Identifying Future Proof Science Peter Vickers Full Chapter
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Identifying Future-Proof
Science
PETER VICKERS
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For my parents
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Contents
Preface ix
List of Figures xiii
1. What Is Future-Proof Science? 1
1 Science and Scepticism 1
2 Misleading Evidence 6
3 Approximate Truth 10
4 Future-Proof Science 13
5 Outline of the Book 19
2. The Historical Challenge to Future-Proof Science:
The Debate So Far 23
1 Frustration and Miscommunication in the ‘Scientific
Realism Debate’ 23
2 Stanford’s Scientific Scepticism: Death by a Thousand
Qualifications? 29
3 The Historical Challenge: Are We Epistemically Privileged? 38
4 Weight of Evidence Judgements: Scientists vs Philosophers 43
3. Meckel’s Successful Prediction of Gill Slits: A Case of Misleading
Evidence? 52
1 Introduction 52
2 The Gill Slit Prediction: Success from Falsity? 54
3 A Response? 60
4 Von Baer 63
5 The Argument from Empirical Knowledge 67
6 Conclusion 72
4. The Tiktaalik ‘Missing Link’ Novel Predictive Success
and the Evidence for Evolution 76
1 Introduction 76
2 Tiktaalik: An Impressive Novel Predictive Success
of Evolution Theory? 78
3 The Full Body of Evidence 87
4 The ‘Consensus Approach’ to Evolution 91
5 Conclusion 98
5. The Judgement of the Scientific Community: Lessons from
Continental Drift 100
1 Introduction 100
2 Was There a Consensus Regarding the Truth of Continental
Permanency? 102
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viii
Bibliography 241
Index 261
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Preface
This book starts with something that looks more like philosophy of science,
and ends with something that looks more like sociology of science. Or perhaps
I should say integrated history, philosophy, and sociology of science. One
reason is that the methods of ‘pure’ philosophy can be frustrating: they never
seem to establish anything definitively. Debates seem destined to go around in
circles, or else evolve somehow, without ever reaching a firm conclusion that
might be held up to outsiders as a noteworthy achievement. I tried to add
something important to the ‘scientific realism debate’ earlier in my career, fully
imbued with the philosophy that the truth is out there, and the thought that
just maybe I could help us reach that truth. But the tools at my disposal as a
‘pure’ philosopher never seemed to go very far. Whilst one could fill a career
that way, I didn’t want to just fill a career; I wanted to reach truth, or at least
head clearly in that direction.
Thus I was drawn towards methods that were not merely philosophical.
History seemed a good place to start, since with the history of science comes
data, of a kind, that one might build a philosophy upon. Thus we reach ‘HPS’,
a field premised on a thorough integration of history and philosophy of
science. But what came to me much later was the thought that the methods
of sociology might also be thrown into the mix. I had been averse to sociology,
since the term ‘sociology of science’ always seemed to be attached to a specific
(rather extreme) attitude towards science, as being so thoroughly influenced
by social factors that there could never be any talk of ‘facts’, as I understood
that word. But if we shake this specific movement off, and think more broadly
about what sociology of science might be (social epistemology)—inspired by
scholars such as Helen Longino—then another promising methodology pre-
sents itself. Just as HPS allows for a method that is partially empirical, so too
sociology is no stranger to empirical methods. These methods bring the
endeavour that bit closer to natural science, and move us that bit further
away from ‘pure’ philosophy. In this way, one might still dream of saying
something definitive about science, something that could draw a consensus of
opinion in a way that is vanishingly rare in philosophy.
The extent to which I have managed to combine these methods, and say
something rather definitive, is unclear. It remains predominantly a work in
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x
HPS, and the contribution of sociological methods is meagre to say the least.
But I hope that the reader will see value in the attempt, at least. And I hope that
at least some readers will be inclined to pick up the baton and run with it.
There are no doubt many holes in this work, as it stands. But if the funda-
mental methodology constitutes an improvement on ‘the scientific realism
debate’, then it may save some readers years of toil, who would otherwise have
adopted a methodology destined to lead them in circles, or at least nowhere
definitive.
As for the holes, they remain despite my receiving an enormous amount of
help along the way. Indeed, some scholars helped me to write this book to such
an extent that if the culture of co-authorship were more like the natural
sciences, then this monograph might have had twenty co-authors. I would
first mention Kyle Stanford, who read the book carefully from beginning to
end, and offered critical feedback weighty enough to reduce the number of
chapters from ten to nine. Kerry McKenzie also read the whole thing, as did
anonymous Reviewer A, each providing crucial comments (and crucial
encouragement!). Mike Stuart and Hasok Chang both set up reading groups
when I first had a full draft of the book, and each of these meetings brought
immensely valuable feedback. I am hugely grateful to Mike, Hasok, and those
in attendance at these two reading groups.
Some scholars carefully read one or two chapters. Juha Saatsi was a big help
here, challenging me on Chapters 2 and 6, for example. Several scientists
provided invaluable feedback concerning Chapters 5 and 7, including Gillian
Foulger, Peter Schulte, Alessandro Chiarenza, Sean Gulick, Gerta Keller,
Vincent Courtillot, Stephen Brusatte, and Sean McMahon. And concerning
Chapter 7 specifically, I must thank the Geological Society of America (GSA),
who assisted me in acquiring data about past GSA conferences. I benefitted
from similar help courtesy of Jon Korman at the SVP (Society of Vertebrate
Paleontology).
For help and advice on specific issues, sincere thanks (in no particular
order) also go to: Teru Miyake, Naomi Oreskes, Neil Thomason, Thomas
Rossetter, James Fraser, Robin Hendry, Nancy Cartwright, Wendy Parker,
Joseph D. Martin, Timothy D. Lyons, Alexander Bird, Darrell Rowbottom,
Henry Taylor, Douglas Allchin, Andy Hamilton, Ludwig Fahrbach, Maya
Goldenberg, Karim Thebault, Omar El Mawas, Alex Broadbent, and Ian
Kidd. A special vote of thanks to Manuel Galvão de Melo e Mota, who spent
many hours providing me with rich information from the archives of the
SPMicros/SPME (Portuguese Society of Electron Microscopy), far more infor-
mation than I could ultimately use in the book, however fascinating.
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xi
I presented this material, in one form or another, at various venues over the
years, and profited hugely from these experiences, both because I was forced to
reframe the material for presentation, and also because I gained invaluable
feedback from the audiences. Here I must give thanks to 3rd-year undergradu-
ate students at the University of Durham, UK, who took Philosophical Issues
in Contemporary Science between 2015 and 2021, as well as MA students who
took Philosophical Issues in Science and Medicine. Thanks also to the Joseph
Cowen Lifelong Learning Centre, as well as the ‘Lit & Phil’ (both in Newcastle,
UK) where I presented relevant material in 2019. And thanks also to an
audience at Johns Hopkins University, USA, where I presented relevant
material, again in 2019.
Huge thanks of course to the funder, The British Academy, who trusted me
with a Mid-Career Fellowship, which ultimately ran from 1 December 2019
through to 30 June 2021. And thanks to the administrative staff at the
University of Durham research office, including Anna Hutchinson, Linda
Morris, Eleanor Glenton, and Rachael Matthews, who worked hard to make
the Fellowship a reality. This book simply wouldn’t be here without that
Fellowship.
Finally, most important of all was personal support, without which I could
never have completed this project during the extraordinary stresses of the
Covid-19 pandemic. Here I must mention the support of my parents, who
have been solid rocks for me all the way through. I must also mention my
running buddy in Durham, Chris Cowie—those runs were so important for
mental health. But the last word must go to my extraordinary wife, and friend,
Laura Vickers, who has been amazing in a thousand different ways, and who
is, for me, a constant source of inspiration.
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List of Figures
xv
8.2a Direct image of a cell from a mouse liver, infected with coronavirus,
20 hours after inoculation. 199
Reproduced with permission from Rockefeller University Press; from
David-Ferreira and Manaker (1965), ‘An electron microscope study of the
development of a mouse hepatitis virus in tissue culture cells’, p. 71.
8.2b Direct image of coronavirus virions accumulating within a human
cell, 12 hours post-infection. 199
Reproduced with permission from American Society for Microbiology; from
Hamre et al. (1967), ‘Growth and intracellular development of a new respiratory
virus’, p. 814.
8.3 Coronaviruses multiplying inside a host cell. (a) SARS (2002–3);
(b) MERS (2012–13); (c) Covid-19 (2019–ongoing). 200
Images all sourced from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention
(CDC): (A) https://www.cdc.gov/sars/lab/images/coronavirus5.jpg;
(B) https://www.cdc.gov/coronavirus/mers/images/MERS-cytoplasm.jpg;
(C) https://phil.cdc.gov/details.aspx?pid=23591. Not under copyright.
8.4 Three different types of coronavirus virion, all of which have
demonstrated the capacity to infect humans. (a) SARS-CoV;
(b) MERS-CoV; (c) SARS-CoV-2. 201
Images sourced from the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious
Diseases (NIAID): https://www.flickr.com/photos/niaid/.
8.5 A SARS-CoV virion (RHS) ejecting its genetic material (LHS); for
present purposes the arrows can be ignored. 202
Reproduced with permission from American Society for Microbiology; from
Neumann et al. (2006), ‘Supramolecular architecture of severe acute respiratory
syndrome coronavirus revealed by electron cryomicroscopy’, p. 7925.
8.6 Real images of a virus particle infecting a cell, in three stages:
(i) A&D, (ii) B&E, (iii) C&F; the arrow shows the moment
infection occurs. 202
Reproduced with permission from the American Association for the
Advancement of Science; from Hu et al. (2013), ‘The bacteriophage T7
virion undergoes extensive structural remodeling during infection’.
8.7 Transmission electron microscopy partially reveals the double-helix
structure in a strand of DNA. 203
Reproduced with permission from the American Chemical Society;
from Gentile et al. (2012), ‘Direct imaging of DNA fibers: the visage
of double helix’.
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1
What Is Future-Proof Science?
(i) We are stuck in a rut of human thinking out of which we will never
escape. Our idea is totally wrong (or mostly wrong) but we are some-
how prevented from seeing that, or even if we do see it we are unable to
replace it with something better/truer.
(ii) Science has hit upon the truth, and all that remains is for scientists to
build upon and develop the correct idea they already have. No feasible
scientific developments could bring them to reject the idea.
It is the latter option, (ii), that I mean to refer to with the phrase ‘future-
proof science’. This isn’t to say that (i) is impossible, and we’ll take it quite
Identifying Future-Proof Science. Peter Vickers, Oxford University Press. © Peter Vickers 2023.
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780192862730.003.0001
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seriously in some later chapters. But what I mainly wish to argue is that some
scientific ideas should be called ‘facts’, and they should be called ‘facts’ because
they are true ideas—the universe really is the way the theory says it is (allowing
for small adjustments). Moreover, we have overwhelming evidence for this, to
such an extent that no feasible scientific developments could overturn it. For
example, it couldn’t ever be the case that we have the right idea, and lots of
evidence, but somehow (by sheer bad luck perhaps?) we go on to accumulate
lots of contrary evidence that is sufficient to overturn the correct idea we
started with.
In short, this book argues that we have come to know things through
science, beyond all reasonable doubt. Certain knowledge claims—the product
of scientific labour—are justified, where by ‘knowledge claims’ I mean asser-
tions of fact without any significant hedging or caveats. I hope even sceptics
will grant that this is possible. Sometimes we can have knowledge where we
didn’t have it before. To give an example, we can come to know why the sky
does not run out of rain. Further, it can be the case that we don’t just have a
theory about the rain, but that, over time, we have so much evidence for the
‘water cycle theory’ that it is not unreasonable to say that we are certain, and it
is a fact. We stop talking about ‘the water cycle theory’, and simply talk about
‘the water cycle’. If we meet a sceptic, it would not be unreasonable (though it
may come across as patronising or arrogant) to say, ‘I’m certain; I know that
I’m right about this.’ Of course, in social interactions it is often much preferred
to ‘agree to disagree’, to respect somebody’s opinions and beliefs. It is often
much preferred to dial down one’s confidence and say something like ‘I think
there’s good evidence for this’, as opposed to ‘I know this is true’. But what
may seem like objectionable hubris to your audience can sometimes be fully
justified: it may be no exaggeration to say that you are sure (beyond reasonable
doubt) that you are correct, and an alternative view is wrong, however
uncomfortable it may feel to say this.¹
I think it’s worth expanding on this point about social discomfort a little
further. In many cases we face difficult dilemmas vis-à-vis how we express our
degree of confidence. For example, suppose you visit a music festival, and
you’re laid on the grass one evening staring up at the stars with a new friend.
You hear them say, ‘I guess we’ll never know what those twinkly dots of light
really are.’ You might feel so awkward about contradicting your new friend,
that you actually reply, ‘Yeah, I guess not’, even though (let’s assume) you
¹ The concept of future-proof science is not inconsistent with ‘epistemic humility’; see e.g. Kidd
(2020) for a useful entry to the literature on humility and science.
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studied astrophysics at university, and feel 100 per cent sure that scientists do
know what stars are. The problem is, you just can’t think of any way to
contradict the person without coming across as patronising. It also doesn’t
really matter if you ‘let it go’ in this particular context.
In other contexts, this tendency to ‘let it go’ or ‘agree to disagree’ absolutely
must be resisted. Sometimes it is crucially important to distinguish clearly
between items of human knowledge, and issues that are unsettled and open for
discussion, without hiding that distinction behind social niceties. If we swap
the musical festival example for the Covid-19 pandemic, and we swap the
statement for ‘I guess we just can’t know whether the AstraZeneca vaccine is
safe’, it becomes far more important to respond honestly instead of simply
answering ‘Yes, you might be right about that’, or similar. Indeed, if you know
a lot of about vaccine testing, it would be wrong not to challenge the statement;
you might even end up saving the person’s life. And in science generally there
are plenty of high-stakes contexts where absolute honesty is paramount, and
social niceties must be put to one side. To illustrate: scientists could not ‘agree
to disagree’ with chlorofluorocarbon (CFC) companies in the 1980s on the
question whether CFCs were causing ozone depletion. If scientists had agreed
with the CFC companies that they couldn’t really prove the link between CFCs
and ozone, and didn’t really know, and there was room for rational doubt, that
would have been a death sentence—at the hand of skin cancer—for thousands
of individuals who are alive today. A similar story can be told about the HIV-
AIDS link (Godfrey-Smith 2021, pp. 311–12), and there were indeed many
unnecessary deaths in this case—this isn’t all merely hypothetical.
At the same time there is of course a sense in which we are never 100 per
cent certain; a certain degree of doubt is always possible. Suppose I strike the
keys of the laptop and say to myself, ‘Do I really know I am typing right now?
Do I really know that I am attempting to write the opening chapter of a book?’
It’s certainly possible that I am wrong. For example (as Descartes famously
urged in the 17th century) I could be having the most vivid dream I’ve ever
had. Or perhaps I am not asleep, but my senses—sight, sound, touch—are
being manipulated in a way that is totally hidden from me (as in The Matrix).
Or perhaps (back with Descartes again) even my thoughts are being manipu-
lated, by some ‘evil demon’ or similar powerful being.
If we accept that these are (remote) possibilities, even for a case as rudi-
mentary as whether I know that I am striking keys on my laptop, then it may
be urged that I shouldn’t say I am sure. I shouldn’t say I am certain. At least not
100 per cent. And if not for everyday facts such as this, then definitely not
for scientific ideas—such as the causal link between CFCs and ozone
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Thus scientific sceptics think it is reasonable to say that we know lots of things,
especially everyday things such as that it is raining outside. Of course, we
might be mistaken, and the drops on the window have come from the window
cleaner. We might even be right, but for the wrong reason: it is raining outside,
but the drops on the window that we used as evidence for our claim that it is
raining outside actually came from the window cleaner—these are the ‘Gettier’
cases. But it is reasonable to say that we know when we have been sufficiently
careful with our observations (e.g. we go outside and stand in the rain for five
minutes). And this stands, even though it always remains remotely possible
that we are asleep or are somehow being manipulated or otherwise deceived.
As Van Fraassen (1980, p. 71) notes, ‘we do in our daily life infer, or at least
arrive at, conclusions that go beyond the evidence we have’, and he is keen to
hold on to such everyday conclusions: ‘I must at least defend myself against
this threatened [global] scepticism’ (ibid.).
What sceptics wish to deny is that we can have a similar level of confidence
in properly scientific ideas. Witness, for example, Brad Wray, who (clearly
inspired by Van Fraassen) writes in his 2018 book Resisting Scientific Realism:
I will argue that our current best [scientific] theories are quite likely going to
be replaced in the future by theories that make significantly different onto-
logical assumptions. (p. 1)
I argue that there is reason to believe that many of our best theories are apt to
be rendered obsolete in the future. (p. 2)
We should not get too attached to our theories. (p. 65)
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These claims are purely concerned with science, and—just like Van Fraassen
before him—Wray is clear (e.g. p. 43f. and p. 64) that he is not a ‘radical’ or
‘global’ sceptic. He has specific reasons for maintaining his scepticism about
science whilst resisting scepticism in many contexts outside of science. Every
scientific sceptic, or ‘anti-realist’, has to deal with this issue: where does their
scepticism end? Under what circumstances, exactly, are they not sceptical?
(See e.g. Stanford 2006, pp. 12–13.)
Naturally there is no absolute dividing line between scientific claims and
other types of claim. It is not as if we reach scientific claims in one way—using
the ‘scientific method’, say—and reach other claims in a completely different
way. Wray and other scientific sceptics acknowledge that there is no clear
dividing line, but this presents no problem for them: there can be a grey area
and at the same time still be clear cases on either side. Sceptics argue that
(many/most/all) claims on the scientific side are not secure, and we shouldn’t
make bold assertions about them (e.g. that they will still be in place in 1000
years). Claims on the other side of the divide may well be absolutely fine, and
we might make bold assertions about them, even though it isn’t totally
impossible that we are dreaming, or our brain is wired up to a sophisticated
alien computer.
By contrast, this book will argue that this is not the way to carve up what
(not) to be sceptical about. The fact that an idea comes out of science definitely
does not mean that we can’t be just as sure about it as we can about many
everyday things. The evidence for scientific claims can sometimes take a form
quite unlike the evidence we have for more everyday claims, but that needn’t
block our ability to know things. Indeed, often scientific evidence can be
better—for the purposes of making claims concerning what we know—than
more ‘everyday evidence’. Simply put, the scientific provenance of an idea has
no bearing on how certain we can be about the future-proofness of that idea.
Instead of looking at the provenance, we should look (directly, or perhaps
indirectly) at the quantity and quality of evidence. And there are
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circumstances in which we can be sure that the evidence has crossed some
threshold, such that it is no longer reasonable to remain sceptical about the
underlying idea. There is no exact threshold, of course, and there will always
be a time when the scientific community is split, with some (a significant
percentage) willing to state that the evidence is in, and we should start using
the word ‘fact’, and others (a significant percentage) insisting that we need to
remain cautious about any such bold claims (see Chapter 7 for a contemporary
example). But, sometimes, we get beyond that stage, and reach a time when at
least 95 per cent of reasonable/relevant scientists are happy to use the word ‘fact’.
(The use of ‘95%’ will be justified in due course.)
And, indeed, scientists sometimes want to make this point themselves.
A highly respected National Academies Press publication contains the following:
[M]any scientific explanations have been so thoroughly tested that they are
very unlikely to change in substantial ways as new observations are made or
new experiments are analyzed. These explanations are accepted by scientists
as being true and factual descriptions of the natural world. The atomic
structure of matter, the genetic basis of heredity, the circulation of blood,
gravitation and planetary motion, and the process of biological evolution by
natural selection are just a few examples of a very large number of scientific
explanations that have been overwhelmingly substantiated.
(Institute of Medicine 2008, p. 12)
But being able to list a few such examples is one thing; being comfortable with
the crossover point where a claim becomes a fact is quite another. And this is
no small matter. In the climate change literature scientists are constantly
wrestling with this issue. One author of an IPCC Special Report recently
asked, ‘Where is the boundary between “established fact” and “very high
confidence”?’ (Janzwood 2020, p. 1668). For this scientist and many thousands
of others, this book provides an answer.²
2. Misleading Evidence
Can scientific evidence be highly misleading? Can it be the case that the
evidence looks extremely strong, to the extent that nearly all scientists want
² See also Hoyningen-Huene (2022), especially footnote 23 where he writes of Ernst Mayr, “Mayr
often deplored that he was not aware that philosophers of science have investigated this transition from
theory to fact.”
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7
to use the word ‘fact’, but that’s only because the evidence has led them up the
garden path? Certainly some have claimed this, citing examples from the
history of science to support the claim. Alas, to my embarrassment, I have
also said something far too close to this. In 2018 Stephen Harris at The
Conversation got in touch with the philosophy of science group at Durham,
looking for somebody to write an article on ‘the biggest failed science projects’.
This ultimately led to my article ‘The Misleading Evidence that Fooled
Scientists for Decades’, published in June 2018 (Vickers 2018b), where
I wrote ‘history shows us that even very strong evidence can be misleading’.
This book will argue that, in the contemporary scientific world, evidence
can never be all that misleading. At least, not if one is careful about it, as the
scientific community always is in the fullness of time (so this book will argue).
One of the primary examples in my 2018 article was something of a mistake,
and I’ll correct that mistake in Chapter 3 of this book. What I said in that
article was not totally wrong(!)—it can be the case that one or two pieces of
evidence can be very misleading, taken on their own, although even then the
words ‘fooled scientists for decades’ are not warranted. Better would be ‘fooled
scientists temporarily’, or ‘fooled a few scientists, but not the whole scientific
community’. The most obvious cases are those where an individual piece of
evidence was very surprising, and perhaps had the potential to mislead the
scientific community, but didn’t. Crucially, scientists consider a whole body of
evidence over a period of time; they are (usually) in no rush to make a knee-jerk
reaction to an individual result. And it is vanishingly rare for a whole body of
evidence to be misleading over a substantial period of time, at least in the
contemporary scientific world, where there are so many scientists and so many
different scientific teams ready to correct the mistakes, fallacies, unwarranted
inferences, and exaggerations of one individual scientist or team of scientists.
Thank goodness I did at least say, in the final paragraph of my ‘Misleading
Evidence’ article, ‘It’s rare for evidence to be very misleading’. But this wasn’t
strong enough: a whole body of evidence is never ‘very misleading’ for a substan-
tial period of time, and for a large enough, diverse enough, scientific community.
I have been talking about evidence as if it is one thing, but in fact ‘evidence’
is something of an umbrella term: evidence takes many different forms, in
different contexts, and its quality and quantity can sometimes be very difficult
to assess. I agree with Kyle Stanford (2011) when he writes that, ‘Scientific
confirmation is a heterogeneous and many-splendored thing; let us count
ourselves lucky to find it – in all its genuine diversity – wherever and whenever
we can’ (p. 898). Evidential reasoning—in all its forms—cannot be represented
by a single, simple equation, as the Bayesian model of confirmation would
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suggest. Much energy has been spent debating empirical evidence, most
obviously evidence taking the form of accommodations and predictions of
phenomena. But it is sensible, I submit, to use the word ‘evidence’ in a broader
sense: we can have (good!) reasons for believing claims that are not straight-
forwardly empirical reasons. Evidence can sometimes take the form of an
argument, for example. And evidence can sometimes come under headings
such as ‘consistency’, ‘coherence’, and ‘explanatory power’: these are the so-
called non-empirical theoretical virtues (see Schindler 2018 for a recent treat-
ment). The intense focus (within academic literature) on successful predictions
in recent decades is justified to a certain extent, since successful predictions can
sometimes be very important individual pieces of evidence. But even several
successful predictions can be overwhelmed by other considerations. How we
weigh up all these different sources of evidence is far from obvious. Scientists on
the ground often use their intuitions, and these intuitions are often quite
reliable, though not always. My claim is not that we can come up with a formula
for ‘the weight of evidence’ in a given case; far from it. My claim is merely that
sometimes we are sure that the weight of evidence has crossed a threshold, and it
is time to drop the word ‘theory’, and start using the word ‘fact’.
When it comes to misleading evidence, it undoubtedly exists. But it exists
just as much for everyday claims as scientific claims. Sherlock Holmes can be
misled for a while, as all of the evidence seems to point to one guilty party,
when in the end the culprit is somebody else. In fact, a huge number of books
and films play on this kind of possibility. Very occasionally, evidence can be
highly misleading in everyday life, as the world seems to conspire against us
somehow. Rarely, somebody is out to deceive us, as Iago deceives Othello:
Othello has good evidence that Desdemona is having an affair with Cassio,
even though she is not. We can also imagine still greater deceptions which
have nothing to do with science: e.g. how the producers deceive Truman
Burbank in The Truman Show. In this case, Truman has extremely strong
evidence for all kinds of things that are not actual—what he sees on the news is
fictional, and all those around him know that it is, but act as if it isn’t.
The senses can be thoroughly misled, too, even if they are incredibly reliable
most of the time. I’m not talking about the way we seem to ‘see’ or ‘feel’ things
in a dream—if that is misleading at all, it is an ephemeral deception, since we
know it wasn’t real as soon as we wake up. The senses can be misled more
dramatically, for example when we fail to see the left-to-right lines in
Figure 1.1 as parallel, horizontal lines. Or more dramatically still, we see the
world very vividly as coloured, when it (almost certainly) isn’t (Figure 1.2).
The colour illusion is particularly dramatic, because we can’t reveal the
illusion to ourselves as we can with the horizontal lines in Figure 1.1. Indeed,
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9
for thousands of years the human race was certain that the world is genuinely
coloured, with only rare voices of (speculative) dissent. It was only with the
rise of modern philosophy (the primary/secondary quality distinction), devel-
opments in physics (What are surfaces made of? What properties do they
have?), and developments in psychology and neuroscience, that evidence
gradually mounted that when it comes to colour, the world is not how it
appears. So in fact, if one is looking for real cases of highly misleading
evidence, for a whole community, over a long period of time, the best examples
may come from outside science, and belong instead to the context where the
scientific sceptics are not sceptical: everyday claims such as ‘snow is white’.
As the book progresses we will look at various candidates for misleading
evidence in the history of science. Numerous examples have now been put
forward in the literature, cases where scientists were apparently fooled, and
later had to change their minds. I will argue that such cases are not grounds for
a strong form of scepticism, and leave open the possibility that we can identify
many scientific ideas that are future-proof. Many contemporary scientific
ideas will be excluded from this, of course, precisely because we have not
crossed the evidence threshold yet (and we may never cross it). For one thing,
even if the initial evidence looks good, it is prudent to reserve judgement until
an idea has been rigorously tested. This has never been more obvious than
with the recent ‘replication crisis’, where many results in psychology/medi-
cine/social sciences, apparently based on statistically significant data, cannot
be reliably replicated. The crisis shows clearly that sometimes judgements of
the weight of evidence can initially be exaggerated, even by honest, profes-
sional scientists. But this is hardly evidence for the kind of scepticism this book
is concerned with: it didn’t take long for the scientific community to attempt
replications of these studies, see those replications fail, and recognise that
certain initial claims of ‘strong evidence’ had been exaggerated. The inter-
national scientific community wasn’t for a moment tempted to form a con-
sensus, or make an official knowledge claim, regarding these cases. Needless to
say, examples of future-proof science identified in this book will be based on
much stronger evidence than the cases at issue in the replication crisis.
3. Approximate Truth
Another important caveat before we really get started: I don’t deny that there will
be adjustments to scientific ideas in the future. Just about any scientific idea one
can imagine will be subject to some kind of refinement over the next tens/
hundreds of years. What I’m most concerned to resist, however, are claims that
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11
Well, is this correct? Were those 19th-century Newtonian models of the Solar
System just as subject to ‘radical change’ as the epicycle model of Ptolemy,
including as it did a static Earth, with all other celestial bodies orbiting around
it? Definitely not. Ptolemy’s model of the Solar System was indeed radically
false, in a large number of different ways—one cannot possibly shoehorn the
term ‘approximately true’ onto this model. By contrast, the model Le Verrier
was working with in the 19th century was exceedingly accurate. Contemporary
scientists do not look back on Le Verrier’s model with anything like ‘the same
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The Earth orbits the centre of gravity of the Earth–Sun system in a near-
ellipse, subject to minor perturbations.
If one similarly looks for (significant, non-trivial) truths within the Ptolemaic
account, one will struggle.
If we turn back to the concept of ‘future-proof science’, then, I do want this
to be compatible with adjustments. Some of our current ideas will (of course)
turn out not to be ‘perfectly’ true, but can reasonably be described as approxi-
mately true in the straight-forward way that Le Verrier’s conception of the
Solar System was obviously approximately true. No clever theory of ‘approxi-
mate truth’ is needed to substantiate this: I will use the term in the same way it
is used in everyday life. We all handle the concept of approximate truth every
single day of our lives, whether we realise it or not.⁴ Different cases of
³ How they interact crudely speaking, not at some deep metaphysical level. More on this ‘depth of
description’ spectrum in due course.
⁴ To illustrate: if we go out for dinner, and the waiter turns up to take our order and says, ‘I’m ready
to take your order’ just as his hand is moving to his waistcoat pocket to retrieve his pad and pen, we will
not object, ‘Actually, you weren’t ready when you said that. You’re only ready now, some seconds later,
when you’ve actually got your pad and pen in hand.’
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4. Future-Proof Science
Which scientific ideas are future-proof? It is not my intention to use this book
to provide a comprehensive list! But at the same time, I must be willing to step
up to the plate and name some concrete examples. A good starting point is to
provide some singular facts that are scientific in the sense that we know them
to be facts as a result of scientific labour:
⁵ An anonymous reviewer asked ‘What does this mean? How would you flesh it out?’ (cf. the
discussions in Fuller 2007, p. 10, and also Miller 2013, p. 1302). This same question could be asked of
any one of my 30 examples. This issue will be addressed in Chapter 9, Section 2.4 (‘Is the Sun a Star?’),
but the brief answer is that one can use standard textbook definitions of key terms that are not super-
detailed, but also far from trivial. It is worth reflecting briefly on the fact that ‘Pluto is a planet’ turned
out not to be future-proof. However, Pluto was always an outlier, whereas ‘our Sun is very much a run-
of-the-mill star’ (Noyes 1982, p. 7). Kinds and outliers will be further discussed in Section 2 of
Chapter 8.
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4. The Moon causes the tides (with just a bit of help from other factors,
such as the pull of the Sun).
5. The collection of propositions summarised as ‘The water cycle’.
6. DNA has a double helix structure.
7. Red blood cells carry oxygen around the body.
8. Normal person-to-person speech travels as a longitudinal compression
wave through the particles in the air.
In these eight cases there can be no reasonable doubt. Indeed, these are such
solid facts that any bona fide scientist—with relevant specialist knowledge—
would find it absurd to add the word ‘theory’ to any one of these examples, e.g.
to talk of the ‘Water Cycle Theory’.⁶ It may be objected that it is possible for an
astronaut to directly see that the Earth is a spinning spheroid, but of course we
knew the Earth was spherical long before that was possible (to the extent that it
is). And in addition one can’t say the same of all of these examples; we don’t
directly see that the Sun is a star.
If we think these are all indisputable facts, but direct observation doesn’t
provide the warrant, then why do we believe them so strongly? One answer is
that we are taught that they are facts at school. But if pushed further we may
agree that they are taught as facts because scientists have established that they
are facts, over many decades, using a combination of scientific methods
including observation, experiment, and theory-development. In short, the
evidence for these eight claims has gradually built up until no reasonable
doubt can be maintained. Very few of us actually know more than a very small
fraction of the relevant evidence, and here an element of trust inevitably enters
the picture. But—unless we are conspiracy theorists—we feel that this trust in
authority is very highly motivated. (See Chapter 5 for a full discussion of the
role of trust.)
If the given story is accepted, it is difficult to resist sliding a little further. If
we accept what is taught to us at school as scientific fact—using that as a proxy
for a huge amount of scientific evidence built up over many decades—then
there are many possible examples, including more ambitious examples coming
more obviously under the heading of ‘scientific theory’. In fact, many such
⁶ Cf. Hoefer (2020), p. 21: ‘The core intuition behind SR [Scientific Realism] is a feeling that it is
absolutely crazy to not believe in viruses, DNA, atoms, molecules, tectonic plates, etc.; and in the
correctness of at least many of the things we say about them’ (original emphasis). This book is not a
defence of ‘scientific realism’, however; see Chapter 2.
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examples were put forward in the philosophical literature in the 1960s and
1970s by those who wished to resist Kuhn’s (1962) story of scientific revolu-
tions, to make the point that his examples—exemplifying the cycle of ‘normal
science’, ‘crisis’, and ‘paradigm change’—were cherry-picked. As Godfrey-
Smith (2003, p. 98) writes,
[Kuhn] was surely too focused on the case of theoretical physics. [ . . . ] [I]f we
look at other parts of science – at chemistry and molecular biology, for
example – it is much more reasonable to see a continuing growth (with some
hiccups) in knowledge about how the world really works. We see a steady
growth in knowledge about the structures of sugars, fats, proteins, and other
important molecules, for example. There is no evidence that these kinds of
results will come to be replaced, as opposed to extended, as science moves
along. This type of work does not concern the most basic features of the
universe, but it is undoubtedly science. (original emphasis)
I couldn’t agree more: a large part of our current understanding of sugars, fats,
and proteins is surely future-proof, even if there remain many open questions
about these molecules. And it is not only the structure of these molecules that
we can claim knowledge of; we also understand a great deal about how they
behave within the bodies of organisms, including human bodies. This is
compatible with the thought that there remains much we do not understand.
Molecular biology is just the tip of the iceberg. Some scholars have coun-
tered the list of examples of rejected theories in the history of science with a list
of examples of ‘theories’ or ‘bodies of thought’ that are apparently secure, and
where no revolutions are even remotely anticipated. The following is a list of
my own, building upon the eight examples already given (partly inspired by
Fahrbach 2011, p. 152).⁷ In each case I include a ‘singular fact’ that is
illustrative of a wider body of claims coming under the relevant heading:
⁷ Earlier scholars have also sometimes given their own examples of future-proof science (although
they don’t use that term). For example, McMullin (1984, pp. 27–8) gives examples from evolutionary
history, geology, molecular chemistry, and cell biology. He also notes (p. 8) that, ‘Scientists are likely to
treat with incredulity the suggestion that constructs such as these [galaxies, genes, and molecules] are
no more than convenient ways of organizing the data obtained from sophisticated instruments.’ More
recently, Hoefer (2020, p. 22) writes, ‘There is a large swath of established scientific knowledge that we
now possess which includes significant parts of microbiology, chemistry, electricity and electronics
(understood as not fundamental), geology, natural history (the fact of evolution by natural selection
and much coarse-grained knowledge of the history of living things on Earth), and so forth. It seems
crazy to think that any of this lore could be entirely mistaken, radically wrong in the way that phlogiston
theories and theories of the solid mechanical aether were wrong’ (original emphasis). See also Hoefer
(2020, p. 25f.) and Hoefer and Martí (2020).
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⁸ This will be tackled in Chapter 4. Of course, nobody would claim that natural selection is the only
active mechanism.
⁹ To get a sense of the state of the art, see e.g. Williams (2018); Böhme et al. (2019); and Almécija
et al. (2021).
¹⁰ The periodic table of elements is a tricky example in certain respects, since there are ongoing
debates about how best to structure it (or at least, how best to structure parts of it); see e.g. Grochala
(2018).
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¹¹ As McMullin (1984, p. 28) notes, ‘To give a realist construal to the molecular models of the
chemist is not to imply that the nature of the constituent atoms and of the bonding between them is
exhaustively known.’
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So, I think it is quite easy to give 30 examples,¹² even including some very
broad examples which actually include within them numerous more-specific
scientific facts/theories. Of his list of nine examples, Fahrbach writes: ‘Despite
the very strong rise in amount of scientific work, refutations among them
[“our best scientific theories”] have basically not occurred’ (p. 151). The
significance of the ‘very strong rise in the amount of scientific work’ will be
explored in Chapter 2, Chapter 5, and elsewhere.
Of course, the sceptic will absolutely expect to see a (long) list of ‘current
best theories’ that have not (yet) been refuted. It is hardly evidence for
¹² There is some overlap in my examples; e.g. examples 2 and 13, and examples 8 and 24. It is no
struggle to come up with additional examples, however. For example, I haven’t included Hoefer’s
(2020) examples concerning (i) our knowledge of electrical phenomena (at a non-fundamental level of
description), and (ii) nuclear physics, including facts about nuclear fusion and fission, and nuclear
(in)stability. Throughout this book I will repeatedly refer to ‘the 30 examples from Chapter 1’, with the
thought that any examples that concern the reader could easily be replaced with alternative examples.
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future-proof science that one can produce a long list of current theories
concerning which current scientists are confident. Lord Kelvin, at the turn
of the 20th century, reportedly stated that, ‘There is nothing new to be
discovered in physics now. All that remains is more and more precise meas-
urement.’ And Albert A. Michelson (famed for the Michelson–Morley
experiment of 1887) wrote in 1903:
The more important fundamental laws and facts of physical science have all
been discovered, and these are so firmly established that the possibility of
their ever being supplanted in consequence of new discoveries is exceedingly
remote. (Michelson 1903, p. 23f.)
Given that Kelvin and Michelson said these things, their own lists of examples
of ‘future-proof science’ would no doubt have included examples of ‘classical’
19th-century physics that we have now quite thoroughly rejected (at least as
candidates for truth). So, we have to be careful: the fact that some prominent
scientists are confident about an idea, or theory, should not by itself convince
us that the idea is (probably) future-proof. But that’s OK: this isn’t the reason
I am confident about the 30 examples listed above. The reason I am confident
has to do with the quantity and the quality of the evidence for these ideas,
vetted by thousands of scientists, embedded within a sufficiently diverse
scientific community.
That’s the (very) short story. The long story is rather more complicated, and
will be filled in gradually over the next eight chapters.
It is time to get stuck into the details of the debate. This we turn to next, in
Chapter 2. So far I have only sketched the position of the ‘scientific sceptic’,
and there are importantly different sceptical positions. Indeed, some of the
scholars who describe themselves as ‘sceptics’, or ‘anti-realists’, or ‘instrumen-
talists’, actually hold positions extremely close to my own. This sounds
backward, but that is only because of a confusing use of labels in the relevant
literature. It is also crucial for me to engage with the so-called ‘scientific
realism debate’. I actually do not consider this book a stance in the scientific
realism debate, since that is a debate most usually defined by a particular
distinction between ‘observables’ and ‘unobservables’, which will not matter
much here, and which I believe to be unfortunate. At the same time, I do wish
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2
The Historical Challenge to
Future-Proof Science
The Debate So Far
Identifying Future-Proof Science. Peter Vickers, Oxford University Press. © Peter Vickers 2023.
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780192862730.003.0002
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And the answer? Only four out of 93 answered ‘yes’. Out of the other 89, ‘some
were affronted by the suggestion that what they were studying might not be
real in some way’.¹ In other words, they very strongly disagreed.
Scientists will quite rightly be shocked by the thought that if something
cannot be directly observed we shouldn’t say that it exists in reality. If we
The ‘other field’ she is referring to is History. Oreskes is well known for
defending science against scepticism, of course (more on this in due course).
This state of affairs is embarrassing for the (history and) philosophy of
science community and prompts the question: has something gone wrong?
The truth is, hardly any philosophers describing themselves as ‘antirealists’ or
‘instrumentalists’ are sceptical about the broad-brush/crudely stated claims of
many of our current best geological theories. These ‘sceptics’ really do believe
in the reality of tectonic plates and continental drift, and they really do believe
that the inner core of the Earth is solid metal, and the outer core is liquid metal
(though of course there are many open questions regarding the finer details).
These are just a couple of examples of a great many contemporary geological
theories that most ‘antirealists’ believe to be (approximately) true, and that
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they absolutely believe are not ‘as much subject to radical conceptual change as
our past theories’ (Hesse), or ‘apt to be rendered obsolete in the future’ (Wray).
So what has gone wrong? The PhD student who designed the survey
shouldn’t be criticised here; the Hesse, Stanford, and Wray quotes (above)
are typical of what one finds in much of the antirealist literature, and such
quotes really do suggest that scientific antirealists advocate scepticism vis-à-vis
unobservable entities and processes, such as those within the present/past
Earth studied by geologists. Indeed, Wray’s whole book Resisting Scientific
Realism (Wray 2018) is explicitly against the idea that ‘we have adequate
grounds for believing that our theories are true or approximately true with
respect to what they say about unobservable entities and processes’ (p. 1). Why
wouldn’t one imagine that the entities and processes of contemporary geo-
logical theory count as such ‘unobservable entities and processes’?
Most antirealists will probably say that I have quoted them out of context.
They will say that if anyone reads their whole book/article, they will see that
antirealist scepticism does not apply to such geological theories. And it does
not apply (many of them would say) because these theories are concerned with
observables.² The tectonic plates are observable (even if not observed), because
they are huge macroscopic bodies that in principle (if not in practice, except
very indirectly) could be observed. And so too the inner and outer core of the
Earth, including their dimensions, and their solid/liquid/metallic properties,
could in principle be observed, even if they never will be in practice (except
very indirectly). Thus such geological theories, being concerned as they are
with observables, are suitable candidates for belief, and knowledge claims,
once sufficient evidence has accumulated. For example Wray—pointing to
Van Fraassen (1980) for anyone interested in the details—writes simply that
antirealists are sceptical about ‘the claims our theories make about unobserv-
able entities and processes’ (2018, p. 49), and anyone who’s read Van Fraassen
will know that ‘unobservable’ means ‘unobservable in principle’ (not in
practice).
This could be OK. Says the antirealist: ‘Perhaps some of my quotes are
misleading taken on their own, but they should not be taken on their own.’
However, this is not an adequate antirealist defence, for at least two reasons.
First (i) antirealists often leave large gaps between the statements they
make concerning the limits of their scepticism in terms of in-principle unob-
servables (or whatever), and the statements they make about our current
best theories being ‘rendered obsolete’ in the future, replaced with radically
different theories that are currently unconceived. This causes frustration in the
community since the statements about our current best theories being ‘ren-
dered obsolete’ are widely seen as overly dramatic exaggerations when they do
not include the caveats concerning in-principle unobservables, along with
other obvious qualifications such as ‘many of ’ and ‘probably’. This encourages
scholars to talk past one another, and obstructs genuine progress in the debate.
Second (ii) antirealists often are not clear what precisely is meant by
‘unobservable’. If one digs into it (e.g. one reads Wray, gets directed to Van
Fraassen, and finds the relevant discussions in the literature, e.g. Churchland
and Hooker 1985), one finds that the word ‘observable’ is used very broadly
indeed. For example, Van Fraassen has no trouble believing that dinosaurs
existed, and that we know lots of things about them—dinosaurs are ‘observ-
able’, because they are the kind of thing human beings are in-principle capable
of observing. So too when it comes to tectonic plates and the Earth’s core, or
planets orbiting distant stars, or even the evolution of Homo sapiens from fish
over many millions of years. Of course, many of those outside the debate
would baulk at the suggestion that the evolution of Homo sapiens from fish is
‘observable’, but ‘observable’ is a technical term in the debate, not a natural
language term. That’s OK, but it is apt to cause confusion; for example, Wray
(2018) relies on the observable/unobservable distinction, but doesn’t discuss it
anywhere in his book, preferring instead to reference Van Fraassen (p. 49) and
Stanford (p. 100).
When antirealists do define ‘observable’, it can still sound as if they would
not believe any/many contemporary geological theories. Wray (2018, p. 58)
equates ‘theoretical knowledge’ with ‘knowledge of unobservable entities and
processes’, and in a discussion of Hesse (on p. 64) he states simply that theories
consist of ‘theoretical claims’, and it is these ‘theoretical claims’ which are
‘most likely false’. He adds later (on p. 85) that what he rejects is ‘the realists’
claims about the growth of theoretical knowledge’ (emphasis in original). If we
wonder what Wray is not a sceptic about, the answer (on pp. 64–5) seems to be
‘observation sentences’ (following Hesse 1976, p. 274). Hesse writes:
But let us now apply this distinction between ‘theory’ and ‘observation state-
ments’ to the inner and outer core of the Earth. Our knowledge here is
acquired primarily via analysis of seismic waves and the Earth’s magnetic
field. Any observations we make are observations of wave properties and
magnetic field magnitudes. So if we take Hesse’s words at face value, it
seems clear that she would not agree that we have genuine knowledge of the
properties of the inner and outer core; after all, none of our ‘observation
statements’ concern the properties of the inner and outer core. It seems
right to say that our current best models of the nature and behaviour of the
inner and outer core are theories based on evidence, where that evidence
consists in the behaviour of the seismic waves and magnetic fields we can
directly measure. If this is right, then Hesse’s scepticism does extend to the
properties of the inner and outer core—she would not say boldly that we know
the Earth has a solid inner core and a liquid outer core. She would instead say
that these are just pragmatically useful theoretical ideas, allowing us ‘to find
our way about in the natural environment, and have a greater degree of
predictive control over it’. And Wray (2018, pp. 64–5) quotes her with
approbation.³
The word ‘theory’—just like ‘observable’—is very tricky in this literature.
Apparently Hesse and Wray wish to use it to refer to scientific claims that
concern unobservables: for them, if a claim is theoretical, then that means it
concerns unobservables and is thus subject to scepticism (whatever evidence
comes in). A more natural way to use the word ‘theory’ is simply to mean that
one is sceptical that enough evidence has come in, so far, to allow us to use
words like ‘fact’ or ‘knowledge’. Turning back to our inner/outer core example,
there was a time in the 20th century when it was perfectly natural for scientists
to say: ‘The claim that the outer core is liquid metal is currently just a theory;
we need more evidence before we can be sure about it.’ But on this conception
of ‘theory’, there came a point during the 20th century when all reasonable
geologists were happy to say, ‘We know this now; it isn’t just a theory
anymore.’ There is ample room for confusion here, since both uses of the
word ‘theory’ concern reasons to be sceptical: on the one hand, because of
claims about unobservables, and on the other hand, because of a lack of
evidence. The crucial difference, however, is that on the former construal
(but not the latter) the scepticism is there to stay.
Most antirealists, I submit, are open to believing in scientific theories that
concern ‘observables’, broadly construed. These ‘antirealists’ might even
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Quelques minutes après, passant à proximité de la villa
Crawford, je vis une ombre qui s’agitait entre les arbres sur un petit
tertre situé en bordure de la route.
Mac Pherson veillait.
IX
LA FICHE No 76.948
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
En revenant du bureau téléphonique, je passai près de la villa
Crawford.
Mac Pherson était toujours à son poste ; seulement j’eus quelque
peine à le découvrir car il s’était couché à plat ventre dans l’herbe,
afin de ne pas éveiller l’attention du vilain oiseau qu’il guettait.
— Eh bien ? interrogeai-je en m’approchant.
— Ah ! c’est vous, monsieur Dickson !
Et Mac Pherson leva vers moi ses gros yeux ronds que la fatigue
rendait un peu troubles :
— Notre homme est toujours là ?
— Oui… mais il a l’air bien malade… Tenez… vous pouvez
l’apercevoir d’ici… il est couché sous cette remise…
En effet, par la porte grande ouverte du garage, on voyait Slang
étendu sur un vieux rocking-chair, la tête entre les mains, dans
l’attitude d’un homme qui ne se soucie guère de ce qui se passe
autour de lui.
— Faut-il le surveiller encore ? demanda Mac Pherson.
— Oui…
— Mais c’est que j’ai faim… monsieur Dickson, et puis Bailey
m’attend : nous devons aller aujourd’hui à Merry-Town faire une
enquête sur un vol de diamants.
— C’est juste. Attendez encore une demi-heure ; je vais vous
trouver un remplaçant.
Ce remplaçant, ce fut Bloxham, l’homme à la panne, celui qui se
serait jeté au feu pour moi. Dès que je l’eus mis au courant du
service que j’attendais de lui, il endossa une veste de cuir, mit un
bull-dog dans sa poche, prit un sac rempli de provisions et
s’achemina vers l’observatoire où se morfondait le pauvre Mac
Pherson.
J’étais sûr de Bloxham… il resterait en faction jusqu’à ce que je
vinsse le relever… C’était de plus un petit homme très alerte qui ne
perdrait pas Slang de vue et saurait au besoin s’attacher à ses pas.