of the surrounding territory” (Kuhn Papers, box 5, folder 14, p. 9). Besides the core, a “periphery” also exists in which “the elements in it are only constrained, and not determined by, [sic] the core” (Kuhn Papers, box 5, folder 14, p. 10). The periphery represents an “area” where problems associated with a research tradition can be investigated “without doing violence to the core” (Kuhn Papers, box 5, folder 14, p. 10). Kuhn concluded this section of the lecture by drawing parallels between the current reconstruction of science and the earlier terminology of Structure. Obviously, the transition in cores from one research tradition to another is a scientific revolution. Moreover, the core represents the paradigm that defines a particular research tradition. Finally, the periphery is identified with normal science or puzzle-solving research. Kuhn then confessed that the current reconstruction puts him back where I started some years ago, with one possible exception. I’m not sure whether it should be described as a novelty or a source of clarification, but this way of putting my points does indicate, far better than my old one, what I take the source of a paradigm’s authority to be. Why people seem to get so locked into them [sic]. (Kuhn Papers, box 5, folder 14, pp. 10–11) A paradigm’s authority resides not in the community’s “conservatism,” or “habit,” or in “a special authoritarian Establishment,” or even the paradigm’s predictive power. Rather, its authority is the interlocking or coherence of the core’s ideas. “To change a component of the core,” claimed Kuhn, “one must change many others at the same time, produce a new and different core” (Kuhn Papers, box 5, folder 14, p. 11). The core then provides the means by which to practice science and to change it involves a traumatic event that practitioners naturally resist. “What must usually precede a change of core,” asserted Kuhn, “is not doubt about one or another particular component. Instead, it’s a global sense that the whole system has gone wrong. CRISIS” (Kuhn Papers, box 5, folder 14, p. 11). Is this change in the core, growth of knowledge? To answer the question, Kuhn examined the standard account of knowledge as justified, true belief. “My difficulty with the standard doctrine,” claimed Kuhn, “has been that it’s ultimately uniluminating [sic] or too little illuminating, with respect to the difference between the circumstances under which one may properly make a belief and a knowledge claim” (Kuhn Papers, box 5, folder 14, p. 13). What was problematic was the amount or nature of the evidence needed to distinguish between knowledge and belief. And this, of course, raised the

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issue of truth. “But since we can’t tell . . . whether the object of a knowledge claim is in fact true,” contended Kuhn, “we’re left as puzzled as ever about the nature of the circumstances under which we may appropriately claim knowledge” (Kuhn Papers, box 5, folder 14, p. 13). Consequently, truth cannot help to distinguish between knowledge and belief. Kuhn initially elicited the assistance of Wittgenstein to see a way out of the “morass” of knowledge and belief. Citing George Moore’s claim about knowing the obvious, Wittgenstein wrote, “The propositions presenting what Moore ‘knows’ are all of such a kind that it is difficult to imagine why anyone should believe the contrary” (1969, #93, p. 14e). Kuhn took Wittgenstein’s point to be, “If one couldn’t ordinarily just look and see . . . then one would spend one’s life in a perpetual state of paralysis” (Kuhn Papers, box 5, folder 14, p. 14). Kuhn then turned to John Austin’s distinction between “Why do you believe?” and “How do you know?” While the former question is answered in terms of the evidence, using the phrase “knowing that,” the latter is answered with respect to one’s credentials. Credentials refer to the training one receives to participate in a community of like-trained individuals. Moreover, Kuhn noted that “the answer to a question about ‘knowing that’ is often simply the specification of the credentials, the specialized training, that permits one to know . . . to know on sight, without judging, weighing evidence” (Kuhn Papers, box 5, folder 14, p. 16). Kuhn next addressed the question, “What happens when two people from different cultures, with different backgrounds and therefore different credentials, meet?” (Kuhn Papers, box 5, folder 14, p. 17). Again, Kuhn invoked Wittgenstein to assist him. But I did not get my picture of the world by satisfying myself of its correctness; nor do I have it because I am satisfied of its correctness. No: it is the inherited background against which I distinguish between true and false. (Wittgenstein 1969, #94, p. 15e) Kuhn next equated Wittgenstein’s “inherited background” with Austin’s “credentials,” and he then identified both with his notion of “core.” Based on this move, Kuhn then specified the core as knowledge that is “difficult to doubt” and the periphery as belief “in which sound opinion demands the consideration of alternatives and of the weight of evidence favoring each” (Kuhn Papers, box 5, folder 14, p. 18). Thus, when two people, or more to the point two scientists, who are products of different backgrounds and thereby have different credentials meet, neither can “prove” to the other their worldview. The best that one can do is to “persuade” the other of one’s worldview, which would require a “conversion” that occurs immediately and not piecemeal. Finally, Kuhn returned to the question of whether knowledge grows. The question can be answered affirmatively, according to Kuhn, “if by

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‘knowledge’ we mean knowing how” (Kuhn Papers, box 5, folder 14, p. 19). “On the other hand,” argued Kuhn “if we mean by ‘knowledge’ the more usual ‘knowledge that’ . . . then I think the answer must be that it does not grow” (Kuhn Papers, box 5, folder 14, p. 19). He admitted that such knowledge changes; however, he saw “no evidence at all of growth or even of some assymptotic [sic] approach to a final state” (Kuhn Papers, box 5, folder 14, p. 19). Kuhn concluded that either answer can be defended but to choose either one is a “mistake,” since “I’ve already suggested that ‘knowing how’ and ‘knowing that’ are inextricably connected” (Kuhn Papers, box 5, folder 14, p. 19).

1980 Notre Dame Perspective lectures Kuhn began the lecture series, “What are scientific revolutions?,” by rehearsing previous ideas about revolutionary change in science vis-àvis normal science and then turned to discuss three scientific revolutions. He started with the shift from Aristotelian to Newtonian physics, which represented the first part of the 1976 Foerster lecture. As in that earlier lecture, he gave an account of how he came to understand Aristotle’s idea of motion. “That sort of experience—the pieces suddenly sorting themselves out and coming together in a new way—is the first general characteristic of revolutionary change,” declared Kuhn, “that I shall be singling out after further consideration of examples” (1987, p. 9). The other two examples included Volta’s discovery of the electric cell and Planck’s black-body radiation research that led to the discovery of quantum discontinuity. From the three examples, Kuhn derived three characteristics of scientific revolutions. The first is “holistic” (Kuhn 1987, p. 9). In other words, scientific revolutions are an all-or-none event. The second characteristic pertains to the way referents change after a revolution. According to Kuhn, “The distinctive character of revolutionary change in language is that it alters not only the criteria by which terms attach to nature but also, massively, the set of objects or situations to which those terms attach” (1987, p. 19). He introduced the notion of “taxonomy” to explicate the redistribution of objects after a revolution. “What characterizes revolutions is, thus,” Kuhn concluded, “change in several of the taxonomic categories prerequisite to scientific descriptions and generalizations” (1987, p. 20). And these categories for a particular tradition represent a whole, which is rooted in language; for it is through language that terms are assigned to categories. “Language is a coinage with two faces,” analogized Kuhn, “one looking outward to the world, the other inward to the world’s reflection in the referential structure of the language” (1987, p. 20). The final characteristic of scientific revolutions involves, according to Kuhn, “a central change of model, metaphor, or analogy—a change in one’s sense of what is similar to what, and of what is different” (1987, p. 20).1 Kuhn relied on an early discussion of similarity relationships for

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learning taxonomic categories. Through similarity relationships, students and members of a community learn the meanings of words and taxonomic categories of objects that populate the world. Thus, they learn two types of knowledge: that of words and that of the world. “Violation or distortion of a previously unproblematic scientific language,” Kuhn concluded, “is the touchstone for revolutionary change” (1987, p. 21).

Theory choice2 1973 Machette lecture In “Objectivity, value judgment and theory choice,” Kuhn initially discussed the traditional, objective features of a good theory, including accuracy, consistency, scope, simplicity, and fecundity.3 However, these features, when used individually as criteria for theory choice, are imprecise, in that scientists “may legitimately differ about their application to concrete cases” (Kuhn 1977a, p. 322). Moreover, Kuhn argued, these criteria often conflict with one another; and, although necessary, they are insufficient to account completely for theory choice. Consequently, theory choice relies not only on objective features of a theory but also on the subjective characteristics of an individual scientist. Kuhn next entertained the reason why traditional philosophers of science ignored or neglected subjective characteristics in theory choice. Although recognizing that these philosophers restricted the subjective to the context of discovery and the objective to the context of justification, Kuhn insisted that the distinction did not fit actual scientific practice. It is artificial, reflecting the process of science pedagogy. But actual scientific practice reveals that textbook presentations of theory choice are stylized to convince students who rely on the authority of their instructors. Alas, what else can students do? Furthermore, textbook science discloses only the product of science and not its process. Since subjective factors are present at the discovery phase of science, they must also be present at the justification phase. Kuhn shifted from a defensive to an offensive posture. “What the tradition sees as eliminable imperfections in its rules of choice I take,” he asserted, “to be in part responses to the essential nature of science” (Kuhn 1977a, p. 330). The essential nature was that the objective criteria function as values, which do not dictate theory choice but rather influence it. Values help to explain scientists’ behavior, which for traditional philosophers of science may at times appear irrational. Most importantly, values account for the disagreement over theories and help to distribute risk during debates over theories. Kuhn concluded with an epilogue in which he discussed several potential problems concerning value invariance, subjectivity, and partial communication. In contrast to the invariance of values during theory choice,

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he argued that values can and do change when a theory choice is made. He recognized that the association of value change with theory choice appears to make the process circular, but he claimed that this did not happen in a vicious manner. As for subjectivity, Kuhn charged that critics interpreted his use of the term differently from his intended use. For them, it denoted a matter of taste that was not rationally discussable. But, Kuhn’s use of the term did involve the discussable with respect to standards. Finally, he denied that facts are theory independent. And, he concluded that scientists do not choose a theory based on objective criteria but rather they are converted based on subjective values. In comments on Kuhn’s paper, Post raised two issues (Kuhn Papers, box 5, folder 6, “Comments on Prof. Kuhn’s Objectivity, value judgment, and theory choice”). The first centered on Kuhn’s assertion that the community’s collective judgment of appropriately trained practitioners should prevail, in the absence of objective criteria for theory choice. Post argued that the training of scientists, even with the rigors of scientific education, does not warrant that scientists necessarily make the best decisions apart from such criteria. The second issue concerned incommensurability. According to Post, three possibilities exist in terms of changes in a theoretical term’s denotation or meaning, during a paradigm shift: (1) the term keeps the same denotation, (2) it acquires meaning when it had none prior to the shift, or (3) its denotation changes. He claimed Kuhn opted for the last possibility. But, a fourth possibility exists that more accurately represents what happens during a scientific revolution. According to Post, a term’s denotation can be refined during a revolution such that what it denoted prior to a revolution is partially denoted after. Thus, although terms are not necessarily comparable, they are certainly not incommensurate.

1983 American Philosophical Association (APA) paper Hempel (1983a) had earlier criticized Kuhn’s approach to the issue of theory choice. He argued Kuhn’s values function “as justifying in a near-trivial way the choosing of theories” (1983a, p. 91). In a 1983 APA symposium paper, “Rationality and theory choice,” Kuhn took exception to Hempel’s evaluation of “near-trivial” and provided a defense for the role of subjective values in theory choice. He began with a discussion of two characteristics of language. The first was what he called “local linguistic holism.” For Kuhn, terms are not learned in isolation from each other but in clusters. The second was that some of the terms are necessary in a fundamental sense, which Kuhn failed to specify analytically, and that any change in their meaning changes the meaning of other contingent terms. Kuhn then provided an analogy in which he demonstrated how the term “science,” for example, is determined. He noted that with respect to “local

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linguistic holism,” “one recognizes a group’s activity as scientific (or artistic, or medical) in part by its resemblance to other fields in the same cluster and in part by its difference from the activities belonging to other disciplinary clusters” (Kuhn 1983a, p. 567). As for the necessary part of linguistic terms, ancient science—although a forerunner of modern science—must be analyzed in its own terms and not in modern terms. “The actual progenitors require description in their own terms, not in ours,” insisted Kuhn, “and that task calls for a vocabulary that divides up, categorizes, intellectual activities in a way different from our own” (1983a, p. 568). For the term “science,” or for any linguistic term, then, a referent with certain properties is necessary to determine its usage. As for the role of values in theory choice, according to Kuhn, just as a person can demarcate one discipline a science and another not, so can a scientist decide between two scientific theories. But is this position irrational? No, claimed Kuhn, because the two terms, rational and justification, are part of the same cluster of terms. Thus, to speak of rational justification is to engage in redundancy. Kuhn asserted he needed to meet only one of the terms in order to meet both. His concern was not for justifying learning from experience but for explaining “the viability of the whole language game” (Kuhn 1983a, p. 570). In response, Hempel found Kuhn’s pragmatism illuminating; but he still had a major reservation. “Kuhn’s construal presupposes,” Hempel claimed, “the availability of a widely shared language-cum-theory about science—a dubious assumption, considering the conflicting conceptions of science in vogue today” (1983b, p. 571). Thus, the issue for Hempel—as for scientists choosing between two competing theories—was which language counts. Hempel admitted that although critical reasoning cannot yield unconditional justification, it still is required.

Incommensurability thesis Kuhn originally introduced InT in Structure to make sense of what he claimed were nonsensical statements in historic scientific texts. The philosophy of science community was critical of it, arguing incommensurability made science both irrational and relativistic.4 Beginning in the mid-1980s, Kuhn modified—or, as critics claimed, gutted—it.5

1982 Philosophy of Science Association paper In the paper, “Commensurability, comparability, communicability,” Kuhn (1983) identified the two most common misconceptions of InT. Both misconceptions were premised on the fact that incommensurable theories are not mutually translatable but go awry because they are misinterpreted.

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The first was that if two theories cannot be stated in a single language, then how could they be compared to choose between them? The second was that since an older theory cannot be translated into modern expression, then how then could anyone talk about it meaningfully? Kuhn addressed both these misconceptions. Kuhn started by rehearsing the literal sense of incommensurability as “no common measure” and by distinguishing his use of it as “no common language” for scientific theories as metaphorical. The phrase “no common measure” becomes “no common language.” The claim that two theories are incommensurable is then the claim that there is no language, neutral or otherwise, into which both theories, conceived as sets of sentences, can be translated without residue of loss. (1983b, p. 670) In other words, most theoretical terms are “homophonic” and can have the same meaning in two competing theories. Only a handful of terms are incommensurate or untranslatable. Kuhn considered this a more modest version of InT, calling it “local incommensurability” and claimed it was his original intention. Although no common language is available to compare terms that change their meaning during a scientific revolution, a partially common language cobbled from the invariant terms does permit some semblance of comparison. Thus, the first criticism fails. But—and this was Kuhn’s main point—a residue still exists that is unaccounted for even with the use of this cobbled language. Moreover, he was reticent to restrict incommensurability to too small of a locality. “It is simply implausible,” asserted Kuhn, “that some terms should change meaning when transferred to a new theory without infecting the terms transferred with them” (1983b, p. 671). As for the second misconception—meaningful translation between competing theories is impossible—Kuhn claimed that critics, especially Donald Davidson, conflated the difference between translation and interpretation.6 The conflation was understandable, he admitted, since translation often involves some interpretation. Translation for Kuhn was the process by which a “translator systematically substitutes worlds or strings of words in the other language for words or strings of words in the text in such a way as to produce an equivalent text in the other language” (1983b, p. 672). Interpretation, however, involves attempts to make sense of a statement or to make it intelligible. Incommensurability, then, did not mean that a theoretical term cannot be interpreted, i.e. cannot be made intelligible; rather, it meant that the term cannot be translated, i.e. no equivalent for the term in the competing theoretical language is available. In other words, in order for the term to be meaningful theoretically scientists must go “native” in its use.

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Kuhn also examined Kitcher’s criticism of InT in which translation is equivalent to reference determination. Kuhn agreed with him that “the language of twentieth-century chemistry can be used to identify referents of the terms and expressions of eighteenth-century chemistry, at least to the extent that those terms and expressions actually refer” (1983, p. 674). The problem for Kuhn was what to do with theoretical terms in an older theory that have no referent in terms of the newer theory. Does one simply leave the space blank in the translation for that older term? He also took issue with Kitcher’s context-dependent phrases for referring terms. “Substituting unrelated or differently related expressions for those related,” according to Kuhn, “sometimes identical terms of the original must at least suppress those beliefs leaving the text that results incoherent” (1983, p. 675). For Kuhn, some terms of an older theory do not refer vis-à-vis a newer theory, but these non-referent terms are not eliminable from a translation. They are irreducible and require incorporation into a translation, if the meaning of the older theory is to be preserved. Thus, incommensurability cannot be avoided simply by equating translation with reference determination or context-dependent phrases. The reason non-reducible terms cannot be properly translated, if an attempt is made to use or learn them in singular fashion, was that, Kuhn explained, they must be learned as a whole with other interrelated, theoretical terms. Moreover, the interrelated terms as a whole package give shape to the world. Only then can these terms refer to natural phenomena. For Kuhn, this had an important impact on the historian’s function as interpreter and language instructor. Moreover, once the interpreted work is completed, translation is no longer an issue. Kuhn also used the holistic principle of translation to criticize Quine’s notion of the translation manual. Such a manual is composed of words and phrases from two languages that are matched with one another in a parallel manner. Since multiple cross-linking between the two languages often exists, context is needed to determine the proper and accurate substitution of words. Kuhn took issue with Quine’s notion of a translation manual, with respect to the context in which a term in one language is substituted for a term in another language. Kuhn raised two issues concerning context. First, a term may be ambiguous vis-à-vis context, i.e. a term may have more than one meaning and its context is required to determine it. Second, a term in one language is conceptually disparate from a term in another language, i.e. a term in one language is not equivalent to any other term in another language. In other words, translation is not possible because the intention or sense of the term in one language cannot be captured by a term in another language. Thus, translation for Kuhn required identifying not only a term’s referent but also its intention. In fact, a term’s intention is the basis for its referring since it is responsible for structuring the world. Translation for Kuhn then must preserve not only a term’s referent but also its intention or

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sense. Quine’s translation manual fails, then, because it considers only the ambiguity of terms and not their intention. Finally, Kuhn introduced the notion of a lexicon and its attendant taxonomy to capture both a term’s reference and intention or sense. The lexicon contains referring terms that are interrelated to other referring terms, i.e. the holistic principle. And its structure of interrelated terms resembles the world’s structure in terms of its taxonomic categories, so community members can use it to describe and explain the world in terms of its taxonomy. And they or members of different communities must share the same lexicon, if they are to communicate fully with one another. Moreover, Kuhn claimed, if complete translation is to be possible the two languages must share a similar structure for their respective lexicons. Incommensurability, then, reflects lexicons that have different taxonomic structures by which the world is carved up and articulated differently. In comments on Kuhn’s paper, Kitcher defended the context-dependent interpretation of texts. He argued that loss of connection between terms in an interpretation of a text “can be accepted with equanimity” (Kitcher 1983, p. 692). But more importantly, a context-sensitive interpretation can provide a point of entry into a textual passage by specifying the referents of its terms. Such specification, according to Kitcher, “can serve as a prefatory gloss to the passage in question, a gloss which renders that passage comprehensible” (1983, p. 692). And through specification, alien terms can be incorporated into a language thereby making full communication across a revolutionary divide possible, especially since a common body of observational evidence is available. “I conclude,” stated Kitcher, “that Kuhn has offered no reason for thinking that the interpretative strategy I have outlined will sometimes break down” (1983, p. 694). Kitcher then turned from a defensive to an offensive posture. He charged that Kuhn’s present position on conceptual incommensurability is “epistemologically innocuous.” He supported the charge utilizing a notion of “reference potential,” which asserts that a term’s referent can be initiated and thereby fixed by many different means. But two determinants are particularly important for fixing a term’s referent: the practitioners’ “intentions” and “facts about the external world” (Kitcher 1983, p. 697). “Incommensurability,” according to Kitcher, “lies precisely in the mismatch of reference potentials” (1983, p. 696). Moreover, such incommensurability is common and not unique to macrorevolutions. He then concluded faulty reference potentials could be detected by taking into account the context. Kuhn (1983c) claimed that Kitcher was “badly mistaken” concerning the process of incorporating alien terms into a language. Although such a process may enhance language, it can only enhance it in a restricted manner. To incorporate such terms completely would result in the alteration of language itself. Moreover, although participants can achieve full communication across a revolutionary divide they must be practitioners of

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both communities. “What was and is at issue,” Kuhn concluded, “is not significant comparability but rather the shaping of cognition by language, a point by no means epistemologically innocuous” (1983c, p. 713). Hesse (1983) began her comments on Kuhn’s paper by providing a historical context to InT. She noted that the current debate over translation is the same as when the thesis was first introduced. The problem, according to Hesse, was that there is “still no clear theory of meaning which recognizes the fact that in natural languages and in scientific theory we cannot assume univocality of meaning or strict applicability of deductive logic” (1983, p. 704). She found Kuhn’s paper helpful in addressing this problem associated with extensionalist theories of meaning on two counts. First, extensionalist theories assume “a basic set of sentences whose truth-values come ready-made with our learning of our natural language, both as infants and in subsequent commerce with our language group and with the world” (Hesse 1983, p. 705). As Hesse noted, Kuhn challenged this assumption with respect to how students learn theoretical terms and how they connect them to the world. Although she appreciated Kuhn’s emphasis on holism to address the problem, the notion of local incommensurability troubled her, since it limited incommensurability to a few terms. Rather, she contended—given holism—incommensurable theories are so radically different “to the point that the ‘meaning changes’ implied do affect practically the whole language” (Hesse 1983, p. 706). Second, Hesse also noted Kuhn’s dilemma over extensionalist theories in that “they are unable to distinguish between the ambiguity or equivocation on the one hand, and on the other hand, the kinds of incommensurability that abound in real natural language translation, which nevertheless do not forbid what Kuhn calls interpretation” (1983, p. 705). She found Kuhn’s notion of lexical structure, in which language overlays a taxonomy on nature, helpful in addressing the problem but argued that the sharing between relevant taxonomies need not be “all-or-nothing” but “approximate . . . that is, a sufficient interaction of taxonomies, not necessarily an identity” (Hesse 1983, p. 708). For even science requires metaphor, she insisted, which Kuhn himself acknowledged with the example of the French word “doux.” In response, Kuhn (1983c) pointed out that although he used “doux” to illustrate the metaphor-like nature of the relationship among terms, they are not strictly metaphorical. Rather, he was interested in the literal meanings of terms. For he argued that the relationship of “doux” to similar words in French is different from the relationship of “sweet” to similar words in English. “That lack of structural homology,” claimed Kuhn, “is what makes these portions of the French and English vocabularies incommensurable” (1983c, p. 714). He then defended the claim that taxonomies are not shared between incommensurable theories or across a revolutionary divide against Hesse’s “strong” assertion that taxonomies need to intersect significantly and against Kitcher’s view that incommensurability is too common to be an effective criterion for identifying scientific revolution. “If I were now

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rewriting The Structure of Scientific Revolutions,” concluded Kuhn, “I would emphasize language change more and the normal/revolutionary distinction less” (1983c, p. 715).

1984 Thalheimer lectures In “Scientific development and lexical change,” Kuhn continued to develop InT in terms of a community’s lexicon. In the first lecture, “Science as historical: a prelude,” he recounted the historiographic revolution and the shift from a static image of science to a dynamic and developmental one (Kuhn Papers, box 23, folder 21). In the next lecture, “Breaking into the past,” Kuhn discussed a community’s lexicon, which not only specifies terms but also provides the taxonomic groups that carve up the world. For historians to break into a scientific text and its words and world, they must acquire the lexicon appropriate for that text. Kuhn also noted that historians make a leap into the past in a retrograde fashion, in contrast to scientists who make a gradual transition in the forward direction. And, historians make their leap as individuals whereas scientists experience change as a group. Kuhn continued to examine the structure of the lexicon in a third lecture, “Assimilating past language.” Specifically, he addressed the problem of how community members acquire a lexicon. As before, he discussed the process of ostension. But now what was being pointed out was not just the term but also a “feature space.” “I am suggesting, in short,” claimed Kuhn, “that the acquisition of an elementary vocabulary of referring terms often involves the acquisition of a feature space within which the reference of different terms cluster into distinction regions” (Kuhn Papers, box 23, folder 21, p. 67). Although he did not explicitly define this space, it constitutes the region of similar objects and their referring terms that compose a taxonomic grouping. Corresponding with each feature of a particular lexical space Kuhn claimed there is a “verbalizable generalization,” which points in two directions. The first is into the lexicon itself and forms part of lexicon’s structure. The second is into the world, occupied by the entities to which the terms refer. “Until one has assimilated a considerable number of such generalizations, articulated or not,” insisted Kuhn, “one cannot use the corresponding part of language” (Kuhn Papers, box 23, folder 21, p. 69). Besides the constitutive elements within a lexicon, there are also contingent elements. And, there is no “decision procedure” to demarcate between them. Moreover, unobservable entities also occupy feature spaces within a lexicon. Kuhn next addressed a question repeatedly asked of him based on InT. “How . . . can you declare, acting as a philosopher, that it is impossible to translate, say, Aristotle’s beliefs into modern English and then proceed, acting as an historian, to explain those beliefs without departing from the

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language we all speak every day?” (Kuhn Papers, box 23, folder 21, p. 81). Kuhn’s answer was that he was not translating but “teaching some parts of the older language, parts that no longer coincide with our own, taking your knowledge of other parts for granted” (Kuhn Papers, box 23, folder 21, p. 81). But because Kuhn can inform his audience about Aristotelian words and their use, he “cannot in our language say about the Aristotelian world what an Aristotelian would say living in it” (Kuhn Papers, box 23, folder 21, p. 84). The philosophical consequence of Kuhn’s position was that a newer lexicon could not be extended or enriched by terms from an older lexicon, without creating a completely different lexicon. Kuhn concluded by returning to the lexicon’s feature spaces. Entries within a lexicon occupy a specific distance from each other, such that those within a common taxonomic group are closer to each other than those within a different group. Kuhn called the distance between lexical entries a “similarity/difference metric.” The metric allows comparison between lexical entries and provides the lexicon with a structure determined by the relative distances between the nodes at which the referents of terms cluster and to which the names of those referents are attached. Think of the structure, if you will, as a multi-dimensional lattice of nodal points, each labeled by a referring term and all interconnected by lines of different but determinate length. (Kuhn Papers, box 23, folder 21, p. 91) Homology of lexicons, then, is required for full communication. In the final lecture, “Conveying the past into the present,” Kuhn addressed an important question about InT and its associated world-change thesis. Kuhn noted that once “a community’s lexicon has changed, some of the community’s previously constituted beliefs can no longer even be described” (Kuhn Papers, box 23, folder 21, p. 103). But this does not deter members from reconstructing that past in the current lexicon’s vocabulary. Such reconstruction obviously plays an important function in the community. But the issue, especially for the historian, is that, given the incommensurable nature of theories from two historical periods, assessments of true and false or right and wrong are unwarranted, for which critics label Kuhn a relativist—a label he was less inclined to deny. The relativist charge stemmed from the fact that Kuhn advocated no privileged position from which to evaluate a theory. Rather, evaluations must be made within the context of a particular lexicon. “Evaluations that can justify truth values,” asserted Kuhn, “must always presuppose the lexicon with which the statements to be evaluated were framed” (Kuhn Papers, box 23, folder 21, p. 110). Thus, evaluations are relative to the relevant lexicon. But, Kuhn found the charge of relativism trivial. “Perhaps that position is relativistic,” admitted Kuhn, “but, if so, what has been lost?” (Kuhn Papers, box 23, folder 21, p. 111). The answer he claimed was

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not much. “Neither Descartes nor anyone else ever succeeded in wiping the slate clean, building up knowledge item by item from sure foundations. There are,” Kuhn concluded, “no such foundations” (Kuhn Papers, box 23, folder 21, p. 111). Kuhn admitted that given his positions on the relativity of truth and on other philosophical notions such as objectivity about the community’s lexicon, “I see no alternative to taking literally my repeated locution that the world changes with the lexicon” (Kuhn Papers, box 23, folder 21, p. 120). For him, only the stimuli remain constant and are lexicon independent but they are not directly accessible. Rather, sensations are accessible but they change when lexicons change. Finally, Kuhn addressed the question, “Is this an idealist position?” (Kuhn Papers, box 23, folder 21, p. 122). Kuhn admitted that it appears to be, but he claimed that it is an idealism like none other. On the one hand, the world is composed of the community’s lexicon, but on the other hand, “it is a world with sufficient solidity to confute those who would bend it to their individual interests or their individual worlds” (Kuhn Papers, box 23, folder 21, p. 123). “Perhaps it is an idealist’s world nonetheless,” concluded Kuhn, “but it feels very real to me” (Kuhn Papers, box 23, folder 21, p. 123).

IV Summary Kuhn rejected the emerging discipline of HPS because the approaches of the history of science and of the philosophy of science are radically different. Historians explore the particular and concrete of scientific events, while philosophers the general and universal of scientific knowledge. Just as different Kuhns emerged in the last chapter, two Kuhns emerged in this chapter. The first was the historian of science Kuhn (KHS). KHS was interested in the details of historical events in science, such as Bohr’s atom or Planck’s black-body theory, but he did not narrate or analyze them in the conceptual scheme contained in Structure. Besides history of science proper, KHS also examined historiographic issues arising not only for conducting history of science but also for philosophy of science. The second Kuhn is the philosopher of science (KPS). The relationship between the two Kuhns is asymmetric in that KHS provided KPS with an accurate image of science’s history so the latter could better explain the nature of science. But the philosophy of science KPS advocated early in his career, i.e. historical philosophy of science as presented in Structure, failed to provide a robust explanation of science for KPS later in his career—particularly in defending the image of science as articulated in the monograph. In struggling to provide such a philosophy, KPS underwent a paradigmatic shift to EPS—the subject of the next chapter.

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Further reading 1 Gattei, S. (2008), Thomas Kuhn’s “Linguistic Turn” and the Legacy of Logical Empiricism: Incommensurability, Rationality and the Search for Truth, Burlington, VT: Ashgate. A superb analysis of Kuhn’s “linguistic turn” and its implications for the development of his philosophy of science after Structure. 2 Kuhn, T. S. (1977), The Essential Tension: Selected Studies in Science Tradition and Change, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. A collection of Kuhn’s most influential essays, which are divided into historiographic and metahistorical categories. The Preface contains autobiographical remarks that situates Kuhn’s essays vis-à-vis Structure. 3 Kuhn, T. S. (1987), Black-Body Theory and the Quantum Discontinuity, 18941912, Chicago: Chicago University Press. A history of Planck’s black-body radiation theory and the origins of quantum discontinuity, including an afterward in which Kuhn addressed critics of the original book published in 1978. 4 Kuhn, T. S. (2000), The Road Since Structure: Philosophical Essays, 1970-1993, with an Autobiographical Interview, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. A collection of Kuhn’s essays published four years after his death, compiled and introduced by James Conant and John Haugeland. Also included is an extensive interview with Kuhn exploring recollections of his career and work.

Chapter six

What is Kuhn’s evolutionary philosophy of science?

Chapter Summary

D

uring the 1980s and early 1990s—when Kuhn was addressing critics of InT—he experienced a paradigmatic shift in understanding it vis-àvis EPS, which represented for him an “evolutionary turn.” In this chapter, Kuhn’s “turn” is initially mapped out in terms of a 1989 NSF grant application for funds to complete a book on EPS, followed by refinements he made to it in a series of lectures: the 1990 UCLA colloquia lectures, the 1990 PSA presidential lecture, and the 1991 Rothschild lecture. Next, his EPS is discussed particularly in terms of the new role for incommensurability as an isolation mechanism and with respect to scientific progress as increasing specialties in science—much like speciation in biological evolution. In a final section, Kuhn’s EPS is situated within the development of evolutionary epistemology in the latter half of the twentieth century.

I Kuhn’s road to evolutionary philosophy of science In the 1987 Shearman lectures, Kuhn moved away from the vagueness of the “language change” notion to the precision of “conceptual vocabulary” in a “structured conceptual lexicon” (Kuhn Papers, box 23, folder 32). In these lectures, Kuhn identified an alternative role for incommensurability with respect to segregating or isolating lexicons and their associated worlds

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from one another. However, he still articulated incommensurability in terms of “no common language,” with its attendant problems involving the notion of meaning, and did not transform it fully with respect to EPS. But that transformation began with a 1989 NSF grant application, and it was partially completed in a series of lectures in the early 1990s.

1989 National Science Foundation grant In the NSF grant application, “Philosophy of scientific development,” Kuhn proposed to complete the book, Words and Worlds, on his EPS. He divided the book into three parts, with three chapters in each.1 In the first part, “The Problem,” Kuhn framed InT and addressed the difficulties accessing or “breaking into” past scientific achievements. In the first chapter, “Scientific knowledge as historical product,” he presented an evolutionary view of scientific development. Without an “Archimedean platform” to guide theory assessment, Kuhn claimed, the only procedures available for evaluating a proposed change in current scientific knowledge require comparison of the body of knowledge which existed before the change with the mostly identical body of knowledge which would replace it if the change were accepted. (Kuhn Papers, box 20, folder 13, p. 4) His comparative method prohibited assessment of theories in isolation and methodological solecism. In the next chapter, “Breaking into the past,” Kuhn discussed the problems associated with examining past historical cases in science. Based on the three cases presented earlier in the 1980 Notre Dame Perspective lectures, Kuhn claimed that anomalies in older scientific texts can be understood only through an interpretative ethnographic or hermeneutical reading. Fundamental to the required process of interpretation is the discovery that some sets of interrelated words in the texts under scrutiny once functioned in ways systematically different from the ways in which they later came to be used. (Kuhn Papers, box 20, folder 13, pp. 4–5) He now laid the spadework for examining InT. In the third chapter, “Taxonomy and incommensurability,” Kuhn discussed the changes of wordmeanings as changes in taxonomies embedded in a lexicon. The result of these changes was an untranslatable gap between two incommensurable theories. “The way to close the resulting gap,” argued Kuhn, “is language learning, a process which terminates not in universal translatability but in

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bilingualism” (Kuhn Papers, box 20, folder 13, p. 5). Finally, the lexical terms referring to objects change as the number of scientific specialties proliferate. Kuhn continued to explore the nature of a community’s lexicon in the book’s second part, “The lexicon and its cognitive content.” He explicated the lexicon in terms of a theory of taxonomic categories. These categories are grouped as “contrast sets” and no overlap of categories exists within the same contrast set, which Kuhn called the “no-overlap principle.”2 Moreover, the properties of the categories are reflected in the properties of their names. “Names of categories,” wrote Kuhn, “are identifiable as taxonomic terms by lexical characteristics” (Kuhn Papers, box 20, folder 13, p. 5). A term’s meaning then is a function of its taxonomic category. “It follows,” argued Kuhn, “that no lexicon may be enriched by adding a term that shares referents with another term in the same contrast set” (Kuhn Papers, box 20, folder 13, p. 5). Hence, this restriction was the origin of untranslatability. In the first chapter of part two, “Substances, sortals, and the no-overlap principle,” Kuhn discussed the nature of substances in terms of sortal predicates. This move allowed him to introduce plasticity into the use of the lexicon. “No two people,” claimed Kuhn, “need to use the same sets of differentiating features in picking out individuals, but they must use differentia that pick out the same individuals” (Kuhn Papers, box 20, folder 13, p. 5). Moreover, the differentiating set is not strictly conventional but relies on the world to which the differentia connect. In the next chapter, Kuhn extended the lexicon to artifacts, abstractions, and theoretical entities. And in the final chapter, he specified the means by which community members acquire a lexicon and “the nature and status of the knowledge of nature that possession of a lexicon necessarily provides” (Kuhn Papers, box 20, folder 13, p. 6). According to Kuhn, members can acquire a lexicon through five means. First, they must already possess a vocabulary about physical entities and forces. Next, definitions play little, if any role, in learning new terms; rather, those terms are acquired through ostensive examples, especially through problem solving and laboratory demonstrations. “The learning that results from such a process,” explained Kuhn, “is not, however, about words alone but equally about the world in which they function” (Kuhn Papers, box 20, folder 13, p. 6). Third, a single example is inadequate to learn the meaning of a term; rather, multiple examples are required. Next, acquisition of a new term within a statement also requires acquisition of other new terms within that statement. And lastly, students can acquire the terms of a lexicon through different routes. In the book’s concluding part, “Reconstructing the world,” Kuhn discussed what occurs during a change in the lexicon and the implications of that change for scientific development. In chapter seven, he examined the means by which lexicons change and the repercussions such change has for communication among communities with different lexicons. Moreover, he explored the role arguments play in lexical change. In a subsequent chapter,

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Kuhn identified the type of progress achieved with changes in lexicons. He maintained that progress is not the type that aims at a specific goal. “Phrases like ‘cutting nature closer to its joints’ cannot be fitted to the evolutionary character of scientific development. But a more instrumental concept of progress,” he argued, “fits scientific developmental well” (Kuhn Papers, box 20, folder 13, p. 6). In the final chapter, “What’s in a real world?,” Kuhn broached the issues of relativism and realism not in traditional terms of truth and objectivity but rather with respect to “stateability.” Statements from incommensurable theories that cannot be translated are ultimately “ineffable.” They can be neither true nor false but their stateability is relative to the historical community. “But for past statements which can be rendered with the current lexicon,” noted Kuhn, “both truth value and the techniques relevant to its determination must be preserved” (Kuhn Papers, box 20, folder 13, p. 6). But as Kuhn claimed earlier in the Thalheimer lectures, no statement is forever constitutive.3

1990 UCLA colloquia lectures In the cognitive science colloquium lecture, “An historian’s theory of meaning,” Kuhn expanded the notion of taxonomic structure to include hierarchies besides simply categories. The relationship of terms within a lexicon is not just one dimensional, with respect to interactions such as similarity-difference relations among terms at a particular level, but is also two dimensional, with respect to interactions among different hierarchical levels. He illustrated a taxonomic hierarchy with a diagram of waterfowl. The higher level or “node” of “animals” within the hierarchy exhibit certain features such as “feather,” “beaks,” and “number of legs.” Members of a particular language or scientific community utilize this “feature space” to classify physical objects. Kuhn also introduced the notion of “salience indices” to afford a fuller account of a taxonomy hierarchy. These indices, according to Kuhn, “provide the coordinates of a sort of center-of-gravity for the cluster of objects falling under that node within the space of differential features associated with the node above” (Kuhn Papers, box 24, folder 9, p. 6).4 For example, the features of “web feet” and “beak size” are salient for identifying birds vis-à-vis the features of the animal node. Kuhn specified, with the notions of “feature space” and “salience indices,” a lexicon’s taxonomic structure. “People who share structure, also share meanings,” concluded Kuhn; but, “if structure is not shared,” he continued, “then translation breaks down” (Kuhn Papers, box 24, folder 9, p. 7). Thus, incommensurability reflects taxonomic systems of competing lexicons that classify referents and their referring terms differently with respect to feature space and salience indices and thereby results in segments of the respective lexicons being untranslatable.

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In the philosophy colloquium lecture,“A function for incommensurability,” Kuhn specified a new role for incommensurability. In Structure, as he reminded the audience, incommensurability functioned to account for the distinction between progress in normal science (articulation of the current paradigm) and progress in revolutionary science (rejection of an old paradigm and acceptance of a new one). In other words, incommensurability’s role for a historian of science was to make sense of the seemingly incomprehensible antiquated scientific texts, after a paradigm shift or scientific revolution. “In the new book,” as Kuhn informed the audience, “it’s a distinction between developments that can occur without revision of taxonomy and those that require local taxonomic changes” (Kuhn Papers, box 24, folder 8, p. 7). Thus, incommensurability’s role for the historian of science is to identify specific taxonomic alterations of lexical structure in terms of feature space and salience indices, which account for the proliferation of scientific specialties after a revolution. To that end, Kuhn assigned incommensurability the function of isolating the lexicons of evolving scientific specialties to permit full development or speciation of the new specialty. Instead of its characteristic negative role of prohibiting communication between two incommensurable specialties or confusing modern historians when reading antiquated scientific texts, he now ascribed a positive role to it. “The breakdown of communication provides, I think,” Kuhn mused, “the isolating mechanism which promotes speciation, specialization, and which thus permits science to solve new puzzles with such effectiveness” (Kuhn Papers, box 24, folder 8, p. 9). Incommensurability plays a critical role in scientific progress by providing an opportunity for a new lexicon to develop fully without interference from the parent lexicon. Kuhn then addressed the issue of truth. Truth, according to Kuhn, functions logically as the rule of noncontradiction: “to force a choice between acceptance and rejection of a statement or a theory in the face of evidence shared by all” (Kuhn Papers, box 24, folder 8, p. 9). The idea of truth does not pertain to the veracity or falsity of a statement; rather, it is involved in the evaluative process for accepting or rejecting a theory. In other words, truth plays simply an instrumental role in theory choice, i.e. scientists choose a theory not because its statements are true but because they do not contradict one another. For Kuhn, truth was just not the point of scientific practice and its progress. What was the point was that the lexicon determines such practice and progress. “And lexicons,” claimed Kuhn, “are not the sorts of things that can be candidates for true/false. Rather, they’re prerequisites for the statements and beliefs that are candidates” (Kuhn Papers, box 24, folder 8, p. 11). In other words, the lexicon specifies the possibility or conditions for practicing science and for guiding a community’s puzzle-solving activity as it investigates the world. If truth does not drive scientific practice and progress, then what does, Kuhn asked the audience rhetorically. The answer is incommensurability. For incommensurability establishes communication

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within a scientific specialty by isolating the community and thereby allowing it to forge a lexicon that represents the world it encounters as it advances in its practice. For Kuhn, what was essential to progress in science was open communication within a scientific specialty, as it solved the puzzles—especially anomalies—facing it. “Each community has a somewhat differently structured lexicon,” concluded Kuhn, “and each engages in a somewhat different form of professional life” (Kuhn Papers, box 24, folder 8, p. 11). In sum, while truth simply functions formally or logically to assess whether statements contradict one another, lexicons function to keep lines of communication open and productive within a community of specialists, and incommensurability is the driving force through isolation of a community to develop its lexicon. Finally, Kuhn addressed the nature of reality or realism. He reminded the audience of the relationship between a community’s lexicon and the world it inhabits, and on the importance for communication to remain open for the community’s opportunity to progress in its practice. “Cognitive evolution,” as Kuhn succinctly stated it, “depends upon exchange of statements within a community” (Kuhn Papers, box 24, folder 8, p. 13). He then compared biological evolution and the adaptation of organisms to a niche, to cognitive evolution. Just as biological organisms adapt to a niche, so the practice of a scientific specialty under the aegis of its lexicon leads to “closer and closer adaptation to a narrower and narrower niche” (Kuhn Papers, box 24, folder 8, p. 13). The lexicon itself is also a result of the adaptive process. Thus, a close link exists between the lexicon’s “word” and the nature of the “world” it endeavors to describe—as evident from the working title of his projected sequel to Structure, Words and Worlds. However, the world to which scientists and their lexical words adapt is “solid” and not simply a mental construct (Kuhn Papers, box 24, folder 8, p. 13). “Community members can’t simply decide how they’d like the world to be,” concluded Kuhn, “and then enforce it” (Kuhn Papers, box 24, folder 8, p. 14). Consequently, he rejected the social constructionist’s position that the world is manufactured or produced through scientific practice and technical manipulations. As Kuhn informed the audience, his position was not that different from the traditional idea of realism. “Knowledge of nature,” asserted Kuhn, “is as firmly grounded as ever in rational deliberation about the results of experience” (Kuhn Papers, box 24, folder 8, p. 14). But, he promptly acknowledged that his position does differ from traditional realism on one count. “The world I’ve been speaking of,” claimed Kuhn, “is lexicon dependent” (Kuhn Papers, box 24, folder 8, p. 14). Hence, the solidity of the world relies on the lexicon in that “given appropriate observational efforts, the world made available by the lexicon will force consensus about the truth, assertability, facticity of statements about that world” (Kuhn Papers, box 24, folder 8, p. 14). He admitted that this position is relative in certain respects, especially in terms of lexical statements. Kuhn emphasized that what is relative, however, is not truth with respect to the “true/false

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game,” as he called it, but the “effability, expressability, sayability” of these statements; “And,” he quickly added, “about what can’t be said, questions of truth and falsity don’t arise” (Kuhn Papers, box 24, folder 8, p. 14). Thus, lexicon-dependent statements exhibit an aesthetic quality that is truth independent. Kuhn then broached candidly the topic of whether a mind-independent world exists, i.e. something that is not dependent on the lexicon. He conceded that something does exist “that provides the world’s solidity, and grounds the true/false game. But so far as I can see,” he countered, “about that something, there’s nothing descriptive that can be said” (Kuhn Papers, box 24, folder 8, p. 14). Hence, reality is not directly knowable or even utterable without reference to a lexicon. “Any descriptive utterance, any statement in the true/false game,” claimed Kuhn, “requires a prior lexicon, and that lexicon brings a sort of relativity with it” (Kuhn Papers, box 24, folder 8, p. 14). In other words, a lexicon makes possible any statement about the world and even truth itself. Finally, to clarify the position, Kuhn acknowledged that it resembles Kant’s notion of categories in the Critique of Pure Reason, but for Kuhn the categories are “moveable.” He then admitted that he required Kant’s Ding an sich to articulate adequately his position of reality. “It’s the thing,” claimed Kuhn, “about which nothing can be said but which legitimates what can be said properly” (Kuhn Papers, box 24, folder 8, p. 15). Thus, reality is not directly or absolutely knowable but rather it is “something” that simply makes possible knowledge about the world. Kuhn closed by informing the audience that he has learned to live with this position and then inquired of it, “Am I realist, or am I not?” (Kuhn Papers, box 24, folder 8, p. 15).5

1990 Philosophy of Science Association presidential lecture In “The road since Structure,” Kuhn (1991) presented a sketch of the major themes of Words and Worlds. The book’s aim was certainly to address the philosophical issues left over from Structure, but—more importantly—it was to resolve the problems produced by a historical philosophy of science. Although others were also responsible for its creation and problems, Kuhn assumed the responsibility for resolving the problems and the sine qua non for resolving them is InT. For Kuhn, InT was required to defend rationality from the postmodern development of the “strong programme.” In revising InT, Kuhn retreated from the inclusivity of the earlier language metaphor that grounded the thesis’ articulation. He proposed a chastened version of the thesis that was limited to “the meanings of a restricted class of terms. Roughly speaking, they are taxonomic terms or kind terms, a widespread category that includes natural kinds, artifactual kinds, social

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kinds, and probably others” (1991, p. 4). Besides being specifiable, kind terms are also nonoverlapping with respect to referents. Kuhn located incommensurability to these nonoverlapping kind terms of separate lexical taxonomies. And, change in the meaning of a kind term results in restructuring of a lexical taxonomy. Moreover, Kuhn compared the lexical taxonomy to a conceptual scheme—a phrase used prior to paradigm in The Copernican Revolution. These schemes are not a set of beliefs but “a particular operating mode of a mental module prerequisite to having beliefs, a mode that at once supplies and bounds the set of beliefs it is possible to conceive” (1991, p. 5). He did not develop the idea further but promised to do so in the book. Kuhn turned next to the context in which he wanted to develop InT, an evolutionary epistemology. For an evolutionary epistemology, claimed Kuhn, “scientific development must be seen as a process driven from behind, not pulled from ahead—as evolution from, rather than evolution towards” (1991, p. 7). This evolutionary metaphor had significant implications for foundationalism and the correspondence theory of truth, notions that Kuhn felt were no longer germane or relevant. Moreover, evolutionary epistemology had ontological significance for the development of scientific specialties. After a scientific revolution, a new scientific specialty appears much like a new species splitting from an ancestral species. Incommensurability, with its consequent breach in communication, is a result of evolutionary change and necessary for development of the new theory. Kuhn replaced the correspondence theory of truth with the redundancy theory of truth, more commonly known as the deflationary theory of truth. According to this theory, to claim a statement true is to assert the statement itself. Kuhn appropriated this theory accordingly: “The essential function of the concept of truth is to require choice between acceptance and rejection of a statement or a theory in the face of evidence shared by all” (1991, p. 9). The consequence for Kuhn was a two-part evaluative process: 1 Is a statement a candidate for true/false determination? and 2 If so, can it be asserted reasonably?

Although this led to what Kuhn called “the normal rules of evidence,” he qualified it in terms of community structure. A statement may be a candidate for truth/falsity with one lexicon without having the status in the others. And even when it does, the two statements will not be the same. (1991, p. 9) Breaches in communication eventually occur, which lead to crises. But, for Kuhn the whole process reflected the speciation of theories and the growth of scientific knowledge.

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Finally, Kuhn addressed the notion of truth. But, he was not concerned with absolute truth but with adaptability. The world is, as it were, a niche and science helps a community adapt to it. Kuhn described his approach to science and scientific development as “post-Darwinian Kantianism.” The lexical taxonomies are similar to Kant’s categories in that both make experience possible and intelligible. However, the lexical categories can change. And supporting change in lexical taxonomies is “something permanent, fixed, and stable. But, like Kant’s Ding-an-sich, it is ineffable, undescribable [sic], undiscussible” (1991, p. 12). Much like trying to articulate Aunt E—.

1991 Rothschild lecture In “The trouble with the historical philosophy of science,” Kuhn addressed what he considered went wrong with the historiographic revolution and its historical philosophy of science. The trouble with the historical philosophy of science has been, I’ve suggested, that by basing itself upon observations of the historical record it has undermined the pillars on which the authority of scientific knowledge was formerly thought to rest without supplying anything to replace them. (Kuhn 1992, p. 18) The two chief pillars demolished by historical philosophers of science were the priority of facts to theoretical beliefs and the mind-independent nature of truth. The demolition of these pillars left historians and philosophers of science little recourse for explaining the nature of science and its progress, particularly in terms of the emergence of new scientific disciplines. In the revolution’s aftermath, according to Kuhn, historians and philosophers of science attempted either to erase all vestiges of the positivist agenda or to reinstill a chastened version of it. Kuhn offered a tertium quid to resolve the crisis facing historical philosophy of science. Specifically, he likened scientific progress to biological evolution, with the emergence of new scientific disciplines akin to speciation. According to Kuhn, science is not a single monolithic enterprise, bound by a unique method. Rather it should be seen as a complex but unsystematic structure of distinct specialties or species, each responsible for a different domain of phenomena, and each dedicated to changing current beliefs about their domain in ways that increase accuracy and other standard criteria. (1992, pp. 18–19) Kuhn himself was undergoing a paradigm shift—an “evolutionary turn” in his philosophy of science—scraping the historical philosophy of science for EPS.

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II Kuhn’s evolutionary philosophy of science In the last chapter of Structure, as previously noted, Kuhn rejected the idea that scientific progress is teleological, i.e. science is marching toward an ultimately true explanation of the world. He replaced the teleological idea of “towards” with an agnostic idea of “away from,” with no ability to presage the future of scientific knowledge with certainty. In other words, scientific progress is movement away from one paradigm to another, as the newer paradigm is able to resolve anomalies the older paradigm could not. Growth of scientific knowledge vis-à-vis biological evolution involves the steady, slow changes or anomalies (or what he referred to as mutations that verification then selects for)6 that emerge during the articulation of a ruling paradigm until it is overthrown by another paradigm, which resolves the anomalies. The structure of scientific progress is analogous to biological evolution, according to Kuhn, in which periods of “revolutionary selections” are separated by periods of normal science. Scientific knowledge then is not so much true, as it is an adaptation by which scientists articulate an understanding of the world through their lexicons. Scientific progress for Kuhn, consequently, is an increase in articulation and specialization. And the entire process may have occurred, as we now suppose biological evolution did, without benefit of a set goal, a permanent fixed scientific truth, of which each stage in the development of scientific knowledge is a better example. (1964, 171–2) Contra logical positivism, for Kuhn the justification of scientific knowledge, especially with respect to its advancement, is not logical but rather organic— one particularly based on competition and selection.7 According to Kuhn, “Scientific development is, like biological, a unidirectional and irreversible process. Later scientific theories are better than earlier ones for solving puzzles in the often quite different environments to which they are applied” (1970d, 206). In articulating an evolutionary framework, he emphasized a gradual tempo for speciation and incommensurability as its mode. He was convinced that the analogy between biological evolution and scientific progress as disciplinary specialization held the key for explaining progress in science. For Kuhn, science progresses by gradual, incremental changes in a particular discipline’s practice and knowledge. A new discipline emerges and is isolated from the parent discipline through incommensurable entries in its lexicon so that after a given period the new discipline splits from the parent discipline forming an independent discipline. Kuhn used the notion of a community’s lexicon and the notion of untranslatability between incommensurable lexicons to articulate EPS.

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Because entries within a lexicon are interrelated to one another as the lexicon develops or evolves, scientists must be bilingual in order to utilize incommensurable lexicons. Kuhn also used the notion of taxonomic categories. These categories consist of the sets of entries within a particular lexicon. Different taxonomic categories compose incommensurable lexicons and no two lexicons can share identical categories; this idea forms the foundation of what he called the “taxonomic no-overlap” principle. Kuhn linked the lexicon’s formation to evolutionary development—“The lexicon . . . is for use, not in all possible worlds but in the world which it’s evolved to fit” (Kuhn Papers, box 24, folder 9, p. 8). In addition, Kuhn’s EPS was “concerned with the process of lexical change and its implications for the development of knowledge” (Kuhn Papers, box 20, folder 13, p. 6). Although he proposed no specific process or mechanism for lexical change, he did pose several questions about how (un)translatability factors into such change. As for implications of EPS, Kuhn addressed both relativism and realism. “What the book’s position makes relative to culture, time, and place is not truth-value,” said Kuhn as he confronted the relativism issue, “but stability” (Kuhn Papers, box 20, folder 13, p. 6). For realism, he championed an instrumental notion. “Cognitive development produces,” as Kuhn explained, “better and better instruments for solving problems and puzzles at the interface between man and nature” (Kuhn Papers, box 24, folder 8, p. 6). Kuhn identified initially two important parallels between biological evolution and scientific progress. First, biological evolution and scientific progress are group-related processes. In other words, the basic unit involved in scientific progress is not the individual scientist but the scientific community. The second parallel is that “both processes are blind” in that the processes are non-teleological (Kuhn Papers, box 20, folder 13, p. 10). From these two parallels, Kuhn suggested a third particularly in terms of a selection mechanism. Because scientists are trained to choose “esoteric puzzles,” argued Kuhn, and “if talk of ‘puzzle solving’ catches something about the selective mechanism which directs scientific advance, then,” he concluded, “it may provide a way to think usefully about the circumstances likely to foster or to inhibit science’s further advance” (Kuhn Papers, box 20, folder 13, p. 10). After scientific revolutions, the number of scientific disciplines generally increases either through branching from a parent discipline or through emerging from an overlap between two separate disciplines. “Over time,” claimed Kuhn, “a diagram of the evolution of scientific fields, specialties, and subspecialties comes to look strikingly like a layperson’s diagram for a biological evolutionary tree” (2000, p. 98). And, incommensurability plays a crucial role in the evolutionary development of scientific knowledge as “an isolating mechanism” (Kuhn 2000, p. 99). In other words, just as a new biological species evolves from its parent population isolated by a

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geographical boundary, so a new scientific discipline emerges from its parent discipline isolated by an incommensurable lexicon. Kuhn likened the scientific community’s lexicon and its technical information to the biological population’s gene pool and its genetic information. Importantly, the basis of the selection mechanism, which isolates one lexicon from another, involves the puzzles a community chooses to solve. The puzzles solved dictate lexical entries; change the puzzles solved, change the lexicon. A scientific lexicon then is “the unit which embodies the shared conceptual or taxonomic structure that holds the community together and simultaneously isolates it from other groups” (Kuhn 2000, p. 104). Kuhn cited the Copernican revolution as an example in which incremental changes affect wholesale changes. “Scientific development is like Darwinian evolution,” explained Kuhn, “a process driven from behind rather than pulled toward some fixed goal to which it grows ever closer” (2000, p. 115). Importantly, as Kuhn was well aware of, Darwin—in contrast to rapid or saltatory rate—advocated a gradual rate for evolution in which small, steady changes in species morphology yields a new species, i.e. speciation.8 Kuhn adopted Darwin’s gradualism for the tempo or rate of scientific evolution as evident from his use of terms like “gradually” and “incrementally” to describe changes in scientific beliefs. By adopting Darwin’s tempo, he now had a sufficient outline for explaining progress in scientific beliefs. Finally, a scientific revolution is akin to biological speciation in the sense that after a revolution the number of scientific disciplines (specialization) increases and the disciplines remain separated from one another through incommensurable lexicons. For Kuhn, the implication of increasing specialization is analogous to biological species occupying different niches. The result of scientific progress, then, is not a single mind-independent world but a multiplicity of worlds or niches. “Those niches, which both create and are created by the conceptual and instrumental tools with which their inhabitants practice upon them,” asserted Kuhn, “are as solid, real, resistant to arbitrary change as the external world was once said to be. But, unlike the so-called external world,” he insisted, “they are not independent of mind and culture, and they do not sum up to a single coherent whole of which we and the practitioners of all the individual scientific specialties are inhabitants” (2000, p. 120).

III Evolutionary epistemology Kuhn’s EPS must be situated in a framework composed of evolutionary epistemology in order to appreciate its relationship to the development of late-twentieth-century philosophy. In 1974, Donald Campbell introduced the

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term “evolutionary epistemology,” although the idea had its predecessors, including Konrad Lorenz, Otto Selz, and others (ter Hark 2004). Basically, evolutionary epistemology refers to the evolution of cognitive capacities and to their products (Bradie and Harms 2012; Radnitzky and Bartley 1987; Hahlweg and Hooker 1989). The former is often denoted as the evolution of epistemological mechanisms and pertains to the development of mental or cognitive structures and processes in living organisms (Bradie 1986). The latter is generally denoted as the evolution of epistemological theories and is concerned with the development of ideas and concepts, especially scientific theories. EPS is an example of the latter, particularly in accounting for the growth of scientific knowledge. Moreover, evolutionary epistemology may or may not be adaptionist (Gontier et al. 2006).9 Finally, it was part of a movement to naturalize epistemology (Giere 1985; Stump 1992). In a paper, entitled “Evolutionary Epistemology,” Popper (1985) developed an evolutionary epistemology in terms of five theses.10 The first—although trivial, as he admitted—claims human knowing is a product of natural selection. The next is that the growth of scientific knowledge is in terms of verisimilitude or that theories “get nearer and nearer to the truth”—which he asserted is not so trivial (1985, p. 396). The third thesis involves human language, which allows a scientist to assess critically theories proposed to solve problems and to eliminate those that do not. The next thesis pertains to the evolution of language itself from expressive and signal functions to descriptive and argumentative functions, which grounds the final thesis that the evolution of language makes possible critical thinking for determining truth and falsity. Popper then invoked three worlds to illustrate and substantiate evolutionary epistemology. World 1 pertains to physical objects, while world 2 to the mind or psychological world. World 3, according to Popper, is the world of the products of the human mind, and especially the world of our human language; of our stories, our myths, our explanatory theories . . . also the world of human creation in art, in architecture and in music—the world of all those products of our minds, which I suggest, could never have arisen without human language. (1985, p. 409) Whereas the knowledge of world 2 is subjective in nature, the knowledge of world 3 is objective in that problems arising in the latter world are subjected to the method of conjecture and refutation. Thus, conjectures are formulated as to how best to solve the problems and those that fail to solve them are rejected. In Darwinian terms, hypotheses or conjectures are proposed in response to various problems that emerge (unexpectedly) and only fit hypotheses—those that truly solve the problems—are selected and not eliminated. Finally, fit hypotheses of world 3 are then transmitted or dispersed through human language, which is often encoded in literature— professional or lay—as well as other media.

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In a 1966 Sigma-Xi lecture, “The evolutionary development of natural science,” Toulmin asked the question, “By what processes do intellectual innovations originate, spread, and establish themselves within a scientific tradition?” (1967, p. 460). To answer the question, he proposed a Darwinian evolutionary account for scientific development. Briefly, Toulmin envisioned a “double process” in which at each stage, a pool of competing intellectual variants is in circulation, and in each generation a selection process is going on, by which certain of these variants are accepted and incorporated into the science concerned, to be passed on to the next generation of workers as integral elements of the tradition. (1967, p. 465) The “competing intellectual variants” are in response often to “unexpectedness of certain phenomena,” and they are selected through “verification” or “falsification” (1967, pp. 463 and 471). Moreover, the transmission of innovative theories is through human “carriers,” especially in terms of the “master-pupil relationship” (1967, pp. 459 and 466), Finally, Toulmin admitted that not every scientific development fits precisely this evolutionary pattern, which he claimed is an ideal; but as an ideal, it provides a robust conceptual apparatus for analyzing scientific progress. Toulmin developed further the notion of evolutionary conceptual change in Human Understanding, in which he proposed a general analysis of selection applicable to biological, conceptual, and social development. He began—as in the Sigma-Xi lecture—with conceptual variations, which are in response to “problematic questions” or “outstanding problems” facing a scientific discipline. However, in contrast to the lecture, he expanded upon the methods of verification or falsification for selecting among the conceptual variants. Specifically, selection criteria may include enhancement in explanatory power, achievement of disciplinary goals, and what Toulmin called “intellectual side-effects.” As he explained, Conceptual problems and conceptual variants rarely match one another exactly. Even where a conceptual change is proposed with an eye to some one particular shortcoming in the current explanatory repertory, its consequences will more often than not extend beyond that original purpose. (1972, p. 226) Next, he introduced the notions of “transmit” and “conceptual genealogy” to explicate the transfer of science’s content from one generation to another through a process of “enculturation,” which involves primarily apprenticeship (1972, pp. 158–9). Finally, he proposed that conceptual change is not revolutionary in the sense that one paradigm is overthrown by another but that it is a loosely formed aggregate in which “local pockets of logical systematicity” can undergo gradual change (1972, p. 128).11 In

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sum, Toulmin compared species evolution to disciplinary evolution in which unanticipated problems give rise to intellectual innovations that undergo selection vis-à-vis the discipline’s goals and are then transmitted to the next generation. Hull (1988a, b) provided an example of evolutionary epistemology, which he claimed fulfills the ambitions of Kuhn and Toulmin to provide a general account for evolutionary change whether biological, conceptual, or social.12 Whereas most philosophers espousing such an epistemology admit that the relationship between epistemology and biological evolution is analogous, Hull insisted that the growth of science is fundamentally evolutionary and proposed a mechanism to explain conceptual change in science. To that end, he introduced two key concepts. The first was “conceptual inclusive fitness,” which pertains to the efforts in which scientists engage to ensure that their theories are incorporated into the scientific corpus. Fundamentally, these efforts include “internalist” elements such as critical testing. The second was “conceptual demes,” which involves “externalist” elements such as the social structure of science, particularly in terms of the distribution and use of conceptual resources. Hull next introduced several crucial concepts, which he claimed account for any selection process in general. The first was replicator, “an entity that passes on its structure largely intact in successive replications” (1988b, p. 408). In the development of science, replicators represent fundamental beliefs about science’s goals, methods, experimental outcomes, and theories. The next was interactor, “an entity that interacts as a cohesive whole with its environment in such a way that this interaction causes replication to be differential” (1988b, p. 408). For scientific communities, interactors are individual scientists, who mediate theoretical innovations with problems emerging within the natural world. “Scientists,” wrote Hull, “are the ones who notice problems, think up possible solutions, and attempt to test them. They are the primary interactors in scientific change” (1988a, p. 140). And, that change involves a selection process—not simply in terms of theories only but also with respect to scientists themselves. Selection, according to Hull, is “a process in which the differential extinction and proliferation of interactors cause the differential perpetuation of the relevant replicators” (1988b, p. 409). Conceptual selection specifically is the interplay between both conceptual replicators and interactors in which ideas or theories arise during conceptual replication as interactors or scientists engage the natural world and its phenomena. Scientists then test their theories or some part of them. The result is a lineage, which Hull defined as “an entity that persists indefinitely through time either in the same or altered state as a result of replication” (1988b, p. 409). These lineages can form “conceptual demes” or related ideas and theories that a specific group of scientists or interactors share. They are genealogical in nature, according to Hull, since successive generations of scientists inherent theories (and other conceptual and technological resources) from a previous

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generation. And, as successive generations of scientists or interactors engage and change the replicators of a previous generation, scientific knowledge evolves through the selective process. Lineages can also be social in terms of a “demic” structure of science. Scientists or interactors engage not only the natural world but also each other in a social world. Scientists, according to Hull, do not work in isolation but in groups either cooperatively or competitively. “Science is a cooperative affair,” asserted Hull, “each scientist contributing his or her special combination of abilities and areas of knowledge” (1998b, p. 493). But, it is also competitive in terms of conceptual and material resources, especially with respect to research funding. Conceptually, scientists compete not only for priority of scientific discoveries but also for general credit and acknowledgment from their peers, particularly in terms of citations within the professional literature. However, transmission of scientific knowledge is not just in terms of the literature but also in terms of students, especially graduate students and postdoctoral fellows, and with respect to invitations to and acceptance at professional meetings and conferences. Attracting elite students or invitations to professional meetings is a selection process in which those who are gatekeepers—such as journal editors, conference organizers, and funding agency administrators and their grant reviewers— are contributing to the growth of scientific knowledge. Criticisms of evolutionary epistemology abounded (Bradie 1986; Bradie and Harms 2012; Putnam 1982). For example, Gregory Currie (1978) pointed out Popper’s inability to commit on the third world’s reality calls into question the robustness of his evolutionary epistemology. In a critique of Toulmin’s evolutionary epistemology, Jonathan Cohen (1973) raised the specter of relativism; and, Larry Briskman charged that Toulmin’s evolutionary epistemology cannot avoid it, especially the type of relativism with which he charged Kuhn (1974, p. 166). Finally, Hull’s evolutionary epistemology was extensively criticized, especially the notion of general selection in terms of replicators and interactors.13 For example, Joseph Cain and Lindley Darden (1988) charged that Hull’s notion of interaction is an insufficient causal explanation, since it does not provide mechanistic details of the selection process. In defense of Hull, William Bechtel stressed that the conceptual selection process is not as straightforward as the biological selection process and argued that Hull’s critics failed to understand that “having a correct solution to a problem is not sufficient for getting your ideas accepted” (1988, p. 160). Conceptual selection is a multifaceted process, then, which involves not only intrinsic or conceptual factors but also extrinsic or social ones. Thagard (1980) advanced a more general criticism of evolutionary epistemologies, especially Popper’s and Toulmin’s. According to Thagard, evolutionary epistemologies fail on three “central ingredients” of neoDarwinian evolution. First, whereas genetic mutations are random, conceptual variations in terms of conjectures, hypotheses, or theories, are

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not. Rather, conceptual variation is not “blind”—while natural selection is—but depends on the problems scientists seek to solve. In other words, scientists are intentional in their efforts while nature is not.14 Next, selection in nature is not in response to any (pre)determined set of criteria, while in conceptual selection it is. In other words, biological evolution is not aimed toward a particular goal, i.e. progress, while conceptual evolution is, i.e. explaining natural phenomena in terms of systematic laws. Finally, while transmission of advantageous genes is restricted to selected members of a population, Thagard claimed, “a successful theory is immediately distributed to most members of a scientific community” (1980, p. 192). He concluded that the growth of scientific knowledge could not be modeled on evolutionary principles. Hull acknowledged that conceptual evolution is not “blind” but intentional. “But,” he protested, “I fail to see why the prevalence of intentional behavior in science rules out an account of scientific modes of reasoning in terms of selection processes” (1988b, p. 457). Hull specifically responded to Thagard’s criticism about the intentionality of scientists in solving problems by invoking artificial selection. After all, Darwin himself began the defense of natural selection in the Origins of Species by analogizing it to artificial selection. Similarly, then, just as breeders select for intended traits, so do scientists select for the best solutions to their problems or scientific theories. Again, as noted above, the selection of problem solutions or scientific theories is not the simple process of hypothesize, test, interpret results, and accept or reject the solution or theory. Rather, the process consists of both internal or conceptual and external or social factors, and it may take an inordinate amount of time before the scientific community accepts a new solution or theory. How then does Kuhn’s EPS relate to the various evolutionary epistemologies proposed during the latter quarter of the twentieth century, especially with respect to the evolutionary epistemologies of Popper, Toulmin, and Hull? Popper and Kuhn share some similarities in terms of their evolutionary philosophies for the growth of scientific knowledge. Both insisted that scientists propose various solutions when confronted with the unknown, although Kuhn used the terms “anomalies” and “paradigms” while Popper used the terms problems and conjectures to denote conceptual variation and its source. Both also described the selection process in terms of testing, but Kuhn called it puzzle solving for normal science and anomaly solving for scientific revolutions while Popper called it critical testing and refutation. Both also envisioned transmission similarly, with Kuhn in terms of a lexicon and Popper in terms of language. However, the major difference between them was that Kuhn did not see science progressing in terms of getting closer to the truth, i.e. verisimilitude, while Popper did. Although Kuhn and Toulmin share similarities broadly, Toulmin believed the differences between them to be considerable in terms of details, especially from Toulmin’s perspective. With respect to similarities,

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both accounted for conceptual variation comparably—although Toulmin used the terms unexpected phenomena and conceptual innovations. For the selection process, Toulmin utilized a community’s disciplinary goals as the criteria by which innovative ideas are either accepted or rejected, while for the transmission process he invoked the term “carriers” to represent the embodied passage of scientific knowledge from one generation to the next, often in terms of “master-pupil relationship.” Besides the charge of relativism mentioned earlier, Toulmin claimed that Kuhn’s view of conceptual evolution was progressive not in terms of verisimilitude but with respect to being “unidirectional and irreversible.”15 He charged that Kuhn misunderstood biological evolution and distinguished his account from Kuhn’s accordingly, In contrast to Kuhn’s account, our own descriptions of conceptual change as “evolutionary” have implied only that the changes from one temporal cross-section to the next involve the selective perpetuation of conceptual variants. They have implied nothing to suggest that the ‘evolutionary’ changes in our concepts display any single long-term direction of change—still less, that it is their business to harmonize with a larger Cosmic Purpose. (1972, p. 323) For Toulmin, then, Kuhn’s EPS smacked too much of Spencerian progressivism. Although Hull and Kuhn also share similarities with respect to their evolutionary theories of scientific knowledge, the differences between them are substantial—at least according to Hull. In terms of variation, both Kuhn and Hull envisioned a similar process for introducing conceptual variants although their terminology differed. In fact, the similarity runs deep between them in that both advocated the social dimension in the variation process. For the selection process, Hull’s introduction of replicators and interactors was an advance over Kuhn’s generic notion of either problem or anomaly solving. For the transmission process too, Hull’s account represented a robust social function for the scientific community or demes and the lineages that emerge as scientific knowledge evolves. Kuhn’s notion of lexicon was simply a part of Hull’s expansive notion of transmission. Finally, Hull (1988b, p. 464)—like Toulmin before him—took Kuhn to task for claiming conceptual evolution is unidirectional like biological evolution. Does Kuhn’s EPS help to address the criticisms of evolutionary epistemology in general, such as the ones that Thagard had raised? Although Kuhn’s EPS is certainly susceptible to these criticisms, it did help to address the criticisms in a constructive way. First, with respect to variation, although introduction of novel paradigms is not necessarily blind the process itself is not predictable, simply because of the nature of anomalies. No paradigm accounts perfectly for explaining the world or is completely adapted to it, just as no organism is thoroughly adapted to its environment. In other

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words, no paradigm wholly explains the world—in some sense the world is changing vis-à-vis the older paradigm, i.e. the world is not what the paradigm predicts it to be but has “changed” in that a new world is opening up or, for speciation, a new niche or specialty. Of course, the analogy is strained from an adaptionist perspective in that the environment or niche physically changes and the organism adapts to it; but not from a non-adaptionist perspective in that the organism alters the environment and thereby enhances adaptation. As for paradigm shift, the world is not explained fully by a paradigm and so anomalies arise, and selection proceeds in terms of solved puzzles—especially anomalies solved by a new paradigm and not solved by the older paradigm. Conceptual selection then is puzzle solving for normal science and anomaly solving for scientific revolutions. Next, as mentioned earlier, Kuhn’s notion of scientific progress was not progressive in a traditional sense—as advocated by Popper—in terms of verisimilitude or scientists getting closer to the truth or reality. But, Kuhn advocated a type of progress in terms of the proliferation of scientific specialties that provide a “better” sense of the world. Is Kuhn’s progress a type of Spencerian cosmic progress, as Toulmin charged? Kuhn would certainly answer no, since he argued—even in Structure—that science is not progressing teleologically “towards” a true understanding of the world but evolutionarily “away” from a paradigm no longer capable of guiding a scientific community’s practice. Moreover, specialization like speciation does represent a kind of progress in that the new specialty like a new species represents a finer adaptation to a particular niche. For example, Darwin’s finches represent adaptations through specific variations, e.g. beak size and morphology, within niches (Lack 1988; Grant 1999). So, scientific specialties like retrovirology represent finer adaptations to the virology niche providing “better” or more comprehensive understanding of the world of viruses (Marcum 2012). But, the understanding is not necessarily true but better adaptation. Finally, Kuhn added an important element of the Darwinian evolutionary process to EPS—an isolation mechanism—which is often overlooked in accounts of evolutionary epistemologies that stress the trinity of variation, selection, and transmission. For Kuhn, incommensurability served the isolation function; Popper, Toulmin, or Hull, however, did not have comparable isolation mechanisms. Just as in evolution of biological species, isolation serves to provide a physical space for a new species to emerge; and, again, Darwin’s finches illustrate this point. So, in the evolution of scientific knowledge, isolation via incommensurability provides a conceptual space that permits a new scientific specialty to emerge. Without the isolation incommensurability provides, an emerging specialty would not be able to evolve but would simply represent at best an anomaly of the ruling paradigm. For example, given the current state of microbiology, prions continue to challenge biologists’ conception of them (Prusiner 2014). Until sufficient isolation of the prion field from mainstream microbiology is obtained, the nature of these “organisms” remains anomalous.

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IV Summary Late in his career, Kuhn returned to the analogy of scientific advance in terms of Darwinian evolution introduced in Structure; and, he experienced an “evolutionary turn” in his understanding of science. And, with the turn came a change in both the notion and role for incommensurability. He now defined it in terms of changes in the lexical taxonomy of a scientific specialty, i.e. “taxonomic incommensurability” (Sankey 1998). In addition, Kuhn claimed that incommensurability functions as a mechanism to isolate lexicons of different scientific communities, so that a new specialty can emerge. Scientific progress, then, for Kuhn was an increase in the proliferation of scientific specialties. Thus, scientific progress is analogous to biological speciation, with incommensurability serving as the isolation mechanism. The outcome of this conceptual evolution is a tree-like structure with increased specialization at the tips of the branches. Moreover, Kuhn’s EPS was non-teleological in the sense that science marches not toward a definitive understanding about the world but simply away from a paradigm that could not solve its anomalies to one that can. In conclusion, the practice of science, according to Kuhn, is organic and not simply social; and, consequently, the evolutionary analogy best captured the dynamism and complexity in the growth of scientific knowledge, especially with respect to the proliferation of scientific specialties.

Further reading 1 Bradie, M. and Harms, W. (2012), “Evolutionary epistemology,” in E. N. Zalta (ed.), Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, http://plato.stanford.edu/archives/ win2012/entries/epistemology-evolutionary/. An excellent introduction to the philosophical issues in evolutionary epistemology and to its chief advocates. 2 D’Agostino, F. (2010), Naturalizing Epistemology: Thomas Kuhn and the “Essential Tension”, New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Employs Kuhn’s notion of “essential tension” between conservative and innovative strategies for practicing science, in order to construct an empirical framework for a naturalized or social epistemology. 3 Kuukkanen, J. M. (2012), “Revolution as evolution: the concept of evolution in Kuhn’s philosophy,” in V. Kindi and T. Arabatzis (eds), Kuhn’s The Structure of Scientific Revolutions Revisited, New York: Routledge, pp. 134–52. An able analysis of Kuhn’s development of an evolutionary philosophy of science and epistemology in which both adaptive and nonadaptive factors are taken into account in the evolution of scientific knowledge. 4 Wray, K. B. (2011), Kuhn’s Evolutionary Social Epistemology, New York: Cambridge University Press. An aggressive merger of Kuhn’s evolutionary and social epistemologies, and a robust defense of it.

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Kuhn’s impact Although Kuhn’s reception by historians and philosophers of science of an analytic stripe was not particularly enthusiastic, his reception—especially of the paradigm concept—by academics outside traditional HPS was especially ardent. Members of disciplines such as sociology, economics, science education, natural sciences, and science policy, seriously engaged, and, according to Kuhn, often distorted—a charge he also leveled against historians and philosophers of science—his philosophy of science.1 It is safe to say that there is not a single academic discipline that Kuhn or his paradigm concept has not influenced. “Like a virus,” as Horgan observed, “the word [paradigm] spread beyond the history and philosophy of science and infected the intellectual community at large, where it came to mean virtually any dominant idea” (1997, p. 45). Kuhn recognized that part of the reason members of other disciplines appropriated his philosophy, particularly the paradigm concept, was that they thought it would provide their discipline the status comparable to a natural science.2 In this last part, I explore the impact of Kuhn’s work in such areas as HPS, the natural sciences, the behavioral, sociological, and political sciences, since his death in 1996. In the first chapter of this part, I look at Kuhn’s impact on HPS and the natural sciences. Specifically, after examining the 1990 Kuhnfest, the literature focusing on Kuhn’s EPS is investigated, followed by those in the natural sciences—especially evolutionary biologists. In this part’s second chapter, Kuhn’s impact on the behavioral, social, and political sciences is examined.

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Finally, one of the first recognitions of Kuhn’s impact was Gary Gutting’s 1980-edited collection of essays, Paradigms and Revolutions. In choosing from myriad essays on Kuhn’s philosophy of science and its impact on various academic disciplines, Gutting wrote, Incompleteness and dissatisfaction inevitably accompany an enterprise of this sort. But, at the very least, this volume should provide a hitherto unavailable starting point for those who want to trace and evaluate Kuhn’s remarkably widespread impact. (1980, p. v) How much more difficult is the task—taken on well over three decades later—which attempts to capture Kuhn’s impact. The literature on Kuhn is immense, and the present task modest—to provide the reader with a representative glimpse of Kuhn’s impact on select disciplines; it is to be noted that even here the discussion is narrowly confined to restricted topics within those disciplines.

Chapter seven

What is Kuhn’s impact on the history and philosophy of science and on the natural sciences?

Chapter Summary

S

ince his death in 1996, Kuhn still attracts considerable attention from the science studies community, especially from philosophers of science. Most members of that community acknowledged Kuhn’s significant contribution to the historiographic revolution and his impact on philosophy of science. However, others—such as Fuller—seriously questioned and rejected Kuhn’s contribution to the discipline. In the chapter’s first section, the papers presented at the 1990 Kuhnfest in which Kuhn’s contemporaries gathered to pay homage to (and to criticize one last time) Kuhn’s impact on HPS are examined. This collection of papers sets the stage for exploring the recent literature on Kuhn or Kuhnian studies—specifically introductions to Kuhn’s philosophy of science, critical analysis of it, particularly his EPS, and special topics such as the paradigm concept, InT, and scientific revolutions. In the chapter’s second section, Kuhn’s impact on the natural sciences is examined, including the physical and biological sciences.

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I  History and philosophy of science “When Kuhn died in 1996,” as Howard Sankey testified, “he left the field of history and philosophy of science a different field from the one he entered” (2002, p. 823). No better example illustrates Kuhn’s impact on HPS than the 1990 Kuhnfest. In the introduction to Kuhnfest published papers, editor Horwich paid homage to Kuhn for the part Kuhn played in the historiographic revolution. He recognized not only the discipline’s debate over Kuhn’s philosophy but also acknowledged the promise it held for future science studies. “Kuhn’s radical views,” professed Horwich, “have been the focus of much debate not only by philosophers, historians, and sociologists of science but also by large numbers of practicing scientists. Nevertheless, many questions remain unsettled regarding their precise nature and validity” (1993, p. 1).3 The purpose of the Kuhnfest was not only to discuss Kuhn’s impact on HPS but also to comment on his legacy by drawing attention to remaining unsettled questions.

Kuhnfest “The philosophers look back” Earman (1993) discussed the similarities and differences between Carnap and Kuhn, to illuminate problem areas within scientific methodology. After comparing Carnap’s and Kuhn’s versions of relativism, for example, he puzzled over Kuhn’s approach to community consensus. The problem was how such consensus is possible, when individual community members differentially apply shared values. To address this problem, he turned to Carnap, especially Carnap’s notion of “probabilified” confirmation. Earman then proceeded to Bayesianize Kuhn’s notion that revolutions are resolved not by proof but by persuasion.4 However, Bayesianism fails to account completely for consensus, as Earman explained, because merger-of-opinions theorems are not applicable to many of Kuhn’s historical examples. He then offered a partial solution: consensus—especially for normal science—need not occur for scientists to practice their trade, simply because normal science is not as monolithic as Kuhn portrayed it in Structure. Something akin to eliminative induction is also operative, although he did not develop this line of thought completely. Earman concluded that the partial solution is but one among many and then challenged “more able hands to pick up the task” (1993, p. 32). In homage to Kuhn, Friedman claimed that Kuhn’s Structure “forever changed our appreciation of the philosophical importance of the history of science” (1993, p. 37). The current position in the philosophy of science is that the alternative conception of science has superseded the traditional conception. Friedman argued that Kuhn’s approach to the history of

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science has relevance not only for the philosophy of science but also for the history of philosophy. By exploring the relationship between the history of science and the development of modern philosophy, Friedman concluded that Kuhn is not necessarily responsible for the demise of logical positivism. He arrived at this conclusion through a detailed analysis of modern physical dynamics, beginning with the Aristotelian-Scholastic tradition and then moving successively from Descartes to Spinoza and then to Leibniz and Kant, who attempted to reconcile Leibniz’s metaphysics with Newton’s mechanics. Although logical positivists such as Carnap claimed no privileged framework at the objective language level is available, they did claim one at the metalanguage level. But, at this very point, the entire system implodes, according to Friedman, because Gödel’s incompleteness theorem undercuts it. McMullin discussed the role of rationality in Kuhn’s notion of revolution or paradigm shift. As already noted and as McMullin emphasized, Kuhn did not hold that reasons are not necessary for paradigm change but rather that they are insufficient since they act more as values to guide or influence change. Moreover, these values make comparison of incommensurable paradigms possible. But, McMullin argued that Kuhn’s values are too anemic for the task. According to McMullin, the locus of rationality for theory choice resides in the role of values as goals for scientific activity, such as predictive accuracy. In addition, it also resides in other values that serve as means to achieve those goals, such as logical consistency. Finally, it resides in other values that serve as features for good theories, such as fecundity. McMullin’s final words were that Kuhn’s legacy is divided, in that Kuhn tried “to maintain the rational character of theory choice in science while denying the epistemic character of the theory chosen. . . . Thirty years later, The Structure of Scientific Revolutions still leaves us with an agenda” (1993, pp. 75–6).

“The historians look” Kuhn’s former doctoral student, Heilbron (1993), reexamined a historical case first investigated in his mentor’s essay, “Mathematical versus experimental traditions in the development of physical science” (Kuhn 1976a). The case involved the failed attempt by a small band of mathematicians, led by Samuel Horsley in opposition to then president of the Royal Society, Joseph Banks, to secede in 1784 from the Royal Society of London. From this case, Heilbron extended Kuhn’s original analysis with several important “lessons,” concerning the transition from qualitative (classical) to quantitative (experimental or mathematized) physics in the late eighteenth to early nineteenth centuries. The first is that mathematics at this time was a wide-open discipline, including activities from astronomy to business arithmetic. Next, the conservative nature of mathematicians regarding the fundamentals of the discipline did not hinder application of mathematics

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to other disciplines. Finally, at this time, introduction of new technology, which permitted greater quantification of natural phenomena, accelerated the mathematizing of physics. Heilbron then turned to Kuhn’s analysis of the transition from classical or qualitative to experimental or quantitative physics. But first, Heilbron applied Kuhn’s InT to changes in the names of scientific disciplines and cautioned historians that failure to acknowledge changes in meanings of these names “may subvert their efforts entirely if they allow the meanings to mingle” (1993, p. 107). Next, he emphasized the importance of external or social and political factors in the transition. Finally, he paid tribute to Kuhn, praising him for the clarity and enthusiasm of his pedagogy, which inspired his students. As Heilbron testified, “He gave us to understand that we were engaged in an intellectual adventure of great moment. Some of us think we still are” (1993, p. 112). The astrophysicist and historian Swerdlow (1993) also took his cue from Kuhn’s “Mathematical versus experimental traditions” paper. Specifically, he discussed Regiomontanus’s 1464 inaugural oration from a series of lectures on astronomy at the University of Padua. Swerdlow’s intention was to explore the nature of mathematics prior to the scientific revolution that followed around a century later. His motivation was Kuhn’s analysis of that revolution, in which physics was transformed from a classical form in which mathematics was less concerned with quantifying natural phenomena to a modern form in which mathematics is used to manipulate the quantification of nature. From the analysis of Regiomontanus’s inaugural lecture, Swerdlow concluded that the lecture fitted neither the Scholastic nor the Enlightenment traditions but was a true product of the Renaissance, whose science he felt has been neglected to the detriment of the discipline. Kuhn’s former undergraduate student, Buchwald, explored several of his mentor’s philosophical notions. He began by discussing de Solla Price’s assertion that experimental activity is often independent of theory and represents a codified structure. Contrary to initial impressions, Buchwald argued that Kuhn’s and Price’s views of science relate in a fundamental way. Buchwald’s context was science’s dynamism, and his thesis was that historians and philosophers of science are often incapable of capturing that dynamism in their reconstruction or theories of science. Utilizing nineteenthcentury electromagnetism as a case, he identified unarticulated or implicit structures, cores, or traditions that “are essential for productive research to take place, but they do not exist independently of a set of particular problems whose solutions are treated as canonical” (1993, p. 180). Invoking Kuhn’s notion of the “rules of the game” in Structure, Buchwald connected Kuhn and Price by arguing that neither envisioned scientific research directed by such rules, or even, at least for Kuhn, that such rules exist. He continued to use Kuhn’s philosophy of science to argue that these unarticulated structures

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often represent pre-paradigmatic stages in the lives of scientific disciplines, prior to their codification. Buchwald then turned to Kuhn’s InT and the translation between competing theories. According to Buchwald, translation occurs infrequently among scientists; rather, scientists often expropriate selected segments of previous theories as an unarticulated core. He warned, however, that such expropriation might lead to nonsense. Finally, Buchwald broached the issue of relativism. After rehearsing Kuhn’s defense against the charge of relativism in the early 1970s, he acknowledged the problems associated with his mentor’s defense. However, Buchwald concluded that scientists embroiled in controversy each have their independent reasons for holding their respective positions and “that relativism, of a kind, where the initial generation and diffusion of a novel scheme is concerned simply cannot be avoided in many cases” (1993, p. 196). But, once consensus is achieved, a scientist is considered “irrational” to resist it. In the final historical paper at Kuhnfest, Wise explored the role of technology in mediating the extension of local knowledge into knowledge networks. Using a case from Enlightenment France, he demonstrated how the calorimeter specifically mediated, by mimicking a balance, between different subcultures such as chemistry and physical astronomy. Moreover, this technology also mediated or connected theories and reality. Wise then proceeded to extend the mediation of technology to include the balance sheet, the economic table, algebra, probability calculus, and variation calculus, not only to animal economy but also to political economy, especially in Lavoisier’s and Laplace’s works. The knowledge networks that technology mediated eventually stabilized as such technology became transparent, giving the impression of a direct connection between theories and reality. Finally, Wise noted that the history of ideas championed by Cassirer, Lovejoy, and Gillispie, and the history of measurement advocated by Kuhn and Heilbron, represent two poles for the historiography of the transformation of Enlightenment science. Wise claimed, however, that both poles are inadequate. First, the measurement tradition failed to realize that measurements are culturally bound. Next, the history of ideas tradition failed to consider what makes a culture function. For Wise, the culture in which technology functions is crucial for understanding how local knowledge becomes part of a knowledge network.

“The philosophers look ahead” Cartwright began her essay with homage to Kuhn for vanquishing the theory/observation distinction. She went on to ask what had been achieved and then answered that observations are theory laden. But, for her this answer was unsatisfactory. What remained problematic was the relationship between theory and observation. To resolve the problem, she asserted that

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the relationship between theory and observation is analogous to that between the abstract and concrete. Invoking Duhem’s notion of translation between numerical symbols and concrete facts, she connected the abstract and concrete using the metaphor of “piggy backing” in which abstract terms like force piggyback on concrete examples. In other words, abstraction depends upon multiple instantiations. And, the multiplicity of instantiations makes possible learning something about natural phenomena. Cartwright next invoked Gotthold Lessing’s fable theory and notion of “fitted out” (einkleiden) to explicate the relationship between the abstract and the concrete. Just as a moral is fitted out by a fable, so the abstract is fitted out by the concrete. She then utilized the notion of model to instantiate that relationship. “Models,” argued Cartwright, “make the abstract concepts of physics more concrete. They also help to connect theory with the real world” (1993, p. 270). Models then concretize abstract concepts; and, they thereby influence the design of experiments, which affects the form of natural laws. The drawback, cautioned Cartwright, is that laws only apply to ideal conditions. What scientists gain in explanatory or predictive power, then, is constrained by an inability to guarantee how laws operate outside the laboratory. Hacking (1993) acknowledged that Kuhn’s world-change thesis presented a thorny philosophical quandary. On the one hand, Kuhn claimed that the natural world does not necessarily change during a scientific revolution (paradigm shift); but, on the other hand, scientists work in a different world after a revolution. He dubbed this quandary the “newworld problem.” After briefly discussing various unsuccessful solutions to the problem, such as constructivism and network theory, Hacking proposed a taxonomic solution. To that end, he defined and clarified various terms and notions relevant to the solution. Hacking counseled Kuhn to drop the natural-term kind terminology and adopt a scientific-kind terminology, in that the latter terminology focuses precisely on what Kuhn wanted to communicate. Hacking’s solution was based on the philosophical notion of nominalism. In order to apply the solution, Hacking changed the new-world problem slightly. Rather than different worlds, he posited different stances or platforms. Once this change is in place, Hacking argued for a taxonomic solution, by identifying the unchanging world with that of individuals and the changing world (stance or platform) with that of kinds, especially scientific kinds. Although Hempel’s paper appeared as the first paper in the book, at the meeting he delivered it just prior to Kuhn’s response to his colleagues and critics. Hempel began by recounting his relationship with Kuhn, beginning in 1963, both as colleague and eventually as friend. Hempel acknowledged that compared to the logical analysis of scientific methodology he had practiced for most of his career, Kuhn’s radical approach to science was naturalistic, in that Kuhn examined not only the rational dimension but also the psychological and sociological dimensions of scientific practices.

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Although Hempel was initially not attracted to Kuhn’s philosophy of science, he admitted that it eventually influenced his shift from an anti-naturalistic to a naturalistic attitude. He ended his speech reassuring Kuhn: Whatever position your colleagues may take, Tom, I am sure that they all feel a large debt of gratitude to you for your provocative and illuminating ideas, and all of us in the audience await with keen interest your thoughts. (1993, p. 8)

Kuhn’s “Afterword” Kuhn began by paying homage to Hempel, acknowledging the influence of Hempel’s work on his own. But, Kuhn admitted, what I primarily owe to him is not from the realm of ideas. Rather it is the experience of working with a philosopher who cares more about arriving at the truth than winning arguments. I love him most, that is, for the noble uses to which he puts a distinguished mind. (1993a, p. 313) Kuhn also acknowledged the impact of his own work on Hempel, especially with Hempel’s turn toward history of science beginning with the paper on the theoretician’s dilemma. Kuhn then turned to the two papers by Friedman and Earman. With respect to Friedman’s paper, Kuhn recognized its importance and looked forward to the complete story. With respect to Earman, Kuhn admitted that his knowledge of logical positivism was “decidedly sketchy” and that he was ignorant of the post-Aufbau Carnap. Moreover, Kuhn said he had interpreted Carnap’s letter informing Kuhn of his delight upon reading Structure as simply an act of “politeness.” Kuhn also admitted that the similarity Earman found between himself and Carnap, when examined more closely, actually reveals a deep divide between them. While Carnap was concerned about the pragmatic implications of “untranslatability” between different theories, Kuhn pressed the notion into the service of a developmental view of science. Next Kuhn discussed Hacking’s proposed nominalist solution to the world-change thesis and rejected it, since real individuals exist and inform taxonomies. Kuhn also spurned Hacking’s counsel to adopt a scientific-kind terminology, since such terminology is too restrictive. Kuhn was interested in a general-kind terminology. For Kuhn, the lexicon represented “the module in which members of a speech community store the community’s kind-terms” (1993a, p. 315). He then discussed three features of these kind terms, since he had last discussed them in the 1987 Shearman lectures. First, these terms are learned by using them—especially as a set. Second, they are “projectable” in terms of being “normic” generalizations such as the laws

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of nature. Finally, they are imbued with meaning vis-à-vis the expectations of a term’s referent. Thus, change the expectations and the term’s meaning changes as well. Kuhn then turned his attention to the papers of Swerdlow and Heilbron. He acknowledged the problems facing historians concerning the methodological issues of narrating past events. He was particularly grateful to Swerdlow for enlightening historians as to the problems associated with such phrases as “medieval physics and chemistry.” However, he took issue with Heilbron’s suggestion that such phrases be marked in some fashion, such as through italicizing them, in order to indicate their function in the narrative. “The danger,” warned Kuhn, “in using the names of contemporary scientific fields when discussing past scientific development is the same as that of applying modern scientific terminology when describing past belief” (1993a, p. 321). He then rehearsed the proper methodological steps required for an accurate and relevant historical narrative. First and foremost of these steps is providing the proper background information concerning a period’s beliefs, terminology, and group practices and the names of them. Only when this background is secure can historians employ the necessary techniques to construct a narrative that is faithful to a past science, as well as to instruct the reader concerning the proper use of the older science’s terms and concepts. Kuhn next discussed the papers of Buchwald and Wise. He started by enumerating the similarities between Buchwald’s paper and his current book project. The first similarity was the issue of translation vis-à-vis incommensurability. Kuhn conceded that his earlier focus on translation was wrong and that language learning best described what he was after. Next, he pointed out the similarities between Buchwald’s notion of the unarticulated core and his notion of the lexicon, which provides the community of practitioners with “a set of learned expectations about the similarities and differences between the objects and the situations that populate their world” (1993a, p. 325). Communication between practitioners depends, then, on referring to the same object and not necessarily sharing the same expectations. Most importantly, communication depends on the lexicon’s structure, which fixes the relationship among the various lexical entries. Incommensurability results from the divergence in the lexical structure of different communities. Kuhn then extended Buchwald’s notion of unarticulated core to Wise’s notion of knowledge networks, which hold “between practices in the various scientific fields as well as between them and the larger culture” (1993a, p. 326). He announced that Wise’s notion had “converted” him to the importance of cultural factors in scientific development; but he maintained that there are key parts to it that are absent, such as the problem of what constitutes a rationalist scientific culture and the relationship between it and its individual members. For this problem, Kuhn discussed the evolutionary model of scientific change that he was developing in his proposed book.

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He pointed out the close relationship between practitioners of a scientific community and organisms that make up a species, although he provided no detail as to how the analogy works. Next, Kuhn addressed the issues of realism and relativism brought out in the papers of McMullin and Cartwright. Kuhn appreciated McMullin’s concern over a possible realist interpretation of Kuhn’s efforts to maintain the rationality or epistemic character of scientific values. But, he claimed that Friedman’s interpretation of Kant’s a priori as a relativized notion provided Kuhn with a way to keep his instrumental position. That way is through the structured lexicon, which “makes possible a corresponding form of life within which the truth or falsity of propositions may be both claimed and rationally justified, but the justification of lexicons or of lexical change can only be pragmatic” (1993a, pp. 330–1). Kuhn’s lexicon and Kant’s relativized a priori, then, permit scientists to experience and investigate the world, but do not dictate outcomes. For Kuhn, in contrast to Cartwright, the transmission of the lexicon from one generation to the next through concrete exemplars is critical for understanding scientific development. “What is acquired in this process is, of course,” argued Kuhn, “the kind-concepts of a culture or subculture. But what comes with them, inseparably, is the world in which members of the culture live” (1993a, pp. 333–4). Utilizing Cartwright’s terms, he admitted that the thinness of the community’s fables is critical in indoctrinating members into the community of practitioners. However, he diverged from Cartwright’s conclusion about plurality of worlds, in which laws may be false in one world but true in another. Rather, for Kuhn the issue is that natural laws “may be ineffable, unavailable for conceptual and observational scrutiny. It is effability, not truth, that my view relativizes to worlds and practices” (1993a, p. 336). Finally, Kuhn returned to scientific revolutions. Although he still envisioned them as discontinuities on a background of normal science practices, revolutions now represented scientific progress through increased scientific specialties as science processes closer to accounting for more natural phenomena. For, specialization is akin to speciation. But, his position, Kuhn admitted, again raised the specters of rationality and realism. Is this process governed rationally? Does “closer” refer to a mind-independent world? Kuhn utilized the notion of puzzle solving and the criteria needed to determine the solution’s efficacy to answer these questions. Puzzle solving provides greater understanding of the world and the criteria of scope, simplicity, etc., guarantee the rational means by which to accept a puzzle’s solution. But, there is much more than the rational and the real, he conceded, there is also the political and social interests that are brought to bear on puzzle solving. As Kuhn concluded, “In the evolution of human practices, such interests have governed from the start. What further development has brought with it is not their subordination but the specialization of the functions to which they are put” (1993a, p. 339).

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Kuhnian studies in the philosophy of science Defining Kuhnian studies in the philosophy of science is a daunting task, given the number of citations to his scholarly corpus—especially to Structure— which is cited over 70,000 times (Google Scholar). Several major categories emerged upon examining these citations, but only three are considered in this section. The present goal is not to provide a critical analysis of the works comprising Kuhnian studies but an overview of Kuhn’s impact on the philosophy of science.

General introductions Andersen’s introduction serves as a brief précis to Kuhn’s intellectual background, personal life, professional career and thought, and impact on HPS, as well as to Kuhn’s critics. After reviewing the basic concepts found in Structure, Andersen engaged Kuhn’s critics and discussed their impact upon the development of Kuhn’s philosophy of science. In addition, she examined the development of Kuhn’s scientific concepts, beginning with the Lowell lectures. To that end, she elucidated the importance of pedagogy in Kuhn’s philosophy of science, especially in terms of normal science. Andersen next explored Kuhn’s use of Wittgenstein’s notion of family resemblance for explicating concept acquisition in terms of similarity instead of rules. Based on family resemblance of scientific concepts, Andersen finally examined Kuhn’s use of Quine’s notion of indeterminacy of translation for explaining conceptual revolutions, especially in terms of incommensurability and untranslatability. Andersen finished with Kuhn’s “linguistic turn” and the introduction of the scientific lexicon. Next, Andersen discussed Kuhn’s philosophical impact in terms of realism, truth, and rationality. She framed the discussion of realism with respect to the debate between Kuhn and Putnam. Putnam supported a causal theory of reference, in which a stable domain of theory-neutral things exists. In contrast, Kuhn rejected this realist theory. “Kuhn was grappling for a position,” according to Andersen, “which was neither purely realist, nor sheerly constructivist, but something in-between” (2001a, p. 60). Next, she explored Kuhn’s rejection of the correspondence theory of truth and the critics’ charge that Kuhn’s position was relativistic. Lastly, she examined Kuhn’s notion of rationality vis-à-vis theory choice. Finally, Andersen mapped out the later developments in Kuhn’s thinking, beginning in the 1980s. To that end, she discussed Kuhn’s distinction between normic and nomic concepts and his notion of the lexicon. She next explored Kuhn’s employment of the evolutionary metaphor for explaining the development of scientific knowledge. She concluded by discussing Kuhn’s shift from the historical record to first principles for the evaluative process in science and the problem over the nature of these principles. “Just

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what the nature of these ‘first principles’ would be,” claimed Andersen, “remained an unsolved problem in Kuhn’s philosophy of science” (2001a, p. 76). In their introduction, Wes Sharrock and Rupert Read began with a discussion of the “legendary” Kuhn, whom they claimed had “as little relationship with the real thinker as the legendary Robin Hood had to the person who occasioned his mythology” (2002, p. 5). They argued that the real Kuhn was not as revolutionary as critics and supporters claimed— as even Kuhn himself admitted—and that the legend that grew up around Kuhn mostly frustrated him. Their goal was to provide a balanced picture of Kuhn’s work in HPS and to “show thereby both its reasonableness and its revolutionary effects” (2002, p. 21). Sharrock and Read then made a key insight into Kuhn’s historical philosophy of science: The concept of “normal science” is easily misunderstood and that properly understood it is what makes Kuhn’s contribution to philosophy of science revolutionary. For Kuhn virtually all science is normal science, and normal science is a paradigm of rationality. (2002, p. 97) Although they acknowledged that Kuhn did not provide sociological, anthropological, or even substantial historical evidence for the notion of normal science, the lack of evidence did not bother them. “Rather,” claimed Sharrock and Read, “we take it as a strong indication that one of our central claims is true: that Kuhn is a philosopher of science—that it is in his philosophical claims and provocations and suggestions that his real interest lies” (2002, p. 109). Moreover, they corrected Popper’s and Feyerabend’s misperception of normal science. Their misperception was to ascribe normal science to the individual practitioner’s attitude, when normal science reflects the state of science vis-à-vis revolutionary science. “The concept of normal science,” concluded Sharrock and Read, “is not a conservative conception: it is very threatening, it is radical, and it was largely hitherto unrecognized as vital, foundational, for the study of science” (2002, p. 122). Sharrock and Read next discussed the implications of InT in terms of relativism and the world-change thesis. They started by explicating Kuhn’s thesis, particularly in terms of translation between incommensurable theories, and then probed the question of whether it condemned Kuhn to the charge of relativism. Invoking Kuhn’s local InT, they claimed—as did Kuhn himself—that the relativist charge is only minor since he accepted that (1) historically, theories are either true or false and that (2) one of the competing theories is a better tool for practicing normal science.5 Although Kuhn admitted that he rejected the correspondence theory of truth, Sharrock and Read argued that Kuhn’s later thesis involved “speaking from bases which are not fully reconcilable with one another (and across which

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there is no point and no available means of making serious ‘verisimilist’ calculations). That is what—and ‘all’—that Kuhn is really saying” (2002, pp. 156–7). Moreover, they claimed that the position did not force him into linguistic idealism, since for Kuhn nature did play a determinative function once a paradigm is accepted. Sharrock and Read then turned to the world-change thesis: “How can the observers of one and the same world each observe different things in it?” (2002, p. 176). After rehearsing the Gestalt and linguistic approaches to the thesis, they discussed the taxonomic and evolutionary approaches. According to Sharrock and Read, A taxonomy of terms must be taken relatively wholistically, and that that fundamental taxonomy/ontology inflects or is a whole style of thinking, which sometimes needs radical alteration, rather than supposed piecemeal alteration (of the kind which essentialists always present scientific change as constituting). (2002, p. 188) After presenting Kuhn’s evolutionary approach to the world-change thesis, Sharrock and Read found Kuhn’s reliance upon Kantian phenomenal worlds unnecessary. Rather, they proposed a Rylean approach. Using Gilbert Ryle’s distinction between thick and thin descriptions, they argued that the worldchange thesis dissolves into differences between competing thick descriptions that cannot be resolved by perception alone since the differences are not originally present in nature. Sharrock and Read concluded that “the ‘world changes’ locutions by no means sink Kuhn’s project; but they are, we think, very needful (at least now) of being deflated down to earth. . . . One doesn’t need to say them anymore” (2002, p. 198). Finally, Sharrock and Read listed the accomplishments of Kuhn’s philosophy of science.

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That science is about the detailed understanding of phenomena. That paradigm innovation is rooted in knowledge of the phenomena and not in any philosophical understanding of the truth (let alone of “methodology”). That the unit of science is the solved problem, and that scientific innovations gain their purchase by virtue of “technical bite.” That revolutionary paradigms are originally unfinished productions. (2002, p. 204)

They conceded that the list does not represent the sensational and controversial claims often attributed to Kuhn, but they argued that it provides a deflationary view of science needed as Wittgensteinian therapy

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for philosophers of science from the prescription of the positivist view of science. Sharrock and Read concluded, Kuhn, we have argued, neither provides a general and true theory of science, nor a set of normative prescriptions for how to pursue science correctly. . . . One might even say that he attempts to cure us of the philosophy of science. It is this which makes him truly radical. Indeed— revolutionary. (2002, pp. 210–11) Indeed, this is a fitting testimony to Kuhn’s impact on the philosophy of science. Alexander Bird’s introduction to Kuhn’s philosophy of science is by far the most critical of the introductions discussed so far. Rather than rehearsing the various critics of Kuhn’s philosophy of science, Bird engaged Kuhn directly. By so doing, he provided an alternative avenue by which Kuhn’s philosophy can continue to be engaged in the future. He certainly did not provide the final word on Kuhn’s philosophy but he definitely helped to set part of the agenda. Bird’s introduction divides neatly into two parts. The first is concerned with the basic notions of Kuhn’s philosophy of science, with nothing terribly new or controversial. At this part’s conclusion, he summarized—while discussing logical empiricism’s use of inference rules and a priori rules for justifying theories—Kuhn’s revolution in the philosophy of science. “Kuhn’s radical break with logical empiricism,” wrote Bird, “was to deny this role to rules, replacing them with similarity relations learned from exemplars” (2000, p. 91). In the second part, he criticized the implications of Kuhn’s philosophy. And, it is to these critiques that we now turn. Bird’s first topic was Kuhn’s world-change thesis and the role perception plays in it. After rehearsing the various assumptions of logical positivism underlying perception, he claimed that Kuhn—relying on Hanson’s work— broke with what Bird called the “independent” assumption, which states that perception is independent of judgment and theory. The consequence was that observations are unable to confirm or falsify theories. Although Bird acknowledged the theory-laden dimension of observation, he argued, that it was inadequate to inhibit observation from playing a critical role in theory choice. Bird next discussed the world-change thesis and argued that the thesis resembles Hegel’s thesis-antithesis-synthesis pattern, with the new paradigm representing a synthesis between the old paradigm (thesis) and the anomalies (antithesis) that precipitated a crisis. According to Bird, however, “The thesis that the world changes with a change in paradigm amounts to an empty claim that we change what we believe we see when we change what we believe there is” (2000, p. 133). Rather, he argued that changes in intuition account best for the world-change thesis. “If we define an individual’s

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‘world’ as including his or her quasi-intuitive associations,” Bird concluded, “then a world change would come about when a paradigm shift leads to a breaking of some such association and their replacement by new ones” (2000, p. 134). Bird then turned his attention to Kuhn’s InT and to shifts in meaning with respect to intention and reference. After discussing the semantic notion of the thesis, he examined the differences between Kuhn’s thesis and Quine’s indeterminacy of translation thesis. According to Quine, a translator encountering a word—the example he gives is “Gavagai”—might translate it as rabbit but fail to realize that it actually means the rabbit’s occurrence or an anatomical part of the animal. As Bird pointed out, Kuhn extended Quine’s example to include other terms like “Bavagai!” to raise the issue of natural kinds. But, the problem is that Quine’s thesis eclipsed meaning while Kuhn’s thesis relied on it, especially in terms of intention and reference. Bird next explored the relationship of the causal accounts of reference to Kuhn’s notions of incommensurability and meaning. Citing Putnam’s example of what constitutes water on twin earths, Bird claimed Kuhn failed to defend semantic incommensurability adequately because intention cannot forge a link between an object and its extension or reference. Finally, he broached Kuhn’s shift to taxonomic incommensurability in terms of untranslatability. Bird asked whether incommensurability qua untranslatability matters, particularly with respect to the world-change thesis. In terms of a minimal realism, it does. “Certainly,” asserted Bird, “Kuhn’s world change thesis is not strong enough to refute minimal realism nor is it intended to” (2000, p. 206). Rather, Kuhn’s use of the thesis was to undercut the positivist’s notion of scientific progress, which Bird then took up, along with relativism. Bird initially rehearsed the traditional notion that science is progressing in terms of providing a true account of the natural world, or at least getting closer to such an account—i.e. verisimilitude. As he correctly noted, for Kuhn progress was cumulative only during normal science but periodic or episodic during scientific revolutions. In addition, it was not relative since a connection exists between the old and new paradigms. As Bird explained, the new paradigm solves the anomalies that gave rise to a crisis. Scientific progress through revolutions is the promise that the new paradigm is more fecund than its predecessor. He went on to examine Kuhn’s evolutionary analogy for progress. As Bird noted, Kuhn’s analogy envisioned progress as being pushed from behind and not toward scientific theories. However, Bird introduced the metaphor of being pushed “away.” In other words, truth might not be the goal of science according to Kuhn’s position but it might, according to Bird, be a “by-product.” Bird next turned to naturalized epistemology to rescue Kuhn’s philosophy of science, i.e. to make it more “Kuhnian than Kuhn,” especially to an epistemological incommensurability in which standards of theory evaluation vary. Specifically, he noted that for Kuhn no privileged scientific method guaranteed scientific knowledge and progress in the traditional sense but

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rather such knowledge and progress were a product of “a motley of rules of thumb, inference procedures, methods and processes that play a part in forming belief” (2000, p. 250). But, Kuhn did not fully embrace a naturalistic epistemology for EPS—as Bird argued—preventing him from developing a robust theory of science. As he concluded, a fully naturalized Kuhn would have been able to defend a Darwinian non-teleological approach toward scientific progress. Bird also explored the impact of Kuhn’s philosophy of science on the social sciences. According to Bird, there were two dimensions to the impact: “The first was a change in the social science’s self-perception, the second was a suggestion of a new role and subject matter for the social sciences” (2000, p. 267). As already mentioned, the first impact was the use of the paradigm concept to elevate the status of the social sciences to the one comparable to that of the natural sciences, while the second was the founding of the sociology of the discipline of scientific knowledge. Next, Bird examined the “conservative” label social scientists, especially Fuller, pinned on Kuhn. He acknowledged that a vein of conservatism ran through Kuhn’s philosophy, but “even if Fuller’s account of the true nature of Kuhn’s work were correct, that would not obviously impact on our assessment of his philosophy as philosophy or his history as history” (2000, p. 278). Finally, Bird addressed the relationship of Kuhn to the demise of logical empiricism. He acknowledged that Structure was important in its demise but others after its publication really completed what it had initiated. According to Bird, Kuhn took a “wrong turning” by attempting to further his philosophy of science through first principles rather than with an empirical approach, which would have led to a more radical position than that in Structure (2000, p. 280). Just as Kuhn envisioned Copernicus as the turning point in the revolution named after him, so, concluded Bird, “Kuhn can both be seen as among the last of the empiricists and also be regarded as the first of empiricism’s successors” (2000, p. 278).

Evolutionary philosophy of science Since Kuhn’s death, philosophers of science have analyzed and criticized his EPS (Andersen 2001a; Bird 2000; Gattei 2008; Kuukkanen 2012; Marcum 2012; Sharrock and Read 2002; Wray 2011b). One of the key insights that emerged from this literature was that Kuhn’s paradigmatic shift from historical to evolutionary philosophy of science was a shift from an internalist to an externalist account of the nature of science. As regards historical philosophy of science, Kuhn focused on internal issues such as paradigms and their history. Although the scientific community was an important factor in paradigm shifts, it was not the focus. As regards EPS, he turned the focus around by emphasizing the scientific community and its evolution, especially in terms of specialization, i.e. the appearance of new scientific disciplines. As part of the shift, Kuhn abandoned the

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term paradigm and in line with the “linguistic turn” introduced the term lexicon. Interestingly, Kuhn’s use of the term niche has provoked strong reaction among biologists and philosophers of science (Kuukkanen 2012; Renzi 2009; Reydon and Hoyningen-Huene 2010; Sharrock and Read 2002). For example, Barbara Renzi claimed Kuhn’s EPS depended on a misconceived notion of biological niche. According to Renzi, Kuhn mistook niche for a geographical locality, which is what coevolves with the species/niche dyad. With respect to niche, the species defines or shapes it through adaptation to a given locality. The external world then does not constrain a niche—as Kuhn conceived it—but rather locality—as evolutionary biologists conceive it. “The net effect of Kuhn’s erroneous interpretation,” concluded Renzi, “is that, on the scientific side of the analogy, the scientific niche becomes the only world ‘visible’ to the group, the only reality the group can interact with” (2009, p. 158). For Renzi, Kuhn’s notion of scientific niche did not connect with the external world, since Kuhn did not provide an analogue for locality, and experiments conducted within a niche do not provide the information needed to assess the external world’s constraints on scientific knowledge. Kuhn’s EPS, according to Renzi, is confused, with respect to current notions of evolutionary biology, and failed to provide a reasonable defense for explicating scientific progress via an evolutionary analogy. Kuhn’s use of niche is not the only problem with his EPS. He adopted a gradual tempo for scientific progress to explicate the emergence of new scientific disciplines, with incommensurability serving as the mode, i.e. speciation, and providing a selection mechanism through the isolation of untranslatable lexicons (Marcum 2012). Kuhn’s use of only a single tempo and mode for explaining science and its progress prevented him from accounting for the diversity and richness of scientific progress, especially with respect to the emergence of new higher-taxonomic disciplines and fields. In a major contribution to the neo-Darwinian synthesis of the twentieth century, Tempo and Mode in Evolution, George Simpson (1944) identified three tempos associated with biological evolution. The first was the “standard” rate of evolution, which he labeled horotelic. It was standard or intermediate in comparison to the other two tempos, which were on opposite ends from one another. On one end was bradytelic tempo representing a slow rate of evolution, while on the other was tachytelic tempo representing a rapid rate. He also identified three modes of evolution, loosely corresponding to the three tempos. The first was speciation, which may be erratic in its tempo, but it was often associated with a horotelic tempo. This mode consisted of a new species branching from its parental stock. It was also known as gradualism and involved the accumulation of small changes in species morphology until a new species emerged that could no longer interbreed with the parental species.6 The next mode encompassed phyletic evolution, with its bradytelic or horotelic tempo. This mode involved a slow pathway shift that was linear in nature. “It is not the splitting up of a population,” according to

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Simpson, “but the change of the population as a whole” (1944, p. 202). It was also known as phyletic gradualism. The final mode comprised quantum evolution and its tachytelic tempo. This mode was often associated with major morphological changes that result in the appearance of new species or higher-order taxa over relatively short periods.7 Kuhn’s dependence only on a single tempo—gradualism—and mode— speciation—was adequate to explicate some scientific progress but not all. Scrutiny of the historical cases upon which Kuhn relied to articulate EPS indicates that he was selective in choosing particular cases to support it (Andersen 2001a; Gattei 2008; Kuukkanen 2012). Indeed, the cases he chose changed dramatically from Structure to later writings. “In his later works the scope of revolutions,” observed Stefano Gattei, “is considerably restricted: they occur on a much lesser scale and do not involve major changes of world-view” (2008, p. 170). The historical cases he relied on exemplify speciation or the emergence of new scientific disciplines, particularly through incremental changes. As noted earlier, Kuhn claimed that even the Copernican revolution was the result of such changes. Why did Kuhn make the shift mentioned above in his choice of historical cases? Kuhn most likely wanted to ensure a role for incommensurability in the emergence of new scientific disciplines. To that end, he avoided global incommensurability (wholesale change in a lexicon) and its problems, especially irrationality and relativism (Kuhn 1983b; Simmons 1994). Through local incommensurability (partial change in a lexicon), however, he could defend EPS and warrant incommensurability’s role as an isolation mechanism or at least avoid the severity of the problems associated with global incommensurability. Local incommensurability, in contrast to its global form, represents not rapid, wholesale changes within a scientific discipline but slow, incremental changes, such that a new discipline eventually arises or branches off from the parent or original discipline, or appears from the overlap of two disciplines (Kuhn 2000). Thus, the emergence of new scientific disciplines or specialties is analogous to speciation in biological evolution, with local incommensurability serving as an isolation mechanism; consequently, Kuhn avoided—for the most part—the problems of irrationality and relativism associated with global incommensurability. Kuukkanen (2012) explored Kuhnian revolutions as evolution. To that end, he compared Kuhn’s “evolutionary turn” to contemporary historiography’s “practical turn,” with the latter’s emphasis on scientific practice and performance. Although Kuukkanen identified differences between the two turns, especially with respect to the social constructivism associated with the practical turn, he acknowledged a similarity between them in that both turns explicate the complexity of science and its practice, as well as its growth and progress, in dynamic and multifaceted terms. Specifically, he argued that Kuhn’s EPS yielded an image that is performative rather than spectatorial in nature. In terms of the latter, according to Kuukkanen, “scientists are like spectators observing what goes on in the objective world, from which

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they are detached,” while in terms of the former “scientists are situated in or within the world, not in contrast to or as opposed to it” (2012, p. 146). According to Kuukkanen, Kuhn’s EPS vis-à-vis performative action entails science and its knowledge as an outcome of “practice that requires embodied people, located somewhere, doing something with some material things” (2012, p. 147). Finally, Kuukkanen claimed that Kuhn’s evolutionary philosophy was not only adaptionist in that scientists adapt to their environments but also non-adaptionist in that while adapting scientists also interact and modify their environment. “Kuhn’s evolutionary epistemology,” concluded Kuukkanen, “regards scientists as practical achievers, both modifiers and adaptors of their environments” (2012, p. 148). In Kuhn’s Evolutionary Social Epistemology, Wray provided an able analysis and defense of Kuhn’s EPS. His aim was not only to clarify Kuhn’s philosophy but also to defend it against critics. To that end, he united both Kuhn’s evolutionary and social epistemologies into, as the book’s title divulges, an evolutionary social epistemology. He began with two key insights from Kuhn’s “historical turn.” The first was that scientists practice their trade within a given tradition; and, the second—closely associated with the first—was that scientists “are concerned with the evaluation of changes of belief rather than with the evaluations of belief” (2011b, p. 87). According to Wray, the latter insight eventually led Kuhn to shift from a historical to an evolutionary epistemology in which truth or verisimilitude is not the goal of science but rather specialization in terms of the proliferation of scientific subdisciplines and at times scientific revolutions. Wray next discussed Kuhn’s social epistemology. He started by distinguishing between the social constructivism of Kuhn and of the “strong programme.” According to Wray, the former was guided by epistemic concerns while the latter often not. In other words, Kuhn’s constructivism served epistemic aims and did not necessarily exclude internalistic factors. Wray identified three critical dimensions to Kuhn’s social epistemology. The first was pedagogical in terms of training and equipping students to practice a particular scientific specialty. In other words, the socialization of scientists includes an important epistemic goal of equipping students to contribute to the ongoing development of scientific knowledge. The next was “locus” of the epistemic change, which for Kuhn, according to Wray, was not the individual scientist but the scientific community. “A change of theory,” wrote Wray, “is a change of view in the community” (2011b, p. 205). But, cautioned Wray, Kuhn did not envision the community as the agent of change but as just the locus. The final dimension was the correspondence of theory change with social change. In other words, epistemic advance is accompanied with adjustments in a scientific community’s social infrastructure—especially in terms of specialization. Wray concluded his analysis of Kuhn’s evolutionary social epistemology by exploring the connection between Kuhn’s evolutionary and social epistemologies. For Kuhn, according to Wray, theory selection pertained

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to more than theory testing—although necessary, it was insufficient—it also depended on the social structure of science. “These social features of science,” claimed Wray, “that play a crucial role in the selection of theories constitute the analogue of the environment in the biological world in which the selection of species and variations occur. It is in this way,” he concluded, “that Kuhn’s evolutionary epistemology and social epistemology come together” (2011b, p. 208). For Wray this was borne out in Kuhn’s “essential tension” between the social structures that support normal science and those needed for scientific revolutions or paradigm shifts in which normal science social structures are dismantled and replaced along with the paradigm. D’Agostino (2010, 2012) used Kuhn’s notion of “essential tension” between conservative and innovative strategies for practicing science as a basis for constructing a framework for a naturalized or social epistemology. He claimed that Kuhn was too often ignored by those engaged in the “collective turn” in the sociology of (scientific) knowledge or epistemology.8 D’Agostino’s goal was to develop empirically a social epistemology in terms of communities of practitioners rather than individual practitioners. His purpose was not only to understand how scientific communities function in knowledge production but also to help them function more “effectively.” Specifically, D’Agostino invoked Kuhn’s “risk spreading” argument in terms of the essential tension to frame a social epistemology. For D’Agostino, Kuhn’s argument consisted of “a distribution across distinct individuals of different balances between conservative and innovative dispositions” (2010, p. 12). In other words, the community consists of disparate individuals who are either conservative or innovative vis-à-vis paradigm articulation— especially with respect to anomalies. D’Agostino identified two essential tensions, especially for naturalizing social epistemology. The first was the Kuhnian tension between conservative and innovative strategies for knowledge production by a scientific community. The second involved a tension between “facilitative possibilities” and “consistent patterns” in knowledge-producing communities. For D’Agostino, the latter tension was an extension of the former—“a cashing out of the Kuhnian legacy” (2010, p. 19). To that end, D’Agostino cashed out Kuhn’s risk of speaking through diverse community members to include motivational and institutional factors. He articulated the second tension in terms of facilitators and inhibitors operating at institutional and social levels that provide an “assembly bonus” of high-quality information or knowledge. The bonus is an outcome of balancing forces between facilitating or progressing elements and inhibiting or conservative community members; this is not possible with such members acting in isolation. While D’Agostino considered Kuhn the “godfather” of naturalized epistemology, Bird saw him as a parent who abandoned its child with a “wrong turning.” Bird (2002) charged Kuhn with forsaking the “naturalistic turn” present in Structure. He claimed that Kuhn’s “linguistic turn” exposed him to a pernicious form of Kantianism in which the explication of his image

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of science and especially the role of incommensurability in it shifted from a psychological to a linguistic account. However, Bird himself provided a defense against this charge, saying, “Kuhn later denied that an evolutionary epistemology need be a naturalized epistemology, and explicitly regretted the ‘overemphasis’ on the empirical aspect of his enterprise” (2002, p. 451). The reference is to Kuhn’s 1990 PSA presidential address, “The road since Structure.” Reminiscing about his generation’s participation in the historiographic revolution, Kuhn claimed, “Now I think we overemphasized the empirical aspect of our enterprise (an evolutionary epistemology need not be a naturalized one)” (1991, p. 6). Superficially, this reference appears to support Bird’s charge. But, does it? The question is whether Kuhn abandoned EPS qua naturalized epistemology for Kantianism. Upon closer inspection of Kuhn’s presidential address, the answer is both yes and no. Yes, in the sense that Kuhn was adopting Kantian categories but he believed that by making them mutable with time he avoided the traditional problems associated with them, as Bird so insightfully pointed out. No, in that Kuhn’s intent was to develop naturalized EPS in such a way that it avoids the excesses of the “strong programme” in the social construction of scientific knowledge. To that end, as discussed above and in the previous chapter, Kuhn used incommensurability as an isolation mechanism for specialization in scientific progress. His EPS, then, was a temperate naturalized epistemology, moving away from the excesses he witnessed in social epistemology. Ronald Giere’s analysis of approaches to naturalizing philosophy of science qua EPS, up to the mid-1980s, can assist in understanding Kuhn’s temperate approach. Giere (1985, pp. 354–5) identified two approaches to naturalizing philosophy of science. The first was an “ambitious” approach in which scientific development consists of changes not only in content but also in aims and methods over long periods, while the second was a “much less ambitious” approach in that it was concerned with restricted changes in content and shorter periods of scientific development. Kuhn’s shift during his career mapped onto these two approaches. In other words, Kuhn moved from global scientific revolutions with their radical changes to local scientific revolutions with their constrained or gradual changes. But as noted above, by limiting the evolutionary analogy to a single tempo and mode, Kuhn failed to account for the diversity and richness in scientific growth and progress— especially larger or more dramatic scientific shifts or revolutions (Marcum 2012). To account for that diversity, Kuhn needed to utilize additional evolutionary tempos and modes for developing a robust EPS.

Special topics Paradigm concept

Although the paradigm concept was not original with Kuhn—philosophers Georg Lichtenberg, Wittgenstein, and Toulmin used it earlier—Kuhn

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certainly made it popular (Cedarbaum 1983). Indeed, Kuhn’s concept eventually exploded in the literature, especially among members of various disciplines searching for epistemic legitimacy to justify their discipline as scientific or at least comparable to science. On an analysis of “paradigm proliferation” in the literature, Nick Perry wrote, For some students of economics, international relations, political science, normative political theory, organization theory, psychology, sociology, geography, art history and religion, the master is Thomas Kuhn. They have claimed to detect parallels between his account of science and developments in their own subject areas. (1977, p. 38) As noted already, Kuhn strove to make the term more precise in terms of disciplinary matrix and, especially, exemplar; but as Erich von Dietze (2001) has pointed out, the term paradigm practically vanished from Kuhn’s writing beginning around 1980. As Daniel Cedarbaum (1983) argued, Kuhn’s paradigm concept was the outcome of the profound influence of several key philosophers—especially Fleck and Wittgenstein—on Kuhn. In terms of Fleck’s influence, Cedarbaum claimed Fleck’s greatest contribution to Kuhn’s development of the paradigm concept was the social dimension in terms of the “thought-collective” or Denkkollektiv. The thought collective is the “carrier” for the community’s “thought-style” or Denkstil, which directs a person’s perceiving and understanding of phenomena.9 As Cedarbaum pointed out, the connection between Fleck’s thought-style and Kuhn’s paradigm is unmistakable. Cedarbaum also pointed out the impact of Fleck’s discussion of textbook science and Gestalt psychology on Kuhn’s development of the paradigm concept vis-à-vis normal science. Finally, he noted that Fleck discussed the incommensurability of new and old concepts of disease, with respect to meaning change; but he admitted that Fleck did not discuss the notion of scientific change or scientific revolutions. Babette Babich (2003) also examined the relationship between Fleck’s thought-style and Kuhn’s paradigm concept. According to Babich, Kuhn did not credit Fleck adequately not because he consciously did not want to; but because of cold war McCarthyism, he unconsciously avoided Fleck’s terminology. Nicola Mößner (2011), on the other hand, argued that Babich’s account lacked sufficient evidence and was speculation. In contrast to consensus in the literature concerning the intimate association between Fleck’s thought-style and Kuhn’s paradigm, Mößner claimed that— although similarities exist between them—the differences between them are “substantial.” For her the pressing question was, “Do both concepts really pick out the same entities or at least a set of things that are similar in important respects?” (2011, pp. 363–4). Mößner thought not. First, the scope of Kuhn’s paradigm was limited to the natural sciences, while Fleck’s thought-style included a cognitive scope. Next, Fleck envisioned continuous thought-style development, while Kuhn saw paradigm shifts

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or scientific revolutions. Finally, Kuhn’s paradigm shift involved a radical incommensurability while Fleck’s thought-style less so. According to Cedarbaum, Wittgenstein provided Kuhn the inspiration—if not “key” insight—for resolving the problem associated with what scientists practice after a scientific revolution. Although he does not remember taking the term “paradigm” from Wittgenstein, Kuhn does allow that, alone among the philosophical works with which he was familiar, Wittgenstein’s treatment of naming in the Philosophical Investigations may have had a crucial impact on his formulation of the paradigm concept in the spring of 1959. (1983, p. 188)10 Indeed, Kuhn in Structure wrote that Wittgenstein’s notion of family resemblance “may very well hold for the various research problems and techniques that arise within a single-normal-scientific tradition” (1964, p. 45). In other words, a paradigm allows a scientific community to play the scientific language game. Finally, as Cedarbaum claimed, Kuhn’s “role of ostension in paradigm-based learning was also derived from Wittgenstein” (1983, p. 191). Vasso Kindi (2012) in a comparison of Kuhn’s paradigm concept to Wittgenstein’s notion of Paradigma argued that the latter’s concept should not be contrasted with analytic rules, as some philosophers contend, but rather they set the rules that scientists then use to forge a framework of normal science.11 According to Kindi, Wittgenstein’s Paradigma “does not mean that one must copy or reproduce exactly what the paradigm says or looks like; rather one is supposed to move forward by assimilating further cases to the exemplary ones used in instruction” (2012, p. 103). And so for Kuhn, articulation of paradigms rather than algorithmic rules guide the dayto-day activity of normal scientists. For Kindi, then, Kuhn’s paradigm concept qua disciplinary matrix and exemplar provide the resources—especially rules and models, which do not dictate behavior but provide boundaries for it— required by a normal scientific community to practice its trade. Recently, the discovery and evolution of Kuhn’s paradigm concept has been a topic of interest in the Kuhnian literature. In particular, Wray (2011a) noted that Kuhn gave two accounts for the “discovery” of the Kuhnian paradigm. The first pertains to Kuhn’s epiphany that what distinguished the natural and social sciences was the acquisition of a paradigm by only the former, while the second involved the consensus in practice among natural scientists that a paradigm brings.12 He went on to propose a third account for Kuhn’s discovery of the paradigm concept, with four phases. Wray’s aim was to show that Kuhn’s paradigm “discovery followed a pattern similar to the pattern of discovery common in science” (2011a, p. 394). The first phase was the pre-Structure use of paradigm by Kuhn’s predecessors. The issue was how much these predecessors influenced Kuhn’s discovery, which neither Wray—nor anyone—can fully determine. The next phase was Kuhn’s

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use of paradigm in Structure and its criticism for lack of precision and clarity. The third phase was Kuhn’s clarification in terms of exemplar and disciplinary matrix, with a final phase in which Kuhn introduced the notion of lexicon. Wray concluded that by the final phase Kuhn was in possession of a paradigm concept that allowed him to account for theory change. But, did Kuhn’s defense of normal science and the normal-revolutionary divide through the clarification of paradigm in terms of disciplinary matrix and exemplar adequately address critics? The answer to that question is both yes and no. On the one hand, Kuhn was able to identify apposite communities for whom normal science and paradigm shifts are important, and he did clarify the paradigm notion in terms of those communities. On the other hand, Kuhn’s critics were less than sanguine about the revised paradigm notion. For example, Shapere (1971), in a review of Structure’s second edition, complained that Kuhn’s notion of disciplinary matrix did little to clarify the notion of paradigm. He argued that the current notion could not bear the epistemic burden Kuhn placed on it any better than the original notion of paradigm in Structure’s first edition. For Shapere, Kuhn’s project imploded under its irrationalism and relativism. However, Kuhn defended the notions of normal science and the normal-revolutionary science divide by identifying the communities for whom normal science practice and paradigm shifts are important and by clarifying the paradigm notion in terms of disciplinary matrix and exemplar. Finally, Kuhn’s notion of normal science—probably his most original contribution to the philosophy of science—has also attracted attention from philosophers of science (Wray 2013). For example, Thomas Nickles (2003b) examined Kuhnian normal science in terms of the Meno paradox, i.e. the epistemological problem of how do we know we know if we do not know in the first place. According to Nickles, Kuhn’s solution was normal science in the sense that a community’s paradigm governs not only the selection of problems or—to use Kuhn’s term—puzzles but also what constitutes its solution. In guaranteeing solvability, the paradigm assures scientists that they already know the solution implicitly in the sense that all the necessary resources are known and that the correct solution will be recognized quickly once it is expressed explicitly. (2003b, p. 150) In other words, knowing is articulating, not testing, the paradigm. Kuhn was able to solve the paradox by shifting the mechanism to problem solving from rule-bound to case-bound operations. But, herein lies the problem for Nickles: Kuhn’s case-bound operations qua exemplars are “ambiguous in both nature and function” (2003b, p. 166). The solution to Kuhn’s problem was appropriating an evolutionary account for normal science, especially in terms of fitness of exemplars to the puzzles normal scientists seek to solve.

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Kuhn-loss and Kuhn-underdetermination

No other notion in Kuhn’s philosophy of science has provoked so much reaction as InT, which continues to be discussed actively among Kuhn’s critics and defenders (Oberheim and Hoyningen-Huene 2012, 2013; Sankey 1994, 2006; Soler et al. 2008). To review the vast literature on InT, even limited to that since his death in 1996, would constitute a separate book. But, two important consequences of InT—the notions of Kuhn-loss and Kuhn-underdetermination—deserve discussion. Kuhn-loss refers to the loss or relinquishment, after a scientific revolution, of “actual and much explanatory power” (Kuhn 1964, p. 106). For critics of Kuhn-loss, the issue was what the loss entailed exactly and whether history of science could provide examples of it. Critics answered these questions differently. As for the nature of Kuhn-loss, for example, Fuller (2000a, p. 67) expressed it in terms of differential rates of development between two competing paradigms such that one progresses, while the other languishes and is eventually abandoned. Paul Hoyningen-Huene characterized Kuhnloss accordingly, Kuhn often emphasizes the fact that along with a revolution—and the associated gain in problem-solving capacity—generally come certain losses. Among these are losses in the ability to explain certain phenomena whose authenticity continues to be recognized, losses of scientific problems or the narrowing of the field of research, and, relatedly, increased specialization and increased difficulty in communicating with outsiders. (1993, p. 260) Although no overarching consensus currently exists over the nature of Kuhnloss, Hoyningen-Huene’s articulation does serve as an ample description for it.13 Heinz Post, who is credited with introducing the term Kuhn-loss, challenged the “loss of successful explanatory power” after a scientific revolution or paradigm shift (1971, p. 229). In other words, the newer paradigm does not include parts of the older paradigm that were well established and that allowed the latter to direct the community’s practice. Post, however, insisted that Kuhn-loss is supported neither historically nor philosophically. As he explained, Take any two theories S and L, parts S* and L* respectively of which give successful explanatory accounts of their respective range of data wellconfirmed by experience. Let S* and L* intersect with regard to their reference. Let S** be that intersection, (S** may be identical with S*; this is the case with zero Kuhn losses). Then we may have the case S** ⊂ L*, i.e., L* and S** without translation; or it may be that we need a translation T between languages of S and L. (1971, p. 230)

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But if translation is needed it is “trivial,” according to Post, since it involves straightforward mapping of terms. What is critical is that the two theories are well established empirically so that the explanatory accounts of the predecessor theory (S) are preserved in the successor theory (L). In criticism similar to Post’s, Wolfgang Stegmüller (1976)—invoking Joseph Sneed’s structuralist account of scientific theories—argued that a successor theory can solve not only the problems of a predecessor theory but even more. Specifically, the predecessor’s theoretical core is “expanded” to yield the successor’s core, with a relation coefficient, r, for mapping the two theories reductively. Although Kuhn (1976b) appreciated Stegmüller’s attempt to disambiguate formally r between two competing theories, he claimed that it was based on a questionable assumption of whether translation is unproblematic. For Kuhn, translation was problematic, which he illustrated with the transition from the eighteenth-century qualitative phlogiston theory to the nineteenth-century quantitative chemical theory. Thus, although copper could be identified in either century, in terms of the structures of the two theories, Kuhn claimed “no route” from the predecessor to the successor existed because the structures were “different” (1976b, p. 192).14 Recently, Christian Damböck (2014) has claimed that the original Sneed-Stegmüller structure was too restrictive and proposed a flexible structure in which “partial” relationships between two incommensurable theories, such as phlogiston and modern chemistry, is identifiable and permits explication of those relationships—even in the presence of Kuhn-loss. In terms of whether examples of Kuhn-loss are palpable from the history of science, Veli Verronen (1992) argued that Kuhn’s two examples from the history of science—phlogiston-Lavoisier chemistry and Cartesian-Newtonian mechanics—do not illustrate the loss of explanatory power during paradigm shifts. Verronen offered two reasons to support his argument. The first was that phlogiston chemistry and Cartesian mechanics were not paradigmatic in the sense of directing normal science activity, as their two respective competitors. The other reason was that Kuhn did not demonstrate that the loss of explanatory power was only in terms of permissible questions or problems and not in terms of achieved solutions. “If in Kuhn’s works better examples are not to be found—and to my reading of Kuhn those better examples may be hard to be picked up—then,” concluded Verronen, “there must be something wrong with Kuhn’s regal argument” (1992, p. 51). Rein Vihalemm (2000) concurred with Verronen’s conclusion concerning the weakness in Kuhn’s argument and extended it to include that phlogiston-Lavoisier chemistry shared a Newtonian “world picture,” with phlogiston chemistry emphasizing the qualitative and Lavoisier chemistry the quantitative dimension of that world picture.15 Vihalemm concluded that the two paradigms are commensurable because Lavoisier chemistry was “a continuation of the chemical qualitative investigations, formed in

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the framework of the phlogiston theory, with more accurate and sensitive physical means” (2000, p. 77). In a review of the literature surrounding Kuhn-loss, Votsis (2011) distinguished between “narrow” and “wide” notions of Kuhn-loss. The former he attributed to Post, who equated the term “with loss of successful explanatory power,” and the latter to Bird, who held the term as “requiring only that a phenomenon ‘in an earlier period was held to be successfully explained’” (2011, p. 112, Votsis added emphasis). He justified the two notions of Kuhn-loss based on the extent of “explanatory power.” For the wide notion, he claimed that the explanatory elements of the older paradigm are not adequately confirmed but only “held” to be successful. In other words, the explanatory power of the older paradigm appears to be adequate for some community members but not for all. Whereas, for the narrow notion, the explanatory power is adequately confirmed—what he called “genuine empirical success”—and is adequate for most of the community’s members (2011, p. 113). As Votsis noted, the issue remains whether examples of the narrow notion can be identified in science’s history. The second consequence of Kuhn’s InT, especially its methodological form, is Kuhn-underdetermination (Carrier 2008; Oberheim and HoyningenHuene 2013). Methodological incommensurability refers to “no fixed or independent standards to which appeal may be made in the comparison of alternative theories. Instead, standards of theory appraisal depend upon and vary with theory or paradigm” (Sankey 2013, p. 34). Kuhnunderdetermination, then, involves an inability to make a theory choice with certainty. It differs from tradition or Duhem-Quine underdetermination by including not only empirical equivalence but also nonempirical equivalence.16 Moreover, as Martin Carrier noted, even nonempirical factors, such as Kuhn’s “Big Five” subjective values, are inadequate to ensure or even to justify satisfactorily theory choice. Rather, these values allow for personal differences between a community of practitioners to play a role in the choice of one theory over another. Finally Carrier concluded the analysis of Kuhnunderdetermination and the role of methodological theories for evaluating theories accordingly, “the challenge of methodological theories to do better and to achieve for criteria of judgment what scientific theories, following Duhem, accomplish for empirical generalizations: establishing a systematic order and classification” (2008, p. 288). Certainly, this is an important challenge for Kuhnian studies.17

Scientific revolutions

In assessing the impact of Structure on philosophy of science, Wray stated that one of “Kuhn’s key contribution to the field is his view of scientific revolutions” (2012, p. 2). To warrant the claim, he cited the multiple times the chapter, “The Nature and Necessity of Scientific Revolutions,” is anthologized in the literature. Moreover, Kuhn’s notion of scientific

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revolutions or paradigm shifts is the focus of several articles and books— most notably Hoyningen-Huene (1993). Indeed, Kuhn is so closely associated with scientific revolutions, that the subtitle of Sharrock and Read’s book pronounced him, “Philosopher of scientific revolution.” Although Kuhn’s notion of normal science was a significant contribution to philosophy of science, his construction of the “structure” of scientific revolutions and its implications for comprehending scientific progress, especially in terms of the world-change thesis, was more important with respect to impact. Hoyningen-Huene’s Reconstructing Scientific Revolutions was the first full-length analysis of Kuhn’s philosophy of science, especially the notion of scientific revolution.18 He reconstructed Kuhn’s philosophy from both analytic and continental sources. To put it concisely, Hoyningen-Huene’s thesis is that normal science represented a dialectic in which anomalies or counterinstances arise resulting in the emergence of greater esoteric problems and advances to resolve them; this is in contrast to being an instrument for articulating a paradigm only according to dogma—a view which results in the idea that the normal scientist is to be pitied as a poor excuse of a scientist. “In the occurrence of significant anomalies,” noted HoyningenHuene, “lies the dialectic (or the irony!) of normal science” (1993, p. 227). But, normal science does not necessarily give rise to anomalies but only provides the occasion for their possible occurrence. Thus, normal science serves as the gateway to scientific revolutions in which science progresses through changing the world in which scientists operate.19 Another controversial notion that has captured the attention of critics is Kuhn’s world-change thesis. Hoyningen-Huene framed the discussion in terms of whether just a worldview changes or the world per se. Ultimately, he claimed Kuhn explicated the world-change thesis not just in terms of a Gestalt switch, i.e. worldview only, but also with respect to “a network of similarity relations” among the objects composing the world per se in which scientists practice their trade. According to Hoyningen-Huene, changes in these relationships, which are holistic in nature, are responsible for transformation of the phenomenal world, but, he added, “the world-in itself offers resistance, resistance which makes it impossible to impose just any network of similarity relations” (1993, p. 269). In another analysis of Kuhn’s world-change thesis, Richard Grandy proposed a “locomotion” metaphor for explicating it. A horse can either trot or gallop across a pasture; either gait will produce the result of change of position. And for an intermediate range of velocities, the same speed can result from both processes. But the two kinds of motion are incompatible with one another. (2003, p. 258) Combined with theory-ladenness of not only observation but also of other cognitive faculties such as memory and comprehension, this metaphor he

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claimed would have better served Kuhn’s world-change thesis in terms of the “process” by which scientists shift from one world(view) to another after a scientific revolution. Grandy contrasted the locomotion metaphor with Kuhn’s linguistic metaphor and argued that focusing on process rather than rules for interpreting changes in the world would have kept “the emphasis on the interaction of the scientists and world while somewhat deemphasizing the more extreme ontological claims” (2003, p. 258). Kuhn’s notion of scientific progress, which was intimately associated with the world-change thesis, continues to draw the attention of commentators, critics, and defenders (Douglas 2014; Niiniluoto 2012).20 For example, John Losee (2004) distinguished between two types of progress, incremental and discontinuous. According to Losee, Kuhn’s notion of normal science adequately represented scientific progress in terms of incremental increase in scientific knowledge, especially through puzzle solving. Also, he conceded that Kuhn’s notion of scientific revolution captured scientific progress with respect to discontinuous shifts in theories or paradigms, especially exemplars.21 However, Losee claimed Kuhn was amiss when demanding that revolutionary changes are always holistic and that another paradigm or theory must be in competition with the parent paradigm or even that the parent paradigm leads to anomalies prior to its overthrow. He provided examples from the history of science, such as the Copernican revolution, to support his claims. Interestingly, Losee agreed with Kuhn that “there is no algorithm that determines the conditions under which theory-replacement is progressive” (2004, p. 156). But just as no algorithm defines progress, so does, Losee should admit, no single pattern define scientific progress qua growth of scientific knowledge, especially as it evolves.22 Finally, three issues—realism, relativism, and truth—associated with Kuhn’s philosophy of science, especially scientific revolutions qua worldchange thesis, continue to inform and challenge contemporary philosophy of science. Specifically, Kuhn’s world-change thesis raised the question of whether a worldview or the world itself is really changing. And, depending on the answer to that question,the question emerged as to how a scientific community can justify epistemically the change, i.e. whether it is relative to internal standards or absolute to external standards. Lastly, the question about the truth of the knowledge gained through the change surfaced. Contemporary philosophers of science actively address these questions and issues, and Kuhn is still relevant to the discussion and his position on them actively debated. For realism, the debate is whether Kuhn was a realist, an antirealist or idealist, or a tertium quid.23 A few—if not all commentators, including Kuhn himself—would classify Kuhn a realist.24 Rather, most commentators classified him as antirealist or idealist because of his incommensurability and world-change theses (Bird 2002; Chakravartty 2011; Sankey 2000).25 For example, Boyd (2002) claimed that Kuhn’s denial of a strong conception of a mind-independent world violated the fundamental principle of a robust

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notion of realism. Moreover, Kuhn’s assertions that the world-in-itself is unknowable and is subject-dependent were used to support the label of either antirealist or idealist. However, Michel Ghins (1998) contended that Kuhn was to some extent a realist on the one hand and an antirealist or idealist on the other. As Ghins pointed out, If we are ready to endow the title of realist to someone who says that there is “something out there” which opposes resistance to our conceptual constructions which for that matter cannot be completely arbitrary, then Kuhn can be said to espouse an, admittedly very weak, form of (global) realism. (1998, p. 58)26 But, as he concluded, Kuhn’s antirealism vis-à-vis an “unspeakable world” jeopardized the explication of the world as it is. Repeatedly, critics charged Kuhn with relativism because of his incommensurability and world-change theses (O’Grady 2012; Siegel 2004; Swoyer 2003). Sankey (2000) has traced the development of Kuhn’s relativism. In Structure, he claimed Kuhn espoused a conceptual form of relativism in which scientific rationality changes with paradigm shifts or, to put it differently, in which standards for justifying epistemic claims are relative to the paradigm. Kuhn’s conceptual relativism, stemming from his methodological InT, was also the basis for the charge of irrationalism. As Kuhn responded to critics, Sankey claimed he embraced an ontological form of relativism, which denied the existence of mind-independent objects. According to Sankey, for Kuhn, “the world phenomenally presented to the scientists is in large part determined by the taxonomic structure which theories impose upon the world” (2000, p. 73). Kuhn’s ontological relativism was an outcome of his taxonomic incommensurability.27 Finally, critics noted that Kuhn rejected a robust or strong notion of truth, especially the correspondence theory of truth (Fumerton 2002; Gattei 2008). For example, Sankey argued that although Kuhn rejected the correspondence theory still Kuhn “holds that a weaker notion of truth is required, which may be applied internally to the lexical structure of theories” (2000, p. 71). Bird claimed that Kuhn’s notion of truth is transcendent: The idea is that we cannot possibly find out whether a theory is true, for that requires that we are able to compare the theory and reality, which in turn requires having an independent grasp on what reality is like. And that is precisely what we do not have—and if we did have it, we would not need the theory at all. (2011, p. 481) And being transcendent, truth, Bird concluded, was an irrelevant notion for Kuhn. Finally, Peter Lipton (2005) stated that Kuhn also rejected what Lipton called the “truth hypothesis,” which posits that science’s goal is to deliver the truth about natural phenomena.

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Recently, Kuukkanen (2007) has argued that the coherence theory of truth accounts for Kuhn’s epistemological position. He contended that Kuhn’s notion of puzzle solving, along with the Big Five values, satisfied Laurence BonJour’s criteria for coherence, including robust consistency, many inferential connections, and few unexplained anomalies. Kuukkanen concluded, “While Kuhn obviously takes problem or puzzle-solving as the most fundamental characteristic of science, he hints that he would not have objected to a more comprehensive description of the aim of science, such as increasing coherence” (2007, p. 561). Thus, Kuhn’s philosophy of science was rational and not irrational, as critics charged.28 Dunja Šešelja and Christian Straßer (2009) took issue with Kuukkanen’s conclusion concerning the nature of Kuhn’s rationality. Šešelja and Straßer argued that Kuhn’s philosophy exhibits a “very weak notion of rationality” in which shared criteria “are dependent on the particular context and/or the background knowledge, beliefs, values, etc. of an individual scientist” (2009, p. 323). They concluded that Kuhn’s rationality would be inadequate for many philosophers of science.29 Kuukkanen (2009) responded that even if Kuhn’s notion of rationality of science was weak, “so much the worse for those philosophers. It is somewhat pointless,” he added, “to crave the strong notion of rationality in science” (2009, p. 329). His point was that Kuhn did provide an adequate rationality, outside of logic, for representing science.

II The natural sciences Natural scientists used Kuhn’s philosophy of science for two main functions, which are intimately related to one another. The first was to reconstruct and evaluate the history of a discipline, especially in terms of whether a scientific revolution or paradigm shift had taken place in the discipline. The other function was to establish a discipline as a natural science, especially through paradigm acquisition.

The physical sciences Physics and astronomy Physicists did not generally use Kuhn to justify their discipline, after all it is the paradigm by which other sciences—whether biological, behavioral, social, or political—compare themselves. In fact, as Lipton claimed, physicists were general hostile to Kuhn because by rejecting the truth hypothesis “they see him as one of those who would demean science, making the wild and damaging claim that it is all just politics” (2005, p. 1265). Lipton, however, felt that physicists misunderstood and thereby misrepresented him. Kuhn,

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he noted, was an internalist who accounted for scientific advance in terms of the theoretical ideas. One well-known physicist who did utilize Kuhn’s philosophy was Freeman Dyson (2012). He capitalized on Kuhn’s education as a theoretical physicist to chart the course of contemporary physics. Citing in addition Galison, whom Dyson identified as a historian of science trained as an experimental physicist, Dyson bisected twentieth-century physics into an earlier half dominated by revolutionary ideas (Kuhnian science) and a latter half dominated by experiment and technology (Galisonian science). With the beginning of the twenty-first century, Dyson noted that both brands of physics “are running neck and neck in the race for glory. We are lucky,” Dyson concluded, “to live in a time when both are going strong” (2012, p. 1427). Juan Campanario and Brian Martin (2004) employed Kuhn’s philosophy of science to frame an interesting discussion on challengers to contemporary paradigms in physics and the strategies the challengers use to practice science, considering that the field of study is dominated by a given paradigm. “Given that the paradigm is the source of ideas,” wrote Campanario and Martin, “it is not surprising that challenges to the paradigm—the framework that allowed mainstream scientists to contribute to the development of science— are seldom greeted with open arms” (2004, p. 424). After examining the strategies dissidents have used to overcome resistance to their unorthodox theories, the authors pleaded for more tolerance and openness to novel theories. For as Campanario and Martin argued, “challengers, even those who are wrong, offer a potential source of strength to science” (2004, p. 435). Obviously, their argument hinges on Kuhn’s “essential tension” between normal science and its paradigm and revolutionary science and its paradigm shift. Kuhn is still cited in historical and philosophical studies on standard physical accounts of scientific revolutions in terms of Newton or Einstein (DiSalle 2006; Friedman 2001; Maglo 2003). However, Kuhn’s philosophy of science has enjoyed a wider appeal in physics. For example, in a special 2003 issue of the Journal of the American Society for Information Science and Technology, Kuhn’s paradigm concept was the subject of attempts to visualize or map it through citation analysis. For example, Chaomei Chen and Jasna Kuljis (2003) reconstructed the M-theory superstring revolutions. From their reconstruction, Chen and Kuljis concluded that the revolutions conform to Kuhn’s structure of scientific revolutions, especially in terms of accounting for “how M-theory unifies the five distinct consistent superstring theories in the second superstring revolution” (2003, p. 439). Turning to astronomy, Harry Shipman (2000) conducted a survey of astronomers and found that 46 percent of respondents had “never heard” of Kuhn or Structure. However, for those who were “very familiar” with Kuhn and Structure (5 percent of respondents), the impact was significant, especially in terms of teaching. Besides teaching, astronomers who had read Structure found Kuhn’s notion of normal and revolutionary science

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helpful for understanding the nature of science. But, the impact of Kuhn’s understanding of science was negligible on how astronomers practiced their trade. “Kuhn will [not] help you,” Shipman quipped, “get Nobel Prizes, seats in the National Academy of Sciences, or tenure. Rather,” he admitted, “[Kuhn] has helped many of us [astronomers] develop a perspective on just what it is we do” (2000, p. 165). In a case from modern cosmology, Werner Marx and Lutz Bornmann (2010) reconstructed the transition from the static view of the universe to the big bang theory using citation analysis of relevant articles in cosmology, with “paradigm” or “paradigm shift” in their titles. Their analysis revealed that multiple scientists and journal articles were involved in the transition, rather than a limited number of scientists and journal articles predicated on Kuhn’s notion of punctuated revolutionary science. From the results, Marx and Bornmann concluded, “in the transition from a static universe to modern cosmology what is discernible is not THE revolution but rather a sequence of mini revolutions (reflected in far above-average citation counts) that in their sum total appear to be THE revolution” (2010, p. 461). Moreover, they admitted that the historical record did not “confirm Kuhn’s model of comparatively long ‘normal’ periods of unspectacular ‘tidying up’ work, interrupted only every once and a while by revolutions” (2010, p. 461). However, they conceded that their study does not preclude the possibility of rapid shifts, but they insisted that such shifts appear to be rare. Finally, Kuhn’s work on the Copernican revolution still draws the attention of historians and philosophers of science. For example, Friedel Weinert (2009) contended that Kuhn was incorrect about the Copernican heliocentric cosmology representing a radical break with the previous Ptolemaic geocentric cosmology. Rather, major continuities existed between both cosmologies, even though heliocentrism was based on very different assumptions—especially concerning the nature of motion. According to Weinert, “Copernicus uses many of the Greek observations. He invents no new methods” (2009, p. 80). Indeed, both cosmologists were deeply committed to instrumentalism. Weinert then introduced Shapere’s chain-ofreasoning model to account for the Copernican revolution. Specifically, the transition from a geocentric to heliocentric cosmology occurred through “reasoned transition between conceptual components of the network” (2009, p. 82). Examples include the nature of circular motion and the concept of inertia. “These are reasoned transitions,” Weinert concluded, “because they arise from problem situations, in which attempted solutions are evaluated through chains of reasons and argument” (2009, p. 82).30

Chemistry In contrast to physicists, Kuhn’s philosophy of science was influential among chemists. For example, George Whitesides (2007), upon reception of the 2007 Priestly medal, cited Kuhn’s philosophy of science as one of two

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theories of revolutions in science that he found useful in understanding the nature of science, especially chemistry. The other was the experimental or technical revolutions championed by Galison and Dyson. For Whitesides, Kuhn’s philosophy provided “many lessons for chemistry.” Probably the most important lesson was why progress in chemistry is slow. He found Kuhn’s characterization of normal scientists, in terms of them not attempting to discover the novel vis-à-vis a paradigm—which often prohibits them from often seeing the novel—both a solace and a challenge, especially for new problems facing chemistry like the origin and nature of living processes. He concluded that both Kuhnian and Galisonian approaches to revolutions are helpful for understanding progress in chemistry. In a review of problems facing analytic chemistry, Whitesides again invoked Kuhn’s philosophy of science to challenge analytic chemists “to raise their level of ambition, and consider how to guide the revolution” (2013, p. 8). He also invoked the technological dimension of revolutions and stressed their application to analytic chemistry. “New science requires,” stressed Whitesides, “new types of analyses; new analyses also make it possible to raise new questions in science” (2013, p. 8). His contention that instrumentation—rather than theory—played a more important role in analytic chemistry’s revolution from 1920 to 1950 is supported by an analysis of the revolution conducted by Davis Baird (1993). Although Baird appreciated Kuhn’s acknowledgment of a second revolution involving measurement, he concluded that the revolution was driven by technology and instrumentation, i.e. Hacking’s notion of “big revolution,” and not theory. Two other examples of chemists utilizing Kuhn’s philosophy of science should suffice to convey Kuhn’s impact on chemistry. The first is the employment of Kuhn’s paradigm concept to examine the controversy over the “the ability of DNA to serve as a supramolecular bridge or ‘wire’ for conducting electrons and for controlling chemistry at a distance” (Turro and Barton 1998, p. 201). After rehearsing Kuhn’s paradigm concept, the authors claimed that the controversy illustrated Kuhn’s division between adherents of the “reigning paradigm” —Rudolph Marcus’s theory of electron transfer—and challengers—proponents of DNA’s ability to function as a supramolecular bridge.31 After discussing the details of the experiments and possible interpretations, the authors concluded, “Paradigms die hard in science. . . . However, when you begin to skate on the edge of the paradigm, science is at its best” (Turro and Barton 1998, p. 209).32 The second example is “click chemistry,” which involves synthesis of polymers from modular subunits, and its role in a possible paradigm shift in polymer material design (Barner-Kowollik and Inglis 2009; BarnerKowollik et al. 2011). “Such a modular approach is often more efficient than a conventional synthesis strategy involving sequential reactions” (Barner-Kowollik et al. 2011, p. 60). Click chemistry was a Kuhnian paradigm shift not in terms of the introduction of new data or theories but rather because it was “based on the reinterpretation or reclassification of

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experimental values” (Barner-Kowollik and Inglis 2009, p. 988). In other words, click chemistry has provided a radically new way of approaching and understanding polymer design and synthesis. Finally, Kuhn’s reconstruction of the chemical revolution still draws considerable attention from historians and philosophers.33 For example, Hoyningen-Huene (2008) claimed that the chemical revolution, beginning with the phlogiston theory and culminating in the oxygen theory, illustrated Kuhn’s general notion of scientific revolutions. He identified over a halfdozen features of the revolution that support Kuhn, including changes in standards for daily scientific practice and in lexical entries. The most important feature, according to Hoyningen-Huene, was “a reshuffling of entities in the system of categories together with some change of the system of categories itself” (2008, p. 111). As he noted, this feature was important since it was the basis for Kuhn’s InT. However, Geoffrey Blumenthal took issue with Hoyningen-Huene’s conclusion concerning the “fit” between the chemical revolution and Kuhn’s structure of scientific revolutions. According to Blumenthal, the chemical revolution resembles the following sequence: One scientist finds start of new theory ® warning shot ® full new theory ® dramatic full attack ® sense of crisis ® competing schools ® further attack (2013, p. 98) rather than Kuhn’s sequence of anomaly ® crisis ® extraordinary science ® paradigm shift.

Geology Walter Alvarez and Henrique Leitão claimed that geology has enjoyed three revolutions “in the full Kuhnian sense” (2010, p. 231). The first occurred around 1800, when geologists developed the skill to interpret the earth’s history from rocks. The next was the Darwinian revolution of the nineteenth century, in which Alvarez and Leitão claimed fossils played a significant role in justifying Darwin’s evolutionary theory. The final revolution was the emergence of the plate tectonic theory during the twentieth century. In addition, they proposed that the Copernican revolution represented a fourth Kuhnian revolution in geology in that the earth could be viewed for what it was and investigated as such. In defense of their proposal, they cited Dennis Danielson’s critique of the cliché about the Copernican revolution, that the earth was dethroned as the center of the universe. Danielson (2001) claimed that instead of being dethroned the earth was elevated to its proper place within the heavens. “The post-Copernican Earth, ennobled and perfected, became,” Alvarez and Leitão concluded, “an object worthy of study by the science of geology” (2010, p. 234).34 Whether Alvarez and Leitão’s third revolution in geology—the plate tectonic theory—was a Kuhnian revolution has been keenly debated among

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geologists, historians, and philosophers. Initially, geologists enthusiastically crowned the plate tectonic theory an example of a Kuhnian revolution. For example, Tuzo Wilson (1968a) invoked Kuhn’s structure of scientific revolutions to frame the debate between proponents of the static or fixed earth hypothesis and proponents of the mobile earth hypothesis.35 Also, both Allan Cox (1973) and Anthony Hallam (1973) compared the shift from a fixed to mobile earth as a Kuhnian revolution. Finally, as Robert Dott, Jr., wrote, “The new tectonics seems to constitute a scientific revolution and to have produced a sweeping new paradigm in the sense of Kuhn” (1974, p. 9). But, Dott harbored reservations about the magnitude of the revolution compared to the examples Kuhn used from physics and astronomy. He concluded that the changes associated with the plate tectonic revolution were linguistic in nature, with respect to either redefining old terms or constructing new ones. Dott was not the only geologist with reservations about hailing the tectonic plate theory as a Kuhnian revolution. David Kitts also took issue with his fellow geologists over whether plate tectonics or continental drift represented a Kuhnian scientific revolution. As an exasperated Kitts said, “The doctrines of Kuhn serve these authors [Cox, Hallam, and Wilson] as little more than a source of rationalization for the opinion that a scientific revolution has occurred in earth science” (1974, p. 2490). Kitts was concerned that geology relies on physical and chemical laws to practice its trade and that the plate tectonic theory did not represent a change in those laws, hence the plate tectonic theory does not represent a Kuhnian scientific revolution. However, he conceded that the “hypothesis of continental drift constitutes a kind of paradigm . . . the sort of paradigm particularly appropriate to the most scrupulously historical of all sciences in that it is itself historical. It imposes upon those who accept it” Kitts went on to explain, “a particular version of history rather than a general theory of the world” (1974, p. 2494). Historians and philosophers of science also commented on whether plate tectonics represented a Kuhnian revolution. For example, in a session of the 1978 PSA biennial meeting, Rachel Laudan—although she agreed with Kitts that the continental drift theory did not represent a Kuhnian revolution— found fault with his argument on two counts. The first was that Kitts did not provide a robust depiction of Kuhn’s notion of scientific revolutions. However, even her robust analysis of Kuhn’s notion still yielded the same conclusion as Kitts. The second, which she considered more serious, was Kitts’s portrayal of geology. She charged that Kitts was too restrictive in claiming that geologists do not challenge the physical principles that inform geology. “Geologists frequently have been, and continue to be, concerned with more than simple historical description,” claimed Laudan, “and moreover they are prepared on occasion to challenge physical theory when it seems to them to conflict with the best available geology” (1978, p. 229).36 Michael Ruse (1978) also presented a paper at the meeting in which he too concluded that the plate tectonics theory did not represent a Kuhnian

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scientific revolution. To that end, he identified four dimensions of Kuhn’s notion of scientific revolutions. The first is sociological, that is, in terms of the dynamics of community interactions during a scientific revolution. Ruse claimed that “overall” continental drift fulfilled this dimension of a Kuhnian scientific revolution, as it did the second dimension—psychological. Ruse cited geologists whom he claimed underwent a “conversion experience” to embrace the plate tectonics theory. However, the final two dimensions were not met. The third was epistemological with respect to the epistemic rule of the game, which Ruse argued did not change with the acceptance of continental drift. The final dimension was ontological, that is, in terms of changes in the objects comprising the world. According to Ruse, the world of geology in terms of the objects making up the earth sciences—continents, shelves, and seas—did not change radically. “Unlike Kuhn,” concluded Ruse, “we can perfectly well say that the revolution was rational, because there was no essential change in geological methodology. . . . But like Kuhn,” he acknowledged, “although not for the same reasons, we can say why geologists really went through conversion: there were so many new facts” (1978, p. 257).37 Whether continental drift was a Kuhnian scientific revolution continues to attract attention among geologists and among those who study scientific revolutions (Le Grand 1988; Nunan 1984; Šešelja and Weber 2012; Stewart 1990). For example, Marx and Bornmann (2013) recently conducted a bibliometric analysis on the emergence of the plate tectonics theory to confirm whether the theory’s emergence could be considered a Kuhnian scientific revolution. They concluded that the bibliometric evidence supported a Kuhnian paradigm shift “in which extraordinary science was conducted and in which it was decided that the new paradigm would gain acceptance, replacing the old” (2013, p. 611). In addition, to supplement Kuhn’s notion of scientific revolutions, especially in terms of accounting for scientific success, they introduced the Anna Karenina principle, which includes factors of funding and publication resources, publication citations, and novel discoveries (Bornmann and Marx 2012).38 The authors concluded that the success of continental drift was explainable in terms of the principle.

The biological sciences Evolutionary biology Although Kuhn did not use many examples from the biological or life sciences in Structure, still biologists, especially evolutionary biologists, have used his philosophy to analyze their discipline, especially to defend its status as a legitimate natural science. For example, biologists, historians, and philosophers utilized Kuhn’s new image of science to reconstruct, evaluate, and defend the Darwinian revolution in evolutionary biology. Interestingly,

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Michael Ghiselin (1971) found Kuhn’s notion of normal science more useful than the notion of revolutionary science for reconstructing evolutionary biology’s history. Some evolutionary biologists even found inspiration in Kuhn for practicing their trade. For example, Stephen Jay Gould (2002) paid homage to Kuhn’s influence on him in terms of the development of the punctuated equilibrium theory of biological evolution.39 Although many of these scholars took their point of departure from Kuhn’s Structure, they often criticized it. Ernst Mayr utilized Kuhn’s paradigm concept and notion of paradigm shift to evaluate the reason why the scientific community was slow to accept the Darwinian revolution. In a characteristically Kuhnian move, he examined the resistance to Darwin’s ideas in order to address the issue. “It was not the lack of supporting facts, then,” Mayr argued, “that prevented the acceptance of the theory of evolution, but rather the power of the opposing ideas” (1972, p. 982). In Kuhnian terms, scientific evidence and rationality were not sufficient to induce theory change; rather, nonrational factors were also important. Mayr then rehearsed the various ideologies that scientists and nonscientists alike marshaled in resisting Darwinian evolution. He concluded that the ideologies with which scientists are indoctrinated often blind them to new ways of looking at the world, which closely reflects Kuhn’s assessment of why scientists resist a new paradigm. Mayr then discussed two differences between the Darwinian revolution and other scientific revolutions, especially those in the physical sciences. First, the Darwinian revolution required not only the replacement of one paradigm by another but also the rejection of six other paradigms. Second, it had profound ethical and religious impact on society far more than other scientific revolutions. Mayr then drew two conclusions from the analysis concerning scientific revolutions. First, they occur over long periods in which parts of the older paradigm are replaced piecemeal by parts of the newer paradigm. Second, the combination, and not merely the addition, of the various elements of a revolution dictates the revolution’s content and form. Although Mayr drew conclusions about the Darwinian revolution that resembled features of Kuhn’s notion of scientific revolutions, he claimed that “the Darwinian revolution does not conform to the simple model of the scientific revolution, as described, for instance, by T. S. Kuhn” (1972, p. 988). He argued that the Darwinian revolution was a complex event that took 250 years, with its major elements appearing at various times. Indeed, subsequently Mayr (1994) claimed that the Darwinian revolution did not resemble a Kuhnian scientific revolution. He then proposed, given the length of time for the Darwinian revolution to enfold, that theory change and scientific progress are akin to biological evolution rather than a Kuhnian revolution and that evolutionary epistemology better captures the process of scientific change, especially in terms of epistemic variation and selection. Although Mayr’s analysis of the Darwinian revolution was accurate in terms of the dates and events, his grasp of Kuhn’s notion of scientific

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revolution and of his later EPS was inadequate for the analysis. For example, the parallels between the Copernican revolution, especially Kuhn’s version, and the Darwinian revolution are striking. Darwin’s notion of evolution was based on the incommensurable shift from perfection to undirected change. “The result,” acknowledged Mayr, “was an entirely different concept of evolution. Instead of endorsing the eighteenth-century concept of a drive toward perfection, Darwin merely postulated change” (1972, p. 987). Darwin’s incommensurable shift from perfection to undirected change is reminiscent of Copernicus’s incommensurable shift from the earth being the universe’s center to orbiting the sun. Moreover, as Kuhn so clearly pointed out in his version of the Copernican revolution, the revolution lasted another hundred years after Copernicus published his scientific model, with major changes incorporated into the model, such as the replacement of Copernicus’s epicycles with Kepler’s elliptic orbits. One of the first historians to appropriate Kuhn’s new image to the development of Darwin’s evolutionary theory was John Greene. In a paper presented at a symposium at the University of Oklahoma in April 1969, Greene examined the applicability of Kuhn’s paradigm concept to the natural sciences other than the physical sciences. To that end, Green explored the suitability of Structure for reconstructing the Darwinian revolution. He began by describing the first paradigm in natural history, the Linnaean classificatory system. That paradigm represented natural history in static terms. Next, he discussed the anomalies that arose because of the classificatory system. Since the anomalies emerged within the system itself, they were ignored or evaded and did not initially result in a crisis. Later, Buffon and Lamarck proposed competing paradigms not necessarily in response to the anomalies, but these proposals assisted in producing a crisis that eventually led to replacement of the static Linnaean paradigm. The replacement was an evolutionary view of natural history based on the physical laws governing the motion of matter. Finally, external factors were also operative, especially in Britain, including the notion of competition in the political economy and general social mores. The Darwinian revolution represented not only a break with the preceding natural history paradigm but also a discontinuation of it. Although Darwinian revolution overthrew the previous static view of natural history, it failed to establish a paradigm to replace it. As Greene concluded, The Kuhnian paradigm of paradigms can be made to fit certain aspects of the development of natural history from Ray to Darwin, but its adequacy as a conceptual model for the development seems doubtful. (1971, p. 23) A conclusion he again confessed years later: “On the whole the paradigm doesn’t work very well” for reconstructing the Darwinian revolution (Wade 1977, p. 145). Moreover, Greene claimed that although he used Kuhn’s terminology throughout the essay, that usage did not represent approval of

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Kuhn’s historiography. Although finding Kuhn’s historiography inadequate, he felt it was the best available at the time and better than nothing at all. Finally, Ruse utilized Kuhn’s philosophy of science to examine the Darwinian paradigm and revolution. With respect to the Darwinian paradigm qua Kuhnian paradigm, Ruse acknowledged that Darwin’s notion of evolution via natural selection is paradigmatic and “a gap between different world pictures” existed between Darwinian and non-Darwinian accounts of biological evolution (1989, p. 2). But, he was not completely committed to claiming that Darwin’s paradigm was straightforwardly Kuhnian. With respect to the Darwinian revolution qua Kuhnian scientific revolution or paradigm shift, Ruse (1999) denied that the former was an example of the latter. “I still think that Kuhn’s analysis taken head on,” concluded Ruse, “fails on the Darwinian example” (2005, p. 13). Recently, however, Ruse (2009) utilized Kuhn’s analysis of scientific revolutions to defend the Darwinian revolution, at least in terms of metaphysical categories of form and function.

Molecular biology Whether the emergence of molecular biology represents a Kuhnian revolution has also been a topic of lively debate among biologists. For example, Mayr claimed “The rise of molecular biology was revolutionary, but it was not a Kuhnian revolution” (1994, p. 331). Indeed, he concluded that even normal science is not operative in the biological sciences; rather, “There is always a series of minor revolutions between major revolutions” (1994, p. 333).40 Also, Ruse claimed that the molecular biology revolution was not Kuhnian. Rather than a crisis prompting the rise of molecular biology, according to Ruse, Biologists decided to use physics and chemistry, and because they were so successful in doing so, many started to feel that this is the only way to do biology. Hence I would suggest that the cause of the molecular revolution was a function of the merits of molecular biology, rather than a failure of classical biology. (1971, pp. 36–7) In other words, Ruse envisioned molecular biology as a product of the convergence of biology with physics and chemistry. Many molecular biologists, however, embraced Kuhn’s notion of scientific revolution to explicate and defend the molecular biology revolution. In a pivotal article that appeared in a 1970 issue of Science, Eugene Hess explored the origins of molecular biology. What made the article both timely and significant was the recent establishment of molecular biology as a legitimate scientific discipline. Hess sought to justify the new discipline philosophically, using Kuhn’s paradigm concept. The molecular approach to biology has provided, nevertheless, a unifying paradigm to guide an active and productive group of researchers, and, as

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Kuhn has argued ably, it is hard to find another criterion which so clearly proclaims a field of science. (1970, p. 664) Hess then reconstructed the emergence of the molecular biology paradigm, which included important ideas and assumptions as well as techniques and instrumentation. Hess concluded with a brief formulation of the paradigm: “biological structures are organized on a molecular basis” (1970, p. 668). Recently, Sydney Brenner provided a detailed definition of the molecular biology revolution, which he claimed conforms to Kuhn’s notion of a scientific revolution: “the idea of information and its physical embodiment in DNA sequences of four different basis” (2012, p. 1428). Once established, molecular biologists claimed the molecular biology paradigm inaugurated a period of fruitful discoveries, which had an immediate impact upon the biomedical and evolutionary sciences. Michel Morange, for example, compared this productive period to Kuhnian normal science: Once researchers had deciphered the genetic code and described regulatory mechanisms in micro-organisms, molecular biology entered what the historian of science Thomas Kuhn has called a period of “normal science.” Research no longer involved testing global models but “puzzlesolving” within the framework of existing theories. (1998, p. 167) Molecular biologists have articulated the paradigm by solving puzzles ranging from evolution and taxonomy to gene therapies. As one of the founders of the molecular biology Marshall Nirenberg wrote, “The revolution in molecular genetics has created tremendous opportunities to do research that surely will lead to fundamental advances in knowledge of normal and pathological processes” (2000, p. 615). Although the molecular biology paradigm is less than fifty years old, some members of the molecular biology community have already challenged it. For example, Carl Woese (2004) claimed that the paradigm is no longer able to guide successfully biological research in the twenty-first century. He argued that the paradigm’s potential for novel discoveries is past and that all that remains is filling in the details, or “mopping up” in good Kuhnian fashion. The future of biology itself, then, as a fundamental science that investigates and explicates living organisms is at stake. There are two choices, according to Woese. Biologists can continue on their present reductionistic course and simply fill in the molecular details, or they can develop new means to investigate living processes and once again provide the vision necessary to guide the discipline. Woese feared that biology might devolve into an engineering discipline that simply solves puzzles of interest to society rather than fulfilling its promise of explicating the nature of life. To recapture its ability to advance into the twenty-first century, he advocated replacing the old machine metaphor

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for representing living organisms with a new energy flow metaphor: “To understand living systems in any deep sense, we must come to see them not mechanistically, as machines, but as (stable) complex, dynamic organization” (2004, p. 176).41 The challenge then for twenty-first-century biologists is to address the non-reductionistic anomalies that plagued the twentieth-century molecular biology paradigm, which has given rise to another revolution— systems biology.

Systems biology Contemporary systems biologists claim that biology is experiencing a Kuhnian scientific revolution or paradigm shift (Palsson 2006; Trewavas 2006). Such claims are inciting a debate over the issue (Marcum 2009). For example, John Bothwell (2006) argued that systems biology does not represent a Kuhnian paradigm shift or revolution; rather, it represents Kuhnian normal science. Also, Thomas Potthast (2009) asserted that the shift is one of “fashions” and not of paradigms. At first, the debate appears inconsequential, especially to those who practice biology. However, closer inspection, particularly in terms of what Kuhn said about paradigm shifts and their attendant revolutions, reveals that systems biology may represent a fundamental or paradigmatic shift in biology’s philosophical foundation— an important element of Kuhn’s disciplinary matrix (Kuhn 1970d). That shift for many—but not all—systems biologists is from a reductionistic approach to a holistic one, for investigating and explaining biological phenomena (Gatherer 2010; Mazzocchi 2012). The emergence of systems biology over the past decade was in response to the large amounts of data generated from high-throughput genomics and proteomics (Palsson 2006). Besides the sheer amount of data, the complexity of the biological phenomena responsible for the data beckoned for a different approach than the standard reductionistic approach, in order to understand and explain these data.42 As Bothwell (2006, pp. 7–8) acknowledged, systems biologists attempted to replace the reductionistic approach to complex biological phenomena with a holistic approach. This approach involved an epistemological or a theoretical holism, in which higher-order structures are articulated in hierarchical—rather than reductionistic—terms. He cited Hiroaki Kitano’s four components of systems biology, including system structure, dynamics, control method, and design method, to illustrate the epistemological or theoretical nature of the holistic approach (Kitano 2002). Moreover, holistic ontology is not concerned solely with elemental components, like molecules, that compose complex biological phenomena but with the integrity of those phenomena at a higher level of organization.43 Finally, systems biology’s methodological holism pertains to the integration of “-omics” data through computational analysis, in an effort to identify “organizational” laws or principles (Mesarovic et al. 2004).

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The question then is whether this move by systems biologists to shift from a reductionistic to a holistic approach, to investigate and explain complex biological phenomena, represents a Kuhnian paradigm shift or scientific revolution—in which scientists substitute a newer incommensurable paradigm for an older one—or whether it represents Kuhnian normal science—in which scientists are simply “mopping up” after a revolution. Bothwell claimed the latter for two reasons. The first was that although systems biologists do not reduce complex biological phenomena to chemistry, they do reduce them to engineering. In other words, systems and their emergent properties are simply additional components that supplement other elemental components comprising biological phenomena. Thus, no replacement of an older paradigm by a newer incommensurable one is possible, since significant—if not complete—overlap exists between them. The second reason was that systems biologists did not invent the notion of functional analysis, which dates back to Aristotle and is exemplified by contemporary physiology. Bothwell appears to be both right and wrong in his assessment of the revolutionary nature of systems biology. He is right in that some systems biologists cling to reductionism and reject holism, as a guiding principle for their trade (Sorger 2005). In this sense, these biologists are engaged in normal science in that they are mopping up after the molecular biology revolution, by articulating its paradigm (Kellenberger 2004). He is wrong, on the other hand, in that other systems biologists utilize a holistic approach, instead of a reductionistic one, and extend the standard functional analysis of physiology to include dynamical nonequilibrium analysis. Systems biology’s holism—as an antireductionistic approach—comes in two forms. The first is organicism, in which complex phenomena are studied strictly at higher levels of organization so that causation proceeds top-down and not, like in reductionism, bottom-up (Fujimura 2005). This antireductionistic approach of systems biologists represents a major Kuhnian revolution or paradigm shift, since the two paradigms are globally incommensurable. In other words, there is little—if any—significant overlap between the two approaches in terms of their theories, experimental methodologies, and problems of interest. The second form of systems biology’s holism represents a synthesis between reductionism and organicism, especially in terms of causation in which bottom-up and top-down causes are integrated reciprocally (Grizzi and Chiriva-Internati 2006). For example, as genes are expressed they modify their cellular environment, which in turn activates additional genes, which in turn further modify the cellular environment, and so on. In Kuhnian terms, this revolution is a minor one since the incommensurability is simply local in nature. In other words, considerable—but not complete— overlap exists between the two paradigms. Thus, these systems biologists

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utilize both upward and downward control and share theories, experimental methodologies, and problems of interest. The application of Kuhn’s philosophy of science to biology is problematic, as Bothwell has pointed out, since Kuhn developed the notions of scientific revolution and of normal science using historical cases from the physical and chemical sciences. And, the systems biology case is an excellent example of the difficulties involved in using Kuhn to understand the impact of systems biology on the future course of the biological sciences. However, despite these problems, a Kuhnian analysis does disclose several options available for twenty-first-century biologists with regard to systems biology. The first option is in terms of Kuhnian normal science in which systems biologists—who advocate a reductionistic approach—add yet another tool, for example, computational analysis, to their toolbox or Kuhnian disciplinary matrix for investigating and explaining complex biological phenomena. The next option is globally incommensurable organicism. The problem with this approach, unfortunately, is that there is little if any technology to support it. The final option is a locally incommensurable holism that integrates both reductionism and organicism, especially in terms of causal pathways. Currently, several systems biologists advocate this integrative option (Coffman 2006). Although which of these options—if any—becomes the predominant approach for twenty-first-century biologists remains to be seen, systems biology does provide a feasible route for revolutionizing— Kuhnian or not—twenty-first-century biological practice and knowledge.44

III Summary Kuhn’s notion of the historiographic revolution had a major impact on HPS. Westman has paid tribute to Kuhn’s impact on historians of science: Kuhn theorized that science’s authority arose from its constitution as a special sort of community engaged in tacit practices, social contracts, and agreed-upon meanings. Structure opened the way to an enormous realm of new possibilities for writing the history of science. These histories would not be written so much by Kuhn himself, nor always as he would have liked, but by succeeding generations of younger scholars whose immense debts to Kuhn’s provocative and fruitful books are a lasting tribute to their author. (1994, pp. 114–15) But, Kuhn also had a significant impact on the philosophy of science and the natural sciences. Moreover, as discussed in the next chapter, Kuhn’s philosophy of science, especially the paradigm concept and the structure of scientific revolutions, had a major impact not only throughout the academy but also in popular culture.

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Further reading 1 Horwich, P., ed. (1993), World Changes: Thomas Kuhn and the Nature of Science, Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. The collection of papers presented at the 1990 Kuhnfest, in which Kuhn’s contemporaries explore the implications of his history and philosophy of science. 2 Hoyningen-Huene, P. and Sankey, H., eds (2001), Incommensurability and Related Matters, Dordrecht: Kluwer. A comprehensive analysis of the incommensurability thesis and issues associated with it, such as meaning change, theory choice, and realism. 3 Nickles, T., ed. (2003), Thomas Kuhn, New York: Cambridge University Press. A collection of essays examining a wide range of topics influenced by Kuhn’s philosophy of science, from logical empiricism to feminism. 4 Sankey, H. (2006), “Incommensurability,” in S. Sarkar and J. Pfeifer (eds), The Philosophy of Science: An Encyclopedia, Volume 1, New York: Routledge, pp. 370–3. A concise but perceptive introduction to the incommensurability thesis. 5 von Dietze, E. (2001), Paradigms Explained: Rethinking Thomas Kuhn’s Philosophy of Science, Westport, CT: Praeger. An overview to the development and reception of Kuhn’s paradigm concept and its implications for education.

Chapter eight

What is Kuhn’s impact on the behavioral, social, and political sciences?

Chapter Summary

I

n this chapter, Kuhn’s impact on the behavioral, social, and political sciences, is discussed. Although Kuhn had an enormous impact upon the behavioral (and organizational) sciences, including psychology, economics, and particularly science education, the impact upon the social sciences, especially in terms of the social dimension of scientific progress, was probably the greatest. Kuhn’s philosophy was instrumental in the transformation of the sociology of science and in the genesis of a new discipline, sociology of scientific knowledge, as well as in the rise of what is often called the science wars. In addition, feminists utilized Kuhn to counter the hegemony of the (white) male domination in the natural sciences. Kuhn also had a major impact on the political sciences, science policy, and legal studies. And, he— or his notion of normal science—served as inspiration for the emergence of a novel postmodern conceptualization of science called post-normal science.

I Behavioral sciences Psychology Psychologists realized early on the importance of Kuhn’s philosophy of science for their discipline. In a 1963 review of Structure, for example,

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Edwin Boring commented on the historical development of the behavioral sciences in terms of paradigm shifts, noting that psychology has undergone revolutionary changes but only minor ones. “Psychology has had as yet no big revolution,” lamented Boring, “and perhaps that is why it seems to have had no Great Men” (1963, p. 181). In a 1966 review of Structure, Robert Watson also commented on the value of Kuhn’s structure of scientific development for the history of psychology. “The present reviewer,” wrote Watson, “is now working on an account of the history of psychology in which one of the guide lines is the conviction that it is a pre-paradigmatic science” (1966, p. 276). Psychologists continued to use Kuhn’s normal-revolutionary dialectic to reconstruct the history of their discipline, in order to establish its scientific status. For example, in 1971 David Palermo claimed that psychology had already experienced two major scientific revolutions. The first was the shift from the introspectionist paradigm to the behaviorist paradigm, particularly in American experimental psychology. Although the behaviorist paradigm reached its height in the 1940s and 1950s, anomalies appeared and a crisis ensued with challengers competing to overthrow behaviorism. Palermo explored the various challengers and claimed that Noam Chomsky’s psycholinguistics is “the new paradigm which may replace behaviourism” (1971, p. 151). Erwin Segal and Roy Lachman (1972) also argued for a similar Kuhnian reconstruction of contemporary American psychology, with a paradigm shift away from behaviorism; but they took an agnostic position as to where the revolution would eventually lead. The British psychologist Neil Warren took issue with a Kuhnian reconstruction of psychology’s history, detailing behaviorism’s various competitors such as Gestalt psychology, Freudian psychoanalysis, and Russian conditional reflex physiology. Warren argued that it is false to conclude that behaviourism triumphed, except in a narrowly parochial point of view. It is in the imputation of parochialism that my emphasis—and my argument against Palermo—lies. For behaviourism became a dominant framework (as Palermo admits) only in the United States of America. (1971, p. 409) Moreover, the Scottish philosopher Larry Briskman concluded that American behaviorism “ought to be thought of as a research programme in degeneration rather than a paradigm in crisis” (1972, p. 94). American psychologists continued to invoke Kuhn for reconstructing psychology’s history and guiding its future. For example, Allan Buss, who found Warren’s and Briskman’s arguments “unconvincing,” claimed that psychology had undergone two major revolutions, from structuralism to behaviorism and from behaviorism to cognitivism, along with two peripheral revolutions, the psychoanalytic and humanistic revolutions.1 Buss insisted that these paradigmatic shifts, however, pertain to a one-dimensional

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relationship between subject and object that is infected with a vicious circularity. To resolve the circularity, he proposed a two-dimensional paradigm for psychology—a dialectical paradigm. “A dialectical paradigm,” according to Buss, “emphasizes the reciprocal, interactive relationship between the person and reality such that each may serve as both subject and object” (1979, p. 8). Although he acknowledged that revolutions are important in advancing psychology, the dialectic paradigm would end further revolutions concerning subject-object relations. By the mid-1980s, psychologists utilized Kuhn for more than simply reconstructing their history. From a citation analysis of the psychological journal literature from 1969 to 1983, Stephen Coleman and Rebecca Salamon concluded that psychologists used Kuhn’s philosophy in selective and superficial ways as a “rhetorical device . . . to magnify the significance of the author’s findings, conclusions, or reflections” (1988, p. 436). In a separate review of the literature on psychologists’ use of Kuhn, Gerald Peterson came to a similar conclusion. “Psychologists,” wrote Peterson, “have shown great flexibility in their use of Kuhn’s ideas. . . . The result has not been the elucidation of fundamental issues, or fruitful exchange, but,” he charged, “further debate over who has the truer paradigm” (1981, p. 15). In a review of Kuhn’s impact on psychologists, William O’Donohue encouraged them to take a critical position concerning the application of Kuhn’s philosophy to psychology. He recommended other philosophers of science, like Popper or Quine, who might better serve psychologists’ ends. He was particularly concerned that since Kuhn did not envision psychology as a natural science, because it lacked a consensus paradigm, then his philosophy of science might not be adequate for analyzing the nature of psychology qua science and its progress. As O’Donohue argued, “If normal meta-science has been dominated by the Kuhnian paradigm, I suggest a revolution in which other philosophical paradigms are considered” (1993, p. 285). Following his own counsel, O’Donohue, in collaboration with several colleagues, utilized the philosophy of five prominent philosophers of science to examine whether cognitivism represented a scientific revolution. The conclusion was that cognitivism was not a scientific revolution but a “socio-rhetorical” event (O’Donohue et al. 2003).2 Besides O’Donohue, other psychologists advocated philosophers of science besides Kuhn, to analyze psychology and its history and progress. For example, Barry Gholson and Peter Barker (1985) utilized Lakatos’s notion of research programmes and Larry Laudan’s notion of research traditions to address problems with Kuhn’s philosophy of science, such as InT. They suggested that these alternative models of science better account for historical episodes in the history of psychology, especially in terms of avoiding InT. Gholson and Barker examined the psychology of learning research in which there is an ongoing debate between conditioning and cognitive research programs or traditions and concluded that progress is made even though “fundamental commitments are modified” (1985, p. 767).

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Erin Driver-Linn used Kuhn’s naturalistic approach to the philosophy of science to address a continuing crisis in psychology. According to DriverLinn, psychologists are caught between the Scylla of the rationalist’s natural scientific worldview and the Charybdis of the relativist’s social scientific worldview, especially as it has been played out in the contemporary science wars. “Kuhn’s philosophy of science,” wrote Driver-Linn, “is an appealing one to marshal—it is popular and catchy, and it strikes a balance in the war” (2003, p. 271). That balance was reflected in Kuhn’s adherence to “maps, or models, or theories, or results [that] can be empirically based, while acknowledging the subjectivity inherent in psychological inquiry” (2003, p. 271). However, according to Driver-Linn, the real appeal of psychologists for Kuhn is not a “middling position” toward truth, but a “psychologized model” of progress, especially in terms of Gestalt switches and Piaget’s genetic epistemology. But, claimed Driver-Linn, Kuhn’s model of progress has misled psychologists. “These psychologists” she charged, “see Kuhn’s statements about changes in the sciences as informing how they think about the development of individuals” (2003, p. 273). However, equating community and individual behavior confounded psychologists’ sense of progress. Moreover, Kuhn’s conflation of description and prescription also added to psychologists’ confusion, especially to a model of scientific progress based on developmental stages. For Driver-Linn, psychologists’ reliance on Kuhn’s philosophy of science was problematic, because “in general, psychologists seem more concerned with what signifies comparative progress than with generating or maintaining a vision of where the field is going” (2003, p. 276). Driver-Linn’s article generated considerable criticism. For example, Christopher Green (2004) argued that psychologists are drawn to Kuhn, not because of his middling truth or psychologized progress that comforts them, but because of his image as a radical. In response, Driver-Linn argued, “I do not believe that psychologists are in general a comfortable lot, nor do I believe that a careful reading of my account would comfort them” (2004, p. 273). She then proposed that the metaphor for psychology’s travails vis-à-vis scientific status should not be political or even psychological but biological. “Maybe the ‘speciation’ of psychology has yielded,” speculated Driver-Linn, “along with thriving and extinct subspecialities and notable mutations, some unfortunate vestigial attributes” (2004, p. 274). Thus, psychologists should look not to outside disciplines such as philosophy of science but to their own. Recently, psychology has begun to have an impact on HPS, and Kuhn is part of the conversation. For example, Richard Walsh and colleagues discussed the revolutionary nature of psychology from historical and philosophical perspectives that included Kuhn’s notion of scientific revolutions, although they expressed concerns about the applicability

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of his notion (Walsh et al. 2014). In terms of the history of psychology, specifically, Baldwin Hergenhahn and Tracy Henley argued that psychology is not pre-paradigmatic but rather “multi-paradigmatic” (2014, p. 11). In a recent handbook on the psychology of science, several contributors invoked Kuhn’s philosophy of science (Feist and Gorman 2013). As one author, Ryan Tweney, wrote, “Kuhn represents the most important claim in our era that the actual conduct of scientific thinking might be understandable using methods derived from the social sciences in general and from psychology in particular” (2013, p. 76). However, Thomas Sturm and Annette Mülberger (2012)—in a special section of Studies in History and Philosophy of Biological and Biomedical Sciences on the nature of crisis in contemporary psychology—called for breaking the “spell” of Kuhn’s hold on crisis analysis in the discipline in order forge new directions for reconstructing psychology historically and analyzing it philosophically.

Economics Economists early on appropriated Kuhn’s philosophy of science for their discipline, especially its history and methodology. In the first half of the twentieth century, economists turned to logical positivism/empiricism, in order to justify economics as a science. For example, Terence Hutchinson (1938) utilized the positivist’s notion of verification for economic methodology in his classic on economic theory. Hutchinson claimed that the demarcation of an economic theory as scientific is its ability to be tested empirically. By mid-twentieth century, Fritz Machlup criticized Hutchinson’s positivistic economic methodology as “ultra-empirical” and claimed that “the tests of most of our [economic] theories will be more nearly of the character of illustrations than of verifications of the kind possible in relation with repeatable controlled experiments” (1955, p. 19). Although positivism had a profound impact upon economic methodology during the mid-twentieth century, it was often in chastened or ambiguous forms (Caldwell 1980). For example, Milton Friedman wrote a widely referenced—and certainly controversial—essay on positive economics in the early 1950s. Although he did not cite any philosophers of science in the essay, his analysis of economic methodology mimicked the discussion occurring among these philosophers.3 For instance, Friedman claimed “positive economics is, or can be, an ‘objective’ science, in precisely the same sense as any of the physical sciences” (1953, p. 4). This objectivity is possible, according to Friedman, through testing of theoretical claims and predictions—a position that weakly but definitely resembles logical positivism/empiricism (Boland 1979). But, Friedman avoided the problems associated with logical positivism/ empiricism by limiting positive economics on two counts. The first pertained

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to theoretical claims. “Logical completeness and consistency,” according to Friedman, “are relevant but play a subsidiary role” (1953, p. 10). The second, and more important, involved theory choice. The choice among alternative hypotheses equally consistent with the available evidence must to some extent be arbitrary, though there is general agreement that relevant considerations are suggested by the criteria of “simplicity” and “fruitfulness,” themselves notions that defy completely objective specification. (1953, p. 10) With these two limitations, Friedman appeared to anticipate the work of Kuhn. For example, Friedman’s second limitation resembles Kuhn’s assertion that two scientists can choose different theories even though the objective criteria, such as simplicity and fruitfulness, are comparable. Economists eventually appropriated Kuhn’s paradigm concept to reconstruct the history of economic thought. For example, Donald Gordon proposed that economics’ fundamental paradigm is Adam Smith’s “postulate of the maximizing individual in a relatively free market” (1965, p. 123). Gordon argued that Smith’s paradigm is still viable after two centuries and that economics has yet to undergo a major revolution, although it has had “major, if unsuccessful, rebellions” (1965, p. 124). He concluded that “economic theory is very much like a normal science” (1965, p. 126). In contrast, Alfred Coats claimed that the principal economic paradigm is “the theory of economic equilibrium via the market mechanism” (1969, p. 292). Coats argued that economics underwent a Keynesian revolution in the 1930s, which exhibited “many of the characteristics associated with Kuhn’s ‘scientific revolutions’” (1969, p. 293). But, he noted that “it is now clear that the Keynesian paradigm was not ‘incompatible’ with its predecessor” (1969, p. 293). The Keynesian revolution was the predominant example for economists of a Kuhnian revolution. For example, Ron Stanfield (1974) purported that the economic theory articulated by Keynes in The General Theory of Employment, Interest and Money represented a Kuhnian-like revolution in economics. In essence, the Keynesian revolution resulted in a change of the types of puzzles economists tackled, which ultimately led to a change in their worldview. He then listed other features of the Keynesian revolution that supported the conclusion that the Keynesian revolution was Kuhnian in nature. For instance, Stanfield claimed, “Keynesian normal science . . . was sufficiently open-ended to allow substantial articulation” (1974, p. 105).4 Michel de Vroey provided a Kuhnian analysis of the transition from classical to neoclassical economics. “In the last years,” de Vroey wrote, “studies applying the Kuhnian framework to economic science have flourished, and no discussion about the history of economic theories takes place without at least a reference to Kuhn” (1975, p. 415). According to de Vroey, classical and neoclassical economics are “coherent and specific”

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paradigms, and the transition from classical to neoclassical economics represented “a scientific revolution a la Kuhn rather than as a scientific advance in a Popperian way through a process of criticism and falsification of existing laws or assumptions” (1975, p. 429). He also proposed a cause for the transition. “The new paradigm,” wrote de Vroey, “was especially attractive because it looked as scientific as the natural sciences theories” (1975, p. 435). Alfred Eichner and Jan Kergel claimed that the post-Keynesian theory, as developed by Keynes’s Cantabridgian associates and a younger generation of economists, represented “in Thomas Kuhn’s sense . . . a new paradigm” (1975, p. 1293). Eichner and Kergel listed four features of the new paradigm: “(1) growth dynamics, (2) distributional effects, (3) the Keynesian constraints, and (4) the microeconomic base” (1975, p. 1294). Although they acknowledged no single neoclassical theory existed by which to compare the post-Keynesian theory, the neoclassical theories did share sufficient common features to allow “a rough comparison . . . between the post-Keynesian group of models and the neoclassical, or orthodox, groups” (1975, p. 1319). Finally, they contrasted the purposes of the two paradigms, in an attempt to distinguish between them; but, they invoked Kuhn concerning the difficulty associated with the task of choosing “between alternative paradigms—especially when the newer one is still in an inchoate state” (1975, p. 1319). Although economists utilized Kuhn during the 1970s, “the application of Kuhn’s arguments to the history of economic thought has encountered serious difficulties,” acknowledged Ernesto Screpanti and Stephano Zamagni, “difficulties which can be linked both to the ambiguities of the Kuhnian definition of a ‘paradigm’ and to its origins in the history of the natural science” (1993, p. 5). Two approaches to Kuhn emerged in the economic literature. The first was to replace Kuhn with another philosopher of science, particularly Lakatos. As Deborah Redman recognized, “The Kuhnian wave of the seventies is being swallowed up by the Lakatosian program” (1991, p. 142). Mark Blaug led the charge to replace Kuhn with Lakatos. According to Blaug, “The term ‘paradigm’ ought to be banished from economic literature” (1975, p. 399). He argued that even the best representative of a Kuhnian revolution in economics, the Keynesian revolution, is better viewed as a Lakatosian scientific research program.5 The second was to revise or enhance Kuhn’s paradigm concept. For example, Wilfred Dolfsma and Patrick Welch (2009) engaged in a literary analysis of paradigms, in terms of myth, plot structure, and cultural endowment, to reconstruct paradigm shifts in economics.6 Although economists attempted to incorporate Kuhn’s scientific methodology into explications of economic methodology, success was minimal. For example, Benjamin Ward applied six tests derived from Kuhn’s work to address the issue of whether economists behave as normal scientists. Although economists passed the tests, Ward cautioned that the

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only reasonable conclusion is simply that “there are striking similarities between the ways in which economists behave in their professional life and the behavior of natural scientists” (1972, p. 13). However, other economists were less enthusiastic about Kuhn’s methodology. For example, Redman insisted that economists are not “normal” in a Kuhnian sense, since “there is no paradigm . . . that is unquestioned by all economists” (1991, p. 151). She argued that consensus cannot be forced but must be attained through an attitude she called “scientific rationalism,” which involves “tolerance, honesty, commitment to the advance of science above personal advance and to the freedom to exercise criticism, a willingness to listen and learn from others” (1991, p. 172). Moreover, as David Hausman noted, Kuhn’s methodology is difficult in its application to economics since it is “evasive on questions of theory appraisal, which still interests most of those writing on economic methodology” (1989, p. 124). Theory appraisal is an important issue for economists, and Kuhn, for example, offered no criteria to account for the role of anomalies in paradigm shifts. Bruce Caldwell also claimed that Kuhn’s methodology may disappoint economists, “who would prefer that methodology offer a rigorous, objective, prescriptive framework” (1994, p. 230). He proposed that a Popperian critical rationalism provides a better approach to economic methodology. Although economists were critical of Kuhn’s methodology, they did adopt “Kuhn’s account of actual scientific practice as differing significantly from the austere strictures of positivism” (Dow 1997, p. 77). For example, John Davis (2003, 2007) identified three Kuhnian revolutions in economic methodology. The first was Hutchinson’s introduction of logical positivism, which Friedman’s economic methodology exemplified. The next was the rejection of positivism in terms of the approaches of Popper, Lakatos, and Kuhn. The final revolution was in terms of the sociology of scientific knowledge. “Central here,” argued Davis, “is the downplaying of any normative or prescriptive account of economics and a commitment to naturalism as a descriptive scientific methodology” (2007, p. 278). The last revolution has introduced “pluralism” into economic methodology. Indeed, he cited a variety of approaches to economic methodology, including “game theory, evolutionary economics, behavioral economics, experimental economics, agent-based complexity economics and neuroeconomics” (2007, p. 275).7 Given this pluralism, Davis concluded that economic methodology is in a permanent state of revolution, especially since the publication of Structure. Finally, heterodox economics represents another approach to economic methodology in which its advocates have invoked Kuhn’s philosophy of science to frame contemporary economic methodology. For example, Robert Garnett (2006) envisioned two competing approaches to heterodox economics. The first was the formation of “radical Kuhnian” paradigm or “paradigmism” that brings consensus to the diversity of economic

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methodologies. In this approach, the economic community empanels only a single method as “superior” to others. The second approach, an “egalitarian pluralistic” paradigm, was to accept the diversity of methodologies. This approach involves tolerance to diverse economic methods and does not support one method in contrast to others. Interestingly, Sheila Dow invoked Kuhn’s notion of revolution to frame the debate around orthodox and heterodox economic methodologies and to argue that although heterodox methods may not replace the orthodox method, “a more realistic goal would be to aim for a new spirit of tolerance within economics” (2011, p. 14).

Science education “Kuhn’s impact on the educational research and theory,” wrote an editor of Science and Education, at the turn of the twenty-first century, “has been immense” (Anonymous 2000, p. 2). However, Kuhn’s impact was not immediate. Although Morris Shamos reviewed Structure in a 1963 issue of The Science Teacher, science educators ignored or were unfamiliar with Kuhn’s new image of science. Shamos discussed the importance of Kuhn’s monograph for HPS but not for science education. Moreover, at a 1968 annual meeting of the National Association for Research in Science Teaching held in Chicago, Structure was mentioned only once by a participant in a session on philosophy of science and science teaching and even then only in terms of the complexities surrounding the development of the concept of oxygen. John Robinson, who presented a paper—“Philosophy of science: implications for teacher education”—at the Chicago meeting and whose doctoral dissertation was recently published, The Nature of Science and Science Teaching, did not mention Kuhn, or even Popper. Many science educators relied on the traditional philosophy of science to inform their view of science. As Michael Matthews later pointed out, Kuhn did not “inform the widespread post-Sputnik curriculum debates of the 1960s” (2004, p. 94). At the start of the 1970s, Kuhn’s new image of science began to receive recognition from science educators. For example, Yehuda Elkana discussed the rise of the new philosophy of science and its potential impact on science educators’ image of science. Although he recognized Popper as the chief architect, he also acknowledged the role of a younger generation of philosophers of science who were engaged in developing the new philosophy of science, especially from a psychological perspective. Elkana utilized Kuhn’s normal-revolutionary science dichotomy for science education; but, he proposed that science teaching should be “concerned only with normal science” (1970, p. 30). Moreover, he believed that the historical approach to teaching science provides a useful supplement to the traditional approach and he suggested that a strategy-tactics dichotomy is the best means for teaching science. By the end of the decade, Kuhn’s philosophy of science

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had eclipsed Popper’s philosophy of science in terms of science education, in order to humanize science curricula (Cawthron and Rowell 1978). But, the application of Kuhn’s philosophy of science to science pedagogy was not accepted uncritically. Harvey Siegel, for example, argued that Kuhn’s science pedagogy relies on normal or paradigmatic science in which normal scientists actively distort the history of science to justify it.8 Siegel addressed two problems with Kuhn’s analysis of normal science pedagogy. First, he declared that Kuhn’s pedagogy is “a rather pessimistic view of the student’s critical capabilities” (1979, p. 113). He argued that students would have a greater appreciation for current scientific paradigms, if taught an undistorted history of science. Second, he found Kuhn’s pedagogy morally “repugnant.” “Students,” objected Siegel, “are not objects with which we can, as science educators, do as we wish—they are persons, and deserve the respect of their personhood that we demand for ourselves” (1979, p. 113). To correct these problems, Siegel proposed an alternative pedagogical program based on an undistorted view of the history of science. Siegel later examined Kuhn’s epistemological relativism vis-à-vis dogmatism in science pedagogy. “It is ironic,” quipped Siegel, “that Kuhn defends relativism in epistemology but dogmatism in education” (1985, p. 102). Siegel proposed a pluralistic approach to science education, in which students are exposed “to a variety of philosophical methods and theoretical formulations” (1985, p. 103). But despite these criticisms, by the 1980s Kuhn’s new image of science became the standard within science pedagogy. For example, Isaac Abimola, in discussing the relevance of the “new” philosophy of science for science education, used Kuhn as the source for many of its characteristics. Abimola concluded that this new philosophy may “provide the necessary guidance to upgrade science education and research” (1983, p. 190). Paul Wagner also utilized Kuhn’s philosophy of science to address science pedagogy. He agreed with Kuhn that the “essence” of scientific practice is puzzle-solving activity. “Consequently,” wrote Wagner, “science education ought to equip science students with the skills necessary for puzzle solving in specific scientific domains” (1983, p. 605). He then outlined three goals for science curriculum based on Kuhn’s philosophy. Briefly, students should be taught the particular vocabulary, behavior pattern, and critical spirit associated with a scientific paradigm. With respect to curricular development in science education, Derek Hodson argued that “an urgent need for reconsideration of the epistemological basis of the science curriculum in the light of contemporary views in the philosophy and sociology of science” (1985, p. 48).9 To that end, Hodson (1988) proposed a three-stage scientific curriculum constructed along Kuhnian lines. The first stage is “pre-paradigmatic science education,” in which students are taught the vocabulary and concepts of a particular scientific domain. The next stage is “within-paradigm science education.” “The major goals at this stage,” pronounced Hodson, “would focus on learning the substantive structure of science and on acquiring and practicing

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the skills and procedures of normal science” (1988, p. 33). The final stage is “revolutionary science education.” During this stage, students are taught “the creation of new theoretical ideas and investigation of the ways in which choices are made by the scientific community between rival theories” (1988, p. 33). Kuhn’s philosophy of science continued to be discussed among science educators in the 1990s, with a balanced use of it emerging by the end of the decade and with other philosophers of science invoked for revising science education. With respect to Kuhn, for example, Juli Eflin and colleagues encouraged science educators to expose students to Kuhn’s philosophy of science, especially paradigm competition and the role of commitments and values in science. However, they cautioned that “students should be made aware that some interpretations of Kuhn’s views are extreme and not persuasive (such as the popular claim of radical incommensurability between paradigms)” (Eflin et al. 1999, p. 114). Roberto Refinetti addressed this caution in terms of science education, particularly physiology education, and postmodernism. Although he acknowledged the conflict between postmodern constructivism and scientific realism, Refinetti argued that Kuhn’s adherence, although tenuous, to a mind-independent world vis-à-vis scientific progress in non-teleologic, evolutionary terms is consistent with a postmodernist constructivism that incorporates psychological and/or social factors into the production of scientific knowledge and its advancement. “Having shown that, in many cases, postmodernism is not a threat to the scientific enterprise,” concluded Refinetti, “I hope I have convinced scientists to allow postmodernist theories to permeate into science and to remain an informal part of scientific education” (1997, p. S35). Science educators utilized other philosophers of science, such as Feyerabend, Lakatos, Laudan, Toulmin, among others.10 For example, Nicholas Burbules and Marcia Linn recommended revising science education using Lakatos’s notion of scientific theory change in which “scientific research programmes should be judged not as ‘true’ or ‘false’, but as ‘progressing’ or ‘degenerating’” (1991, p. 234). Burbules and Linn concluded that Lakatos’s approach, along with Kuhn’s, gives the student a naturalistic, rather than simply a formal, understanding of what science is and how it is practiced. Indeed, Steven Turner and Karen Sullenger (1999) claimed that Kuhn’s philosophy of science is best located in the classroom, while Lakatos’s in the laboratory. In other words, Kuhn’s exemplars are strategically suited for learning the theoretical basis of science, while Lakatos’s research programmes are suited for its experimental practice. Kuhn’s impact on science education is palpable even in the twenty-first century. For example, in a special topic article in Science & Education, Michael Matthews discussed the lessons learned from Kuhn’s impact on science education, especially in terms of constructivism. The chief lesson, according to Matthews, is that “the science education community should be more effectively engaged with on-going debates and analyses in the history

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and philosophy of science” (2004, p. 112). Richard Duschl also proposed the incorporation of post-positivist HPS into the development of science education curricula.11 Perhaps the most important element Kuhn and others added to our understanding of the nature of science is the recognition that most of the theory change that occurs in science is not final theory acceptance but improvement and refinement of a theory. (2008, p. 274) But, as evident from Duschl’s quote, Kuhn’s philosophical notions continue to be misunderstood. Paul Wendel, for example, charged Ibrahim Halloun with misconstruing Kuhn’s paradigm concept and the notion of paradigm shift. According to Wendel, for example, Kuhn’s paradigm shift is revolutionary and not evolutionary, as Halloun contended. “A Kuhnian paradigm may develop over time,” admitted Wendel, “but it doesn’t evolve into a new paradigm. . . . By contrast, Halloun’s personal paradigms can gradually evolve from one to another” (2008, p. 136). Finally, Kuhn’s philosophy of science was instrumental in the methodological debates or “paradigm wars” in science education research over quantitative and qualitative methods, which educational researchers considered to be competing paradigms.12 The wars involved not only conflict between the two paradigms but also attempts to combine them as a “mixed” methodology. For example, Norman Denzin (2010) identified three wars within the past three decades, beginning in the 1980s.13 Postpositivist philosophy of science, with the ascendancy of qualitative methods, precipitated the first war. During the 1990s, the proliferation of various ideological “isms”—like post-structuralism and feminism—each with their claim to paradigm dominance, ignited the next war. The final war, beginning with the twenty-first century, saw a proliferation of paradigms under the aegis of a “soft pragmatic” paradigm in which “whatever works” become the chief methodological principle. Robert Donmoyer, who introduced the term “paradigm proliferation”—in a provocatively titled paper, “Take my paradigm . . . please!”—claimed that “Kuhnian-inspired paradigm talk . . . has served us well in the past but now has outlived its usefulness” (2006, p. 30). Rather than paradigms, what is needed, according to Donmoyer, is “multiple perspectives” that reflect the values of a pluralist society.14

II Social sciences Sociology Sociologists, who were concerned over the status of their discipline as a science, greeted and embraced Kuhn’s paradigm concept enthusiastically.

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For example, Robert Friedrichs proposed first- and second-order paradigms for sociology. Clashes between paradigms over the subject matter of sociology, such as between the system paradigm and the conflict paradigm, are a function of first-order paradigms, in which the sociologist is cast as the “scientific agent.” “The paradigms that order a sociologist’s conception of his subject matter . . .,” explained Friedrichs, “may themselves be a reflection, or function, of a more fundamental image: the paradigm in terms of which he sees himself” (1970, p. 56). The paradigmatic image may be as either priest or prophet, and it is what determines whether one is committed to either the system paradigm or the conflict paradigm. Later, Friedrichs (1972) developed a dialectical sociology based on Kuhn’s notion of exemplars, which he believed would provide guidance for future sociological research and resolve the current “crisis” in sociology. George Ritzer also applied Kuhn’s paradigm concept to sociology and concluded that the discipline is a “multiple paradigm science,” i.e. “the situation in which there are several paradigms vying for hegemony within the field as a whole” (1975, p. 12). He identified three sociological paradigms: social facts paradigm, social definition paradigm, and social behavior paradigm. Proponents of the social facts paradigm were concerned with the development of abstract theory, such as the functionalist, system, or conflict theory, through empirical or statistical methods. Proponents of the social definition paradigm rejected abstract theory and were concerned with specific skills that allow them to observe accurately social phenomena and to discredit social myths. Action theory, symbolic interactionism, and phenomenological sociology constituted this paradigm. The social behavior paradigm straddled the two previous paradigms. Its proponents engaged in abstract theory, such as behavioral or exchange theory, through experimental means and, in turn, used these theories to improve society. In a review of sociologists’ attempts to appropriate paradigms, Douglas Eckberg and Lester Hill claimed that sociologists had obfuscated the paradigmatic status of their discipline. “The results of these attempts,” insisted Eckberg and Hill, “have been far from satisfactory. In fact, there are almost as many views of the paradigmatic status of sociology as there are sociologists attempting such analyses” (1979, p. 925). They argued that the confusion over sociology’s status was a result of the misuse or misunderstanding of Kuhn’s paradigm concept. For example, they claimed that Ritzer’s division of sociology into three paradigms was “arbitrary” and would constitute Friedrichs’s system paradigm (1979, p. 932). However, they acknowledged that the blame could not be placed completely at the feet of sociologists, since Kuhn’s formulation of paradigm was originally ambiguous. In addition, Eckberg and Hill claimed that Ritzer misunderstood paradigm as disciplinary matrix, whereas Kuhn intended it as exemplar. After explicating an accurate description of paradigm and demonstrating sociologists’ misuse of it to analyze the scientific status of sociology, they asked the question of whether sociology was paradigmatic in terms of

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exemplars. According to Eckberg and Hill, the answer was no. “What we often actually find,” they insisted, “is research modeled upon no other research at all, upon a short, soon-extinguished line of research or upon a single theorist’s speculations. . . . We find constant arguing, bickering, and debate, but very little agreement” (1979, p. 935). However, they qualified their analysis claiming that paradigms (exemplars) may someday be possible for sociology, but these paradigms must be localized to a substantive area of research within a subdiscipline of sociology and attract practitioners who utilize them to solve puzzles in an ongoing tradition. In response to Eckberg and Hill, Ritzer claimed that defining paradigm as disciplinary matrix rather than as exemplar served his purposes better for explicating the structure of sociology. He outlined this structure in terms of the intersection of the macroscopic/microscopic and objective/subjective continua, which yielded four levels of social reality. Upon these four levels, he mapped the three earlier paradigms along with a fourth integrative sociological paradigm. “In conclusion,” wrote Ritzer, “I would argue that being a Kuhnian purist leads one to focus on exemplars in sociology but that Kuhn’s concept of a disciplinary matrix is a more useful tool for understanding the metatheoretical status of sociology” (1981, p. 247). Hill and Eckberg responded to Ritzer, reclaiming that, as Kuhn himself had advocated, the central idea of paradigm is the notion of exemplar. “And finally,” they concluded, “what does it mean to be interested in the ‘paradigmatic status of sociology’ if the paradigm concept is borrowed from Kuhn, but Kuhn’s major arguments/implications are rejected?” (1981, p. 251). Sociologists continued to pay homage to and to bicker about utilizing Kuhn’s philosophy of science, especially the paradigm concept and the notion of scientific revolution. For example, Michael Ryan (2011) included Kuhn’s Structure on a time line of important publications in the history of sociology. Interestingly, Ryan justified its inclusion since it represented “a revolutionary rather than an evolutionary theory of scientific change” (Ryan 2011, p. xxx). In another example, Martin Slattery claimed that Kuhn’s paradigm concept was a “key idea” in sociology, although he admitted that “there is no dominant paradigm in sociology. It is yet again in a state of revision and revolution” (2003, p. 11). In one final example, Nelson Polsby (1998) defended Kuhn’s philosophy from a social science perspective in that scientific knowledge is no less robust because it relies on community practice. “In Kuhn’s hands,” Polsby concluded, “the history of science becomes a pageant of achievement so thoroughly grounded in human fallibility and human cooperation that students of the social sciences might easily notice a kinship between the scientific enterprise and our own” (1998, p. 208).

Sociology of science and of scientific knowledge Besides general sociology, Kuhn’s philosophy of science was instrumental in terms of the transformation of the sociology of science. In particular, Kuhn

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broadened the discipline to include the external social factors involved in scientific practice—in contrast to Merton’s emphasis on internal factors. “The Mertonian perspective, which was soon to acquire the status of a paradigm in the field,” according to Zaheer Baber, “focused on examining a wide range of institutional conditions, values, and norms most conducive for the development of science and technology in modern society” (2000, p. 141). As Baber emphasized, Kuhn provided the resources for a new sociology of science that included the epistemic process by which scientific knowledge is justified and eventually incorporated into the scientific corpus, often to the exclusion of the institutional elements.15 Kuhn, then, is often credited (or blamed) for the founding of a new school of sociology of science called sociology of scientific knowledge or SSK (Golinski 2005). Barry Barnes, from the University of Edinburgh, appropriated Kuhn’s philosophy of science for SSK in terms of the “strong programme.” According to Barnes, Kuhn’s approach to science is “exactly what is needed for sociological study” (1982, p. 5). As he and other sociologists acknowledged, they were not interested in praising the natural sciences but instead wanted to turn these sciences into something similar to the social sciences. Thus, the agenda of SSK scholars was to shake the very foundations of these sciences and to question their privileged position in society, in terms of both their access to and pronouncements on the natural world. From their analyses of the natural sciences, SSK scholars championed what is now known as constructivism, i.e. scientific knowledge is not discovered but rather it is constructed, created, or manufactured—to use but a few of the metaphors proposed by them (Knorr-Cetina 1981; Kukla 2000; Latour and Woolgar 1986). According to SSK advocates or constructivists, scientific practice and its construction of knowledge is strictly a social affair (Marcum 2008). The construction of scientific knowledge is founded on relative standards and warrant. The standards are relative because they are embedded within and dependent upon a particular historical period, and they often change over time. In other words, standards are local or particular and not universal or general since they depend upon a specific culture. The evidential warrant is relative too and not absolute because interpretation of that warrant is influenced by or is dependent upon the values of a given society. Consequently, scientific knowledge is not composed of empirical facts but of social artifacts, i.e. constructed facts; for, facts are imbued with social values and are the result of negotiations among trade-practicing members of a particular disciplinary guild. The constructivist approach to truth, according to Alvin Goldman (1999), is “veriphobic,” with the end-result that a belief is not “true” but simply “institutionalized.” For constructivists, reality is not the source of scientific practice and knowledge but the consequence of them, which in turn depend upon the negotiations among practicing members of a scientific community. In other words, the direction of scientific information is one-way—from the scientific community to scientific knowledge and finally to the construction of reality.

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This direction is the reverse of objectivist accounts, in which the direction is from reality to scientific knowledge via scientific discovery. The natural world for constructivists, then, is not based on ontological absolutism in that what exists is mind-independent and, consequently, exists apart of the scientific community. Rather, it is based on ontological relativism in that reality depends upon what a community takes it to be and, thus, varies from one community to another. As noted earlier, Kuhn was not sympathetic to SKK; and, he believed that notions like truth and knowledge must be defended from “the excesses of post-modernist movements like the strong program” (1991, p. 4). What concerned Kuhn about SSK was not its quality of scholarship but rather its exclusion of nature in the generation of scientific knowledge. He believed that nature must be acknowledged as a component of—or what he called “letting nature in” during—scientific practice. “But you are not talking about anything worth calling science,” Kuhn stressed when interviewed about the “strong programme,” “if you leave out the role of [nature]. Some of these people simply claim that it doesn’t have any, that nobody has shown that it makes any difference” (2000, p. 317). According to Kuhn, nature plays a pivotal role in the “negotiations” between the practice of a scientific community and the natural phenomena it investigates.

Science wars As Philip Baringer (2001) narrated the inception of the science wars, Kuhn opened the door to a new sociology of science, which then led to SSK and its “strong programme,” which in turn led to the science wars.16 As several sociologists acknowledged, scientists and their sympathizers were bound to respond to SSK—especially its “strong programme.” Paul Gross and Norman Levitt, for example, provided a highly publicized—and rather sensational—response to SSK’s “strong programme” and its constructivism. Gross and Levitt characterized the constructivist’s epistemological position accordingly, science is a highly elaborate set of conventions brought forth by one particular culture (our own) in the circumstances of one particular historical period. . . . It is a discourse, devised by and for one specialized “interpretive community,” under terms created by the complex net of social circumstance, political opinion, economic incentive, and ideological climate that constitutes the ineluctable human environment of the scientist. (1998, p. 45) From their critique of SSK’s constructivism, Gross and Levitt concluded, “this point of view rigorously applied leaves no ground whatsoever for distinguishing reliable knowledge from superstition” (1998, p. 45).

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Finally, they located part of the blame for constructivism with a distorted interpretation of Kuhn’s philosophy of science.17 SSK scholars, as well as those who constituted the larger discipline of the cultural studies of the natural sciences, responded to the criticism of Gross and Levitt, as well as others (Holton 1993; Gross et al. 1996), with a collection of essays published in a 1996 special issue of the journal Social Text. Originally this issue contained an article, “Transgressing the boundaries: toward a transformative hermeneutics of quantum gravity,” by the physicist Alan Sokal. In the article, he conducted a postmodern analysis of quantum mechanics—only to admit later that the article was a hoax (Sokal 1996). The special issue of Social Text was expanded and published as a book entitled Science Wars, of course without Sokal’s article. In the introduction to Science Wars, Andrew Ross, editor of the book and the coeditor of Social Text, decried critics’ caricature of cultural and social studies of science. Ross defended the book’s postmodern position(s), arguing that the class-soaked pronouncements about the return of the Dark Ages among the ill-educated masses are intended to reinforce the myth of scientists as a beleaguered and isolated minority of truth-seekers, armed only with objective reasoning and standing firm against a tide of superstitions. (1996, p. 9) He acknowledged that the motives of scholars in the cultural studies of science vary tremendously. But, most—if not all—these scholars assert— claimed Ross—that scientific knowledge is not given by the natural world but is produced or constructed through social interactions between/among scientists and their instruments, and that these interactions are mediated by the conceptual apparatuses created in order to frame and interpret the results. (1996, p. 12) But, the proximate fallout for SSK was palpable. As Ziauddin Sardar described it, “Cultural studies has become quite meaningless, and anyone can get away with anything in the name of postmodern criticism” (2000, p. 62). The heat from the science wars eventually dissipated and light began to appear, especially in terms of case analysis of scientific practice and knowledge. For example, a 1999 special issue of Social Studies of Science was devoted to analyzing several cases. One of the contributors to the special issue, Donald MacKenzie, acknowledged, “The turn in the ‘science wars’ controversy to detailed critiques of case studies is an encouraging one” (1999, p. 199). The reason for the encouragement was the identification and correction of errors on the part of postmodernists concerning scientific facts. Implicitly, for postmodernists to reconstruct and then to deconstruct

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science, they must first have their facts straight. A distal but critical fallout of the Sokal hoax was to force postmodernists to conduct analyses based on an accurate re/deconstruction of science that respected its integrity. Besides the turn to cases, a turn toward substantive analysis of SSK occurred after the science wars subsided, especially in terms of the growth of scientific knowledge. For example, Barbara Smith, in Scandalous Knowledge, analyzed the scandal in terms of traditional epistemology. “The scandal is philosophy’s apparent inability to show how, when and why,” according to Smith, “we can be sure that we know something or, indeed, that we know anything” (2006, p. 1). Although Smith had no proposal to resolve the scandal, she did defend postmodern constructivism as a means for investigating the complexity of the world as it emerges in various attempts to know or understand it. In a critique of postmodern constructivism, Paul Boghossian (2006)—employing a reflexive-like move— claimed that epistemic reasons must exhibit enough absoluteness to ascent to or to deny beliefs about the world. Finally, in defense of the participants in the aftermath of the science wars, Michael Bérubé argued that they did “set the term for an eventual rapprochement” (2011, p. 74).18

Feminism In a 1998 special issue of Configurations devoted to Kuhn, Evelyn Keller took up the relationship of Kuhn to feminism. Specifically, she asked the question of whether Kuhn was a feminist. “I think it is fair to say that when I first met Tom,” reminisced Keller, “he was neither more nor less a feminist than other liberal men of his generation—which is to say, not very much of one” (1998, p. 15). For Keller, Kuhn had not only an impact on her professionally but also on feminism writ large, especially with respect to gender studies. The impact was on, in Keller’s words, “studies of the roles that cultural norms of gender have played in the historical development of science” (1998, p. 16). Helen Longino provided a critical analysis of the use of Kuhn by feminists, particularly feminists involved in the practice or study of science. “Kuhn’s Structure,” claimed Longino, “offered a vocabulary for articulating the complex critique of science and its ideology that feminist scientists sought to develop” (2003, p. 262). For example, she explored Ruth Hubbard’s ethnological and evolutionary investigations and the use of Kuhn’s notion of theory-laden meaning. As for Kuhn’s impact on feminist science studies, Longino cited Sandra Harding’s work on scientific revolutions and the role feminism must play in reshaping a science not founded on physics but on the social sciences. As Longino noted, feminists were not simply interested in analyzing science but in transforming it along gender lines. But, she claimed that their reliance on Kuhn was inadequate for the task. To that end, Longino advocated replacing Kuhn’s theory-ladenness with “contextual empiricism,”

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which supports a pluralistic epistemology in that a theory’s “correctness is judged from the perspective of different background assumptions and cognitive goals” (2003, p. 276).19 Feminists were not only engaged in criticizing the natural sciences and science studies, but they were also occupied with an epistemological project of “women’s knowledge” and its relationship to “malestream” research and scholarship—especially in the social sciences. For example, Aino Saarinen (1988) called for a Kuhnian-like “new paradigm” for feminist epistemology. Charting the development of feminist research through the stages of “compensatory research” to “contribution research” to “transitional research,” Saarinen proposed “integrative research”—“a paradigm where the category of gender and sex/gender system represent integral parts of scientific research into human society and its reality” (1988, p. 43). She concluded that the “paradigmatic challenge” facing feminist research vis-àvis the social sciences involves not only the methodological and theoretical dimensions of knowledge but also its normative and conceptual dimensions. Ann Oakley (1998) also explored the paradigm debate in the social sciences with respect to feminist research, by analyzing the “gendering of methodology” in terms of qualitative/quantitative dualism. Feminist research is generally associated with qualitative methodology, which is considered inferior to quantitative methodology. Like Saarinen, Oakley also championed an integrative model for feminist research by “dissolving the dualism of quantitative and qualitative methods and adopting a feminist empiricist approach” (1998, p. 708). To that end, she proposed that quantitative research methods should take into consideration the subjective dimensions of both researchers and subjects and that qualitative methods should include the empirical dimensions of the investigations. Specifically, she identified a reciprocal relationship in which qualitative research methods, such as subject interviews, may aid in the design of quantitative studies, such as surveys, while quantitative methods could support qualitative studies. “The ‘paradigm argument’ in which quantitative and qualitative ways of knowing are seen as opposed,” concluded Oakley, “is a historical and social construction” (1998, p. 724). The way forward was a “middle ground.”20 Subsequent feminists elaborated on Oakley’s “middle ground”—although not explicitly—in terms of a “mixed” methods approach (Fonow and Cook 2005; Westmarland 2001). Denise Leckenby and Sharlene Hesse-Biber, in particular, explored feminist approaches to mixed methods. Leckenby and Hesse-Biber defined these methods as “a type of research design that uses both quantitative and qualitative data collection and analysis to answer a particular question or set of questions in a single research design” (2007, p. 253).21 Like with Oakley, they too envisioned a reciprocal relationship between the two methods. For example, quantitative methods might provide empirical evidence to investigate variations derived from qualitative methods, while qualitative methods might identify specific problems arising from qualitative methods. “Mixed-methods design, then,” concluded

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Leckenby and Hesse-Biber, “can enable the researcher to tackle complex issues that occur at multiple levels—the individual as well as the societal” (2007, p. 283).22 Finally, Toril Moi utilized Kuhn to frame what she considered a “crisis” in contemporary feminism. The crisis was “the stunning disconnect between the idea of freedom, justice, and equality for women and the word feminism” (2006, p. 1736). The cause of this disconnect was the branding of a reactionary feminism as misandry, inflexible and dogmatic, and fringy.23 Consequently, feminists have been left disenchanted, disenfranchised, and alienated from mainstream culture, apart from losing their cultural relevance, power, and voice. Even those sympathetic to feminism, Moi acknowledged, keep “the dreaded F-word at arm’s length” (2006, p. 1736). Indeed, cultural analysts were announcing the death of feminism (Chesler 2005; Gubar 2000). “We won’t get a fresh and freshly convincing analysis of women’s situation,” concluded Moi, “until we find new theoretical paradigms. Perhaps the new feminist voices we all need to hear are getting ready to speak right now” (2006, p. 1740).24 Perhaps indeed those voices might use the “mixed” methods to provide a research agenda to fashion a new feminist paradigm— only time will tell.25

III  Political sciences Political science In the 1965 presidential address delivered to the American Political Science Association annual meeting, David Truman discussed the recent developments in the discipline. “In thinking about the contemporary development of political science,” claimed Truman, “I find particularly suggestive the notion of the paradigm, which is one of the two key concepts in Thomas S. Kuhn’s The Structure of Scientific Revolutions” (1965, p. 865). He then suggested that “something loosely analogous to a paradigm characterized American political science for at least the half-century running sometime in the 1880s into the 1920s” (1965, p. 866). He gave no specific name to the paradigm, other than the consensus of a “political system.” But, after the Second World War it dissolved, leading to a crisis. He concluded with a challenge to his colleagues to forge a new paradigm for the sake of the discipline’s integrity.26 The discussion over political science’s theoretical development continued, with Kuhn’s paradigm concept often fueling it. For example, in a poem, “Questions for a political science recruit,” Inis Claude, Jr. probed a recruit’s scientific acumen. Do you work with facts or data, And have your variables an indicator? . . .

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Have all imprecisions really gone From your scientific lexicon? (Claude 1970, p. 47) He closed with a nod toward Kuhn’s impact on political science’s methodology. Are you adept at research design— Brother, can you paradigm? (Claude 1970, p. 47) Using the last line of Claude’s poem as a title for an article, Jack Walker addressed the debate over the discipline’s theoretical development. “There may not be any ruling paradigm to shape their efforts,” observed Walker, “but political scientists still have firm ideas about what ought to be studied and what should be ignored” (1972, p. 419). From a survey of articles published in political science journals, Walker identified several problem areas that are consistently represented in the literature, with more than half of the articles published on “the health and well being of democratic political institutions” (1972, p. 420). He concluded that political science does have a ruling paradigm, as long as paradigm is defined in terms of social values and commitments. In a review of Kuhn’s paradigm concept in political inquiry, Jerome Stephens noted that political scientists used the concept in three ways. First, a paradigm designation was applied to a particular period in political inquiry followed then by speculation as to reasons for paradigm change. Second, the criteria for determining theory formulation may simply be redubbed as criteria for determining paradigm formulation. Finally, Kuhn’s original criteria of paradigm formulation were used to determine the paradigm that political scientists should adopt. Stephens criticized these uses of paradigm as self-serving. Most of the political scientists who have used Kuhn’s ideas have been more interested in using Kuhn’s authority to dub the formulations they accept as a paradigm—and the formulations of others as non-paradigms. (1973, p. 468) After discussing the recent changes Kuhn made in his philosophy of science, he rejected Kuhn’s original criteria for paradigm assessment for political inquiry. However, Stephens did accept Kuhn’s revised criteria, i.e. the use of values rather than rules, as pertinent for political inquiry. He concluded that political scientists must avoid the fashions in the philosophy of science, as solutions to their own problems. Political scientists’ use of Kuhn became more critical as the 1970s progressed and as the discussion over methodology intensified. For example, Philip Beardsley (1974) contended that political science should be “multiparadigmatic” rather than “uniparadigmatic.” But, Beardsley

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then abandoned the term paradigm in favor of “general frameworks of ideas” (1975, p. 328). Richard Ashcroft also criticized political scientists for engaging in abstract methodological discussions, especially in terms of Kuhn’s paradigms. According to Ashcroft, paradigms “divorced from an empirically-grounded perspective of social-historical change are of little value for understanding the political conflict amongst groups within any specific society” (1975, p. 15). Moreover, he pointed out the irony that contemporary political problems such as racism, poverty, and war, “have not produced for the followers of Kuhn a new theoretical paradigm” (1975, p. 15). The debate over the applicability of Kuhn’s philosophy of science to political science resulted in a more sophisticated (accurate or realistic) interpretation of it. Some political scientists invoked a “new reading” of Kuhn in contrast to conventional (mis)readings. For example, David Ricci (1977) proposed to address political science’s methodological issues with empirical studies on the sociology of political science and with increased historiographic scope for its history. Such a Kuhnian agenda, according to Ricci, might resolve the methodological confusion in “a scientific community which lacks perfect confidence in its research paradigm, which is aware of anomalies, but which cannot reject the old ideal out of hand until a new one has been elected in its place” (1977, p. 34). Several political scientists continued to reconstruct their discipline’s history and to justify specific political theories along Kuhnian lines. For example, Andrew Janos narrated the history of political science using Kuhn’s paradigms and paradigm shifts, since they “seem to be eminently applicable to the experience of the social sciences, and within them, to the experience of political inquiry” (1986, p. 3). Other political scientists invoked Kuhn for justifying behaviorism and rational choice theory, as paradigmatic for political science (Easton 1969; Friedman 1996; Green and Shapiro 1994; Halperin and Heath 2012; Wolin 1969). Recently, several political theorists have advocated historical institutionalism as paradigmatic (Brady 2004; Peters et al. 2005). And, as Shu-Yun Ma noted, these theorists are traversing in “a direction that may bring about a scientific revolution in Kuhn’s sense” (2007, p. 58).27 Even with a revised and critical understanding of Kuhn, other political scientists remained skeptical about applying Kuhn to their discipline. For example, James Farr claimed that the shifts in political theory were often the result of factors external to the community. John Dryzek also claimed that debate over political theory did not necessarily result in Kuhnian paradigm shifts. For example, Dryzek concluded from an analysis of disputes among political theorists that “rather than revolutionizing political science as a whole, rational choice stood alongside established sorts of behavioral scholarship, the new statism, cultural analysis, new institutionalism (of the nonrational choice variety) and other research programs in an increasingly diverse discipline” (2006, p. 491).

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Finally, several political scientists looked to other philosophers of science, as its methodological discussion became post-Kuhnian. Terence Ball, for example, championed a Lakatosian approach to political science. According to Ball, Lakatos’s “methodological research programmes” provided political scientists, in contrast to Kuhn’s normal (paradigmatic)-revolutionary science dichotomy, with “a methodological demarcation criterion” (1976, p. 159). The advantage for Ball was that theory choice is “a rational one made for methodologically sound reasons, rather than—as with Kuhn—an arbitrary and rationally inexplicable ‘shift’ of ‘allegiances’ or ‘loyalties’” (1976, p. 159). In another example, Thomas Walker argued that “paradigm mentalities” are too rigid and constraining for understanding the growth of political science and that “Popper’s commitments to theoretical pluralism, hermeneutics, methodological diversity, and fallibility provide a more appropriate model” (2010, p. 434). Moreover, Dryzek championed Laudan’s notion of research traditions.28 “In Laudan’s sense of the term,” claimed Dryzek, “there are indeed research traditions in the social sciences” (1986, p. 305). These traditions include behaviorism, cybernetics, and Marxism. Finally, as Ball (1979) noted, many political scientists utilized philosophical approaches— such as phenomenology, hermeneutics, and critical theory—other than an analytic approach for theory development.

Science policy29 Kuhn’s philosophy of science also had a profound impact on science policy and often, according to scientists, with disastrous outcomes (Beesley 2003). During the 1990s, the American scientific community experienced a drastic drop in research funding as the United States government faced financial crisis (Park 1996). What particularly irritated scientists was their loss of prestige in the public’s eye and, more importantly, of seemingly unlimited access to government coffers. No longer was science funded without question. Moreover, science and its practitioners were under siege from antiscience groups, who claimed that science had no privileged access to the truth and therefore must compete as other disciplines for its share of the funding pie. Many scientists felt that Kuhn’s philosophy of science paved the way for science’s low priority at the funding trough. In July 1992, the chair of the Committee on Science, Space, and Technology, George Brown, Jr., published a report on the health of U.S. research (1992a). The report was bad news for the American science community in terms of a carte blanche for funding basic research, with little—if any—social accountability. In a Science “Policy Forum” essay, Brown questioned the assumption that basic research must always precede applied research and challenged the basic research community to reflect on “the role of science in human culture” (1992b, p. 201). Brown (1993) also published a report the following year on the “objectivity crisis” in science, i.e. science cannot help

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demarcate what is good for society from what is not. The report was the outcome of a conference to explore the philosophical framework underlying scientific practice. The conference was in response to an essay Brown (1992c) had written the year before in which he charged that science has not fulfilled its promises to solve society’s pressing problems. In fact, he claimed that it might be the “root” of them, since science considers itself exempt from social values, i.e. objective. But, he insisted that society’s problems contain a significant subjective element. As Brown insisted, scientific research is embedded within a cultural context and values that it cannot ignore to its and society’s peril. Ronald Brunner (1993) delivered a paper—“Myths, scientific and political”—at Brown’s conference in which he argued that myths are at the heart of the objectivity crisis. The myth, according to Brunner, is that science does not depend upon cultural and social assumptions for its practice and production of knowledge and that only through such an “objective” stance can society’s ills be cured. In his analysis of the crisis, he invoked Kuhn’s philosophy of science. For Brunner, Kuhn demonstrated that “science is not a process of discovering an objective mirror of nature, but of elaborating subjective paradigms subject to empirical constraints” (1993, p. 6). To support his interpretation of Kuhn, he referenced an interview Kuhn gave to Horgan, in which Kuhn admitted that science does not necessarily march toward the truth. As Hugh Gauch, Jr., commented on Brunner’s remarks, “some scholars might prefer that policy makers receive a less skeptical and more balanced view of science’s powers and limits” (2009, p. 688). But the criticism of science as strictly objective and value-free began to erode its reputation and prestige. And, one of the best examples of this erosion was the demise of the Superconducting Super Collider (SSC) in the early 1990s (Riordan 2001; United States 1995). In 1983, a proposal was submitted to the Department of Energy to build the SSC. The justification for building it was to test the theory of weak and electromagnetic interactions, by confirming the existence of the Higgs boson—a subatomic particle predicted by the electroweak theory. In 1985, then president Ronald Reagan personally approved funding for the SSC. And in 1988, a site in Waxahachie, Texas, was selected for building it. The estimated cost was $5.9 billion. Although the U.S. Congress approved funding for the SSC, in 1993 newly elected President Bill Clinton and over 100 newly elected members to the U.S. House of Representatives voted to repeal the funding. Contacts to builders were canceled and construction was terminated. The American high-energy physics community was disheartened by its demise (Kevles 1995). In a review written on SSC’s demise, which appeared in a 1998 issue of The New York Review, Steven Weinberg—one of the framers of the electroweak theory—took issue with Kuhn’s philosophy of science and its impact on science’s image as the means for discovering truth. Weinberg criticized Kuhn’s philosophy in terms of its accuracy as a theory for

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science. Most important for Weinberg was Kuhn’s agnostic position toward scientific progress. In contrast to Kuhn’s agnosticism, Weinberg advocated a retrograde view of scientific progress. In other words, as the history of science unfolds the progress of scientific advance becomes clearly visible. Specifically for Weinberg, the SSC was the next step toward a unified theory of gravitation. “This is what we,” declared Weinberg, “are working for and what we spend the taxpayers’ money for. And when we have discovered this theory, it will be part of a true description of reality” (1998, p. 52). Implicit within Weinberg’s critique was the charge that if Kuhn had not tarnished science’s image as a means toward truth, the SSC would still be smashing atoms in Waxahachie. Finally, Andrew Domondon (2009) examined Fuller’s analysis of the SSC’s demise, especially in Fuller’s The Governance of Science (2000b). According to Fuller, as Domondon recounted his argument, Kuhn’s conception of science was dogmatic in that it was paradigm driven and thereby closed to the public domain and insusceptible to the public’s scrutiny, since the public could not fathom the technicalities of scientific knowledge. In other words, the public should leave science to experts. In contrast, Fuller claimed that Popper’s view of science is open not only in terms of its method of conjecture and refutation but also with respect to its social responsibility. Although Domondon appreciated Fuller’s analysis, he argued that his characterization of Kuhn’s paradigm concept as dogmatically constrained did not stand up to its depiction as a dynamic practice. Consequently, Domondon maintained that the goal of integrating science into the public sphere is better achieved by retaining Kuhn’s view of science . . . because of Kuhn’s rightly stressing the dual importance of social-political and technical concerns in arriving at an understanding of scientific practices, as well as the role of the scientific community in dealing with questions of epistemic significance. (2009, pp. 312–3) Rather than Kuhn and Popper competing for the “soul” of science, he envisioned them as complimentary dimensions of it in which Kuhn’s paradigmatic science qua practice and not simply dogmatism provides a framework in which Popper’s method of conjecture and refutation can be operationalized.

Post-normal science Another important approach to the analysis of science and its practice, especially in terms of policy formation, is post-normal science (PNS) (Funtowicz and Ravetz 1993, 2003).30 PNS, in contrast to the puzzle-solving and paradigm articulation of Kuhn’s normal science, entails the integration

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of the complexities and uncertainties inherent to both the natural and social sciences. Whereas Kuhnian normal science was concerned with empirical facts and included values only in theory choice, PNS is concerned with the quality of the facts and includes values on a social scale. To that end, it expanded the relevant community responsible for solving problems beyond Kuhn’s professional scientific community, to incorporate other interested parties in the problem-solving process—the “extended peer community.” This latter community brings its own creative expertise and “extended facts” to the problems at hand, especially for those problems—like the environmental problem of global warming—where the decision stakes are high, particularly in terms of conflicting interests and values, and the epistemological and ethical uncertainties are great. The questions driving PNS are “what-if?” and “what-about?” (Funtowicz and Ravetz 2008; Ravetz 1997). These questions embrace uncertainty, thereby opening up space for creative solutions to problems, especially problems associated with or even caused by conventional science and technology. According to PNS, other approaches to science and their strategies for problem solving also exist—especially when facts are more certain, values are less disputed, stakes are not so high, and decisions are not as urgent (Funtowicz and Ravetz 1993, 2003). These include core science, applied science, and professional consultancy. Core science is the traditional approach to problem solving, which is driven by the questions “what/ how?” (Ravetz 1997). The “what?” question is reductionistic in that the phenomenon is fragmented into its elemental, physical components; and the “how?” question is mechanistic in that these components are assembled into causal chains to explicate, manipulate, and control the phenomenon. The next problem-solving strategy is applied science, which shares with core science the question of “how?” but differs from it by substituting the “why?” question for the “what?” question. Applied science like core science is interested in the how or the mechanistic process but differs in that it is also oriented toward a product as a solution to a problem, not just understanding the process. The final problem-solving strategy is professional consultancy, which shares the same driving questions as applied science but differs in that a client becomes part of the problem-solving strategy. Traditionally, according to PNS advocates, theory choice was generally limited to verification or falsification but, at times, the relationship between experimental outcomes and theories in which verification or falsification did not pertain was often simply dismissed by claiming more basic research is required to make a choice. However, further research might be unable to provide the necessary evidence to make a decision, especially for policy “where facts are uncertain, values in dispute, stakes high and decisions urgent” (Funtowicz and Ravetz 1993, p. 744). For PNS, what is important is not so much the truth or accuracy of facts but rather their quality for assuring policy formation that addresses the needs of the society rather than the special interests of a particular segment. The standard example

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among those advocating PNS is global warming (Saloranta 2001). As well publicized, the cause of global warming has been vigorously contested, with no immediate resolution from empirical facts to guide public policy. On the one hand, some environmentalists identified the emission of greenhouse gases, like carbon dioxide, as the causative agent. While on the other hand, some environmentalists claimed that global warming represents part of a geological pattern of temperature oscillation. The example of global warming illustrates several important issues that confront a role for the natural sciences qua core science in public policy formation. Probably the most important issue, according to PNS advocates, is whether some examples such as global warming can ever be resolved satisfactorily in terms of the natural sciences (Funtowicz and Ravetz 1993, 2003). In other words, are the empirical facts of core science robust or unambiguous enough to guide public policy to the best resolution for all interested parties? If not, then public policy should be formulated to assure that a minority interested in the resolution does not disadvantage an equitable outcome for the majority. If global warming is part of a geological pattern, for instance, then expenditure of limited public resources could have disastrous effects for everyone, for example, if spent regulating greenhouse gas emission. For PNS qua problem-solving strategy, the quality of the facts trumps the uncertainty of their veracity in providing guidance for policy formation that distributes the risk and burden in an equitable manner so that no one group interested in the resolution bears an inequitable risk or burden. Finally, PNS does share certain features with Kuhnian normal science. For example, values are operative for both in the practice of science. Specifically, Kuhnian scientific worldviews are predicated upon particular values in a holistic arrangement. Change the values, along with metaphysical commitments, and a change in worldviews follows. PNS advocates, in turn, presume a holistic arrangement of values in contrast to their elimination in traditional science. However, several significant differences exist between PNS and Kuhnian normal science besides those already discussed. In contrast to Kuhn’s puzzle solving of normal science with its emphasis on paradigm articulation, for example, PNS emphasizes problem-solving strategy. Similar to Laudan’s “research tradition” and its “problem-solving effectiveness” (Laudan 1977), PNS stresses the efficacy of theories with respect to problem solving and scientific progress.

Legal studies According to Cathleen Loving and William Cobern (2000), legal studies represented the greatest number of citations (14 percent), during the 1980s and 1990s, to Kuhn’s work. One of the main concerns of legal scholars was whether legal studies are paradigmatic and, if not, whether the development

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of a paradigm is possible to advance legal studies or sciences, like the natural sciences. Some legal scholars held that a Kuhnian paradigm did undergird the law and legal studies. For example, Aulis Aarnio (1984) claimed legal dogmatics was paradigmatic in nature.31 Specifically, Aarnio drew upon Kuhn’s notion of disciplinary matrix to frame the paradigmatic nature of legal dogmatics. In our study we maintain that the disciplinary matrix of legal dogmatics consists of the following elements: (1) assumptions about the subject matter of legal interpretation, (2) assumptions about the doctrine of the sources of valid law, (3) assumptions about the methodological principles and rules of legal interpretation and systematization, and (4) assumptions about the values and valuations governing legal dogmatic interpretation and its objectives. (1984, p. 28) From his analysis of the paradigmatic nature of the law, he concluded that this “legal dogmatic matrix” provides the framework for solving legal problems and thereby advancing the discipline.32 Other legal scholars were less sanguine about the paradigmatic status of legal studies and claimed that the law does not exhibit a paradigm to guide its advancement. Of these scholars, some held that the law could not be paradigmatic as for the natural sciences. For example, Peter Seipel (1977) argued that the legal sciences are more comparable to the social sciences than the natural sciences and thereby they cannot be as precisely paradigmatic as the latter sciences. Others, however, held that it could be paradigmatic like the natural sciences, even given the differences between the legal and natural sciences, and they offered strategies for paradigm formation. For example, Peter Ziegler (1988) proposed a process for formulating a paradigm to guide legal research and its progress. Specifically, he identified three components to the process. The first pertains to the objects of interest, such as judges, lawyers, and legislators, which Ziegler claimed are independent of one another but act in concert to give rise to legal phenomena, the second component of the proposed paradigm. The legal phenomena pertain specifically to the collaborative or individual functions of the objects comprising the paradigm. Finally, according to Ziegler, “For a paradigm to emerge within the law, it must be assumed that some order underlies the behavior of legal components” (1988, p. 588). Besides a general paradigm for legal studies or sciences, legal scholars also proposed paradigms and paradigm shifts for specific areas of the law. For example, Randy Barnett discussed the need for a paradigm shift in criminal justice. Invoking Kuhn’s notion of crisis, Barnett claimed that the older paradigm of punishment no longer sufficed for resolving anomalies associated with it. “The crisis of the paradigm of punishment,” insisted Barnett, “has at its roots the collapse of its twin pillars of support: its moral legitimacy and its practical efficacy” (1977, p. 285). He then proposed a

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paradigm of restitution, which he asserted would resolve the anomalies associated with the older paradigm.33 Specifically, he listed a half-dozen advantages of the newer paradigm vis-à-vis the older one, including, for example, crime, especially white-collar crime, would no longer pay, saving taxpayers money, and—most importantly—truly compensating victims of crime. Barnett concluded by challenging the legal community to consider his proposal for shifting from a paradigm of punishment to one of restitution. Another example pertains to interdisciplinary legal scholarship. Charles Collier bemoaned the loss of a previous paradigm that guided interdisciplinary legal scholarship. The “paradigm” guiding this type of research was something like the following: “(1) state the problem; (2) propose a solution; (3) show how the common law, properly reinterpreted, affords the proposed solution.” Scholarship based on this paradigm, like the scholarship in a mature natural science, consisted mainly of brief articles devoted to doctrinal problem-solving-modest, incremental refinements of a shared, cumulative enterprise: “the common law.” (1992, p. 843) The loss of this paradigm was the result of two specious assumptions of contemporary interdisciplinary legal scholarship. The first was that disciplines outside law could imbue it with authority. But, warned Collier, such dependence would undermine the law’s authority. The second assumption was that the law and legal reasoning could serve as models, especially theoretically, for other disciplines. Again, he rejected this because the nature of the legal reasoning is case driven, not necessarily theory driven. He concluded that interdisciplinary legal scholarship was in a “prerevolutionary” crisis and in need of a consensus paradigm. One last example involves patent law. Using Kuhn’s philosophy of science, Peter Lee asked, “How do patents help or hinder scientific paradigm shifts?” (2004, p. 669). In terms of how patents inhibit paradigm shifts, the high cost of doing research—because of patent protection—prevents scientists from conducting research on protected material. However, such protection, argued Lee, can drive scientists “to theorize outside of a dominant paradigm” (2004, p. 687). Such theorizing leads to novel paradigms, which can then compete for community allegiance. To assist in a possible paradigm shift, Lee invoked Kuhn’s dialectic tension between normal science and revolutionary science. In order to establish a paradigm conceived in response to patent protection, he argued that the scientific community must have access to novel innovation. To that end, he proposed a new patent law in which such access would be available for five years before patent protection began. Such access would allow scientists time to confirm or falsify the new theory. “It is therefore incumbent on policymakers, courts, and legal scholars,” concluded Lee, “to develop a greater sensitivity to the intricate and unexpected

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ways that law impacts scientific progress and to structure patent regimes accordingly” (2004, p. 695). Finally, legal scholars also utilized Kuhn for analyzing legal thought process. For example, Emily Calhoun in “Thinking like a lawyer” used Kuhn to support the role of intuition in legal reasoning, along with legal argumentation. Just as scientists use intuition to solve puzzles about natural phenomena, she argued, so lawyers also utilize intuition to solve legal puzzles. “The genius of a trial lawyer,” asserted Calhoun, “lies in knowing when to appeal to logic and when to appeal to value or unprovable intuition” (1984, p. 512). Indeed, C. M. Campbell claimed lawyers think paradigmatically. Its “exemplars” and puzzle solutions flow from the judicial process as does its methodology in seeking answers to such questions. Commitments and stances of this sort go to make up the paradigm—the constellation of beliefs, values, and techniques that is shared by members of the jurisprudential community. (1974, p. 22) This constellation, especially of judicial values, is critical for “logic of rhetoric,” along with “logic of argumentation,” that lawyers use to reason about legal problems. Lastly, both authors proposed changes in legal education to include both intuition and logic of rhetoric.

IV Summary Kuhn’s impact on the behavioral, social, and political sciences was simply immeasurable and seemingly unending. Interestingly, that impact has evolved since Structure’s publication. Initially, Kuhn’s paradigm concept provided a means for these disciplines to share in the prestige, especially the epistemic prestige, of the natural sciences and thereby possibly assume a mantle comparable to them. But, as these disciplines appropriated Kuhn and with the rise of postmodernism, in terms of SSK, science’s prestige and reputation became tarnished. In fact, Kuhnians—or at least those who employ Kuhn’s terminology—turned upon Kuhn with a pluralistic attack, claiming that paradigms are hegemonic and that tolerance for multiple truths should be the standard. This turn against Kuhn raises the question over the future of Kuhnian studies, which is taken up in the proceeding Epilogue.

Further reading 1 Andersen, H., Barker, P., and Chen, X. (2006), The Cognitive Structure of Scientific Revolutions, New York: Cambridge University Press. Utilizes psychological research on cognition to defend Kuhn’s notion of revolutionary changes as rational.

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2 Barnes, B. (1982), T.S. Kuhn and Social Science, London: Macmillan Press. Examines the relevance of Kuhn’s history and philosophy of science for the social sciences. 3 Fuller, S. (2000), Thomas Kuhn: A Philosophical History of Our Times, Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. A revisionist reconstruction of Kuhn’s philosophy of science, which argues that Kuhn was not as instrumental in the historiographic revolution as traditionally credited. 4 Sardar, Z. (2000), Thomas Kuhn and the Science Wars, New York: Totem Books. Explores Kuhn’s role in the science wars and proposes a “post-normal” strategy for analyzing scientific practice and knowledge.

Epilogue

Chapter Summary

K

uhn continues to elecit, even after his death in 1996, substantial notice, especially with Structure’s recent fiftieth anniversary in 2012. Although Kuhn did not leave behind a school to unpack and apply his philosophy of science, especially his historical philosophy of science, he did unearth new conceptual areas in the HPS landscape, especially with his “turn” to EPS. In this Epilogue, I entertain several questions concerning Kuhn and his contribution to HPS. First, the question of Kuhn’s stake in the historiographic revolution is tackled, followed by the question of his impact on HPS— particularly in terms of EPS. Finally, the question of the future of Kuhnian studies is addressed, but not before addressing the question of why Kuhn is often misunderstood and misinterpreted—at least from his perspective. Although for some science studies scholars Kuhn’s philosophy of science appears irrelevant for today, because of a Birdian “wrong turning,” for others it holds promise for a genuine revolution in science studies.

I  What is Kuhn’s stake in the historiographic revolution? In the 1990 PSA presidential lecture, Kuhn reminisced about his participation in the historiographic revolution. That’s a transition for which I get far more credit, and also more blame, than I have coming to me. I was, if you will, present at the creation, and it wasn’t very crowded. But others were present too: Paul Feyerabend and Russ Hanson, in particular, as well as Mary Hesse, Michael Polanyi, Stephen Toulmin, and a few more besides. Whatever a Zeitgeist is, we provided a striking illustration of its role in intellectual affairs. (1990, p. 3)

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But, Kuhn’s role in the historiographic revolution is a contested issue among scholars, with some claiming he played a major role in it and with others depicting him as a pawn of larger social forces and personages. Most—and possibly Kuhn himself, as evident from the above quote—believed he fell somewhere in between these two extremes. In a sociohistorical analysis of Structure, Fuller (2000a) proposed that Kuhn played not only a minor role in the historiographic revolution; he was unaware of the real powers involved in it. He claimed that Kuhn was simply Conant’s foot soldier. “Kuhn appears,” Fuller contended, “as a ‘normal scientist’ in the Cold War political paradigm constructed by James Bryant Conant” (2000a, p. 5). Moreover, he asserted that Kuhn’s philosophy of science was not revolutionary but conservative and reactionary. According to Fuller, Structure was not the “cause” of the historiographic revolution but simply its “symptom.” Fuller’s revisionist account touched off a flurry of responses.1 Andersen, for example, identified a “serious defect” with it. According to her, “One searches in vain for anything beyond the most standard of Kuhn’s publications, let alone unpublished manuscripts, notes or correspondence” (2001b, p. 260). In other words, Fuller’s account erred in presenting a myopic account of Structure based mostly on external factors. A “fuller” account must also include the internal factors that led to its publication. Kenneth Caneva, for instance, argued that Fuller’s account of Structure does not include “the substance of Kuhn’s work as a necessary part of any story that would explain its impact” (2003, p. 135). Only then, can Kuhn’s role in the historiographic revolution—as well as his affect HPS—be properly assessed. Fuller responded initially to critics by drawing on his own personal experiences accordingly, After having consulted the Harvard archives, interviewed Kuhn myself, and read his final substantial interview, I concluded that the content of Kuhn’s unpublished papers at MIT would not contradict the main points of my interpretation. (Fuller 2001, p. 570)2 After examining the MIT archival material, especially focusing on Structure’s development and reception, I contend that Kuhn played an important role in the historiographic revolution and had a significant impact on HPS. And, I would conclude that Kuhn’s new image of science is incommensurate with the traditional view of science. The internal account of Kuhn’s career I reconstructed above leads to and supports this conclusion. I have also endeavored to incorporate the intellectual context in which Kuhn’s work is situated. Analysis of Kuhn’s relationship to Popper, Polanyi, Lakatos, Feyerabend, Toulmin, Shapere, and others, in terms of the ideas debated among them, provides a balanced assessment of Kuhn’s role in the revolution.

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For as Kuhn himself testified, he was not the only participant to initiate or shape it. Bird (2000) provided an intriguing assessment of Kuhn’s role in the historiographic revolution. Just as Kuhn argued that Copernicus is closer to Ptolemy than to modern astronomy, so Bird argued that Kuhn is closer to the traditional view of science than to the postmodern view.3 This is what Fuller claimed for Kuhn, in a more charitable moment. Copernicus initiated the revolution, by giving a different conception of the universe from the Aristotelians or Ptolemaicists. Kuhn too initiated a revolution, along with contemporaries, by providing a different conception of science from that of traditional historians and philosophers of science. Today, just as we view the earth traveling around the sun, so we view science as an institution like other institutions, whether social, political, or religious. Consequently, postmodern interpretation of Kuhn’s philosophy of science envisions scientists as no more privileged than humanists or artists, in terms of their access to truth. Kuhn may have resisted this interpretation of his views, but this is the direction many took and are taking. To expect Kuhn to understand or accept this direction, postmodernists argue, is to expect too much from any one individual. Just as Kuhn argued that Copernicus was restricted by his education so Kuhn was restricted by his—he was not trained a professional philosopher or historian, as Bird has noted. Although Kuhn might be the last of the traditionalists, he did provide a direction— especially with EPS—that can be used to resolve problems, such as scientific practice and the growth of its knowledge, which traditional philosophy of science could not.

II  What is Kuhn’s impact on the history and philosophy of science? Fuller’s more radical claim is not that Kuhn was Conant’s foot soldier but that “the impact of The Structure of Scientific Revolutions has been largely, though not entirely, for the worse” (2000, p. xvi). According to Fuller, Kuhn’s legacy is the “Kuhnification” of disciplinary horizons. The result is a pathological condition he called “paradigmitis,” in which a discipline to legitimate itself conforms to the paradigmatic structure of Kuhn’s image of science (2000, p. 318). The problem with the condition is that members of the affected or infected disciplines lose their critical edge and become impotent. For the philosophy of science, paradigmitis produced a class of “underlaborers,” who worked under a “master narrative.” For twentiethcentury American science pedagogy and policy, Conant developed a master narrative, while Kuhn, according to Fuller, developed a “servant narrative” (2000, p. 31). And, it was Kuhn’s narrative under which contemporary philosophers of science labored, whether they admitted—or knew—it. These

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philosophical underlaborers—or “underunderlaborers”—in the Kuhnified vineyard, declared Fuller, have surrendered their “prescriptive, legislative, and critical attitudes that had marked philosophy’s traditional relationship to the natural sciences” (2000, p. 36). Moreover, scientists too were duped into an a-critical attitude, especially in terms of normal science practice. But, does Kuhn’s philosophy of science dull the critical attitude of philosophers or even scientists? As noted above, throughout Kuhn’s career his philosophy of science came under severe criticism from philosophers. He certainly contributed to the naturalization of the discipline, but he was one voice among many. The story of contemporary philosophy of science is more complex than the story of Kuhn’s role in its naturalization or the story of Kuhn’s domination of the discipline.4 Moreover, as Bird (2002, 2004) argued convincingly, Kuhn turned to an apriorism late in his career.5 In effect, it could be argued, as Bird does, that Kuhn never completely overcame traditional philosophy of science. Had he remained committed to the new paradigm he helped to establish, Kuhn might have had an even larger impact on contemporary philosophy of science. As Bird concluded, “Kuhn’s account of the function of paradigms-as-exemplars and the psychological nature of a scientific revolution and a psychological rather than linguistic notion of incommensurability are all ripe for development with the tools of cognitive science and allied disciplines” (2004, p. 14). Or, did Kuhn’s philosophy of science lull scientists into an a-critical attitude with respect to the practice of science? For Kuhn, normal science or puzzle solving certainly entailed a critical attitude. It could not be otherwise. Criticism under the normal practice of science, however, is not always directed toward the foundations of science—although sometimes it is. Where the critical attitude is compromised, according to Kuhn, is during paradigm shift or revolution. Although it is certainly part of the process for deciding the fate of a reigning paradigm, it is generally insufficient. Under such conditions, the traditional, objective criteria for choosing a paradigm may function as subjective values. Thus, the critical attitude does not vanish in Kuhn’s account of science; it is there not only in normal science but it is also there, although sometimes not determinatively, in revolutionary science.6 So, are we worse off after Kuhn? Most would probably not want to return to the days when traditional science and its philosophy of science were dominant, even with its “critical” attitude. Although some misapplied or misinterpreted Kuhn’s philosophy of science, this does not mean that we are worse off after him. In fact, Kuhn helped others, who were marginalized under the traditional view of science, to voice their views and concerns about science. For example, the feminist movement embraced Kuhn’s philosophy of science to address gender issues in science (Longino 2003). Another example is the Afrocentric paradigm (Alkebulan 2007; Mazama 2001). Of course, no system is without its problems but to claim that we are worse off after Kuhn and his cohorts is simply unfounded by the evidence.

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The real question, however, is what do we do with Kuhn’s fairly accurate description of the physical sciences? Are we to make it normative for the other natural and social sciences? There are certainly problems, as we have seen above, in applying Kuhn’s Structure to the sciences and disciplines outside the physical sciences. But, does it provide at least a starting point for them? And finally, there are the larger social and political questions concerning science, which so justly concerned Fuller. Kuhn himself was incapable by personal constitution to act socially or politically on his new image of science.7 But, those competent to address these questions must do so.

III  Why is Kuhn misunderstood? Kuhn was hurt by those who misunderstood or misinterpreted him, especially philosophers. He later recounted how he simply stopped reading the things about me, from philosophers in particular. Because I got too angry. I knew I couldn’t answer, but I got too angry trying to read them and I would throw them across the room. . . . It was too painful. (2000, p. 315) Although Kuhn was disappointed over being misunderstood, he never regretted the importance of Structure for those who understood and appreciated it. As he confessed to Horgan, “If I had my choice of having written the book or not having written it, I would choose to have written it” (1997, p. 41). But, why was (and is) Kuhn misunderstood so often? Although multiple answers to that question have been proposed, no single answer seems to suffice. In one attempt to answer the question, David Bloor claimed, “Kuhn stood outside the dominant cultural ‘paradigm’ of individualism and rationalism” (1997, p. 501). But, he went on to admit that this can only be part of the reason, for if sufficient then incommensurability is equivalent to incommunicability—an equivalence he denied. For Bloor, an additional reason for misunderstanding Kuhn is voluntaristic in the sense that some did not want to communicate or understand.8 But why should this be, queried Bloor. His answer, When it comes to defining the nature of science and assessing the virtues of rival models (rather than doing actual scientific work) the academic community often seems more concerned with getting a desirable answer than with getting a factually adequate one. (1997, p. 501) In other words, deeply held values win out over facts. Although the voluntaristic component of Bloor’s apologia for Kuhn is difficult to assess,

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Bloor has identified a part—and a very big part—of the problem for why Kuhn is often misunderstood. Kuhn’s understanding of rationality was incommensurate with the dominant Enlightenment understanding of science. Along similar lines as Bloor, Giere argued that Kuhn was traditionally viewed as replacing the “old logical paradigm” of science with a “new historical paradigm” (1997, p. 496). But Giere went on to claim that Kuhn was not the founder—let alone a member—of this new school of historically oriented philosophers, which included Lakatos, Laudan, McMullin, Shapere, and Toulmin. These philosophers, according to Giere, “appealed to a historical notion of rational progress rather than a logical notion of rational inference. It was never a part of Kuhn’s project to show science to be globally rational in either of these ways” (1997, p. 497). Giere is correct in that Kuhn did not attempt to demonstrate that science is globally rational, if Giere meant a rationality that transcends time and place. Kuhn was more interested in showing that science is historically or locally rational. Historical for Kuhn was not simply using cases of past scientific activity and practice, in order to score philosophical points. Rather, Kuhn’s use of history was to demonstrate the local nature of rationality and scientific knowledge. In other words, the generation of scientific knowledge cannot be wrested from its historical (local) context; it is situated in a particular time and location. And, if we are to understand the science of a particular time and location, according to Kuhn, we must climb inside the heads of its practitioners. This sympathetic reading is driven by the oddities of the text, given our modern perspective, and requires an understanding of the paradigm (disciplinary matrix and exemplars combined) that was used by its contemporary—not current—advocates. Kuhn’s method was not irrational, he claimed, since logic and reason are certainly required to understand historical texts. However, he also wanted to include a hermeneutic contextualism in its reading. Scientific knowledge, for Kuhn, was not universal or absolute, which can be justified only by a global rationality. In other words, there is no distinction between the logic of discovery and the logic of justification. Discovery is not an algorithmic progress (contra Hanson) or a psychological process (contra Popper) and justification is not a logical process (contra traditional analytic philosophers), separate from discovery. Rather discovery and justification are part of the seamless process by which scientists practice their trade, within a specific culture and historical period. Moreover, there is no logic of pursuit (contra Laudan), since this is just an ad hoc adjustment to a doomed analytic analysis that fails to capture the complexity and richness of scientific practice. The generation and development of scientific knowledge, according to Kuhn, depends on a specific set of practices and ideas (paradigms), which are unique to a specific place and to a particular time. Thus, when change occurs (paradigm shift) the new paradigm often has points of contact with the old paradigm that become untranslatable (incommensurable lexicons) because the context of the old paradigm becomes forgotten or suppressed.

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Kuhn illustrated the above analysis with his experience in attempting to understand Aristotle’s notion of motion vis-à-vis the Newtonian conception of motion. I never fully appreciated Kuhn’s experience until I went through a similar one. While reading William Howell’s article on thrombin, I became aware that his use of the term for the clotting factor was at odds with its modern use. For Howell, thrombin was a colloid not an enzyme. Once I realized the difference, Howell’s theory of blood coagulation and the experiments he conducted to substantiate it made sense (Marcum 1996). Part of the reason that Kuhn is misunderstood may be because some members of a discipline have not had a similar “conversion” experience. Kuhn’s disappointment with others who misunderstood or misapplied his ideas was that they were unwilling, as Bloor argued, or unable to climb inside Kuhn’s head. As we have seen, a number of scholars from various disciplines have appropriated Kuhn not on his terms but on their own. But, is this unfortunate? For Kuhn, yes, since we all want to be understood and judged fairly. But for those who have misappropriated Kuhn, no. Why? Although a parsimonious reading of the text, whether data or otherwise, is to be valued, however, pushing the boundaries of a text or discipline is often required for progress or development.9 Those who have seemingly misunderstood or misappropriated Kuhn have advanced their own fields vis-à-vis the hegemony of science. Rather than being Conant’s foot soldier, Kuhn is a liberator for those suppressed by the Enlightenment’s tyranny of rationality. Another reason Kuhn is misunderstood is that he made the paradigm concept too inclusive; hence, the lure of scientific status appeared too easy. But, Kuhn’s new image of science was not meant to be normative, although he seemed to vacillate, at least implicitly, on this point. That image was not a prescription for how to do science or to be a scientist. Rather, it was for pedagogical purposes to help people, especially students, understand what science is. In that sense, it had a powerful impact and hence the tension. On the one hand, Kuhn tells us what science is but, on the other, not how to do it and thus how to be a scientist. Without maintaining this distinction and with society’s emphasis on science, the temptation is just too great for other disciplines not to wrap themselves in the Kuhnian paradigmatic mantle.

IV  What is the future of Kuhnian studies? The question, “What is the future of Kuhnian studies?”, especially in the philosophy of science, is a difficult question to answer with any precision— as any such question generally is. For some philosophers of science, Kuhn is at the margins of the field. For example, Bird (2011) noted that Kuhn has not remained central to the field. Part of the reason is that no one philosophy of science dominates today because the field is fragmented into the philosophy of sciences, for example, philosophy of biology, philosophy of chemistry, etc.

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In fact, Kuhn’s own radical approach has been turned onto itself; and, it is now seen as part of the hegemonic tradition—a Fullerian paradigmitis— that a current pluralistic approach to the philosophy of science attempts to overturn. This is especially true when Kuhn’s own position on truth is used to assess his work, i.e. is it true or not? Interestingly, Horgan asked Kuhn this question of Kuhn, who responded, “I think this way of talking and thinking that I am engaged in opens up a range of possibilities that can be investigated. But it, like any scientific construct, has to be evaluated simply for its utility—for what you can do with it” (1997, p. 44). For others, the utility of Kuhn’s philosophy of science has opened up new vistas in philosophy of science. Joseph Rouse, for example, claimed that “a Kuhnian revolution in the philosophy of science has yet to occur” (2013, p. 61).10 He then explained that several of Kuhn’s important themes have yet to be fully developed or—to use Kuhn’s term—“articulated.” Specifically, Rouse identified three themes, A shift of philosophical attention to science away from epistemology, a correlated shift of attention toward the dynamics of conceptual articulation in the sciences, and a resolute insistence upon the integral engagement of philosophical reflection on science with philosophical work on mind, language, and metaphysics. (2013, p. 61) For Rouse, the future of Kuhn’s philosophy of science involves fuller articulation of these themes. He concluded that although Kuhn’s philosophy of science and its paradigm concept seem “rigid,” future work might produce a different conception of it. Rogier De Langhe, like Rouse, also contended that Kuhn’s philosophy of science has not been fully articulated, especially the paradigm concept. He proposed a “systematic philosophy of science” in which he drew on complex systems, along with network theory, agent-based modeling, and big data analysis, to articulate more fully Kuhn’s paradigm concept. De Langhe argued that in spite of the fragmentation in contemporary philosophy of science, a “general pattern” can be identified by viewing scientific knowledge as a product embedded within a process unfolding over a given period rather than simply a finished product divorced from forces shaping it. According to De Langhe, the aim of articulating Kuhn’s paradigm concept is “to make it constitutive of a research agenda for the philosophical investigation of science including both a descriptive and a normative component” (2013b, p. 70). He concluded that the future of Kuhn’s philosophy is tethered to articulating a “framework” in which new developments in system sciences can be operationalized for practicing philosophy of science. Finally, Wray, like De Langhe, also proposed that Kuhn’s philosophy of science provides a framework for conducting philosophy of science. “I think,” stressed Wray, “we should treat Kuhn’s theory of science as a scientific theory and evaluate it in this way” (2013, p. 79). Specifically, he

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maintained that Kuhn’s work on specialization in the sciences—in terms of EPS—is fecund ground for future studies by philosophers of science, particularly concerning the structure of research communities as they investigate natural phenomena. For Wray, Kuhn offered a way of combining both epistemology and social structure of science into what he calls “social epistemology of science,” and he pointed to his book, Kuhn’s Evolutionary Social Epistemology, as a first deposit on the promise of this venue for utilizing Kuhn in practicing philosophy of science. “I believe,” concluded Wray, “that we still have much to gain from Kuhn’s theory of science, and that it will prove to be a very fruitful theory” (2013, p. 79).

V Summary In a review of Kuhn’s theory of science, Science writer Nicholas Wade situated Kuhn within a logical positivist and falsificationist context, i.e. the received or traditional view. Wade acknowledged that Structure was responsible for articulating a new image of science in the 1960s and “encapsulated many of the ideas and discontents of the time and presented them in a new synthesis which cut blithely across the demarcation lines between the philosophy, history, and sociology of science” (1977, p. 143). After discussing the major features of Kuhn’s new image of science in contrast to the received view, he then surveyed the impact it has had on the history, philosophy, and sociology of science, as well as the criticism levied against it by practitioners within these disciplines. He concluded—in an offhand way—that Kuhn did not think much of the role of truth in scientific progress and would not permit truth to factor in the evaluation of his own theory of science. “But if causing a revolution is the hallmark of a superior paradigm,” admitted Wade, “the Structure of Scientific Revolutions has been a resounding success” (1977, p. 145). According to Giere, “Kuhn’s real legacy for North American philosophy of science is that he shamed postwar philosophers of science into dealing with real science, rather than the trivial logical surrogates for real science” (1997, p. 497). In other words, what made Kuhn’s new image of science revolutionary was that he punched holes in the perceived pretensions and arrogance of some analytic philosophers and their facade of precision and accuracy, as they attempted to mimic the physical sciences for establishing the certainty of their epistemic claims. Knowledge is often at best a house of cards that collapses upon examination of its metaphysical and empirical foundations. Moreover, precision and accuracy are sometimes an illusion and dangerous to the creative impulses necessary to drive progress. Normal science and its advances are impressive but insufficient to understand or harness nature completely. We live in a world that outstrips our abilities to understand it ultimately. The best we can do is to move from one paradigmatic situation to the next. There may indeed be mind-independent

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real events, but more important than these events is what they mean to those participating in them. Objective facts simply are insufficient to account for the full status of reality. How can one axiomatize the ineffable Aunt E—? Kuhn elicited a wide range of responses. To some he was a savior who dethroned physical science and its hegemony. To others he was a deceiver for parading a false or an anemic image of science. The issues he raised concerning reason, truth, progress, etc. have unsettled many. In a real and important sense, we live in a different world from the one prior to Kuhn. But the issue is, as Fuller fretted about, whether it is a better, or as Popper would say a roomier, world. Or, have we been corrupted? As Kuhn confessed in an interview, he was an avid reader of mystery novels. He did not give the reason why, but it might be the lure of solving the mystery or puzzle. Although family members chided him for this hobby of his, they eventually became hooked on reading them through his influence. When he gave this anecdote, Kuhn ended it with this sentence: “I’m a corruptor of the mind!” (2000, p. 323).

Further reading 1 De Langhe, R. (2013), “Structure of Scientific Revolutions: 50 Years On,” Topoi, 32 (1). A collection of articles exploring the influence of Kuhn’s philosophy of science, ranging from traditional issues such as incommensurability to the future impact of Structure. 2 Grube, D.-M., ed. (2013), “Special issue on the 50th anniversary of the first edition of The Structure of Scientific Revolutions.” Philosophy Study, 3 (5). A collection of papers celebrating the impact of Kuhn’s Structure, with most of the papers focusing on the nature of rationality in Kuhn’s philosophy of science. 3 Kindi, V. and Arabatzis, T., eds (2012), Kuhn’s The Structure of Scientific Revolutions Revisited, New York: Routledge. A collection of articles examining Structure, from its origins and early reception to its implications for future philosophy of science. 4 Torres, J. M., ed. (2010), On Kuhn’s Philosophy and Its Legacy, Faculdade de Ciêcias da Universidade de Lisboa. A collection of papers engaging the legacy of Kuhn’s philosophy of science, with the majority of the papers addressing the incommensurability thesis and the paradigm concept.

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Notes Preface 1 Besides the first edition, published in 1962, and the fiftieth anniversary edition, published in 2012, a second edition was published in 1970, which included the “Postscript—1969,” and a third in the year of Kuhn’s death, 1996, which included an index. 2 A few of the most noteworthy conferences, especially those at institutions with which Kuhn was associated during his academic career, included Princeton University (November 9–10, 2012), MIT-Harvard (December 7, 2012), and finally the University of Chicago (November 30 to December 1, 2012)—which profited financially from Structure’s publication. 3 Kuhn’s book actually had several working titles, beginning with Scientific Development and Lexical Change and concluding with The Plurality of Worlds: An Evolutionary Theory of Scientific Development (Hoyningen-Huene 1997, 241). The book was around two-thirds finished at the time of his death in 1996.

Chapter 1 1 For overviews of Kuhn’s life and work, see Bird (2004), Buchwald and Smith (1997), Heilbron (1998), and Swerdlow (2013). 2 “Veritas” is Harvard’s motto, and of course the irony here is Kuhn’s latter rejection of truth. 3 For details surrounding Structure’s publication in the Encyclopedia, especially in terms of whether it “killed” logical positivism, see Reisch (1991), de Oliveira (2007), and Uebel (2011). 4 The paper was also published in Quantification: A History of the Meaning of Measurement in the Natural and Social Sciences, edited by Harry Woolf (1961). 5 Interestingly, when the symposium’s papers were published two years later, Kuhn’s paper appeared in a separate part called “Problems in the sociology of science,” even though there was another section called “Problems in the historiography of science” (Crombie 1963). 6 Kuhn and Hempel had another go at theory choice at the 18th annual meeting of the APA’s Eastern division, held on December 28, 1983, at the Sheraton

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NOTES hotel in Boston. The occasion was a symposium on Hempel’s rationality of science. Kuhn and Wesley Salmon presented papers, to which Hempel responded.

7 The book originated with the historical project on quantum mechanics in the 1960s. 8 Besides philosophical issues, Kuhn also addressed issues concerning the practice and nature of history and its relationship to the philosophy of science. In 1980, Kuhn published a review, “The Halt and the blind: philosophy and history of science,” in which he again claimed that HPS as a discipline is problematic. For philosophers pursue truth and historians what happened. But, Kuhn acknowledged that the two disciplines might cross-pollinate each other. Kuhn also surveyed the history of science discipline in a 1985 keynote address, which he delivered at the 17th International Congress held at Berkeley. In it, he discussed the rapid growth of the discipline and its shifts from ancient to modern histories and from intellectual to social histories. 9 For reactions of those attending the lecture series, see Finkbeiner (1985).

Chapter 2 1 Juan Mayoral (2009) analyzed Kuhn’s essay within the context of Kuhn’s education at Harvard from 1940 to 1945. Mayoral claimed that Kuhn’s instructors, H. M. Sheffer and C. I. Lewis, influenced Kuhn’s philosophical approach to science in terms of a pragmatic role of belief and intention in the generation of scientific knowledge. 2 The second lecture was revised and then published (Kuhn 1952). 3 See also, Swerdlow (2004) and Westman (1994).

Chapter 3 1 Joel Isaac, whom Hufbauer referenced, also provided an analysis similar to Hufbauer’s. Isaac stressed Kuhn’s personal education in both the Deweyan liberal education as a youth and the “compressed period of intensive training” in physics (electrical engineering) at Harvard (2012, p. 97). For Isaac, Structure’s origin was the outcome of a “fusion of pedagogical, professional, and philosophical concerns” over the development of scientific knowledge (2012, p. 101). 2 Hufbauer (2012, pp. 453–4) concluded that much more work is necessary to establish a fuller account of Structure’s genesis over the twenty years since the sophomore essay to Structure’s publication in 1962. 3 The first two sentences of the 1960 Structure draft read: “The study of history has not been a usual source for the West’s conception of science, and it might usefully become one. Viewed as a repository for more than anecdote or chronology, history could provide a decisive transformation in the image of science by which we are now possessed” (Kuhn Papers, Box 4, Folder 5, “Draft, 1958-60,” p. 1).

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Chapter 4 1 Shapere (1966) followed the review a few years later with another critical evaluation, in a paper delivered at the Pittsburgh philosophy of science colloquium series. 2 Toulmin was only partially right that Kuhn’s paradigms represent Collingwoodian absolute presuppositions. However, Collingwood also identified relative presuppositions for which empirical evidence can be responsible for changing them. Certainly, Kuhnian paradigms also represent relative presuppositions in that a community changes them based on empirical evidence. 3 Kuhn’s demarcation problem was distinct from Popper’s demarcation problem, which was how to distinguish between science and nonscience—although from Popper’s perspective of Kuhn’s notion of normal science, the two demarcation problems were the same. 4 Kuhn’s remarks bear the stamp of Pearce Williams (1970), who—in his London colloquium paper as noted above—chastised both Popperians and Kuhn for not basing their theories of science on empirically derived sociological research. 5 Specifically, Kuhn cited the works of W. O. Hagstrom, D. J. Price and D. de B. Beaver, Diana Crane, and N. C. Mullins, who wrote the Harvard dissertation Kuhn mentions in the Swarthmore lecture. 6 In a footnote to the published discussion section, Kuhn informed the reader that of the three essays written for the 1965 London colloquium, the 1969 Urbana symposia, and the 1969 postscript, the Urbana essay is the first written but the last published. “At some of the points where these later essays overlap with my paper in this volume,” Kuhn confided, “readers may find evidence that I learn from experience” (Kuhn et al. 1977, p. 500). 7 Kuhn informed the reader that the “postscript was first prepared at the suggestion of my onetime student and longtime friend, Dr. Shigeru Nakayama of the University of Tokyo, for inclusion in his Japanese translation of this book” (1970d, p. 174). Moreover, the postscript represented a first deposit toward “a new version of the book” (Kuhn 1970d, p. 174). 8 Kuhn did not elaborate in the postscript why he included the legislative function of symbolic generalizations but part of the reason, most likely, involved an expansive notion of paradigm that aims to equip scientists to explore and investigate unknown phenomena. 9 Such changes in a community’s metaphysical commitments are only partly responsible for the world changes Kuhn claimed occur at times of revolutions. 10 See, Scheffler (1982), pp. 67–89. For discussion concerning Scheffler’s critic of Kuhn, see Meiland (1974) and Siegel (1976). 11 Kuhn’s defense especially against subjectivity vis-à-vis values was to argue that if all members of a community responded similarly to an anomalous result, little—if any—stability would be possible in terms of normal science activity. What Kuhn (1977a) meant by subjectivity is not personal bias, which can lead to irrational behavior, but the scientist’s individual biography and personality.

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12 Importantly, seen over longer periods, the progress of science may not simply be cumulative but it may also be incommensurable in which intervals of stasis, i.e. normal developmental growth, are interspersed by punctuated intervals of revolutionary growth.

Chapter 5 1 For further comments on metaphor, especially as it relates to theory change, see Kuhn (1979). 2 Kuhn addressed theory choice in other lectures and writings. For example, in commenting on Joseph Sneed’s formalism for explaining theory change, Kuhn (1976b) identified it with changes in the set of core theories, as he did in the 1976 Foerster lecture. 3 These features are referred to in the literature as the “Big Five” subjective values (Carrier 2008). 4 As Xinli Wang observed, Kuhn’s critics charged that incommensurability “threatened to undermine our image of science as a rational, realistic, and progressive enterprise” (2007, p. 5). 5 Considerable debate as to whether Kuhn really espoused radical InT has infected the philosophy of science literature. Certainly, Feyerabend, Lakatos, Popper, and others asserted he did. Edwin Hung (2006) claimed that both Kuhn and Feyerabend initially subscribed to this form of the thesis but that Kuhn in particular later dissociated himself from it. However, Sankey (2000) declared it is “doubtful” that Kuhn ever held it. 6 Davidson challenged the existence of “conceptual schemes” (aka Kuhn’s paradigm concept) and its associated InT. He began with several descriptions of conceptual schemes, such as “ways of organizing experience” or “systems of categories that give form to the data of sensation” (1974, p. 5). He then pointed out that these schemes may reflect different realities such that what is real in one scheme may not be in another. He argued that these different schemes result in conceptual relativism, which leads to a paradox. “Different points of view make sense,” according to Davidson, “but only if there is a common coordinate system on which to plot them; yet the existence of a common system belies the claim of dramatic incomparability” (1974, p. 6). In other words, to claim two conceptual schemes are comparable or translatable and yet incommensurable was a contradiction.

Chapter 6 1 Kuhn used a Preface to a book of essays, to be translated into Chinese but which was never published, as supporting material for the 1989 NSF grant application. In it, he outlined an evolutionary framework for science knowledge and progress but grappled with identifying a role for incommensurability. As for incommensurability, he made the transition

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from framing it as a meaning-variance problem to a translatability problem. “Incommensurability is thus,” as Kuhn defined it, “a form of untranslatability” (Kuhn Papers, box 20, folder 13, p. 8). Invoking the notion of taxonomy, he argued that communication within a community of specialists depends on a shared taxonomic structure, which binds its members together. At the end of the Preface, Kuhn introduced the idea that a selection mechanism must operate in forming the community, just as natural selection operates in speciation during biological evolution. However, he was unable to identify what the mechanism was—although he believed that puzzle solving, especially esoteric or anomalous puzzle solving at the periphery of normal science practice—might provide a clue to identifying the selection mechanism. He was on the brink of solving the puzzle about the role of incommensurability in the evolution of scientific knowledge. 2 The “no-overlap principle” prohibits the reference of terms to objects unless they are related to one another as species to genus. For example, cats cannot overlap with dogs. 3 Nine reviewers evaluated Kuhn’s NSF grant application, with a consensus that it should be funded. 4 Kuhn pointed out that the feature space and the salience indices do not determine selection for every single community member. The only common criterion for selection according to him was that a member eventually makes the right classification of the object. 5 Kuhn’s question to the audience about whether he was a realist has generated considerable discussion and debate in the philosophical literature about his position with respect to realism, as well as to the idea of truth. Kuhn’s critics have, noted Sankey, “detected a strong idealistic tendency in his views” (2000, p. 64). For example, Scheffler characterized Kuhn’s position as “extravagant idealism.” “Reality,” lamented Scheffler over Kuhn’s position, “is gone as an independent factor; each viewpoint creates its own reality. Paradigms, for Kuhn,” he charged, “are not only ‘constitutive of science’; there is sense . . . ‘in which they are constitutive of nature as well’” (1982, p. 19). However, in defense of Kuhn, Hoyningen-Huene (1993) claimed Kuhn’s position is intermediate between the extremes of realism and idealism. Sankey also conceded that Kuhn did not advocate a strictly mind-dependent idealism, and he argued that Kuhn’s position is a form of constructivist idealism, “which admits an independent reality but denies the possibility of epistemic access to it” (2000, p. 64). He went on to identify Kuhn’s position with Kant’s position that the world is partly constituted through its conceptualization. Bird (2000) also rejected the label of constructivist for Kuhn’s position on reality, although he admitted that other forms of idealism might be applicable. 6 See Kuhn (1964, p. 145) and (1991, p. 8). 7 Just as Darwin’s critics attacked his non-teleological approach to biological evolution, so Kuhn’s critics attacked his non-teleological approach to scientific progress—especially the fruit of this approach, the paradigm concept—claiming it makes scientific truth irrational and relative (Lakatos and Musgrave 1970; Shapere 1964).

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8 Darwin’s position was not quite so simplistic, see Rhodes (1987) for a more accurate assessment of Darwin’s position. 9 For non-adaptionist approach to evolutionary epistemology, see Franz Wuketits (1984). 10 See Popper (1972), for his early writing on evolutionary epistemology. 11 Toulmin in particular criticized Kuhn’s notion of revolutionary science and the divide between normal and revolutionary science (1972, pp. 98–122). 12 Hull’s main interest in evolutionary epistemology was not in terms of traditional epistemology and knowledge justification, especially of scientific knowledge since he believed no such justification exists. “I do not attempt to answer,” Hull informed the reader, “any traditional problems in epistemology. . . . Instead I set out a general analysis of selection processes that is equally applicable to biological, social, and conceptual development” (1998b, p. 13). 13 Hull’s evolutionary epistemology was the subject of two special issues of Biology & Philosophy, volume 3(2), 1988 and volume 15(3), 2000. 14 For a current discussion of this problem of “blindness,” see Kronfeldner (2010). 15 Toulmin (1972, p. 322) quoted from Kuhn’s essay “Reflections on my critics” (1970c, p. 264) to support his criticism.

Chapter 7 1 Although Kuhn expressed surprise at the diversity of academic disciplines appropriating his philosophy and history of science, to some extent he should not have been surprised given his intellectual interests—as evident from the book on the Copernican revolution, which is subtitled “Planetary astronomy in the development of western thought.” As Kuhn noted in the Preface to the book, what distinguished his study of the Copernican revolution from others was its scope, which included “conceptual changes in cosmology, physics, philosophy, and religion” (1957, p. vii). 2 Another reason for Kuhn’s considerable impact was certainly his material and method. The hermeneutical approach to historiography was applied successfully to other disciplines for almost a century. Continental historians and philosophers of science were beginning to appropriate that approach (Braver 2014; Gutting 2005). The status of science now seemed within reach for other disciplines, all they needed was a paradigm and off they went through anomalous experience, crises, and revolutions, to land once again upon paradigmatic footing. Kuhn essentially gave hope and solace to disciplines not falling within the traditional natural science taxonomical grouping that their discipline could enjoy the privilege and stature of a science. But, there is another part to the answer of this question and that is Kuhn’s manner of presenting the material. Although Kuhn was a mediocre lecturer at the beginning of his career, he did develop. Also, he certainly motivated his students to perform their best. Kuhn brought that same pedagogical flair to

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his writing. Most importantly, however, is that Kuhn’s scholarly material was initially developed for pedagogical reasons. As Conant writes in Understanding Science, “I propose to examine the question of how we can in our colleges give a better understanding of science to those of our graduates who are to be lawyers, writers, teachers, politicians, public servants, and businessmen” (1947, p. 1). With that goal in mind, Kuhn developed an image of science more accessible to the layperson than the traditional image, with its emphasis on logical precision and epistemological clarity. Finally, Kuhn received constant correspondence from people asking him to assist them in their application of his philosophy of science, especially the paradigm concept, to their own discipline. 3 Hesse had earlier situated Kuhn in the transformation of the philosophy of science accordingly: When considering how radical Kuhn’s thesis was in 1962, one has to remember what the problem situation then was. It was characterized by the deductivist account of science of Carnap, Nagel, Hegel, Braithwaite, and others. This was not a positivist account, but it did retain an important feature of logical positivism, namely a reliance on deductive logic, and its necessary presupposition of a scientific language that is ideally univocal and hence fit to carry deductive entailments. This was the presupposition that was called into question by Kuhn’s and Feyerabend’s discovery of “meaningchange” or “incommensurability”. Relative to the received account of science this discovery was very radical indeed. (1983, p. 704) 4 But only the first stage of the revolution, according to Kuhn, is accounted for in terms of persuasion and subsequent changes in probabilities are the result of proof. 5 Kuhn later defended his position concerning truth. “I take theories to be whole systems,” Kuhn confessed in an interview, “and as such they don’t need to be true or false. All we need to do is by some criteria or other decide which one we would rather have. . . . Of course, it doesn’t eliminate true-false as very important. That’s what you do within a system,—judge the truth or falsity of statements. Across a system you can’t apply that sort of calculation” (Sigurdsson 1990, p. 22). 6 Darwin was an advocate of this mode of evolution. 7 Similar evolutionary theories—although certainly not identical—have been postulated, including saltationism and punctuated equilibrium (Gould 2002; Theißen 2009). 8 D’Agostino envisioned the “collective turn” as a successor to the linguistic, interpretive, and practical turns (2010, p. 2). 9 As Boguslaw Wolniewicz (1986, p. 219) noted, Fleck did not provide a clear definition of thought-style other than “directed perceiving,” but Fleck was clear on the intimate connection between thought-styles and thought-collectives. 10 Cedarbaum’s quote is based on his conversations with Kuhn on November 26, 1979. 11 Kindi addressed Kuhn’s denial in an interview where he said that Wittgenstein’s “Paradigma” did not influence him in formulating the paradigm concept. She

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NOTES argued that the reason Kuhn was not influenced by Wittgenstein’s “Paradigma” was the scant discussion of the term in the secondary philosophical literature; this was in contrast to the more abundant discussion of his use of “language game and form of life” (2012, p. 97). She also cited, however, Cavell’s claim that Kuhn admitted that he knew of Wittgenstein’s use of “Paradigma” while writing Structure.

12 Kindi claimed the two accounts are not different but “complementary” (2012, p. 97). 13 Another articulation of Kuhn-loss worth citing because it captures succinctly what concerned most critics is, “If (P, Q) is a pair of paradigms, a revolution between them, then the revolutionary transition from P to Q involves (alongside gains) losses (for example of explanatory power and of problem solving)” (Verronen 1992, p. 47). 14 Stegmüller (1979) proposed a branching model of scientific revolutions in which two theories diverge from a common theory. He argued that even for the theory that ceases to progress, what was gained through it is not necessary lost, but is potential to the scientific community, if needed. 15 A “world picture,” according to Vihalemm, “provides a basis for treating the world as a modeled reality and making it natural to treat it so” (2000, p. 70). 16 Briefly, Duhem-Quine underdetermination stated that any number of theories could be postulated to explain a given set of experimental observations or evidence (Psillos 2006). 17 Sankey (2013) identified another important challenge for Kuhnunderdetermination and methodological incommensurability in terms of epistemic relativism. 18 Hoyningen-Huene spent the 1984–5 academic year with Kuhn at MIT. As Kuhn wrote in the Foreword to the book, “No one, myself included, speaks with as much authority about the nature and development of my ideas” (1993b, p. xi). 19 The nature of scientific revolutions is another important topic in Kuhnian studies (Andersen 1998). 20 Kuhn’s notion of scientific progress still informs current debates over the nature of advancement in science, see Bird (2007), Rowbottom (2010), and Mizrahi (2013). 21 Losee is less sanguine about progress vis-à-vis the disciplinary matrix because Kuhn’s explication of it was ambiguous. 22 This was especially true for Kuhn since he rejected a teleological approach to scientific progress. But, Losee (2004, chapter 19) rejected the evolutionary growth of scientific knowledge. 23 For an intellectual historical analysis of antirealism from Kuhn to Foucault, see Gordon (2012). 24 Giere (2013) argued that Kuhn was a perspectival realist, in the sense that science makes claims about the world (realism) from a particular conceptual scheme (perspectival). 25 Hacking (1993) labeled Kuhn a nominalist, specifically a revolutionary transcendental nominalist.

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26 Global realism, for Ghins, refers to the general “independent existence of nature” (1998, p. 57). 27 Bird (2011) has charged Kuhn with providing a relativistic legacy to philosophers of science and pointed to his theory’s role in the development of social constructionism. 28 Kuukkanen also claimed that Kuhn’s philosophy was not opposed to a convergent realism. 29 Šešelja and Straßer also took issue with Kuukkanen’s conclusion that Kuhn’s philosophy is not opposed to convergent realism. 30 Recently, Weinert (2014) argued that Kuhn’s evolutionary philosophy supported continuity models like the chain-of-reasoning model to account for scientific revolutions, such as the Copernican revolution and the transition to modern cosmology. 31 For a review of the Marcus’s theory of electron transfer, see Scherer and Fischer (2010). 32 For additional comment on “skating on the edge of paradigms,” see Turro (2011). For current state of supramolecular paradigm in chemistry and science in general, see Vicens and Vicens (2011). 33 Kuhn’s philosophy of science has also informed philosophers of chemistry, such as Jaap van Brakel (2000) and Joachim Schummer (2003). 34 Alessandro Iannace (2011) challenged Alvarez and Leitão’s interpretation of the Copernican revolution for the history of geology and claimed that geology has a distinct epistemology from physics and astronomy. Because of geology’s unique epistemology, Iannace championed Steno as the “Galileo of Geology” (2011, p. e246). In reply, Alvarez and Leitão (2011) concurred with Iannace that Steno represents an important figure in the establishment of geology as historical science but defended their interpretation of the Copernican revolution for the history of geology in a broader sense that includes the ahistorical. 35 In response to an “open letter” in Geotimes, Wilson defended the revolution in the earth sciences in Kuhnian terms of “a change in outlook . . . and I think we should embrace the change and expect the whole study of the Earth to move rapidly forward” (1968b, p. 22). 36 Kitts also delivered a paper defending his position over the nature of geology as “the most highly developed retrodictive historical science” (1978, p. 224). 37 Another philosopher, Henry Frankel (1978), also presented a paper at the meeting in which he claimed continental drift did not represent a Kuhnian scientific revolution either from pre-paradigmatic to normal science or from one paradigm to another. 38 Bornmann and Marx (2012) formulated the principle from Leo Tolstoy’s novel Anna Karenina, in which happy families meet certain criteria. 39 In a review of Gould’s magnum opus, Gregory Radick (2012) called Gould “the exemplary Kuhnian” and noted the similarity in the titles of the two authors, Kuhn’s The Structure of Scientific Revolutions and Gould’s The Structure of Evolutionary Theory.

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40 Mayr faulted the inability to appropriate Kuhnian normal and revolutionary science to biology on the “essentialistic-saltationistic” thinking of physicists and proposed evolutionary epistemology as a remedy. 41 Interestingly, Brenner (2012) claimed the molecular biology revolution was a movement away from matter and energy of biochemistry to the inclusion of information. 42 Reductionism involves the simplification of complex phenomena in terms of their components and comes in at least three forms: theoretical, ontological, and methodological (Marcum 2009). 43 For example, even the structure of a protein, such as myoglobin, could not be deduced from structural rules based on its amino acid composition. In other words, a protein’s tertiary structure represents a whole that cannot be predicted solely on its primary or secondary structure (Morange 1998). 44 Interestingly, Philippe De Backer et al. (2010) acknowledged the debate over the revolutionary nature or paradigmatic shift of systems biology vis-à-vis molecular biology in terms of reductionism versus holism—without explicitly citing Kuhn—and concluded—in non-Kuhnian terms—that the revolution is “gradual” rather than “sharp.”

Chapter 8 1 Psychologists used Kuhn’s notion of scientific revolution to support minor revolutions in psychology such as environmental psychology (Bechtel 1996), qualitative psychology (O’Neill 2002), and closed-loop psychology (Marken 2009). 2 Thomas Leahey (1992) also challenged the myth that the transition from behaviorism to cognitivism was a Kuhnian revolution. 3 Commentators frequently attributed to Friedman a falsificationist position, based on his claim, “Factual evidence can never ‘prove’ a hypothesis; it can only fail to disprove it, which is what we generally mean when we say, somewhat inexactly, that the hypothesis has been ‘confirmed’ by experience” (1953, p. 9). Friedman’s comment does resemble Popper’s notion of falsification, but the context in which Friedman made it was not to demarcate science from pseudoscience (Popper’s main concern) but to chasten a naïve understanding of the relationship between empirical evidence and theory choice. For further discussion of Friedman’s relationship to Popper’s methodology, see Frazer and Boland (1983). 4 Martin Bronfenbrenner (1971) also claimed that the Keynesian revolution is Kuhnian, along with two earlier revolutions: a laissez-faire revolution in the eighteenth century and the marginal revolution in the nineteenth century. 5 “The attempt to give a Kuhnian account of the Keynesian Revolution,” maintained Blaug, “. . . creates the image of a whole generation of economists dumbfounded by the persistence of the Great Depression, unwilling to entertain the obvious remedies of expansionary fiscal and monetary policy, unable to find even a language with which to communicate with the Keynesians, and,

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finally, in despair, abandoning their old beliefs in an instant conversion to a new paradigm. These fabrications are unnecessary if instead we see the Keynesian Revolution as a replacement of a ‘degenerating’ research programme by a ‘progressive’ one with ‘excess empirical content’” (1975, pp. 416–17). 6 Dolfsma and Welch acknowledged that whereas Kuhn “used the term paradigm as a set of ideas and institutions, here we draw more on works in technology studies, where paradigm is defined more narrowly as a set of rules and routines” (2009, p. 1088). Of course, their revision of Kuhn’s paradigm concepts raises concerns about whether their reconstruction of economic history in Kuhnian terms is justified. 7 But not all advocates of these different economic methodologies invoked a Kuhnian revolution for their chosen methodology. For example, Carl Craver and Anna Alexandrova claimed that the label of revolution did not fit neuroeconomics since “it is more promising at this stage to pursue collaborative and integrative research projects” (2008, p. 384). 8 According to Siegel, Kuhn argued that “the science educator, in order to effectively inculcate that paradigm, should systematically distort the history of science” (1979, p. 111). Kindi has taken exception to Siegel’s analysis, claiming, “Kuhn does not recommend abusing the trust that students bestow upon teachers and the educational process. He is laying bare how the practice of science develops” (2005, p. 724). 9 Duschl (1985) claimed that part of the problem in revising science education at the time was a failure to utilize “the newer philosophical ideas about the development of scientific knowledge” (1985, p. 552). 10 For a review of the contributions of philosophers of science to science education, see Mellado et al. (2006). 11 An example of incorporating Kuhn into science pedagogy was the development of a course for physics teachers in which the transition from classical to quantum mechanics represented a Kuhnian paradigm shift between two incommensurable paradigms (Hadzidaki et al. 2000; Kalkanis et al. 2003). 12 In a review of citation analysis to Kuhn, Loving and Cobern (2000) found that Kuhn’s impact on science education during the 1980s and 1990s was predominantly in conceptual change and constructivist epistemology. 13 Denzin based his analysis of the wars on the historical reconstruction of similar wars in the social and behavioral sciences (Teddlie and Tashakkori 2003). 14 Another recommendation to resolving the “paradigm wars” included the adoption of Lakatos’s research programmes (Taber 2014). Finally, Denzin claimed that “we need a moral and methodological community that honors and celebrates paradigm and methodological diversity” (2010, p. 425). 15 Baber proposed that sociology of science should once again embrace the Mertonian paradigm by including institutional factors. In another critique of Kuhn’s impact on the sociology of science, Struan Jacobs and Brian Mooney (1997) claimed that Kuhn was wrong about the role “organic communities” of experts play in the production of scientific knowledge; rather, they argued that such knowledge is constructed within “trans-epistemic arenas,” which include not only experts but also the public.

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16 Jay Labinger (1997) also cited Kuhn as instrumental in the inception of the science wars. For analysis of the science wars by philosophers of science, see Brown (2001), Hacking (1999), and Kukla (2000). 17 For discussion of Kuhn’s role in the origins of the science wars, see Sardar (2000). 18 In the above works, Kuhn was cited either as a friend or foe vis-à-vis the science wars. 19 Longino conceded that Kuhn’s value of fecundity introduced pragmatism that could aid in “a feminist revolution in science” (2003, p. 279). Elizabeth Potter (2006) also acknowledged the role of Kuhnian values for a feminist philosophy of science. 20 Oakley mused about why feminists were so reluctant to let go of qualitative methods by invoking Kuhn. “Applying Kuhn’s arguments about cultures of ‘normal science’, it could be suggested that feminism holds onto qualitative methodology,” Oakley explained, “because this has become part of its normal intellectual repertoire” (1998, p. 716). 21 Leckenby and Hesse-Biber explored three paradigmatic approaches to mixed methods. The first was purist in which both qualitative and quantitative remain separate. The next approach was pragmatic in which researchers adopt methods depending on what works for the specific research problem. The final approach was dialectical, which “creates a spiraling conversation between the epistemological paradigms and the methods themselves” (2007, p. 270). According to Leckenby and Hesse-Biber, which approach feminists used depended on particular epistemological problems the research addressed. 22 Leckenby and Hesse-Biber acknowledged that mixed methods are not necessarily feminist but require feminist values for adopting them to feminist research. 23 Not all critiques of feminism, especially with respect to “gendering” science, levied such charges against it. Gross (1992), for example, took issue with Keller on his assessment that Barbara McClintock was denied recognition for her research on genetic transposable elements not because she was a woman but because her research was well ahead of its time, just as Gregor Mendel’s research was ignored for the same reason. 24 Estelle Freedman claimed that the death of feminism was a ruse emanating from a “fear of feminism,” along with its vilification (2002, pp. 10–11). 25 In a recent review of qualitative methods in feminist research, especially with respect to quantitative methods and “mixed methodology,” Sara O’Shaughnessy and Naomi Krogman concluded that “a number of feminist scholars are gravitating toward research strategies that may be less inherently feminist” (2012, p. 516). In other words, feminism may “have arrived” and has become mainstream (Rosenberg and Howard 2008). 26 The following year, Gabriel Almond (1966) also delivered the presidential address at the society’s annual meeting. He too invoked Kuhn’s paradigm concept to map the contemporary development of political science. 27 Kristen Monroe (2001) has claimed that political science is undergoing a paradigm shift from rational choice theory to theory of perspective.

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28 Dryzek identified three key features of Laudanian research traditions: “ontological commitments,” “methodological commitments,” and “a number of theories” (1986, p. 305). See also Laudan (1977, pp. 78–9). 29 The following discussion centers on the perceived negative impact Kuhn’s philosophy of science had on science policy, especially in the United States. However, Kuhn’s philosophy of science has also had a positive impact on science policy. For example, Beatriz Ruivo (1994) coined the phrase “paradigm of science policy” to denote an abstract notion of the similarities among international science policies. 30 For recent critical reviews of PNS, see Turnpenny et al. (2011), and Wesselink and Hoppe (2011). 31 See Aarnio (1987), for further discussion of the paradigmatic nature of legal dogmatics. 32 Aarnio’s paper was initially present at a conference on legal theory and philosophy of science in Lund, Sweden, from December 11 to 14, 1983. Other papers presented at the conference also discussed the relevance of Kuhn’s work for legal studies or sciences. For example, in concert with Aarnio, Matti Sintonen claimed that Kuhn’s disciplinary matrix “both defines [legal] problems and sets standards for their solution” (1984, p. 41). However, Jan Broekman was not as enthusiastic about the paradigmatic nature of legal studies. “The ‘legal dogmatic paradigm’ is hardly a paradigm itself,” charged Broekman, “but a set of methodological rules and principles” (1984, p. 139). 33 Barnett distinguished between punitive and pure restitution, with only the latter sufficing to replace the paradigm of punishment.

C 1 A special issue of Social Epistemology (vol. 17, nos. 2&3, 2003) was devoted to a discussion of Fuller’s revisionist account of Structure. Fuller’s response appeared in a subsequent issue (vol. 18, no. 1, 2004). 2 After visiting the MIT archives, Fuller retorted triumphantly, “I take a perverse pleasure in admitting that nothing I have read there causes me to revise my original evaluation—only to deepen it” (Fuller 2004, p. 4). 3 In The Copernican Revolution, Kuhn argued, “Copernicus is neither an ancient nor a modern but rather a Renaissance astronomer in whose work the two traditions merge” (1957, p. 182). 4 For example, John Preston (2003) has argued that Putnam was much more influential in setting the agenda for contemporary philosophy of science. 5 According to Bird (2002), Kuhn did not leave a “distinctively Kuhnian legacy” because his “linguistic turn”—a “wrong turning” claimed Bird—was out of step with the naturalistic turn of contemporary philosophy of science. He argued that Kuhn’s contribution with respect to legacy was Structure and its “naturalistic turn,” especially in terms of psychology.

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6 Petri Ylikoski argued that the “right way to get critical discourse back into the sciences is to take naturalism more seriously, not turning back to Popper and general philosophy of science” (2003, p. 323). 7 “That sort of thing,” according to Nickles, “did not suit Kuhn’s personality at all, and he assured us that . . . he would not have been good at it” (2003b, p. 253). Of course, Nickles recognized that there is more than one way of being socially and politically active. 8 Interestingly, Fuller (2000, p. 5) acknowledged a similar explanation. 9 There is an irony here in that Kuhn’s historiographic project was to correct the misrepresentation of historical scientific texts and yet his project has succumbed to the same misrepresentation, and with the claim that it advances the growth of knowledge. 10 Rouse paper was part of a Topoi special issue on Kuhn’s philosophy of science. The editor of the issue commented that the articles on the future of Kuhn’s philosophy could be divided into two categories. The first “see Kuhn’s future as offering a new paradigm for the philosophy of science, others see it as a bridge between philosophy and other fields or as a tool with applications to specific philosophical problems” (De Langhe 2013a, p. 1).

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Index Aarnio, A.  228, 255n. 31, 32 Abimola, I.  210 Achinstein, P.  20, 24, 96 Agassi, J.  21 Allen, L.  17 Almagest (Ptolemy)  39 Almond, G.  254n. 26 Alvarez, W.  190, 251n. 34 American Academy of Arts and Sciences 20 American Philosophical Association 124 American Philosophical Society  17–18 American Physical Society  17 Amsterdamski, S.  22 Andersen, H.  vi, 12, 27n. 1, 166–7, 171, 173, 230n. 1, 233, 250n. 19 anomaly  34, 36, 45, 48, 63–5, 108, 150–2, 190 Anspach, R.  78 Aristotle  5, 9–10, 13–14, 33, 39–40, 57, 107, 119, 122, 130, 196, 238 Ashcroft, R.  222 Astrology  40, 79, 81 Astronomy  40–3, 81, 159–61, 186–7, 191, 234, 251n. 34 Austin, J.  121 Baber, Z.  215, 253n. 15 Babich, B.  177 Bachelard, G.  11 Baird, D.  189 Ball, T.  223 bandwagon 78 Barber, B.  76 Baringer, P.  216 Barker, P.  203 Barnes, B.  215

Barnett, R.  228–9, 255n. 33 Beardsley, P.  221 behavioral sciences  viii, 155, 201–12, 253n. 13 behavioral world  34–6 behaviorism  119, 202, 222–3, 252n. 2 Betchel, W.  149 Between Experience and Metaphysics (Amsterdamski)  22, 257 bilingual  136, 144 biological sciences  112, 157, 192–9 Bird, A.  vi–vii, 169–71, 175–6, 182, 184–5, 232, 234–5, 238, 243n. 1, 247n. 5, 250n. 20, 151n. 27, 255n. 5 Black-Body Theory (Kuhn)  22, 107–10, 132, 133n. 3 Blaug, M.  207, 252n. 5 Bloor, D.  236–8 Blumenthal, G.  190 Boghossian, P.  218 Bohr, N.  17–18, 103, 105–7, 111, 132 Boltzmann, L.  108–9 Boring, E.  202 Bornmann, L.  188, 192, 251n. 38 Bothwell, J.  197–9 Boyd, R.  22, 184 Brache, T.  41 Brenner, S.  196, 252n. 41 Bridgman, P. W.  8 Briskman, L.  149, 202 Bromberger, S.  20–1, 95 Brown, G. E., Jr.  223–4 Buchwald, J.  25–6, 160–1, 164, 243n. 1 Burbules, N.  211 Bush, V.  9 Buss, A.  202–3 Butterfield, H.  36, 42, 66

280

INDEX

Cain, J.  149 Caldin, E.  17, 50 Caldwell, B.  205, 208 Calhoun, E.  230 Campanario, J.  187 Campbell, C. M.  230 Campbell, D.  145 Caneva, K.  233 Carnap, R.  8, 17, 158–9, 163, 249 Carrier, M.  182, 260 Cartwright, N.  25, 161–2, 165 Cavell, S.  14–15, 99, 250 Cedarbaum, D.  177–8 Chapel Hill colloquium  21, 24 chemistry  11, 127, 161, 164, 181, 188–90, 195, 198, 238, 251n. 32 Chen, C.  187 Claude, I., Jr.  220–1 click chemistry  189–90 Coats, A.  206 Cohen, B.  11, 13, 20 Cohen, L. J.  149 Coleman, S.  203 Collier, C.  229 Conant, J. B.  vi, 1, 3–4, 7–11, 13, 32–4, 56–7, 233–4, 238, 249 conceptual framework/schemes  34, 38–9, 41, 246n. 6 confirmation  44–6, 158 consensus  16, 24, 41, 46, 56, 58–61, 63–4, 66, 100, 139, 158, 161, 177–8, 180, 203, 208, 220, 229, 247n. 3 constructivism  162, 173–4, 211, 215–18 context/logic of discovery  19, 58, 78, 123, 237 convergent/divergent thinking  46–7 conversion  56, 61, 69, 82, 99, 106, 109, 116, 121, 192, 238, 253n. 5 Copernican revolution  vii, 2, 13, 15, 29, 36–44, 51, 51n. 4, 141, 145, 173, 184, 188, 190, 194, 248n. 1, 251nn. 30, 34, 255n. 3 Copernicus  36–43, 51n. 4, 171, 188, 194, 234, 255n. 3 correspondence rules  89, 92–5 Cox, A.  191

crisis  7, 34–6, 43, 45, 48, 50, 56, 58, 63–9, 100, 108, 122, 140, 169–70, 190, 194–5, 202–5, 213, 220, 223–4, 228–9 Crombie, A.  11, 16, 243n. 5 Currie, G.  149 D’Agostino, F.  175, 249n. 8 Damböck, C.  181 Danielson, D.  190 Darden, L.  149 Darwin, C.  145, 150, 152, 190, 193–5, 247n. 7, 248n. 8, 249n. 6 Darwinian evolution  145, 147, 149, 152–3, 193 Darwinian paradigm  195 Darwinian revolution  190, 192–5 Davidson, D.  126, 246n. 6 Davis, J.  208 De Langhe, R.  239 Denzin, N.  212, 253nn. 13, 14, 261 De Revolutionibus (Copernicus)  37, 40–1 Descartes, R.  5, 132, 159 descriptive/normative distinction  83 de Solla Price, D.  75, 160 de Vroey, M.  206–7 dialectic paradigm  203 Digges, T.  41 Dijksterhuis, E. J.  112 disciplinary matrix  20, 85–6, 91–4, 97–101, 177–9, 197–9, 213–14, 228, 237, 250n. 21, 255n. 32 Divine Comedy (Dante)  40 dogma  15–16, 27, 47–51, 80–2, 183, 210, 225 Dolfsma, W.  207, 253n. 6 Domondon, A.  225 Donagan, A.  20 Donmoyer, R.  212 Dott, R., Jr.  191 Dow, S.  209 Driver-Linn, E.  204 Dryzek, J.  222–3, 255n. 28 Dupree, A. H.  14, 17 Duschl, R.  212, 253n. 9 dynamic/static view of science  vi, 1, 13, 26, 33–5, 46, 79, 116, 130, 173, 225 Dyson, F.  187, 189

INDEX Earman, J.  24–5, 158, 163 Eckberg, D.  213–14 economics  6, 119, 155, 177, 201, 205–9 Eflin, J.  211 Ehrenfest, P.  107–8 Eichner, A.  207 Einstein, A.  30, 76, 82, 107–9, 187 Elkana, Y.  209 Etudes Galiléennes (Koyré)  11 evolutionary biology  172, 192–5 evolutionary epistemology  103, 134, 141, 145–52, 174–6, 193, 248nn. 9–13, 252n. 40 evolutionary philosophy of science (EPS)  vii–viii, 3, 25, 53, 103, 132, 134–53, 155, 157, 164, 171–6, 194, 232, 234, 240, 251n. 30 evolutionary turn  vii–viii, 23, 25, 53, 103, 134, 142, 153, 173 exemplar  20, 85–6, 91–101, 109, 165, 169, 177–9, 184, 211–14, 230, 235–7 Experience and Prediction (Reichenbach) 11 extraordinary science  46, 56, 58, 63–8, 70, 190, 192 faith  7, 41, 69, falsification  43, 46, 51, 57, 64–5, 69, 79, 82, 147, 207, 226, 240, 252n. 3 Farr, J.  222 feminism  212, 218–20, 254nn. 20, 23–5 Feyerabend, P.  3, 14–15, 19, 76, 78, 82–3, 167, 211, 232–3, 246n. 5, 249n. 3 Fine, A.  24 Fisher, E. (née Kuhn)  4–5, 57, 142, 241 Fleck, L.  3, 11, 177–8, 249n. 9 Foerster lecture  22, 117, 119–22, 246n. 2 Ford Foundation  20 formalism  35, 96, 246n. 2 Forman, P.  17, 26 Frank, P.  8 Friedman, Michael  25, 158–9, 163, 165, 187 Friedman, Milton  205–6, 208, 252n. 3

281

Friedrichs, R.  213 Fuller, S.  viii, 56, 157, 171, 180, 225, 233–6, 239, 241, 255nn. 1–2, 256n. 8 Furman University  21 Galileo  13, 33, 41 Galison, P.  109, 187, 189 Garnett, R.  208 Gestalt  11, 70, 79–83, 86, 116, 168, 177, 183, 202–4 Gattei, S.  173 Gauch, H., Jr.  224 geology  190–2, 251nn. 34, 36 Ghins, M.  185, 251n. 26 Ghiselin, M.  193 Gholson, B.  203 Giere, R.  176, 237, 240, 250n. 24 Gillispie, C.  18, 75, 161 Glass, B.  17, 50 Goldman, A.  215 Gordon, D.  206 Gould, S. G.  193 Grandy, R.  183–4 Green, C.  204 Greene, J.  194 Gross, P.  216–17, 254n. 23 Guggenheim fellowship  2, 13, 29, 36–7, 57 Gutting, G.  156 Hacking, I.  vii, 25, 162–3, 189, 250n. 25 Hall, R.  16, 19, 49 Hallam, A.  191 Hansen, H. R.  107 Hanson, N. R.  24, 76, 176, 232, 237 Harvard Society of Fellows  10–12 Harvard University  vi, 1, 3–15, 15, 25, 29, 31–2, 38, 51, 56–7, 87, 233, 243n. 2, 244n. 1, 245n. 5 Hausman, D.  208 Heilbron, J.  17–18, 25–6, 43, 105–7, 159–61, 164 Hellman, C. D.  42 Hempel, C. G.  3, 18, 20–1, 25, 124–5, 162–3, 243n. 6 Hess, E.  195–6 Hesse, M.  11, 24, 129, 232, 249n. 3 Hessian Hills school  4

282

INDEX

Hill, L.  213–14 historical philosophy of science  vii–viii, 2, 25, 53, 112, 117, 132, 140, 142, 167, 171, 232 historical turn  vii, 42, 174 historiographic revolution  vi–viii, 17, 25, 53, 55, 58, 112, 130, 142, 157–8, 176, 199, 232–4 historiography  33, 58, 77, 103, 105, 109–14, 161, 173, 195, 248n. 2 history and philosophy of science (HPS)  vi, viii, 14, 18–20, 103, 105, 108, 112, 115, 132, 155, 157–8, 166, 199, 204, 209, 212, 232–3, 244n. 8 Hodson, D.  210 holism  124–5, 129, 197–9, 252n. 44 Horgan, J.  9, 27, 155, 224, 236, 239 Horwich, P.  25, 158 Howell, W.  238 Hoyningen-Huene, P.  180, 183, 190, 247n. 5, 250n. 18 Hufbauer, K.  12, 36, 56–7, 244nn. 1, 2 Hume, D.  5–6 Hutchinson, T.  205, 208 hypothesis  29, 107, 185–6, 191, 252n. 3 immature/mature science  47–8, 58–9, 68, 113, 118 incommensurability  vii, 23, 25, 56, 67, 77, 84–5, 108, 124–32, 134–44, 152–3, 164, 166, 170–3, 176–8, 182–5, 198, 211, 235–6, 246n. 4, 246–7n. 1, 249n. 3, 250n. 17 incommensurability thesis (InT)  viii, 10, 23–5, 53, 67, 70, 76–7, 99, 101, 105, 125–32, 134–5, 140–1, 157, 160–1, 167, 170, 180–2, 185, 190, 213, 246n. 6 innovation  16, 41, 45, 48–9, 62, 147–51, 168, 239 Institute for Advanced Study (Princeton) 19 instrumentalism 188 intellectual framework  49

intellectual history  11, 38, 113, 117 internal/external history  112–13 International Encyclopedia of Unified Science (Neurath)  vi, 13, 17 interpretation  23, 37, 40, 42, 50, 60, 70, 77, 88–9, 96, 109–10, 126–9, 135, 165, 172, 189, 211, 215, 217, 222, 224, 228, 233–4, 251n. 34 invisibility of scientific revolutions  67 irrationalism  74, 81, 84, 179, 185 irrationality  67, 98, 100, 173 Isenberg lecture  20, 115, Janos, A.  222 Johns Hopkins University  11, 18, 24 justification, context of  58, 123 Kangro, H.  109 Kant, I.  5, 140, 142, 159, 165, 168, 175–6, 247n. 5 Keller, E.  218, 254n. 23 Kelvin, Lord  44 Kepler, J.  41, 194 Kergel, J.  207 Keynesian revolution  206–7, 252n. 4, 252–3n. 5 Kindi, V.  178, 249n. 11, 250n. 12, 253n. 8 Kitano, H.  197 Kitcher, P.  24, 127–9 Kittel, C.  17 Kitts, D.  191, 251n. 36 Klein, M.  108–9 Kneale, W. C.  19 Koffka, K.  11 Koyré, A.  3, 11, 26, 38, 75, 112 Kuhn, M. (née Stroock)  3–4 Kuhn, S. L.  3–4 Kuhnfest  25, 155, 157–65 Kuhnian studies  vii–vii, 157, 166, 182, 230, 232, 238–40, 250n. 19 Kuhn-loss  180–2, 250n. 13 Kuhn-underdetermination  180, 182 laboratory  32, 68, 70, 94, 98, 106, 136, 162, 211 Lakatos, I.  19, 82–3, 203, 207–8, 211, 223, 233, 237, 246n. 5, 253n. 14

INDEX Laudan, L.  203, 211, 223, 227, 237, 255n. 28 Laudan, R.  191 legal studies  201, 227–30, 255n. 32 Levitt, N.  216–17 lexicon  24, 128, 130–2, 134–45, 150–3, 163–6, 172–3, 179, 221, 237 Lincoln school  4 linguistic turn  3, 23–4, 57, 166, 172, 175, 255n. 5 logical empiricism  169, 171 logical positivism  24, 27, 143, 159, 163, 169, 205, 208, 243n. 3, 249n. 3 London colloquium  viii, 20, 74, 78–86 London School of Economics  19, 80, 82 Longino, H.  218, 254n. 19 Lovejoy, A. O.  11, 161 Lowell, J., Jr.  12 Lowell lectures  vii, 2, 12, 29, 32–7, 51, 57, 166 Lowell, R.  12 Machette lecture  21, 123–4 Maestlin, M.  41, Maier, A.  11, 112 map (paradigm)  48, 60, 82, 204 Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT)  vi, ix, 3–4, 21, 23, 25–6, 57, 233, 250n. 18, 255n. 2 Masterman, M.  19, 82–3, 85, 96 Matthews, M.  209, 211 Mayr, E.  193–5, 252n. 40 McConnell, R.  78 McMullin, E.  ix, 25, 159, 165, 237 meaning change(s)  85, 124, 129, 164, 177 measurement  15, 44–6, 51, 61, 161, 189 Merton, R.  113, 215 metaphysics  1, 5, 22, 29, 37, 51, 57, 88, 97, 159, 239 Michigan State University  20 Miller, A.  24 model(s)  11, 16, 36–7, 40, 48, 60, 91–2, 97, 106–7, 111, 116, 122, 162, 164, 178, 193–4, 203–4, 219, 223, 229, 236, 251n. 30

283

molecular biology  195–7, 198, 252nn. 41, 44 Morange, M.  196, 252n. 43 Morris, C.  13 Morris, E.  25–6 Murdoch, J.  18 Musgrave, A.  99–100 mystery novels  241 Nash, L.  11–14 National Academy of Science  25–6, 188 National Science Foundation  16, 135 natural law(s)  33, 97, 162, 165 neoclassical economics  206–7 Neurath, O.  vi, 17 Newton, I.  10, 12–14, 32, 36, 41–2, 59–60, 76, 82, 92, 122, 159, 181, 187, 238 New York Institute for the Humanities 23 Nicholas, J.  109, 211 Nicholson, J. W.  107 Nickles, T.  179, 256n. 7 Nirenberg, M.  196 Nobel Prize  7, 188 Nobel Symposium  24 no-overlap principle  136, 144 normal/revolutionary dialectic  202, 229 normal science  vi, 15, 34, 36, 46, 56, 58–66, 68, 70–1, 74–86, 88, 90, 92, 97, 100–1, 108–9, 120, 122, 138, 143, 150, 152, 158, 165–7, 170, 175, 177–9, 181–4, 187, 193, 195–9, 201, 206, 209–11, 225–7, 229, 235, 240, 245nn. 3, 11, 246–7n. 1, 251n. 37, 254n. 20 “Objectives of a General Education in a Free Society” (Harvard)  8 objectivity  21, 74, 123–4, 132, 137, 205, 223–4 observation(s)  31, 33, 38–9, 41, 44–5, 47, 56–7, 61–4, 67, 70–1, 79, 94, 117, 128, 139, 142, 162, 169, 183, 250n. 16 O’Donohue, W.  203 On Understanding Science (Conant)  9 Owen, D.  12, 31

284

INDEX

Palermo, D.  202, 212 paradigm(s)  vi–viii, 15–17, 19–20, 26, 34, 36, 38, 42–4, 47–50, 53, 56, 58–72, 74–101, 103, 108–9, 116–20, 124, 132, 134, 138, 141–3, 147, 150–3, 155–7, 159–61, 167–72, 175–99, 202–15, 219–30, 233–40, 245nn. 2, 8, 246n. 6, 247nn. 5, 7, 248–9n. 2, 249–50n. 11, 250n. 13, 251nn. 32, 37, 252–3n. 5, 253nn. 6, 8, 11, 14, 15, 254nn. 21, 26, 255nn. 29, 32, 33, 256n. 10 paradigmitis  234, 239 paradigm shift(s)  vi, vii, 43, 59, 68–71, 76, 82–5, 90, 103, 109, 124, 138, 142, 152, 159, 162, 170–1, 175, 177–81, 183, 185–90, 192–3, 195, 197–8, 202, 207–8, 212, 222, 228–9, 235, 237, 253n. 11, 254n. 27 parapsychology 78 Pearson, K.  32–3 Pepper, S.  14 Peterson, G.  203 Philosophy of Science Association  24, 125, 140 Physical sciences  35, 38, 44–6, 112, 115–16, 186–94, 205, 236, 240 Piaget, J.  204 Planck, M.  18, 22–3, 72, 105, 107–10, 122, 132 planetary motion  40–1 Plato 5 Polanyi, M.  15–16, 50, 60, 98, 232–3 political revolutions  66 political science(s)  viii, 155, 177, 201, 220–30, 254n. 27 Popper, K.  19, 26, 72, 74, 78–83, 146, 149–52, 167, 203, 208–10, 223, 225, 233, 237, 241, 245n. 3, 246n. 5, 248n. 10, 252n. 3, 256n. 6, 272 Post, H.  180–2 Post, J.  21, 124 postmodernism  vii, 211, 230 post-normal science  201, 225–7

pre-paradigm science  58–9, 61, 63–5, 118, 161, 202, 205, 210, 251 Princeton University  3, 18–23, 25, 75, 115, 243n. 2 problem solving  7, 13, 47, 71, 90, 118–19, 136, 179–80, 226–9 professional matrix  20, 88–9 psychology  33–5, 80, 82–4, 95, 119, 177, 201–5, 252n. 1, 255n. 5 Ptolemy  39–40, 234 Putnam, H.  18, 20, 58, 95, 149, 166, 170, 255n. 4 puzzle solving  15, 62, 116, 118–20, 138, 144, 150, 152, 165, 184, 186, 210, 225, 227, 235, 247 quantum physics  17, 107 Quine, W.  3, 10, 24, 127–8, 166, 170, 182, 203 rational choice  222, 254n. 27 rationality  21, 101, 109, 124, 140, 159, 165–7, 185–6, 193, 237–8 Read, R.  167–9, 183 realism  137, 139, 144, 165–6, 170, 184–5, 211, 247n. 5 reality  6, 31, 47, 82, 84, 139–40, 149, 152, 161, 172, 185, 203, 214–16, 219, 225, 241, 247n. 5, 250n. 15 Redman, D.  207–8 Refinetti, R.  211 Reichenbach, H.  11 relativism  74–7, 81, 84, 95, 99–100, 131, 137, 144, 149, 151, 158, 161, 165, 167, 170, 173, 179, 184–5, 210, 216, 246n. 6, 250n. 17 Renzi, B.  172 resolution of scientific revolutions  59, 63, 68–9 revolutionary progress  71, 86 revolutionary science  viii, 79–81, 84, 86, 88, 96–7, 101, 138, 167, 179, 187–8, 193, 209, 211, 223, 229, 235, 248n. 11, 252n. 40 Rheticus, G. J.  41 Ricci, D.  222

INDEX Ritzer, G.  213–14 Robinson, J.  209 Ross, A.  217 Rothschild Distinguished lecture  25 Rouse, J.  239, 256n. 10 Rousseas, S.  20–1 Ruse, M.  191–2, 195 Russell, B.  6, 8 Rutherford, J. J.  106–7, 111 Ryan, J.  214 Saarinen, A.  219 Sachs, M.  78 Salamon, R.  203 Sankey, H.  158, 185, 246n. 5, 247n. 5, 250n. 17 Sardar, Z.  217 Sarton, G.  5, 11, 115 Scheffler, I.  98, 247n. 5 Schlesinger, A.  20 Schlick, M.  3 Science: the Endless Frontier (Bush)  9, 260 science education  47, 113, 155, 201, 209–12, 253nn. 9–10, 12 Science in the Cause of Man (Piel)  77 science policy  vi, 155, 201, 223–5, 255n. 29 science wars  201, 204, 216–18, 254nn. 16, 17, 18 scientific community  11, 31, 47, 59, 61, 63, 66, 71, 77, 79–80, 84, 89–91, 96–7, 99, 137, 144–5, 148, 150–3, 165, 171, 174–5, 178, 184, 193, 211, 215–16, 222–3, 225–6, 229, 250n. 14 scientific development  21, 23, 35, 57, 64–5, 67, 75, 79–80, 84, 95, 113–14, 117–19, 130, 135–7, 141–3, 145, 147, 164–5, 176, 202 scientific methodology  2, 12, 31–2, 158, 162, 207–8 scientific practice(s)  2, 14–15, 21, 35, 45–9, 57–8, 60, 64, 76, 78–9, 81–2, 84, 89, 96–7, 99, 123, 138–9, 162, 173, 190, 208, 210, 215–17, 224–5, 234, 237

285

scientific progress  21, 29, 34, 37, 42–3, 46–7, 49, 59–60, 66, 71–2, 75, 77, 78, 80–2, 84–6, 92, 110, 134, 138–9, 142–7, 150, 152–3, 165, 170–3, 176, 183–4, 193, 201, 203, 211, 225–8, 230, 240, 247n. 7, 250nn. 20, 22 scientific research programmes  82, 211 scientific revolution(s)  vi, 13, 21–3, 35, 37, 39, 47, 56, 59, 66–72, 76, 86–90, 96, 101, 114, 118, 120, 122–4, 126, 129, 138, 141, 144–5, 150, 152, 160, 162, 165, 170, 174–8, 180–4, 186–7, 190–3, 195–9, 202–4, 206–7, 214, 218, 220, 222, 235, 250nn. 14, 19, 251nn. 30, 37, 252n. 1 scientific theory  43, 49, 129, 211, 239 Screpanti, E.  207 Segal, E.  202 Seipal, P.  228 servant narrative  234 Shamos, M.  209 Shapere, D.  20, 74, 76–7, 94–5, 98–101, 179, 188, 233, 237, 245n. 1 Sharrock, W.  167–9, 183 Shearman Memorial lectures  24 Shimony, A.  109 Shipman, H.  187–8 Shryock, R.  17 Siegel, H.  210, 253n. 8 Siekevitz, P.  77, 275 similarity relationship  90, 93–4, 98, 122 Simpson, G. G.  172–3 social sciences  viii, 21, 112, 119, 155, 171, 178, 201, 205, 212–20, 222–3, 226, 228, 236 sociology of science  87, 114, 201, 210, 214–16, 240, 243n. 5, 253n. 15 sociology of scientific knowledge (SSK)  214–18, 230 Solebury school  4 Stanfield, R.  206

286

INDEX

stateability 137 Stegmüller, W.  181, 250n. 14 Stephens, J.  221 Sturm, T.  205 subjectivity  98, 123–4, 204, 245n. 11 superconducting super collider (SSC) 224–5 Suppe, F.  20, 93–4 Suppes, P.  20, 95 Sutton, F.  11 Swarthmore College  20 Swerdlow, N.  25, 160, 164 symbolic generalization(s)  91–4, 97, 245n. 8 systems biology  197–9, 252n. 44 Taft school  4–5 taxonomy  122, 128–9, 135, 137–8, 141, 153, 168, 247–8n. 1 Taylor, C.  16 textbook science  32, 34–5, 123, 177 Thalheimer lectures  24, 130–2, 137 The Case of Sergeant Grisha (Zweig) 5 The Copernican Revolution (Kuhn)  15, 29, 37–43, 141, 255n. 3 The Nature of Science and Science Teaching (Robinson)  209 theory choice  21, 23, 80, 83–4, 99, 105, 123–5, 138, 159, 166, 169, 182, 206, 223, 226, 243n. 6, 246n. 2, 252n. 3 theory/observation distinction  161–2 theory testing  79, 175 The Plurality of Worlds (Kuhn)  243n. 3 Thomson, J.  25 Thomson J. J.  106 thrombin 238 Toulmin, S.  17, 19, 49, 76, 81, 83, 147–52, 176, 211, 232–3, 237, 245n. 2, 248n. 11 traditional (view of) science  12, 31–5, 37, 46–7, 49, 51, 57–8, 70–1, 89, 97, 123, 170, 209, 227, 233–5, 240, 248–9n. 2 translation  84–5, 94, 126–9, 137, 161–2, 164, 166–7, 170, 180–1

Truman, D.  220 truth  10, 24, 30, 43, 71–2, 84, 99, 117, 121, 132, 137–44, 146, 150, 152, 163, 165–8, 170, 174, 184–6, 204, 215–17, 223–6, 230, 234, 239–1, 243n. 2, 244n. 8, 247n. 5, 249n. 5 Turner, S.  211 Tweney, R.  205 UCLA colloquia  134, 137–40 underdetermination  64, 180, 182, 250n. 16 University of California, Berkeley  3, 14–18, 22, 26 University of Notre Dame Perspective lectures  23–4, 118, 122–3, 135 University of Oxford symposium  16 University of Utah Research conference 16 Urbana symposium  20, 90–6, 100–1, 245n. 6 values  21, 80, 84, 88, 97–8, 100, 123–5, 129, 131, 158–9, 165, 182, 186, 211–12, 215, 221, 224, 226–8, 230, 235–6, 245n. 11, 246n. 3, 254n. 19 van Vleck, J.  7–8, 17 Vassar College  8, 20–1, 117 verification  69, 91, 143, 147, 205, 226 verisimilitude  72, 146, 150–2, 170, 174 Verronen, V.  181, 250n. 13 Vienna 3 Vihalemm, R.  181, 250n. 15 virus  152, 155 von Dietze, E.  177 Wade, N.  140 Wagner, P.  210 Walker, J.  221, 223 Walker, T.  223 Walsh, R.  204 Ward, B.  207 Warren, N.  202 Watkins, J.  19, 80, 83 Watson, R.  202 Watson, W. H.  36

INDEX Weinberg, S.  224–5 Weinert, F.  188, 251n. 30 Wendel, P.  212 Wertheimer, M.  11 Westman, R.  199 Wheeler, J.  17 Whig history  11, 43, 110, 115 Whitesides, G.  188–9 Whorf, B.  11 Wiener, P.  42 Williams, D. C.  6 Williams, L. P.  19, 82–3, 245n. 4 Wilson, J. T.  191, 251n. 35 Wise, N.  25, 161, 164 Wittgenstein, L.  14, 60, 121, 166, 168, 176–8, 249n. 11

287

Woese, C.  196 Woolf, H.  17, 42 Words and Worlds (Kuhn)  vii, 24, 103, 135, 139–40 world changes thesis  69–70, 131–2, 162–3, 167–70, 183–5, 245n. 9, 249–50n. 11 worldview(s)  11, 26, 39, 69–70, 121, 183–4, 204, 206, 2327 World War I  4, 7 World War II  4, 7, 23, 220 Wray, K.  174–5, 178–9, 182, 239–40 Zeitgeist 232 Ziegler, P.  228

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