A term whose Latin equivalent, scientia, means ‘‘knowledge’’. It was used in a similarly broad fashion in English until the seventeenth century, often in complementary partnership with ‘‘conscience’’, which usually referred to a more intuitive or passionate sense of knowing. It was also used more narrowly to refer to an academic discipline or a body of skills, being virtually synonymous in the latter sense with one of the meanings of art.
The principal items of the Medieval university curriculum—the quadrivium (logic, arithmetic, geometry, and astronomy) and the trivium (grammar, rhetoric, and music)—were sometimes lumped together as the ‘‘seven sciences’’, as in Stephen Hawes’ allegorical Passetyme of Pleasure; or, the Historie of Graunde Amoure and La Belle Pucel, Containing the Knowledge of the Seven Sciences and the Course of Man’s Life in This Worlde (written 1506; printed 1509), but as the ‘‘New Learning’’ made further progress in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, it became increasingly common to draw distinctions between ‘‘arts’’ and ‘‘sciences’’, resulting in a gradual restriction of the latter term to disciplines requiring theoretical understanding. Andrew Maunsell’s pioneering Catalogue of English Printed Bookes (1595) employed a tripartite fundamental division of the New Learning. The first (and much the largest) category was that of ‘‘Divinitie’’; the second contained two subdivisions, ‘‘Arithmetick, Geometrie, Astronomie, Astrologie, Musick, The Art of Warre and Navigation’’ being lumped together as Mathematicall, while Physick and Surgery were combined in their own subcategory; the third section—which was never completed—lumped ‘‘Gramer, Logick, Rethorick, Lawe, Historie, Poetrie, Policie, etc.’’ under the general heading Humanity. This taxonomic scheme is still echoed in modern university organisation, in the slightly blurred distinction between theology, theoretical and applied sciences, and ‘‘the humanities’’.
From the early eighteenth century onwards, the distinctive meaning of ‘‘science’’ became more sharply refined, referring to a body of observations subject to theoretical organisation; this became the word’s modern meaning, displacing ‘‘natural philosophy’’ to become the key element in a parcel of terms that also included the modern meaning of ‘‘empirical’’ investigation and ‘‘experimental’’ proof. Mark Akenside’s ‘‘Hymn to Science’’ (1739) retains a broader meaning of the term, but is aware in so doing that the meaning is old-fashioned and requires a certain exercise of poetic licence. It was not until the early nineteenth century, however, that such phrases as ‘‘the scientific method’’ and ‘‘scientific truth’’ entered common currency, and retrospective reference to a ‘‘scientific revolution’’ within the New Learning, led by such heroes as Francis Bacon and Isaac Newton, became commonplace. William Whewell’s summaries of the history and philosophy of science in 1837–1840 cemented the modern notion of what science is—or what sciences are—within the English language.
The original synonymy of science and knowledge is retained in the positivist view that only the contents of science constitute authentic knowledge of the world, all other claims being metaphysical, and hence bogus. Such a view is, however, controversial, often cited as evidence of the kind of arrogance that licenses use of the term ‘‘scientism’’. Attempts by the logical positivists and Ludwig Wittgenstein’s Tractatus Logico-Philosphicus (1921) to rule all statements that are incapable of scientific justification devoid of meaning caused considerable resentment, and were soon overtaken by more generous and more flexible theories of meaning. The idea persisted that there is some kind of supplementary or ‘‘higher’’ truth of which scientific truth is only a component; the Notion is very often given literary expression, assisted by a widespread belief among litterateurs that great literature is itself a component of that higher knowledge. The most obvious literary reflection of the history of the term ‘‘science’’ is the emergence and proliferation of the genres of ‘‘scientific romance’’ and ‘‘science fiction’’, whose dominance by speculative futuristic fiction emphasises the notion of science as a dynamic force determining the evolution of human thought and—via its technological spin-off—practical endeavour. It is this notion, rather than any mere acquaintance with sophisticated theory, that was responsible for the growth in the twentieth century of a ‘‘culture of science’’ distinguishable, in C. P. Snow’s sense, from the culture of literature and the arts. Even litterateurs who would not endorse the proposition that literature is a component of higher knowledge tend to be preoccupied with its heritage, thus tending to a nostalgic conservatism that is at odds with the transformative tendencies of science and technology. (Even those aspects of science that are ‘‘finished’’—in the sense that the relevant laws are fully elucidated— are usually regarded by scientists as instruments of future practical endeavour rather than precious items of conservation.)
The principal items of the Medieval university curriculum—the quadrivium (logic, arithmetic, geometry, and astronomy) and the trivium (grammar, rhetoric, and music)—were sometimes lumped together as the ‘‘seven sciences’’, as in Stephen Hawes’ allegorical Passetyme of Pleasure; or, the Historie of Graunde Amoure and La Belle Pucel, Containing the Knowledge of the Seven Sciences and the Course of Man’s Life in This Worlde (written 1506; printed 1509), but as the ‘‘New Learning’’ made further progress in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, it became increasingly common to draw distinctions between ‘‘arts’’ and ‘‘sciences’’, resulting in a gradual restriction of the latter term to disciplines requiring theoretical understanding. Andrew Maunsell’s pioneering Catalogue of English Printed Bookes (1595) employed a tripartite fundamental division of the New Learning. The first (and much the largest) category was that of ‘‘Divinitie’’; the second contained two subdivisions, ‘‘Arithmetick, Geometrie, Astronomie, Astrologie, Musick, The Art of Warre and Navigation’’ being lumped together as Mathematicall, while Physick and Surgery were combined in their own subcategory; the third section—which was never completed—lumped ‘‘Gramer, Logick, Rethorick, Lawe, Historie, Poetrie, Policie, etc.’’ under the general heading Humanity. This taxonomic scheme is still echoed in modern university organisation, in the slightly blurred distinction between theology, theoretical and applied sciences, and ‘‘the humanities’’.
From the early eighteenth century onwards, the distinctive meaning of ‘‘science’’ became more sharply refined, referring to a body of observations subject to theoretical organisation; this became the word’s modern meaning, displacing ‘‘natural philosophy’’ to become the key element in a parcel of terms that also included the modern meaning of ‘‘empirical’’ investigation and ‘‘experimental’’ proof. Mark Akenside’s ‘‘Hymn to Science’’ (1739) retains a broader meaning of the term, but is aware in so doing that the meaning is old-fashioned and requires a certain exercise of poetic licence. It was not until the early nineteenth century, however, that such phrases as ‘‘the scientific method’’ and ‘‘scientific truth’’ entered common currency, and retrospective reference to a ‘‘scientific revolution’’ within the New Learning, led by such heroes as Francis Bacon and Isaac Newton, became commonplace. William Whewell’s summaries of the history and philosophy of science in 1837–1840 cemented the modern notion of what science is—or what sciences are—within the English language.
The original synonymy of science and knowledge is retained in the positivist view that only the contents of science constitute authentic knowledge of the world, all other claims being metaphysical, and hence bogus. Such a view is, however, controversial, often cited as evidence of the kind of arrogance that licenses use of the term ‘‘scientism’’. Attempts by the logical positivists and Ludwig Wittgenstein’s Tractatus Logico-Philosphicus (1921) to rule all statements that are incapable of scientific justification devoid of meaning caused considerable resentment, and were soon overtaken by more generous and more flexible theories of meaning. The idea persisted that there is some kind of supplementary or ‘‘higher’’ truth of which scientific truth is only a component; the Notion is very often given literary expression, assisted by a widespread belief among litterateurs that great literature is itself a component of that higher knowledge. The most obvious literary reflection of the history of the term ‘‘science’’ is the emergence and proliferation of the genres of ‘‘scientific romance’’ and ‘‘science fiction’’, whose dominance by speculative futuristic fiction emphasises the notion of science as a dynamic force determining the evolution of human thought and—via its technological spin-off—practical endeavour. It is this notion, rather than any mere acquaintance with sophisticated theory, that was responsible for the growth in the twentieth century of a ‘‘culture of science’’ distinguishable, in C. P. Snow’s sense, from the culture of literature and the arts. Even litterateurs who would not endorse the proposition that literature is a component of higher knowledge tend to be preoccupied with its heritage, thus tending to a nostalgic conservatism that is at odds with the transformative tendencies of science and technology. (Even those aspects of science that are ‘‘finished’’—in the sense that the relevant laws are fully elucidated— are usually regarded by scientists as instruments of future practical endeavour rather than precious items of conservation.)