Remember the Strong Program? David Bloor Science, Technology, & Human Values, Vol. 22, No. 3.

(Summer, 1997), pp. 373-385.

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Remember the Strong Program?

David Bloor University of Edinburgh

Before arriving at the Science Studies Unit in 1967 I took a degree in experimental psychology at Cambridge. Richard Gregory and Donald Broadbent were just two of the fine group of experimentalists Cambridge housed at that time. My exposure to the Psychological Laboratory and the Applied Psychology Unit was intellectually exciting, and I acquired a great respect for the discipline. It provided me with an orientation I have never lost. I want to make use of that orientation now, as a way of introducing a discussion of the sociology of knowledge and, in particular, of the so-called strong program.' This may seem an odd procedure because it straddles disciplinary boundaries, but I hope I can show that such worries are misplaced.

Bartlett's Laws
One of the books I encountered as a student was F. C. Bartlett's classic study Remembering. (The author, Sir Frederic Charles Bartlett [1886-19691, had held the chair in Cambridge and was one of the first experimental psychologists to be elected a fellow of the Royal Society of London.) Remembering was first published in 1932 but was still required reading in the 1960s. The book made a great impression on me. Two points especially have stayed in my mind. I shall call them Bartlett's First Law and Bartlett's Second Law, though these are my labels and not how he presented them. Bartlett's Laws have been strikingly confirmed over the years by the responses made to the strong program. Let me tell you what these laws are and explain how they have been confirmed. Bartlett's First Law might be called the "Law of Complexity." It says that the complexity of a response is a function of the complexity of the responding organism, not the complexity of the stimulus. Bartlett was interested in memory and he was working in the shadow of the great pioneer Ebbinghaus. Ebbinghaus developed the use of simple, nonsense syllables as the material
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for studying retention and forgetting. He wanted to strip away the effect of prior familiarity or any kind of special interest in the material to be remembered, so he voided the stimulus material of meaning. In this way he hoped to lay bare the machinery of the memory itself, regardless of past experience, past training, attention, motivation, and other variables. Bartlett rejected this and took the study of memory out of the laboratory into a naturalistic setting. He argued that you do not produce simple or pure memory responses by presenting apparently simple stimuli, like nonsense syllables. It is still the whole organism that is going to respond. This is why the complexity of a response is not a function of the complexity of the stimulus but of the responding organism. How is this law exemplified in responses to the strong program? To make the connection, I need to begin with the assertion that the strong program is itself really very simple. The basic idea is this: just as experimental psychologists turn their scientific curiosity onto the processes of individual cognition, so we can generalize the enterprise and turn scientific curiosity onto collective cognition. At the heart of our collective understanding of the world lies the impressive institution of science, so let us see what happens when we try to know science scientifically. Now, is this really a simple idea? Am I perhaps playing a trick? For example, I speak of knowing science scientifically, but that formula, with its double use of the word "science," might seem convoluted rather than simple. Some people will say it presupposes the very thing to be investigated, so either an investigation is not needed (because we already know the answer) or the investigation is impossible (because we do not know the answer, so we do not know how to proceed). I am confident in predicting that, by virtue of their training and their intellectual predilections, many sociologists and philosophers would rapidly run through some such thought process-and conclude that the project of knowing science scientifically was highly suspect. In some illegitimate way, the critics will think, it "privileges" science, or "privileges" some particular account of it. Here, then, we can see some of the complexity of the response that was generated. Let me now try to take this one step further. Is it really so wrong and so methodologically suspect to try to know science scientifically? Didn't Bartlett have to depend on his memory when he wrote his book on remembering? Don't experimental psychologists have to use the very same cognitive and perceptual processes they are investigating in the course of their investigations? Of course they do-and yet that does not, in practice, threaten the interest of their findings or diminish their capacity to make progress. How do they manage to pull off this amazing methodological trick? And if they can do it, why can't we? I think we can do it too. We need to see that the only "privileging" the psychologists are doing is to make practical use of the

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faculties they are investigating-that is, they use the things themselves, not any particular account or theory of them. No account or theory is "privileged." My feeling was, and is, that we can do the same in the sociology of science, provided we have acquired, and can take for granted, certain "instincts" about how to proceed "scientifically." Of course, these are not literally instincts; they are culturally acquired. The point is we need certain habits of mind, rather than an account or theory. We need these to start us off and keep ourselves going; they are resources (just as our memories and perceptual systems are resources), but they do not predetermine where their use will lead us. There might be some enveloping, metaphysical limitations built in to such a procedure, but there is nothing we can do about that, and a lot that can be opened up and uncovered in the meantime. I naively expected this essentially simple aim would strike everyone as obviously desirable. I knew that some resistance might be predicted on the basis of Durkheim's ideas about the untouchable, "sacred" basis of our deepest social rules, but I admit that I did not think this would be more than a residual effect. I massively underestimated the way in which such a simple idea, depending only on widespread and well-ingrained scientific "instincts," would evoke a response embodying all the convoluted complexity of the social "organism" we are pleased to call "academic life." To explain why so many of the responses to the strong program had little connection with the words on the page, I need to go on to Bartlett's Second Law. This might be called the "Law of Conventionalization." Instead of Ebbinghaus's nonsense syllables, Bartlett studied remembering by using pieces of real, living culture. He located folk stories and myths belonging to one ethnic group and presented them to members of a second ethnic group. The second group was his experimental subjects. He studied what happened to the memory of these stories by getting his subjects to recall them at a later period, and then again even later, and so on. He found a gradual change in how the story was remembered, but a change with interesting sociological properties. First, the story was progressively simplified: it lost detail characteristic of the original culture, but lost them in such a way that the mismatch with the second culture was diminished. Then, the recollected version of the story even began to have detail added to it, but of course, detail drawn from the second culture. So once again, it was shifted in the direction of the culture of the person who was remembering it. These selective and constructive processes proved to Bartlett both the creative and the culturally shaped character of the mechanisms responsible for memory. He called this process "conventionalization." Let me quickly give you an example of conventionalization in the writings of critics. Here is one from a recent article by Stephen Cole (1996), published

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in a book called The Flight from Science and Reason. In this article one of my own contributions to the strong program is identified as having a "neoMarxist orientation" (p. 275). It is assimilated to Marxism despite the fact that neither Marx nor Marxism has received more than the merest mention in anything I have ever written. Cole takes as his target an article called "Durkheim and Mauss Revisited" (Bloor 1982). As the title implies, Durkheim, not Marx, was my model, but Durkheim gets no mention by Cole. One of the examples I used in that article was based on historical work (mainly by Margaret Jacob and Jack Jacob) on what is called the "corpuscular philosophy." The corpuscular philosophy was the theoretical basis of the work of early modem scientists such as Robert Boyle and Isaac Newton. One of its interesting features is the doctrine of the passivity of matter. The work of these historians suggests that part of the attraction of the idea that matter is passive lay in its social use. It allowed a theory of matter to be constructed which could be used as a model for how society should be ~ r g a n i z e dThe .~ passivity of matter also gets no mention by Cole. Instead, the thesis of the article is reconstructed as Bloor saying "that Boyle's law was influenced by his conservative political beliefs" (p. 275). There was, however, no mention of Boyle's law in the article. Nor, for that matter, did I characterize Boyle as "conservative." (I might add that Cole offers no alternative, or better, solution to the problem addressed: of why Boyle and Newton insisted that matter was passive.) So you can see how some details are dropped, while others are added, all to make the thing remembered fit into salient cultural categories. Rather than my attempt being assimilated to Durkheimian anthropology, it is conventionalized into the polemically more convenient category of "Marxism." I have no great objection to such a label, though I would not use it of myself, and I should have expected a sociologist such as Cole to be sensitive to the differences between Marx and Durkheim. But labels apart, I think Sir Frederic might have been proud of Professor Cole for providing such a nice illustration of his law.

Becoming Reflexive
It might look as if I am merely using Bartlett's laws to poke fun at critics, saying they have misremembered or misunderstood what they are criticizing. But that would be a limited and one-sided use. It would also be against the spirit of the strong program itself to imply that others might be causally determined by such laws while we, the sociologists, are not. No: the point is that if Bartlett's laws really are deep, then they must apply to ourselves, as well as our critics. We, too, must be producing complicated and convoluted

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responses to simple and direct things that are said to us. We, too, must be stereotyping, elaborating, and conventionalizing the work of our critics. No one does this deliberately, and if it were deliberate, that would be another process, not the one Bartlett was describing. We do these things unwittingly. We may feel that a question fails to do justice to our position, so instead of a direct answer we will explain why it is incorrectly posed. Seeing the question as indicative of underlying attitudes, we may respond to these, rather than the question itself. In good conscience, and with the intention of getting to the heart of the matter, we will thus exemplify Bartlett's First Law. Given the complexity of our debates, this will lead us into necessary simplifications to expose, as we think, the real logic of the issue, and thereby we obey Bartlett's Second Law. Where does this leave rational discourse? If our basic cognitive machinery is selective and creative in the way Bartlett described, it is difficult to see how we can carry on rational arguments with one another. At this point some philosophers proceed as if our minds are made up of two different parts, only one of which is subject to causal laws, while the other, more rational, part can be mobilized so as to overcome these deplorable tendencies. But then we are caught in a dilemma. On the one side is the despairing idea that we are doomed to misunderstand one another. On the other side there is a dualism and a transcendentalism, enticing us away from the real world of cognition studied by Bartlett and his scientific colleagues. If we wish to be both scientific and down to earth, and reasonable and rational beings, how are we to make sense of the situation? Can we escape the dilemma? One possible way out is as follows. Perhaps a large number of mechanisms, each with a characteristic individual "fault," can be made to interact with one another to produce a collective mechanism which does not have this same fault. Perhaps the faults can be made to cancel out. In other words, we must lift our gaze from psychological processes to sociological processes. Let me give you an example of a sociological move of this kind. The source may come as a surprise: it is drawn from the work of Karl Popper (1963) who is famous for his advocacy of what he called "critical fallibilism." Science and rationality, he said, are driven along by criticism: dogma is bad and protects error from the liberating effect of criticism. Science, therefore, must be undogmatic. But, a critic might say, isn't this highly unrealistic? Don't we know that people are dogmatic and lack much capacity for self-criticism? It looks as if Popper was hopelessly optimistic about human nature because he wanted to build a self-critical institution out of unself-critical individuals. This would be to underestimate Popper. It is logically possible for science as an institution to be self-critical, even if not a single scientist were capable of being self-critical. The secret lies in getting the right social arrangement. If

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we can get one dogmatist to criticize another dogmatist, then dogma gets collectively criticized. Popper's idea was that we need a pluralistic social system or, even better, a competitive social system. In this way we can achieve self-criticism at the higher level even though it is absent at the lower level. Popper's idea provides a model for transcending Bartlett's laws, but we need to refine it and add to it. First, we need to assume something like a natural tendency, of a generalized kind, disposing us to monitor and sanction and criticize one another and to be sensitive to such sanctions by others. In this way individual, subjective tendencies to assimilate, construct, and "conventionalize" can be held in check. But, second, we must not place all the emphasis on negative sanctioning. If the end result is going to avoid a stultifying atomism or an anarchic individualism, we must be able to explain the emergence of shared patterns of belief. The sanctioning and control must work in a concerted way to defend or sustain something positive, and this side of the matter has not yet been provided for. To meet this need, notice that Bartlett-like mechanisms may generate problems under some conditions, but under others they are positive virtues. These "faults" can work for us rather than against us, and usually do work for us. If they did not, it is difficult to see how they could have evolved. Their positive contribution is that a group of organisms interacting on the basis of cognitive machinery of this kind will gradually get more and more similar to one another. Their internal representations of the world will converge, so that the organisms will become more cognitively alike. They will come to share what Bartlett called a "schema." The schema, or conventionalized representation, will become the baseline for the operation of the very process by which it was generated in the first place. If we combine this effect with a generalized sanctioning tendency, of the kind just postulated, we produce a collective mechanism with an intriguing feature. It will generate something very like a social norm or a social institution but, of course, a cognitive norm and a cognitive institution. Bartlett mechanisms, therefore, make evolutionary sense because they are wonderful for creating institutions. They "prime" the system-that is, set it going-and then sustain it once it has been created (see Barnes 1983; Haugeland 1990). I want to draw your attention to two important features of this argument. First, the idea that the Bartlett mechanisms work, as it were, for both good and ill is very characteristic of experimental psychology. Here is the previously mentioned Donald Broadbent on this theme in his book In Defence of Empirical Psychology (1973): "Despite years of psychological effort," he said, "it is still not widely realized in our culture that a man can see something which did not happen, and that he does so precisely through the workings of

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the system which in other cases makes him see accurately" (p. 63). There are not two psychological mechanisms, one for veridical perception and one for erroneous perception,just as for Bartlett there were not two mechanisms, one for good conventionalizationswhich lead to social solidarity and one for bad conventionalizations which are divisive and lead to misunderstanding. In general, what is needed is a unitary causal account dealing, as we might say, "symmetrically" with both. Here, then, is one of the sources of the symmetry postulate of the strong program; it can be seen as grounded in the practice of Cambridge experimental psy~hology.~ The second thing to notice is that I have been dealing here with certain fundamental features of social and cognitive order-namely, the preconditions for, and the emergence of, norms and institutions. Admittedly, my presentation has been simple and schematic, but whatever its defects there is, I hope, no denying the subject area in which these remarks are located: they concern the basis of social life itself. I want to emphasize this because there is widespread misunderstanding on the question. It has become commonplace among critics of the strong program to say that its advocates treat "nature," or the physical world, as problematic but treat society as unprobl e m a t i ~I. ~ am not pretending that what I have just said, about how norms might be precipitated by Bartlett mechanisms, itself constitutes a sufficient answer to these criticisms. But it can remind us that the real state of affairs is not how these critics portray it. These fundamental, sociological themes have long been a preoccupation of advocates of the strong program. The nature of social reality itself has frequently been a central issue. The need for such a concern is clear and, indeed, unavoidable. The knowledge of nature, being part of culture, is a facet of collective life. To treat knowledge as problematic is to treat social reality as problematic; and conversely, to treat social reality as problematic means sooner or later confronting the character of knowledge. Themes of this kind were explored at aprofound level in Barry Barnes's article "Social Life as Bootstrapped Induction" (1983) and in his book The Nature of Power (1988). Similarly, Steven Shapin's thesis-that the problem of cognitive order is the problem of social order-has been exemplified in detail in his A Social History of Truth (1994) and in Leviathan and the Air Pump (Shapin and Schaffer 1985).

Not a Single Example?

"Conventionalization" means that certain stereotyped patterns of thinking, or "schemas," achieve a special status within a group. They come to be "norms" sustained in the course of interaction. Ideas of this kind have played

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a prominent role in empirical studies of the changes in scientific knowledge. What may be called "reception studies" conform closely to the Bartlett paradigm of taking an element of culture from one group and studying its transformation as it is absorbed into the thinking of another. Arecent and fine example of this genre is Andrew Warwick's (1992, 1993) technically detailed account of the reception of Einstein's relativity theory in Cambridge. Warwick argues that Einstein's 1905 article was understood in a quite different way in Cambridge from how it was understood in Germany. Indeed, there was not even a unitary understanding of it within Cambridge. Although it was a minority interest, prior to 1905 there were two small but different schools working in the area that later came to be known as "relativity theory." One of these groupings centered on the mathematician Cunningham, the other around the experimentalist Campbell. Cunningham, coming from the highly specialized background of the mathematics Tripos, saw Einstein's work as a contribution to an approach based on certain mathematical techniques and transformations. (These derived from a technique known as "inversion," a favorite theme in Tripos examinations.) Campbell, embracing the self-consciously different ethos of the Cavendish Laboratory, saw Einstein's article in terms of its implications for his own version of relativity. That was tailored to current lines of experimental work, used the model of Faraday tubes, and was fashioned with different, and simpler, mathematical techniques than those used by Cunningham. These two scientists and their coworkers were not "misreading" Einstein's article; they were simply reading it. Their responses were not, and could not, be determined just by what was on the pages before them. The requirements of intelligibility and communication involve their bringing to bear on Einstein's article the full range of interpretive resources at their disposal, and those resources were different in each case. Each of them "conventionalized" the meaning of the words, equations, and concepts they encountered in terms of the collectively held schemas of the groups to which they belonged and in terms of the meanings that functioned as intellectual currency within it. Warwick's ability to cany through such an analysis at the mathematical depth called for in this case makes it an outstanding example of its kind. It is no criticism of the work to observe that the underlying explanatory model is not, in itself, a novel one. In light of this fact it is interesting to come back to the article by Cole (1996), mentioned earlier, and reflect on his claim that there is not a single example he knows of which could count as a real, and well-documented, case of the content of knowledge being significantly influenced by social factors. I think Warwick's (1992, 1993) article refutes Cole-as does all the other work in the same genre as Warwick's. Clearly, what looks to some of us like a demonstration of the social determination of

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content must look to Cole like something else. He thinks those who believe that the content of knowledge is significantly influenced by social variables have either a sloppy definition of "social" or a sloppy definition of "knowledge" or both. As he puts it, they have not clearly defined their independent and dependent variables. Let us look carefully at Cole's (1996) methodological specifications and see how they relate to historical work of the kind furnished by Wanvick (1992, 1993).To make their case, says Cole, the sociologist of knowledge must show that "cognitive content (as it was accepted by the scientific community) turned out one way rather than another because of some social process" (p. 280). The emphasis on causality here is quite right. It is the condition dealing with acceptance by the scientific community that needs examining. For Cole the sociologist must demonstrate a social influence on more than the "doing of science." The influence must be on what he calls a "knowledge outcome." This is defined as "a piece of science that has come to be accepted as true by the scientific community and thereby entered the core knowledge of that discipline" (p. 278). Cole wants to introduce methodological exactitude into the proceedings to offset what he, rather unkindly, calls the rhetorical tricks (p. 280) of the constructivists. Methodological exactitude is certainly desirable, but I do not think Cole's own formulations are as sharp in this respect as they should be. He has specified a set of suficient conditions for the demonstration of social influence but proceeds as if he has furnished necessary conditions. In this I think he is wrong. I want to suggest that there is no good reason at all for seeing Warwick's impressive article as anything other than a demonstration of the influence of social variables on knowledge outcomes. The social variables in question are the local traditions of work, and the outcomes are the particular readings of what later came to be institutionalized as relativity theory.'

How Experiments End

I can think of a reason why a critic of the sociology of knowledge might follow Cole in mistaking sufficient conditions for necessary conditions. Suppose someone holds the following two beliefs. First, they believe "real" knowledge is wholly determined by its object, so any residual, subjective factors would necessarily detract from its status. They think in terms of a zero-sum game with "nature" and "society" trading off against one another. Every claim sociologists make about social influence is heard as a corresponding denial of the role of reality. Second, they believe that when knowledge comes to be finally accepted by the scientific community it is

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almost certainly "real" knowledge, so it must have been shorn of any social influences on it. When properly conducted experiments on some topic are finally brought to an end by the experts reaching agreement, then, on this argument, they provide us with the unmediated contact with reality characteristic of real knowledge. Such a critic would reason that any significant sociological claim must, therefore, be directed at such fixed and settled cases which are the only examples of real knowledge. Clearly, such a procedure would stack the cards against the sociologist of knowledge. Were anyone to point out some identifiablebias, prejudice, myth, or conventionalization at work in the experiments, that would merely show that the necessary process for generating "real" knowledge had not yet run its course. Anything the sociologistcould get a grip on would be immediately disqualified as an instance of the kind of thing they ought to be grappling with-it would not be real knowledge. The position of the critic is thus a disguised tautology. Perhaps even more insidiously, such a stance draws a boundary which inhibits the flow of wholly reasonable inductive inferences. Of course, the solid core of present-day, esoteric, scientific knowledge is going to be enormously difficult to analyze sociologically, but there ought to be no reason why reasonable, inductive conclusions about the character of that knowledge cannot be based on other cases accessible to, for example, historians of science. The result of disallowing these, and treating them as if they fail to satisfy the necessary conditions of an adequate analysis, is that it blocks off inductive inference about "real" knowledge. Of course, this is what someone subscribingto the two beliefs just described would want to do. They would believe they were protecting science against its detractors--exactly as Cole does. I hope no one will think that, in spelling out these assumptions,I am simply fighting old battles. Who now believes these things, apart from a few residual "positivists"? Well, to begin with, old or not, such battles have flared up again and basic principles need reasserting. I also suspect that many of those who feel they have left old-fashioned "positivism" behind may be deluding themselves. But my target is notjust Cole. Other critics of the strong program, coming from within the approach broadly known as "constructivism," work with exactly the same stereotypes.Those of you familiar with Bruno Latour's attack on the strong program will recognize a remarkably similar strategy (see, in particular, Latour 1992). He also thinks that sociology is playing a zero-sum game with the ideas of nature and society; that is why he rejects what he understands as the symmetry principle of the strong program in favor of his own generalized version. It is, therefore, not surprisingthat critics, such as Cole, find Latour an ally in this regard. He reaffirms their suspicions about

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the sociology of knowledge. They find their worst fears played back to them and confirmed.

Conclusion
What is the culture against which it is best to understand the strong program? What are the assumptions on which it is really based? I have tried to convey a sense of this-as far as my own work is concerned-by using Bartlett's (1932) book and by showing you (quoting Broadbent 1973) how naturally a causal and "symmetrical" stance emerges from the study of cognitive processes in experimental psychology (at least, in its Cambridge version). There are obvious differences between psychology and sociology, but often those differences are accentuated by unnecessary and wholly contingent disciplinary boundaries. The fate of Bartlett's classic book is a case in point. At one stage of the argument, in the chapter called "Conventionalisation," he looked at the development-beginning in the World War of 1914-1918--of devices used for the night detection of attacking aircraft. His interest was in the role of teamwork, in both the development and the operation of such systems, and in the different national styles of the technology that resulted. The relevant section, which Bartlett described (rather strikingly in retrospect) as an example of "social constructiveness" (p. 276), is no more than a page long, and it is, by admission, sketchy. Sketchy or not, the fact remains that back in 1932, Bartlett had actually started to do the sociology of science and t e c h n ~ l o gSome ~ . ~ aspects of Bartlett's concern with practical, often military, problems of this kind were taken up within the discipline of applied psychology, but "social constructiveness" was not. In accordance with Bartlett's own laws, his contribution was "conventionalized." It was remembered selectively and adjusted to fit the dominant schema of the emerging discipline of experimental psychology-and, of course, his "social constructiveness" was the bit that was forgotten.

Notes
1. In what follows, I shall explain the points of the program that are needed to make the discussion self-contained.For a fuller account see Bloor (1991) and Barnes, Bloor, and Henry (19%). 2. The significanceof the Jacobs' argument was fmt made clear to me by Shapin (1980). 3. By "symmetry" I mean the principle that the form of explanation used by a sociologist should not depend on the sociologist's own evaluation of the truth of the belief to be explained.

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What we think of as atruth is just as sociologically problematic as what we thinkof as a falsehood. In both cases what is at issue are the local, contingent causes of credibility. 4. Claims of th~s kind are to be found in Bruno Latour's writing (such as his 1992 article "One More Tum after the Social Turn"). They have been echoed in, for example, Joseph Rouse's recent book Engaging Science (1996). 5. There is also no clear distinction between Cole's (1996) categoriesof "doing science" and "knowledge outcomes." Indeed, there are plenty of reasons drawn, for example, from the down-to-earth tradition of pragmatism, for doubting whether the distinction can be sustained at a fundamental level. Is it not reasonable to see knowledge as embedded in the doing, or the practice, of science? 6. Unfortunately, Bartlett (1932) gives no references to underpin his example. As an exercise in the history of "constructivist" approaches it would be interesting to track down the basis of his remarks.

References
Barnes, B. 1983. Social life as bootstrapped induction. Sociology 4524-45. . 1988. The nature of power. Cambridge, UK: Polity. sociological analysis. Chicago: Barnes, B., D. Bloor, and J. Henry. 1996. Scienh~cknow1edge:A Chicago University Press. Bartlett, E C. 1932. Remembering: A study in experimental and socialpsychology. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Bloor, D. 1991. Knowledge and social imagery. 2d ed. Chicago: Chicago University mess. . 1982. Durkheim and Mauss revisited: Classification and the sociology of knowledge. Studies in History and Philosophy of Science 13:267-97. Broadbent, D. E. 1973. In defence of empirical psychology. London: Methuen. Cole, S. 1996. Voodoo sociology: Recent developments in the sociology of science. In Theflight from science and reason, edited by P. R. Gross, N. Levitt, and M. W. Lewis, 274-87. New York: New York Academy of Sciences. Haugeland, J. 1990. The intentionality all-stars. In Philosophical perspectives: Action theory andphilosophy of mind, edited by J. E. Tomberlin, 383-427. Atascadero, CA: Ridgeview. Latour, B. 1992.One more turn after the social turn. In The social dimensions of science, edited by E. McMullin, 262-94. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press. Popper, K. R. 1963. Conjectures and refutations: The growth of scientific knowledge. London: Routledge and Kegan. Rouse, J. 1996. Engaging science. Ithaca, NY Cornell University Press. Shapin, S. 1980. Social uses of science. In Theferment of knowledge, edited by G . S. Rousseau and R. Porter, 93-139. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. . 1994. A social history of mcth: Civility and science in seventeenth-century England. Chicago: Chicago University Press. Shapin, S., and S. Schaffer. 1985. Leviarhan and the air pump: Hobbes, Boyle and the experimental life. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Wanvick, A. 1992.Cambridge mathematics and Cavendish physics: Cunningham, Campbell and Einstein's relativity 1905-1911: Part I: The uses of theory. Studies in the History and Philosophy of Science 23:625-56.

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. 1993. Cambridge mathematics and Cavendish physics: Cunningham, Campbell and Einstein's relativity 1905-1911: Part 11: Comparing traditions in Cambridge physics. Studies in the History and Philosophy of Science 24:l-25.