At a certain point, however, this approach began to be perceived as almost ‘oppressive’. There was something authoritarian in its rationalism, perhaps in its a-historical approach, and (in Botha’s 1988:43 words) a ‘revolt against positivism’ took place¹. The revolt involved discussions of discoveries and justifications, evidences and theories and a whole conglomeration of specific topics. Basically, however, the revolt could be characterised as a shift: scientific knowledge was gradually anchored in the knowing subject (and not in the objects anymore). One could say that the subject was regarded as the new locus ordinis² for reality in general and for science in particular. Again, the new approach was regarded as ‘liberating’, as leading to a more ‘humanitarian’ (Feyerabend’s term) type of science.

This article tries to explore this ‘shift’ and to evaluate it. In my opinion, a proper recognition of the role of the subject in science is necessary. However, the ‘revolt’ against positivism did not result in liberation but was confronted by inner tensions which need to be pointed out and examined. Although this article does not try to examine all the possible problems created by (or related to) the shift to the subject in philosophy of science, it points out some problems that have not been discussed before, in particular the tension between an individualist and a communalist understanding of the knowing subject. In addition, it is argued that the roots of the phenomenon in most cases remain hidden to both secular and Christian scholars.

This article displays several examples to illustrate and observe the process and its consequences. Afterwards, a few clarifications and reflections are followed by my evaluation and interpretation of the shift. All analyses are conducted along reformational lines. The historical survey begins with Popper, whose philosophy can be regarded as a ‘bridge’ between positivism and some of the subsequent and more subjectivist philosophies of science.

Yet apparently this is not the whole story. Compared to previous authors, in his philosophy the subject emerges with more decision and gains a legitimate role. I would say, for example, that deductivism (adopted by Popper) places the subject in a more prominent position than inductivism. With inductivism the facts speak first, and the task of the scientist is to accumulate a sufficient quantity of them so that they can almost ‘dictate’ our theories. By contrast, the deductive method starts from problems, hypotheses and expectations (and only the subject has problems or develops conjectures).

The result is that the scientific community plays an important role in Popper’s philosophy. Not the individual but the community. He argues: ‘science and more especially scientific progress are the results not of isolated efforts but of the free competition of thought’ (Popper 1961:154–155). The scientific community is essential for the selection of problems, for proposing new theories, for mutual criticism and for falsification. In conclusion, Popper’s philosophy is one of the places where the role of the subject (as community) begins to emerge with force. At this stage, however, one still finds a fair balance, a sort of harmony between individual and community. Polanyi’s approach acknowledges the importance of the subject even more, but in his opinion the scientific subject is not only communal.

Scientific discovery, for Polanyi, is not first of all a matter of critical rationality but a matter of personal commitment. In the scientific activity this commitment discloses itself according to its original tacit structure. According to Polanyi, problems are basic to science, but personal commitment and interest are basic in the selection of problems. In fact, ‘nothing is a problem or discovery in itself; it can be a problem only if it puzzles and worries somebody’ (Polanyi 1958:122). The selection of a problem entails in itself a certain risk, for example one could select a problem that is too demanding (ibid:124). But most importantly the selection of a problem discloses a ‘logical gap’ (ibid:123). This is the gap that must be crossed by solving the problem, but there is no formalised logical procedure to solve the problem or to make an important scientific discovery. The latter can never be traced by a logically connected sequence of determinable steps. True discovery implies an un-specifiable element. The presence of certain elements of unspecifiability, originality and personal risk in discovery points towards the notion of tacit knowing. Originality is not only necessary in the process of discovery but is also the true and characteristic mark of discovery.

However, the important question is: What is the decisive factor to cross the logical gap? At one specific instance Polanyi (1958:123) speaks of ‘illumination’. More generally he maintains that intellectual passions are the key factor and are directly linked to personal commitment. The commitment of the person is the key factor to cross the gap, in this case a gap between a hidden reality and a committed knower. The subject, therefore, emerges as the bridge between problem and discovery.

In another text (Coletto 2007:35ff.), I have discussed another theme of Polanyi’s philosophy, pointing in the same direction. It is namely that the subject is also a bridge between individual clues and the formation of universal concepts (cf. Polanyi 1974:171). Once again, it is the subject who bridges the gap and acquires a new place in science.

In his initial writings one can observe the considerable role given to ‘tradition’, authority and to the community of science. The transmission of knowledge from one generation to the next (i.e. tradition) is almost sacred; it is defined as ‘a sort of apostolic succession’ (Polanyi 1946:44). The individual who joins the tradition initially can only adapt to it and be formed by it. Nevertheless, one’s independence from a ‘master’ gradually grows and one’s conscience needs to become the final judge by which decisions are taken. There is no pope in science, says Polanyi (ibid:56ff.), in the sense that authority is not centralised but ‘distributed’. No authoritarian party should be allowed to dictate the lines along which research should develop or solutions should be sought. Here we have the important theme of the harmony between ‘authority and conscience’ (ibid:42–62).

This theme is developed by Polanyi in connection with dramatic life-experiences. He suffered the invasion of his country, Hungary, by Soviet troops. Twenty years earlier, he had experienced first-hand the effects of state-controlled research when visiting some colleagues and friends in the former Soviet Union. He also followed developments such as the Lysenko affair, Vavilov’s persecution, and the theme of academic freedom of conscience became a key issue in his philosophy of science (Polanyi 1946:7–9).

It became crucial, for Polanyi, to oppose scientific freedom to state-directed research. From this point of view, the shift to the subject could only appear as liberating. But this freedom was not only individual, it was freedom for the community as well. He did not simply juxtapose the individual to the community but examined the principles leading to freedom and those leading to servitude. Once again, I would say that at this stage we still find a fair balance between individual scientist and community. It should be observed, however, that in later authors the dialectical tension between individual and community became more polarised.

Kuhn (1970b:260–263) defended himself from those allegations by saying they were based on misunderstandings of his views. But although he was not promoting mere arbitrariness, he had certainly moved to a more relativist position. He had to recognise that his position boils down at least to partial relativism (ibid:264–265) (a position that Bernstein would call ‘partial subjectivism’³).

To acknowledge this move it is sufficient, for example, to look at the paradigm concept and to realise how dependent on the subject of knowledge it is. Each paradigm is the achievement of a scientific community and without community there is no paradigm. A paradigm ends the controversies amongst the schools of the pre-paradigmatic phase of science and establishes the consensus of a scientific community. In fact, initially the paradigm concept was elaborated by Kuhn to account for the consensus of a scientific community. The phases that in The structure are called ‘pre-paradigm’ and ‘paradigm’ periods (Kuhn 1996:47, 63), were previously defined as ‘pre-consensus’ and ‘firm consensus’ phases (Kuhn [1959] 1977:231–232).

The paradigm concept is so tied to the community concept that Kuhn (1996:176) can say: ‘a paradigm is what the members of a scientific community share, and, conversely, a scientific community consists of men who share a paradigm’. Although Kuhn will later specify and modify this basic idea, its fundamental meaning will remain unchanged.

Admittedly, for the purpose of recognising Kuhn’s subjectivism it is not important whether the emphasis is placed on an individual or a collective subject. One can safely say, however, that in Kuhn the communal dimension is dominant.

Popper (1970:54), who valued the community more than individuals, could still reserve his enthusiasm for the achievements of individuals like Darwin or Einstein. But according to Kuhn (1970a:6), such contributions are rare events. Busy with puzzles as his/her main occupation, the ‘normal’ scientist is usually not prepared to deal with radical innovations, not even to evaluate them. In addition, even genial achievements need to be endorsed by a community of colleagues otherwise they will mean simply nothing.

It is always the decision of the group that counts. Each new paradigm will simply cancel the previous one. It will not constitute an alternative that can be adopted alongside other paradigms. The principle of proliferation is welcomed only when a new paradigm is needed, after which it disappears and only tenacity (i.e. sticking to that paradigm) is left. Against these rather authoritarian traits of Kuhn’s philosophy, Feyerabend raised his protest.

Feyerabend condemns all forms of authoritarianism and pledges plurality and freedom. Proliferation of theories and tenacity (the possibility of retaining refuted theories or perspectives) are his ideal. No scientific ‘truth’, no theory should be imposed on all. One should always be careful to respect all views: for example, some believe that the Earth moves around the sun, but others do not agree (Feyerabend 1975:301). Unlimited pluralism of theories and methods: this chaos is the only way to generate progress, whilst consensus and traditionalism would surely kill it. This is why, in his typically colourful language, Feyerabend (ibid:188) attacks those scientists who behave like ‘human ants’, always ready to please a boss for the sake of a decent salary. They do not dare contradict anybody and so they betray pluralism and freedom.

Pluralism is so important that it must be defended at all costs. Even at the cost of imposing it? Feyerabend (1975:50–53) praises, for example, the Chinese government for breaking the monopoly of Western medical science and forcing the re-introduction of traditional Chinese medicine in their country. In some cases it might be necessary to enforce pluralism (or at least dualism), even by violence (ibid:187), so that individual freedom may become collective freedom. Even the scientific community needs to be controlled from outside by the state, or by whatever institution can keep its power in check (ibid:216).

These are a few curious consequences of Feyerabend’s radical pluralism and individualism. The shift to the subject is so liberating that even those who do not want it (to borrow Rousseau’s famous phrase) ‘will be forced to be free’! Curious developments indeed: is it possible that even the liberating shift to the (individual) subject may acquire authoritarian traits?

Whilst Feyerabend was busy searching for a locus ordinis, especially in the ever-changing stream of history, the philosophy of science also experienced a sociological turn. In the following section I briefly analyse a representative of this trend in order to substantiate the claim that he strengthened the shift to the subject and a totalitarian view of the scientific community.

Collins challenges the common-sense assumption that there is an order of or for reality that does not change, that shapes scientific theories, and that can (to a certain extent) be represented by those theories. According to Collins the essence of this order is rather social. Because there are communities that explore such order and share a certain language, we experience uniformities and regularities. Yet it is not the order that constitutes the possibility of a common language and of a scientific community. It is just the opposite. The existence of a scientific community is the origin of the perceived order (Collins 1992:5). Collins (ibid:148) states it in a very succinct way: ‘the locus of order is society’.

Collins sets out to demonstrate that the origin of replication in science has a sociological foundation. He explores the case of the TEA-laser (for experiments in gravitational radiation) and two studies on paranormal phenomena. Through detailed observations he shows that the object of scientific enquiry has very little relevance in shaping our conclusions. What really matters is our perception. We perceive regularities and order, we expect the future to be like the past. But, asks Collins (1992:6), is there any guarantee that our ‘inductive inferences – generalisations from past experience – can ever be certain or even probable?’ Collins invites the reader to remember Hume’s lesson about causality. We see the movement of a billiard ball across the table and we are inclined to say that the ball is propelled by another ball. Its movement is ‘caused’, so our experience tells us. But, asks Collins (1992), supposing that the regularity of the a–b sequence were just an extended coincidence, ‘How would we see the difference?’:

In other words, what is it that we see in the impact of the billiard ball that makes us view it as a casual relationship (...) rather than an extended coincidence, which we could not expect to continue? The answer is: nothing. (p. 7)

If we want to be able to solve this type of dilemma, according to Collins, we must look carefully into our social life and our language. The two are so intermingled that our habits of speech help determine the way we see the world and thus help form the basis for social interaction (Collins 1992:11). It is exactly there that our attention should focus. We perceive regularity and order because any perception of irregularity in an institutionalised context is translated by ourselves and by others as a fault in the perceiver or in some other part in the chain of perceptions (ibid:147). Scientific rules are only rules by virtue of social conventions (ibid:145).

Perhaps only Feyerabend (1985:xiii) dared to mention the fact that the shift corresponds to a ‘preferred form of life’, thus pointing towards its pre-theoretical commitments. The vast majority of the philosophers of science just preferred to describe it as a move generated within their discipline and to be understood within categories belonging to this discipline. In the next sections I will argue that this position is un-plausible. I will then proceed to an evaluation and interpretation of the shift. Before reaching that stage, however, a couple of clarifications are in order.

Secondly, I do not recommend or even support the subject–object distinction as a valid tool for philosophical argumentation. In fact, it is problematic. The mere fact that the targets of scientific research are always regarded as ‘objects’ whilst the knower is only regarded as ‘subject’ should be criticised.⁷ However, it remains an important distinction that helps us to understand modern (humanist) philosophy and philosophy of science.

After two clarifications, a reflection: the shift to the subject is not something occurring only in philosophy of science.⁸ It is a broader cultural and philosophical problem of Western culture. Also the tension between individual and community is not something occurring only in philosophy of science.

In political theory, for example, initially the Enlightenment emphasised the role of the individual. The latter was regarded as the fundamental ‘element’ of society, just as the scientific method divided its problems into their simplest ‘elements’. It gradually became clear, however, that this introduced arbitrary, even anarchistic inclinations. In fact, the individual ‘autos’ was not regarded as subjected to any ‘nomos’ but rather as the source of the law. A solution was sought in anchoring political power in a community. This was perceived as plausible because the community was still regarded as an individual whole and therefore the commitment to the individuality of the Romantics could be preserved. However, that move didn’t help with restraining the totalitarian and still arbitrary inclinations of humanist political philosophy and practice (cf. Dooyeweerd 1979:179–180). Similar traces of the shift can be detected in many other disciplines.

I do realise that some are inclined to stick to categories holding for the ‘history and philosophy of science’ and to regard other categories as ‘unhistorical’ impositions on authors and their works. Such attitude, however, is often just an attempt to ‘protect’ oneself from acknowledging philosophical or pre-scientific influences, which are experienced as a threat to scientific objectivity, empiricism, anti-metaphysical stances and so forth. For example, those who deny that science is (or should be) influenced by ‘frameworks’ (e.g. worldviews or other pre-scientific commitments) will probably not be inclined to accept the arguments presented below.⁹

Nevertheless, when one fails to consider the roots and the trunk of the shift to the subject, one is left with a few leaves, falling from the sky. This seems to me a rather unlikely picture of the phenomenon. Granted that philosophy of science needs the history of science, it also needs philosophy; actually it needs to consider all the levels sketched below (see Table 1) to keep open the possibility of a deeper understanding of the phenomenon to be explored.

In this sketch the categories become ‘broader’ as one reaches the top levels. The higher levels try to capture something meta-theoretical, pointing towards the ‘mentality’ of a certain school or thinker in a certain period. However, I am not arguing that once one accepts (for example) objectivism as one’s worldview-position the following options will automatically be those in the same column. The situation is more complex: one can be a realist concerning physical laws and a nominalist concerning social norms. Nor am I arguing that one’s position is first formed at the highest levels and then ‘percolates’ down to each lower level. The opposite direction is open as well. Finally, I do not want to suggest that the different levels form a kind of hierarchy. I rather see them as players in a field who, although they may be supposed to hold a certain position, may pass the ball to any other player.

In the next section I sketch my own interpretation of the shift. In doing so, I return to the roots, to the ground motive of nature and freedom. One should note that ‘nature’ can be regarded as the object-pole of the ground motif (referring to the world of objects) whereas ‘freedom’ can be regarded as the subject-pole.

The answer must somehow be related to the idea of ‘nature’ which emerged in the early humanist reflection: a rather mechanistic network of laws regulating (determining) everything in a chain of causal relations leaving no room for chance, indeterminacy or freedom. This conception was inspired by the nature-pole. It soon became clear, however, that in this perspective human freedom was threatened.¹⁰

The quest for a ‘liberation’ was justified to a certain extent. Yet, as I have argued, after a relatively ‘balanced’ beginning (see the above sections about Popper and Polanyi), some problems started to emerge. For example, a dialectical tension was gradually (but increasingly) established between the individual and the communal understanding of the subject. Emphasis on the communal subject, on the one hand, seems to erase individual initiative, the possibility of dissensus, pluralism and freedom. On the other hand, emphasis on the individual subject seems to lead to arbitrariness and does not always avoid authoritarian tendencies. Both seem to indulge in some sort of relativism. In addition, the shift to the subject is usually not presented in its full reality but masked by arguments appealing to the one or the other rational necessity, thus failing to disclose its supra-rational commitments. It is from this position that one may start looking at the other problems mentioned above, namely the friction between an individual and a communal understanding of the subject.

It would be beyond the scope of this article to provide a detailed solution to the problems generated by the shift to the subject pointed out in this article. However, a possible way out has already been pointed out by some reformational philosophers. Together with Van Riessen (1992), I am inclined to believe that a solution should not be sought in a counter-return to facts and objects, a ‘shift to the object’, so to speak. It would be equally inconclusive to try to balance individual and community with a series of weights and counter-weights. It is the subject–object scheme that needs to be replaced.

The locus ordinis for scientific research should rather be found in the structural order for reality (Coletto 2007) in the laws holding for both objects and subjects. It needs to be realised that both objects and subjects are not independent sources of order but are ‘subjected’ to laws. According to a reformational understanding, in addition, both objects and subjects have subject-functions and object-functions. Objects and subjects, therefore, are not separated by a gulf but ‘tuned’ to each other and to the same laws.¹¹ This perspective harbours the possibility of opening new avenues for contemporary philosophy of science.

Bernstein, R., 1985, Beyond objectivism and relativism: Science hermeneutics and praxis, University of Pennsylvania Press, Philadelphia.

Botha, M.E., 1988, ‘Objectivity under attack: Rethinking paradigms in social theory – A survey’, in P.A. Marshall, & R. vander Vennen (eds.), Social sciences in Christian perspective, pp. 33–62, University Press of America, Lanham.

Botha, M.E., 1994, ‘Understanding our age: Philosophy at the turning point of the turns? The endless search for the elusive universal’, Tydskrif vir Christelike Wetenskap 30(2), 16–31.

Brooke, J.H., 1996, ‘Religious beliefs and the natural sciences: Mapping the historical landscape’, in J.M. van der Meer (ed.), Facets of faith and science, vol. 1, pp. 1–26, University Press of America, Lanham.

Brown, J.R., 1984, Scientific rationality: The sociological turn, Reidel, Dordrecht. http://dx.doi.org/10.1007/978-94-015-7688-8

Clouser, R.A., 2005, The myth of religious neutrality: An essay on the hidden role of religious belief in theories, rev. edn, University of Notre Dame Press, Notre Dame.

Coletto, R., 2007, ‘The legitimacy crisis of science in late-modern philosophy: Towards a reformational response’, Ph.D. thesis, North-West University, Potchefstroom Campus.

Collins, H.M., 1992, Changing order, University of Chicago Press, Chicago.

Delaney, C.F., 1985, ‘Beyond realism and anti-realism’, Proceedings of the American Catholic Philosophical Association, National Office of the American Catholic Philosophical Association, Washington.

Dooyeweerd, H., 1979, Roots of Western culture: Pagan, secular and Christian options, Wedge, Toronto.

Dooyeweerd, H., 1984, A new critique of theoretical thought, Paideia Press, Jordan Station, Ontario.

Feyerabend, P.K., 1970, ‘Consolation for the specialist’, in I. Lakatos & A. Musgrave (eds.), Criticism and the growth of knowledge, pp. 197–230, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge.

Feyerabend, P.K., 1975, Against method: Outline of an anarchistic theory of knowledge, New Left Books, London. PMCid:PMC1681802

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Hull, D., 1988, Science as a process: An evolutionary account of the social and conceptual development of science, University of Chicago Press, Chicago. http://dx.doi.org/10.7208/chicago/9780226360492.001.0001

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Kuhn, T.S., 1970b, ‘Reflections on my critics’, in I. Lakatos & A. Musgrave (eds.), Criticism and the growth of knowledge, pp. 231–278, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge.

Kuhn, T.S., [1959] 1977, The essential tension: Selected studies in the scientific tradition and change, University of Chicago Press, Chicago.

Kuhn, T.S., 1996, The structure of scientific revolutions, University of Chicago Press, Chicago. http://dx.doi.org/10.7208/chicago/9780226458106.001.0001

Lakatos, I., 1970, ‘Falsification and the methodology of scientific research programmes’, in I. Lakatos & A. Musgrave (eds.), Criticism and the growth of knowledge, pp. 91–196, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge.

Loubser, R.A., 2013, ‘Tracing some consensus on the nature of pre-scientific frameworks in philosophy of science’, Acta Academica 45(2), 59–84.

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Polanyi, M., 1946, Science, faith and society, University of Chicago Press, Chicago.

Polanyi, M., 1958, Personal knowledge: Towards a post-critical philosophy, Routledge & Kegan Paul, London.

11.A discussion of the subject–object relationship cannot be expanded further here, but it is introduced very well, for example, by Troost (2012:37–38, 90–96, 289–290, 308–310). See also Dooyeweerd (1984, 2:386ff.).

Polanyi, M., 1974, Knowing and being, University of Chicago Press, Chicago. PMid:4405943

Popper, K.R., 1961, The poverty of historicism, Routledge & Kegan Paul, London.

Popper, K.R., 1963, Conjectures and refutations: The growth of scientific knowledge, Routledge & Kegan Paul, London.

Popper, K.R., 1970, ‘Normal science and its dangers’, in I. Lakatos & A. Musgrave (eds.), Criticism and the growth of knowledge, pp. 51–58, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge.

Popper, K.R., 1979, Objective knowledge: An evolutionary approach, Clarendon Press, Oxford.

Popper, K.R., 1983, Realism and the aim of science, Hutchinson, London. PMCid:PMC1550184

Scott, D., 1985, Everyman revived: The common sense of Michael Polanyi, Eerdmans, Grand Rapids.

Strauss, D.F.M., 1996, ‘Rationalism, irrationalism and the absolutized horizon of knowledge as ideals of knowledge in philosophy and science’, in J.M. van der Meer (ed.), Facets of faith and science, vol. 2, pp. 99–121, University Press of America, Lanham.

Strauss, D.F.M., 2009, Philosophy: Discipline of the disciplines, Paideia Reformational Project, Grand Rapids.

Suppe, F., 1977, The structure of scientific theories, University of Illinois Press, Urbana and Chicago.

Suppe, F., 1996, ‘Evaluation of models for interaction between metaphysical beliefs and the natural sciences: The post-Weltanschauungen era’, in J.M. van der Meer (ed.), Facets of faith and science, vol. 1, pp. 267–305, University Press of America, Lanham.

Troost, A., 2012, What is reformational philosophy?, Paideia Press, Grand Rapids.

Van Fraassen, B.C., 2002, The empirical stance, Yale University Press, New Haven.

Van Riessen, H., 1992, ‘Science in the light of the relation between thinking and believing’, Tydskrif vir Christelike Wetenskap 28(1), 27–95.

Wykstra, S.J., 1996, ‘Should worldviews shape science? Toward an integrationist account of scientific theorizing’, in J.M. van der Meer (ed.), Facets of faith and science, vol. 2, pp. 123–171, University Press of America, Lanham.

2. Latin: ‘the foundation or source of order’.

5. For example, Van Riessen (1992) notes a fundamental problem. By grounding scientific knowledge to the subject one moves towards nominalism. In the latter, the only forms of universality are found in the subject himself/herself. This means that in concrete reality one meets only individual instances. It is at this point that incongruence is created between science and reality. In fact, scientific knowledge aims at the universal, not at the individual and not even at the general. Science is not knowledge of ‘this cow’ and not even of ‘all the cows’ in the world. In this way science is no more directed to reality but to the subject and his/her language, concepts and the like.

6. This is the case for example for rationalist authors like Newton-Smith, for realists like Psillos and for the Baynesian school, when it doesn’t adopt the subjectivist interpretation of probability.

7. Strauss (2009:345–346) reminds us that objects have also subject functions in the first aspects of reality. He adds: ‘one may argue that it is an effect of the ‘subject-centredness’ of modern philosophy (sometimes plainly designated as its subjectivism) that everything different from the human being is turned into an ‘object’ (ibid:346).

8. Descartes was the first to argue that the ontological ‘ingredients’ of our world are either mind or extended matter (res extensa). Since then, the subject–object dilemma continued to trouble Modernity. Strauss (1996) offers a short but compelling overview showing to what extent modern philosophy is affected by this shift.

9. Christian scholars are not excluded from this group. For example, Suppe (cf. 1977:125–220; 1996:267–306) and Van Fraassen (2002) are inclined to deny or restrict the influence of ‘frameworks’ on science, due to an anti-metaphysical approach linked to empiricism. For different reasons Brooke is also inclined to restrict the influence of worldviews (Brooke 1996 and the reply by Wykstra 1996).

10. In this section I refer to well-known analyses by Dooyeweerd on the functioning and effects of the ground motifs on cultural developments. I have tried my best to make them ‘accessible’ to the reader who may not be acquainted with Dooyeweerd’s works. However, it would be impossible to re-explain in detail and to re-prove all these arguments again. For this, I refer the interested reader to Dooyeweerd’s (1984:1) own elaborated explanations.