The Erosion of Certainty
For just as necessity and search for a single all-comprehensive law was typical of the intellectual atmosphere of the forties of the last century, so probability and pluralism are the characteristics of the present state of science.
JOHN DEWEY, 1939
This philosophy denies nothing of orthodoxy except its confidence.
CHAUNCEY WRIGHT, 1867
While William James was still a young boy, Edgar Allan Poe tried to teach his contemporaries a lesson in perceiving and understanding the world around them. His character, C. Auguste Dupin, shows the unsuspecting reader of "The Purloined Letter" that sometimes the best way to hide something is to put it in an obvious spot. The Parisian police are perplexed by a deceptively simple mystery: a letter, with contents embarrassing and therefore politically potent, has been stolen; they know that a certain government minister has the letter still in his possession. But an investigation of his person and his premises has turned up no letter. The police then search in more elusive parts of his apartment, including a secret "cavity . . . [in a] piece of furniture," and "the rung[s] of every chair"; they even use "the aid of a most powerful microscope" for trace evidence, but all of this sophistication is to no avail. Dupin smiles at their exploits; the police, after all, are "persevering, ingenious, cunning, and thoroughly versed in the knowledge which their duties seem chiefly to demand."
Dupin, by contrast, thinks outside habitual channels. When first hearing