The Grammar of Science is Karl Pearson's account of what science is and how its method works. He opens not with laboratories but with society. His age is one of conflicting opinions and increased responsibility for the ordinary citizen, who must form judgments on social questions without being ruled by personal interest. Pearson asks where one might learn to do this, and answers that the discipline already exists in science: the careful classification of facts and the forming of judgments that hold for every mind, not just one's own.
From this he draws his central definition. The unity of all science, he argues, is in its method and not in its material. Any field becomes science once its facts are classified, their relations seen, and their sequences described. The same method serves physics, biology, history, and social statistics alike. Because of this, Pearson treats the scientific habit of mind as something separate from the professional scientist, a discipline that can be cultivated by anyone willing to study one branch of knowledge carefully and that he holds to be an essential of sound citizenship.
Pearson then turns to what the facts of science actually are. Examining a simple object such as a blackboard, he shows that what we know of it comes through sense-impressions of sight and touch, to which we add inferences drawn from past experience. The brain stores impressions and revives them by association, so that an external object is in general a construct, a combination of immediate and remembered impressions. He pictures the conscious self as a clerk in a telephone exchange who can never get past the brain ends of the sensory nerves to the world the messages come from.
On this basis he reconsiders natural law. A scientific law, he argues, is of a wholly different nature from civil law. It commands nothing and compels nothing. It is a brief description in mental shorthand of the sequences of our sense-impressions. Science records how things happen, but the why remains a mystery. Pearson presses this point hard against the idea of force as a cause and against any reason said to lie behind nature. He even suggests that the order we find in nature may be partly contributed by the perceiving mind itself, which he pictures as a great sorting-machine.
The later chapters carry this view of science as description into space and time, motion, matter, and life, treating each as a means by which the mind describes the sequence of phenomena rather than as a thing existing in itself. Throughout, Pearson keeps returning to his first theme. He treats the honest admission of ignorance as part of the duty of science, and he prizes the scientific frame of mind less for the facts it yields than for the trained judgment, free of personal bias, that it forms in those who practice it.