The kinetic theory of gases has given rise to many objections, which we could hardly answer if we pretended to see in it the absolute truth. But all these objections will not preclude its having been useful, and particularly so in revealing to us a relation true and but for it profoundly hidden, that of the gaseous pressure and the osmotic pressure. In this sense, then, it may be said to be true.
When a physicist finds a contradiction between two theories equally dear to him, he sometimes says: "We will not bother about that, but hold firmly the two ends of the chain, though the intermediate links are hidden from us." This argument of an embarrassed theologian would be ridiculous if it were necessary to attribute to physical theories the sense the laity give them. In case of contradiction, one of them at least must then be regarded as false. It is no longer the same if in them be sought only what should be sought. May be they both express true relations and the contradiction is only in the images wherewith we have clothed the reality.
To those who find we restrict too much the domain accessible to the scientist, I answer: These questions which we interdict to you and which you regret, are not only insoluble, they are illusory and devoid of meaning.
Some philosopher pretends that all physics may be explained by the mutual impacts of atoms. If he merely means there are between physical phenomena the same relations as between the mutual impacts of a great number of balls, well and good, that is verifiable, that is perhaps true. But he means something more; and we think we understand it because we think we know what impact is in itself; why? Simply because we have often seen games of billiards. Shall we think God, contemplating his work, feels the same sensations as we in watching a billiard match? If we do not wish to give this bizarre sense to his assertion, if neither do we wish the restricted sense I have just explained, which is good sense, then it has none.
Hypotheses of this sort have therefore only a metaphorical sense. The scientist should no more interdict them than the poet does metaphors; but he ought to know what they are worth. They may be useful to give a certain satisfaction to the mind, and they will not be injurious provided they are only indifferent hypotheses.
These considerations explain to us why certain theories, supposed to be abandoned and finally condemned by experiment, suddenly arise from their ashes and recommence a new life. It is because they expressed true relations; and because they had not ceased to do so when, for one reason or another, we felt it necessary to enunciate the same relations in another language. So they retained a sort of latent life.
Scarcely fifteen years ago was there anything more ridiculous, more naïvely antiquated, than Coulomb's fluids? And yet here they are reappearing under the name of electrons. Wherein do these permanently electrified molecules differ from Coulomb's electric molecules? It is true that in the electrons the electricity is supported by a little, a very little matter; in other words, they have a mass (and yet this is now contested); but Coulomb did not deny mass to his fluids, or, if he did, it was only with reluctance. It would be rash to affirm that the belief in electrons will not again suffer eclipse; it was none the less curious to note this unexpected resurrection.
But the most striking example is Carnot's principle. Carnot set it up starting from false hypotheses; when it was seen that heat is not indestructible, but may be transformed into work, his ideas were completely abandoned; afterwards Clausius returned to them and made them finally triumph. Carnot's theory, under its primitive form, expressed, aside from true relations, other inexact relations, débris of antiquated ideas; but the presence of these latter did not change the reality of the others. Clausius had only to discard them as one lops off dead branches.