For a number of years I have been demonstrating at my seminars that the atom is no longer atomic, that mechanics is no longer mechanistic, and that similar paradoxes of advancing science can be formulated throughout its extent. The point has been reached, however, that a call for a revision of terms or some such reform should be issued. At one time, indeed, I gave a list of terms to be dropped altogether. They refused to be dropped. I ask now: Will they permit themselves to be modified or to be reallocated?

The attribute of living is due either to a specific state of matter or to a distinctive kind of energy. All possible interpretations of these two concepts are materialistic with one exception. There is said to be a kind of energy apart from this world. Such an assumption is vitalistic.

Most words are like small vessels with constantly changing contents. Life does not wait for adjustments in language, but seeks to give an immediate solution to its most imperative needs and interests. It builds up and sometimes destroys. It is a panorama in flux.

The argument of this paper is intended merely as a reassertion of John Dewey's naturalistic thesis that value and existence cannot be separated; and that the traditional concept of science which separates them (and which originated before the advent of science) is vicious. But the writer is not at all sure that he has not perverted the ideas of Dewey beyond recognition. If so, he hopes he has perverted them away from truth, but he fears otherwise. For there is not much hope of “reforming” science; at least, not of cutting and stretching it to fit the Procrustian bed herein prescribed. But if science really does not need reform, the writer is more than willing to submit to the sword of Theseus along with all other marauders and disturbers of the peace.

It is with some trepidation that I am raising again this old problem, for it may well be said that nothing new could possibly be written on it. On the other hand it can scarcely be maintained that what has been written has left the problem in a satisfactory state. Moreover, it seems to me that some work which has been done recently on the nature of theoretical physics can be used to dispose of most of the difficulties, and it is partly in the hope of drawing attention to that work and its bearings on psychology that I am writing this paper.

The problem of what constitutes science is of considerable significance for the student of society: his work, both in its methods and its results, so far as it claims to be scientific, is regarded sceptically. Possibly in consequence he has tended recently to support a broad definition of science which identifies it with knowledge. Yet, leaving aside the difficult problems of what knowledge is, or what it is knowledge of, most of us would argue that, while knowledge may either be derived from science or lead to science, the two are not equivalent.

It is probably true that the greater number of contemporary American anthropologists feel that “theory” is a very dangerous kind of business which the careful anthropologist must be on his guard against. This statement represents, in the first instance, merely a crude induction from my experience in talking with professional anthropologists. It is, however, symptomatic that not until 1933 did a book by an American anthropologist include the word “theory” in its title. Only a single book published subsequently is explicitly given over to anthropological theory, and this avowedly concentrates upon the historical development of theories rather than upon a fresh and extended analysis of the more abstract aspects of anthropological thought. But because anthropology still painfully remembers the stomach-ache it got from the too easy generalizations of many nineteenth century “arm-chair ethnologists” is insufficient reason, it seems to me, for that almost morbid avoidance of theory which tends to produce acute indigestion from sheer bulk of unordered concrete observations. Landheer has with some justice commented:

When discussions of scientific method shift from natural sciences to social sciences, we tend to feel that we are turning from strict sciences to subject matters which may have achieved some measure of intellectual competence but which lack the rigor, objectivity and principles of organization found in mature science. This sense of a difference between the natural sciences and the social sciences is connected with questions of the meaning and rôle of laws. To the extent to which social and historical events have not been reduced to laws or perhaps cannot be, the disciplines which study such events are considered immature or imperfect sciences. To the extent to which social sciences do not offer predictions, they are felt to have little application to the solution of actual and immediate problems. When a bridge has to be built over a chasm, the laws of the natural sciences can be brought to bear. But when a treaty is to be drawn, where, it is asked, are the social and historical laws which can be applied to the situation?

A short time ago, D. D. Lee wrote in Philosophy of Science: “Grammar contains in crystallized form the accumulated and accumulating experience, the Weltanschauung of a people.“ He thus called our attention once more to a theme which was much discussed during the 19th century but which has been in disrepute for some time in philosophical circles. It is a theme, however, which is not without merit. More than seven years of intensive study of primitive languages have convinced me that the work started by Wilhelm von Humboldt deserves serious consideration even at present, and from the ethnological as well as from the philosophical point of view.